Li Jie 励婕,more commonly known by her pen name Anni Baobei 安妮宝贝'Annie
Baby'is a Chine novelist born 11 July 1974 in Ningbo,Zhejiang. She is nicknamed
‘Flower in the Dark’ by her readers due to her novels’ themes of loneliness and
isolation.She lives in Beijing.
Anni Baobei might have ud the Internet as her springboard to success as a
contemporary writer, however, she's now turning her back on the online world. The
stationeryauthor has come a long way since her days as a bank employee in Shanghai. She
began posting short stories online in 1996, but never imagined her cyberspace stardom would turn her into a best-lling author and the fifth richest Chine writer.
Li's novels today rank among the most widely read in China. The author helped spearhead cyber writing in
China. This has created new interest in reading. More than a decade after she first started writing her novels, Li has agreed to have her early stories translated into English.
In late 2012, she appeared as one of 21 authors invited to discuss Chine contemporary literature at the
2012 London Book Fair. The Ningbo native just wants to travel the world and write. She is proof that China's new age of best-lling authors first began their careers online.
Rerved and rene, Li is reluctant to talk to the media or even have her photograph taken. She is as
enigmatic as her early cyber tales that featured urban characters aspiring to adapt to rapid change and strike a balance between modernity and tradition.Her characters were tangled in a web of emoti
ons, wrangling with desire,x and death. "Back then, cyber writing emed like a good way of expressing my emotions and thoughts. I wrote short fiction stories that drew on some aspects of reality. I never thought I'd become a writer," she told the Global Times .
Li's stint in Shanghai saw her work for a bank, advertising agency, Internet corporation,and a publishing
hou. While her work during the day was ordinary, at night she trawled blogs and chat rooms.
"Chat rooms were the best place to get clo to strangers," she wrote in Goodbye, An , one of her short
hxsstories. "I was 24 and liked chatting with people online who had similar interests. It was a new experience."
One of tho "new experiences" also involved a foray in online intimacy. "Yes, I fell in love online once," she
candidly admitted. "All books reflect the character of their writers to a certain extent, but I'm not one of my characters. I no longer chat nor write online," she added.
The Internet offered Li a platform to reach a wide audience and become a published author, but now she
wants to break free of the young cyber writer tag. Her latest book published in English with five short stories,The Road of Others , is a step in that new direction.
Her characters drink cappuccinos, listen to jazz, and attend English class. Li became a symbol of a
generation for portraying the xiaozi 'petty bourgeois'. Fans celebrated her romantic individualism and speculated about the woman behind the words. One reader blogged about falling asleep, emotionally exhausted, with her head resting on one of Li's books.
The author became the voice of China's emerging middle-class engaged in consumption and detached from
life in big industrialized cities.
Her publishing debut came in 2001 with the short story Goodbye, An lling over half a million copies. After a 1
moment of brief exposure, Li retreated from the spotlight and shunned public appearances. "The Internet was an experimental playground for me and never influenced my stories," stresd Li, who relocated to Beijing in 2003. "I don't think the Internet changed the face of Chine literature. Many people of different ages are online and can share their stories. I'm not following what's happening and don't pay attention to it."
A prolific writer who also pens columns in such Chine magazines as Harvest ,Writers , and Elle , Li also
ranks among the best paid in the country. Last year, her income from royalties was listed at 9.4 million yuan ($1.48million USD). Over the past decade, Li's stories -many of which have been published in Japan, South Korea, Vietnam Germany and the UK -have evolved to embrace spiritual freedom.
Her style has matured to become brighter and explores more complex themes. Her characters moved from being tormented by angst in big cities to finding harmony with nature. Drawing inspiration from ancient Chine and Japane literature, she stills favors individual subjectivity as well as the female experience and perspective.
"My writing has evolved to become more in-depth, philosophical,and exploratory of human nature," Li said,as a result
pinpointing her 2006 novel Lotus and last year's follow-up Spring Banquet as examples.Lotus is a love story that blossoms during a journey in Tibet, while Spring Banquet explores the struggle of prerving traditional Chine culture under the blitz of foreign influences.
Li, who has a four-year-old daughter, put her experience in advertising to good u to launch a Chine-
language literary magazine featuring stories and photo essays titled O-Pen .古铜色英文
composite materials"I teamed up with four writers, including literary translator Hu Lang, to prepare a purely literary magazine with
interviews and content translated from foreign languages," she explained.O-pen primarily targets student readers,from high school to university, as well as graduates.
Li's writings might not be everyone's cup of tea, but her legion of loyal fans is proof of her literary success.
Nearly all of her books have become best-llers, with veral lling more than 1 million copies. The awaited relea of the English version of The Road of Others coincides with her participation at the 2012 London Book Fair.
"Foreign audiences are still unaware of the many young Chine voices that are not publicized," lamented the
writer. In the meantime, she's keeping busy working on her next book, a photographic diary, and planning a trip to South America.
the eastGOODBYE, AN
e didn't know where she was.It didn't matter.She might turn up at some point. Once you started this game, it was hard not to get sucked in. He didn't know i
f this was down to the game itlf, or becau only the two of them were playing.He'd come across her in a chatroom. He couldn't remember which day it had been.Her name had appeared as a lon
g string of letters: V-I V-I-A-N,an Englis
h name, but he shortened it to An.He thought it must have been a Saturday, maybe around two 0'clock in the morning, when insomnia felt like a form of slow suicide.He was listening to Paganini's 1Scena Amorosa.The music, like a very fine thread, entwined itlf 1Niccolò(Nicolò)Paganin
i (27 October 1782–27 May 1840) was an Italian violinist,violist, guitarist, and compor.H
2
3 around his heart until the pain was so inten that he gasped for breath.
He clicked on her name and typed 'Hi'.Then he saw her answer in the red chat window:'Hi.' Plain and casual, like his.
Him:Still awake?(He was a cold fish,he thought,afraid of only one thing-loneliness.)
AN:Yup.
Him:Paganini sometimes kills me.
AN:He wrote for only two strings.The other strings are to kill your thoughts with.
Him::-)
AN::-)
And that was how it started.
They chatted for a long time. Halfway through, they took a few minutes'break.He stumbled over
a chair and knocked it over as he got up to make coffee.Waiting for the kettle to boil,he stretched his neck and then his back.When it was ready,he carried the coffee back to his desk,and wrapped his fingers around the hot mug before starting again.A conversation was like a chess game-you needed an opponent;what kept it interesting was an equal match.
They carried on,their language sometimes cryptic.When it began to get light,she said she had to
get some sleep.They didn't fix a time to meet again.
He went to the bathroom and took a cold shower.He craned his neck to look in the mirror. His
face was void of all emotion.
He took the Metro to work every morning and bought himlf a coffee at the station.He'd finish it before the train pulled in. When he arrived at his destination and walked back up to street level, he'd screw up his eyes against the light.The sunlight was inhibiting,just like life itlf.The road was full of
the smell of dust.
Him:I'm someone who prefers the shadows.
AN:I know that. Like I know you're the kind of man who goes for cotton shirts.And blue-checked handkerchiefs.You only wear lace-up shoes and you never wear white socks.You don't u an electric shaver. You u herbal aftershave.I'll bet you drink coffee like it's water,and that you're very thin.
Him:There's something el you definitely don't know.
AN:?
Him:?
Emerging from the Metro station,he had to cross the road and walk through a small plaza planted wit
h cherry trees,now full of blossoms.It was the part of the city he felt the most warmth for. When he went into his office building and waited for the lift, he would tilt his head and breathe in the fragrance that lingered on his shoulders.Small pink cherry-blossom petals often clung to his jacket,and he would pick them off and chew them.
One day,in the lift, Qiao asked him.'What do they smell like?'She worked in his company but in a different department.
He gave her a stony stare and said,'Probably just like your lips. '
Qiao's eyes widened in surpri,and then she smiled.
She was a girl who drank her water cold, liked white cotton dress,and wore sport shoes without socks. Her hair was very long and thick and her dark eyes shone. She didn't wear make-up.At twelve, she'd had a crush on a good-looking student in her year. By nior middle school, she'd switched her affections to Hemingway.
AN:Do you know how Hemingway died?
Him:No.
AN:He stuck his rifle into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Him:Ugh.
AN:He blew his skull right off.
Him:Desperate.
AN:Not at all.
AN:He just wanted to end it that way, that's all.
Him:You like the way he did it?
AN::-)Yes.I think people should be more decisive about their lives.But life has ground us down into the dirt.
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Could such a girl really exist? He wasn't sure. He'd only met her online; he'd never en her.It emed unlikely someone that interesting could exist in real life. Her way of thinking made him wonder sometimes if she were a man. Still, she was endearing, her conversation was unusual And he liked her.
That night,he met her again online:
Him:Let's meet up, go to Haagen-Dazs.
AN:The one in the Itan Department Store on Nanjing Road?
Him:Wherever you'd like.
He was sure they lived in the same city. As they chatted, she told him she loved the Shanghai Metro and that when she waited on the platform she often had the urge to jump down to the tracks,and then scramble back up again as the train whined into the station.She liked fantasies tempered by terror, and despair.
AN:Do you enjoy looking at the a? The a is the Earth's tear-drop,crystalline and warm.
Him:(laughing)But Shanghai only has the Huangpu River and it's filthy!
He knew it wouldn't be easy to get her to agree to meet face to face.
For a while,he and his netizen friends would regularly meet for drinks and bowling.The friends were mostly men but sometimes there'd be women as well.
Chatrooms were the best place to get clo to strangers.He'd met nearly twenty girls he'd got to know online first.With some,he'd just have a meal and never e them again.Others,like his exgirlfriend,Lace,were different.Lace had been one of the prettiest girls he'd met this way.They'd had a feverish love affair that lasted six months. Initially,he'd felt the hunter's quick curiosity and urge to subdue her but when it was over,he thought tho feelings had been cruel.
He had been silent for a long time.He emed to be bingeing on love.He felt ravenous,and had to fill his empty belly. He would just ask An if they could meet.He wouldn't get his hopes up.
It was good to chat. He'd sit cross-legged and barefoot in a wicker armchair.Sometimes he'd wrap a blue patterned rug around his shoulders and over his knees. Halfway through he'd get up and make a fresh pot of coffee. Often he'd knock something over becau his legs had gone to sleep.
They'd log off at dawn by counting from one to three, then at the same moment click: QUIT. He needed the few moments of warmth this gave him.It sucked him in.
He believed he was completely clear-headed when he committed himlf to this virtual web world and this blur of love.
He was beginning to miss her.On his way home from work, at the Metro station, bits of their late-night conversations would come back to him-the clever devilry of her tone of voice; tho ntences, sometimes cryptic and sometimes plain. He'd never met such an ice-cool girl.
Once, online, they'd talked about love.
AN:Remember your first time with a girl?
Him:Yes.
AN:What struck you most?
Him:The tears in her eyes,on my fingers. Their warmth.:-)
AN::-)
Him:Why do you ask?
AN:I want to know if there's any love left in your heart.
Him:There's about 10 percent left over. I think it's about to go rotten.
AN:People who don't believe in love are more likely than ordinary people to be unhappy.
Him:What about you?
AN:Sometimes my heart is full. Sometimes it's empty.
He squeezed onto the packed Metro train in the evening rush hour. As the carriage swayed along the wan lights shone on the black rails. He looked around and had the sudden feeling she might be standing right by him.She could be anyone of the strangers.
laughThe young women in the carriage were mostly office girls.They all wore suits and were exquisitely made up. He didn't think she was one of them. He had the impression she was jobless, a drifter, someone who liked chilling out. Besides, she normally logged on at night. If she were here, he thought, she'd spot him-a man who was protective of his lifestyle, who wore a cotton shirt and lace-up suede shoes, who had a shaved head and who smelled of herbal cologne. She was probably having a laugh in a comer of the carriage right now.She wouldn't come up to say hello. She'd just have a quiet laugh.
It was only becau he'd started to pay attention to the other pasngers that he eventually became
aware of one particular girl. She stood on the same platform as he did every morning, waiting for the train going the other way.
For tho few moments, she looked as impassive as he did,and there was a hint of laziness in her expression, too. She was dresd in black T-shirt and loo faded jeans,with strappy sandals on her feet.
geronimoA stacked collection of silver bracelets hid her skinny wrist. Her dark hair was thick and shiny. A huge bag was slung crossways over her shoulders.Sometimes she rifled through it to pull out ear-phones, which she'd then pushed into her ears. When she listened to music, her expression became more aloof and indifferent than before.
He kept wanting to know if she was listening to Paganini.Sometimes he thought he should just go up to her and say,'An,let's go for a coffee.'If it were her,she'd look up mischievously,and then give one of her faintly malevolent smiles.If it wasn't her, she'd just tum away.
He wanted a bit more time to look at her, in his own time,calmly.He wanted to control the ending of this game.
At the weekend there was an office get-together in a nearby bar.Qiao was there,and asked him to dance.'Do you still remember my lips?'she asked. She smiled sidelong at him in the gloom.
人教版初中英语教案
He put his arms round her and realized she was woozy with drink.Zhang came over and grabbed her by the arm.
'You're drunk, I'm taking you home,'he said. Everyone in the company knew that Zhang was cretly in love with her,even though Qiao had a boyfriend who was working as a cameraman in the UK.
