2. 考研
  3. Last year, when my book of short fictions, Foreign Soil, was released in the United Kingdom, I found my self on the phone with B

Last year, when my book of short fictions, Foreign Soil, was released in the United Kingdom, I found my self on the phone with B

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问题     Last year, when my book of short fictions, Foreign Soil, was released in the United Kingdom, I found my self on the phone with BBC radio, doing a pre-interview. At the end of our lively and in-depth conversation, the producer asked: "So who are the other Australian writers of Afro-Caribbean descent, or from a similar background, who are working in literary fiction—what novels should we be looking out for?" I paused. "There are ... well, there are some African diaspora (离散移民社群) and African Australian writers I know who work in a lot of different forms, who I really hope you’ll also see on the shelf one day ..." I stammered. "Natasha Jynel. Candy Bowers."
    When I finished the call, I hung up the phone and sat slumped in a kitchen chair for about half an hour. The comradery and support amongst Australian writers from all walks of life on the book trail can be extraordinary,  but it can be bitterly isolating on the road sometimes, not seeing a single face like your own.
    I love what I do, but there’ s also deliberating heartache to being a more-than-third-culture-kid, in a country  where the subtleties of identity are often lost.
    I was born in Sydney, Australia—and have lived here all my life. My mother and father both grew up in London from the age of four or five, but were born in Guyana and Jamaica, respectively. Mine is a complex migration history that spans four continents and many hundreds of years: a history that involves loss of land, loss of agency, loss of language, and loss, transformation, and reclamation of culture.
    Before being "settled" by the British in the 1700s, the country I live on was forcefully and unlawfully taken  from the Australia’ s First Peoples. Like other non-Aboriginal Australians, my migrant history forms part of the colonial history of this land: I am settler black, rather than Indigenous (本土的) black. As an emerging writer,  writing to this complexity of identity seemed virtually impossible. Though Australian-born, I didn’t feel Australian enough to write "Australian" stories. Though my parents were migrants, I wasn’t a migrant myself and felt migration stories didn’t belong to me. I wondered about writing African diaspora fictions, when I was so many generations removed from the African continent.
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答案 去年，当我的短篇小说《异乡的土地》在英国发行时，我正在接受BBC电台的电话预采访。在我们生动而深入的对话即将结束时，制片人问道：“那么，还有哪些非洲一加勒比裔的澳大利亚作家，或者有着类似背景、从事文学小说创作的人呢，我们应该关注哪些小说呢?”我停了下来。“有……嗯，我认识一些非洲侨民和非洲裔澳大利亚作家，他们的作品有很多不同的形式，我真心希望有一天你们也能在书架上看到。”我结结巴巴地说，“娜塔莎.杰内尔，坎迪.鲍尔斯。” 对话结束后，我立马挂了电话，在厨房的椅子上瘫坐了半小时左右。来自各行各业的澳大利亚作家在书中表现出的友情和互相支持是非同寻常的，但有时在路上看不到一张和自己肤色类似的脸，会让你感到非常孤独。 我热爱我所做的一切。但在一个身份的细微之处常被忽略的国家，作为一个第三文化之外的孩子，我也会感到心痛。 我出生在澳大利亚悉尼市，我一辈子都住在这里。我的母亲和父亲从四五岁起在伦敦长大，但他们分别出生在圭亚那和牙买加。我的历史是一部跨越四大洲，历经数百年的复杂移民史：一部涉及领土丢失、机构分崩、语言丧失、文化流失、转型和再生的历史： 在18世纪被英国人“定居”之前．我所居住的这个国家是被强占、非法地从澳大利亚原住居民手中夺走的。和其他非土著澳大利亚人一样，我的移民历史也是这块土地殖民历史的一部分：我是移民黑人，而不是土著黑人。作为一个初出茅庐的作家，以如此复杂的身份进行创作几乎是不可能的。虽然我出生在澳大利亚，但我觉得自己称不上澳大利亚人，写不出“澳大利亚”故事。虽然我的父母都是移民，但我自己并不是移民，我觉得移民的故事不属于我。自从我的祖先离开非洲大陆，与我已隔数代，而我却开始想写一些非洲侨民的小说了。
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