量子的生活呢喃
爱人，被爱，珍惜，宽待
“ Purple Hibiscus” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
故事的背景在上世纪90年代正经历政治骚乱的奈及利亚。 15岁的Kambili文静害羞，和父母哥哥过着令人羡慕的优渥生活，爸爸是当地的富豪，妈妈温柔美丽，兄妹两都上私立学校，品学兼优，表面上堪称完美的picture perfect。
Kambili的爸爸出生微寒，却因天主教神父的帮助得以受教育，留学英国。 回国后开设工厂，作为虔诚（宗教狂热）的天主教徒资助教会，广施善事，还办报纸揭露政府的腐败，抵触恐怖，捍卫人权，他是当地的大善人，大英雄。
在外圣人一般的他回家却是一个十足的暴君。 虽然深爱家人，但他同时又对他们有极其严苛的标准，稍不如意就施以家暴，用棍杖打儿子，用沸水烫女儿的脚，把好不容易怀孕的老婆打到流产。。。
在大学教书的姑姑是唯一不怕和爸爸顶嘴的人。 她性格乐观坚强，鼓励孩子们独立自主。 Kambili兄妹好容易有机会去姑姑家跟表姐弟们度假。 在姑姑家的日子虽然清贫，但他们第一次有了思想的自由，第一次尝到没有恐惧不用战战兢兢的生活。 但其后回到家的日子，因为有了对照，就更难以忍受。 眼看这个家庭步向分崩离析，而围墙外，奈及利亚整个国家也在经历着政变、动乱，一步步崩溃。
小说以这个十五岁女孩的眼睛了解复杂的议题：军人政变，家庭暴力，宗教压迫，后殖民地对英国文化的认同和冲突，少女的爱情。。。 作者对奈及利亚的描写很生动，政府的腐败、学生动乱、以及生活必需品的缺少：没水没电没汽油。
节奏上，前面2/3过于拖拉，作者用了太多笔墨描述食物、花朵等等细节，跟主题没有多少关联，如果能够更简练些，整篇故事会流动得更为顺畅吸引人。
这是作者Adichie的处女作小说，当时她才25岁。 也让我想到"God of Small Things"，同样是以孩子的视角描述后殖民地一个基督教富裕家族的悲剧，文化上的冲突，信仰上的压抑，家庭成员的爱恨纠葛，令人动容。 一本好小说，推荐。
节选：
We did that often, asking each other questions whose answers we already knew. Perhaps it was so that we would not ask the other questions, the ones whose answers we did not want to know.
I meant to say I am sorry that Papa broke your figurines, but the words that came out were, ‘I’m sorry your figurines broke, Mama.’
The Reverend Sisters gave us our cards unsealed. I came second in my class. It was written in figures: “2/25.” My form mistress, Sister Clara, had written, “Kambili is intelligent beyond her years, quiet and responsible.” The principal, Mother Lucy, wrote, “A brilliant, obedient student and a daughter to be proud of.” But I knew Papa would not be proud. He had often told Jaja and me that he did not spend so much money on Daughters of the Immaculate Heart and St. Nicholas to have us let other children come first…I wanted to make Papa proud, to do as well as he had done. I needed him to touch the back of my neck and tell me I was fulfilling God’s purpose. I needed him to hug me close and say that to whom much is given, much is also expected. I needed him to smile at me, in that way that lit up his face, that warmed something inside me. But I had come second. I was stained by failure.
There are people, she once wrote, who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time. It is like telling a crawling baby who tries to walk, and then falls back on his buttocks, to stay there. As if the adults walking past him did not all crawl, once.
As we drove back to Enugu, I laughed loudly,above Fela's stringent singing. I laughed because Nsukka's untarred roads coat cars with dust in the harmattan and with sticky mud in the rainy season. Because the tarred roads spring potholes like surprise presents and the air smells of hills and history and the sunlight scatters the sand and turns it into gold dust. Because Nsukka could free something deep inside your belly that would rise up to your throat and come out as freedom song. As laughter.
She seemed so happy, so at peace, and I wondered how anybody around me could feel that way when liquid fire was raging inside me, when fear was mingling with hope and clutching itself around my ankles.
