蛻變

By Tara Westover

塔拉·韋斯托弗（Tara Westover）1986年9月出生于愛達(dá)荷州的摩門教家庭，17歲前從未進(jìn)過正規(guī)學(xué)校，然而她通過驚人的刻苦和努力，不但以優(yōu)異的成績完成了楊百翰大學(xué)歷史專業(yè)的課程，還獲得了劍橋大學(xué)的博士學(xué)位，并成為哈佛大學(xué)訪問學(xué)者。她把自己的成長經(jīng)歷撰寫成書，自2018年2月出版以來，她的回憶錄《受教者》（Educated）連續(xù)幾周登上《紐約時報》最佳圖書榜單第一名。

作者的父親脾氣暴躁，對家庭擁有絕對的控制權(quán)，他以回收破銅爛鐵為生，不信任政府和學(xué)校教育，不讓家里的七個孩子上學(xué)；他抗拒現(xiàn)代醫(yī)療，家人生病受傷都是靠母親自制的草藥醫(yī)治。塔拉在三哥的支持和幫助下靠自學(xué)通過ACT考試，進(jìn)入了楊百翰大學(xué)。大學(xué)教育徹底改變了塔拉，她開始自我反思，自我發(fā)現(xiàn)，她對家庭的揭露也導(dǎo)致她與家人漸行漸遠(yuǎn)，并最終決裂。盡管最要好、最支持她的三哥泰勒不完全同意書中的某些細(xì)節(jié)和塔拉的記憶，覺得有夸張的成分，但他不否認(rèn)塔拉所敘述的是她所認(rèn)為的真實(shí)情況。塔拉的父母也否認(rèn)他們在她二哥虐待她時袖手旁觀。草本療法使塔拉的母親名聲遠(yuǎn)揚(yáng)，她的父母都成為了當(dāng)?shù)胤浅３晒Φ纳倘?，而且共有三個子女獲得了博士學(xué)位。

這一期選登的是塔拉在劍橋大學(xué)作研究時的經(jīng)歷。盡管可以用“一張白紙”來形容塔拉先前的教育背景，因?yàn)樗B“猶太人大屠殺”（Holocaust）都沒有聽說過，但是她的導(dǎo)師喬納森·斯坦伯格非常欣賞她的論文，認(rèn)為她極具學(xué)術(shù)潛力，并極力推薦她到劍橋攻讀博士學(xué)位，而塔拉卻覺得自己不屬于劍橋這樣的學(xué)術(shù)象牙塔?？死锊┦吭噲D說服她，他提起蕭伯納的《皮格馬利翁》（Pygmalion，或譯《賣花女》），劇中的賣花女伊麗莎雖然在教授的專業(yè)指教下改掉了自己的倫敦土腔，但真正使她蛻變的是她自己內(nèi)心的信念。

I wanted the mind of a scholar， but it seemed that Dr. Kerry saw in me the mind of a roofer（蓋屋頂者）. The other students belonged in a library； I belong in a crane（起重機(jī)，吊車）1.

The first week passed in a blur of lectures. In the second week， every student was assigned a supervisor to guide their research. My supervisor， I learned， was the eminent（杰出的，有名望的）Professor Jonathan Steinberg， a former vicemaster of a Cambridge college， who was much celebrated for his writings on the Holocaust（二戰(zhàn)期間納粹對猶太人的大屠殺）.

My first meeting with Professor Steinberg took place a few days later. I waited at the porters lodge（旅館或宿舍樓的門房，傳達(dá)室）until a thin man appeared and， producing a set of heavy keys， unlocked a wooden door set into the stone. I followed him up a spiral staircase and into the clock tower itself， where there was a well-lit room with simple furnishings： two chairs and a wooden table.

I could hear the blood pounding behind my ears as I sat down. Professor Steinberg was in his seventies but I would not have described him as an old man. He was lithe（行動靈巧的）， and his eyes moved about the room with probing energy. His speech was measured（慎重的，經(jīng)仔細(xì)斟酌的）and fluid.

“I am Professor Steinberg，” he said. “What would you like to read？”

I mumbled something about historiography（撰史，修史）. I had decided to study not history， but historians. I suppose my interest came from the sense of groundlessness Id felt since learning about the Holocaust and the civil rights movements—since realizing that what a person knows about the past is limited， and will always be limited， to what they are told by others. I knew what it was to have a misconception corrected—a misconception of such magnitude that shifting it shifted the world. Now I needed to understand how the great gatekeepers of history had come to terms with（與 妥協(xié)）their own ignorance and partiality（偏袒，偏好）. I thought if I could accept that what they had written was not absolute but was the result of a biased process of conversation and revision， maybe I could reconcile（使和解）myself with the fact that the history most people agreed upon was not the history I had been taught. Dad could be wrong， and the great historians Carlyle and Macaulay and Trevelyan could be wrong，2 but from the ashes of their dispute I could construct a world to live in. In knowing the ground was not ground at all， I hoped I could stand on it.

I doubt I managed to communicate any of this. When I finished talking， Professor Steinberg eyed me for a moment， then said， “Tell me about your education. Where did you attend school？”

The air was immediately sucked from the room.

“I grew up in Idaho，” I said.

“And you attend school there？”

It occurs to me in retrospect that someone might have told Professor Steinberg about me， perhaps Dr. Kerry. Or perhaps he perceived that I was avoiding his question， and that made him curious. Whatever the reason， he wasnt satisfied until I had admitted that Id never been to school.

“How marvelous，” he said， smiling. “Its as if Ive stepped into Shaws Pygmalion3.”

None of my professors at BYU（Brigham Young University，楊百翰大學(xué)）had examined my writing the way Professor Steinberg did. No comma， no period， no adjective or adverb was beneath his interest. He made no distinction between grammar and content， between form and substance. A poorly written sentence was a poorly conceived idea， and in his view the grammatical logic was as much in need of correction. “Tell me，” he would say，“why have you placed this comma here？ What relationship between these phrases are you hoping to establish？” When I gave my explanation sometimes he would say， “Quite right，” and other times he would correct me with lengthy explanations of syntax（句法）.

After Id been meeting with Professor Steinberg for a month， I wrote an essay comparing Edmund Burke with Publius， the persona（人物角色）under which James Madison， Alexander Hamilton and John Jay had written The Federalist Papers.4 I barely slept for two weeks： every moment my eyes were open， I was either reading or thinking about those texts.

From my father I had learned that books were to be either adored or exiled. Books that were of God—books written by the Mormon prophets（摩門教先知）or the Founding Fathers—were not to be studied so much as cherished， like a thing perfect in itself. I had been taught to read the words of men like Madison as a cast into which I ought to pour the plaster of my own mind， to be reshaped according to contours（輪廓）of their faultless model. I read them to learn what to think， not how to think for myself. Books that were not of God were banished； they were a danger， powerful and irresistible in their cunning.

To write my essay I had to read books differently， without giving myself over to either fear or adoration. Because Burke had defended the British monarchy（君主制）， Dad would have said he was an agent of tyranny. He wouldnt have wanted the book in the house. There was a thrill in trusting myself to read the words. I felt a similar thrill in reading Maidson， Hamilton and Jay， especially on those occasions when I discarded their conclusions in favor of Burkes， or when it seemed to me that their ideas were not really different in substance， only in form. There were wonderful suppositions（假定，推測）embedded in this method of reading： that books are not tricks， and that I was not feeble（軟弱的，無能的）.

I finished the essay and sent it to Professor Steinberg. Two days later， when I arrived for our next meeting， he was subdued（沉默寡言的）. He peered at me from across the table. I waited for him to say the essay was a disaster， the product of an ignorant mind， that it had overreached（做得過頭）， drawn too many conclusions from too little material.

“I have been teaching in Cambridge for thirty years，” he said.“And this is one of the best essays Ive read.”

I was prepared for insults but not for this.

Professor Steinberg must have said more about the essay but I heard nothing. My mind was consumed with a wrenching（令人痛苦的）need to get out of that room. In that moment I was no longer in a clock tower in Cambridge. I was seventeen， in a red jeep， and a boy I loved had just touched my hand. I bolted（逃跑）.

I could tolerate any form of cruelty better than kindness. Praise was a poison to me； I choked on it. I wanted the professor to shout at me， wanted it so deeply I felt dizzy from the deprivation（剝奪）. The ugliness of me had to be given expression. If it was not expressed in his voice， I would need to express it in mine.

I dont remember leaving the clock tower， or how I passed the afternoon. That evening there was a black-tie dinner（要求賓客穿禮服的正式晚宴）. The hall was lit by candlelight， which was beautiful， but it cheered me for another reason： I wasnt wearing formal clothing， just a black shirt and black pants， and I thought people might not notice in the dim lighting.

At my next supervision， Professor Steinberg said that when I applied for graduate school， he would make sure I was accepted to whatever institution I chose. “Have you visited Harvard？” he said. “Or perhaps you prefer Cambridge？”

I imagined myself in Cambridge， a graduate student wearing a long black robe that swished as I strode through ancient corridors. Then I was hunching（彎腰弓背身體向前）in a bathroom， my arm behind my back， my head in the toilet. I tried to focus on the student but I couldnt. I couldnt picture the girl in the whirling black gown without seeing that other girl. Scholar or whore， both couldnt be true. One was a lie.

“I cant go，” I said. “I cant pay the fees.”

“Let me worry about the fees，” Professor Steinberg said.

In late August， on our last night in Cambridge， there was a final dinner in the great hall. The tables were set with more knives， forks and goblets（高腳杯）than Id ever seen； the paintings on the wall seemed ghostly in the candlelight. I felt exposed by the elegance and yet somehow made invisible by it. I stared at the other students as they passed， taking in every silk dress， every heavily lined eye. I obsessed（對？？著迷）over the beauty of them.

At dinner I listened to the cheerful chatter of my friends while longing for the isolation of my room. Professor Steinberg was seated at the high table. Each time I glanced at him， I felt that old instinct at work in me， tensing my muscles， preparing me to take flight（逃之夭夭）.

I left the hall the moment dessert was served. It was a relief to escape all that refinement and beauty—to be allowed to be unlovely and not a point of contrast. Dr. Kerry saw me leave and followed.

“Youve made an impression on Professor Steinberg，”Dr. Kerry said， falling into step beside me. “I only hope he has made some impression on you.”

I didnt understand.

“Come this way，” he said， turning toward the chapel. “I have something to say to you.”

Dr. Kerry said hed been watching me. “You act like someone who is impersonating（扮演，模仿）someone else. And its as if you think your life depends on it.”

I didnt know what to say， so I said nothing.

“It has never occurred to you，” he said， “that you might have as much right to be here as anyone.” He waited for an explanation.

“I would enjoy serving the dinner，” I said， “more than eating it.”

Dr. Kerry smiled. “You should trust Professor Steinberg. If he says youre a scholar— ‘pure gold， I heard him say—then you are.”

“This is a magical place，” I said. “Everything shines here.”

“You must stop yourself from thinking like that，” Dr. Kerry said， his voice raised. “You are not fools gold， shining only under a particular light. Whomever you become， whatever you make yourself into， that is who you always were. It was always in you. Not in Cambridge. In you. You are gold. And returning to BYU， or even to that mountain you came from， will not change who you are. It may change how others see you， it may even change how you see yourself—even gold appears dull in some lighting—but that is the illusion. And it always was.”

I wanted to believe him， to take his words and remake myself， but Id never had that kind of faith. No matter how deeply I interred（埋葬）the memories， how tightly I shut my eyes against them， when I thought of my self， the images that came to mind were of that girl， in the bathroom， in the parking lot.

To myself I pretended there were other reasons I couldnt belong at Cambridge， reasons having to do with class and status： that it was because I was poor， had grown up poor. Because I could stand in the wind on the chapel roof and not tilt. That was the person who didnt belong in Cambridge： the roofer， not the whore. I can go to school， I had written in my journal that very afternoon. And I can buy new clothes. But I am still Tara Westover. I have done jobs no Cambridge student would do. Dress us any way you like， we are not the same. Clothes could not fix what was wrong with me. Something had rotted on the inside， and the stench was too powerful， the core too rancid（腐臭的）， to be covered up by mere dressings.

Whether Dr. Kerry suspected any part of this， Im not sure. But he understood that I had fixated on clothes as the symbol of why I didnt， and couldnt， belong. It was the last thing he said to me before he walked away， leaving me rooted， astonished， beside that grand chapel.

“The most powerful determinant（決定因素）of who you are is inside you，” he said. “Professor Steinberg says this is Pygmalion. Think of the story， Tara.” He paused， his eyes fierce， his voice piercing. “She was just a cockney（倫敦人）in a nice dress. Until she believed in herself. Then it didnt matter what dress she wore.”

1. 塔拉小時候跟隨父親分揀廢品時曾坐過起重機(jī)。

2. Carlyle： 托馬斯·卡萊爾（Thomas Carlyle， 1795—1881），蘇格蘭哲學(xué)家、散文作家、歷史學(xué)家及當(dāng)時著名的社會評論家，著有《論英雄、英雄崇拜和歷史上的英雄事跡》和《法國革命》等；Macaulay： 托馬斯·巴賓頓·麥考利（Thomas Babington Macaulay， 1800—1859），英國政治家、歷史學(xué)家、輝格黨議員，著有大量隨筆及討論歷史、政治、社會的文章，他的《英國史》成為輝格黨編史的范例，其寫作風(fēng)格受到廣泛稱頌，內(nèi)容卻頗受爭論；Trevelyan： 喬治·麥考利·特里維廉（George Macaulay Trevelyan， 1876—1962），英國歷史學(xué)家，著有《威克利夫時代的英格蘭》《改革法案的格雷爵士》《19世紀(jì)英國史》《英格蘭史》等。

3. 希臘神話中的塞浦路斯國王皮格馬利翁用神奇的技藝雕刻了一座美麗的象牙少女像，并賦予這座雕像全部的愛戀，愛神阿佛洛狄特被他打動，賜予雕像生命，并讓他們結(jié)為夫妻。英國大文豪蕭伯納以上面這段傳說為原型，創(chuàng)作了同名社會諷刺劇Pygmalion（《皮格馬利翁》，又譯《賣花女》，電影《窈窕淑女》正是改編自該作品），描寫了語音學(xué)教授訓(xùn)練一名貧苦的賣花女并使其成功被上流社會所認(rèn)可的故事。

4. Edmund Burke： 埃德蒙·伯克（1727—1797），18世紀(jì)英國著名的政治家和保守主義政治理論家，著有《法國大革命沉思錄》。他是法國大革命的批判者，認(rèn)為大革命已經(jīng)演變?yōu)橐粓鲱嵏矀鹘y(tǒng)和正當(dāng)權(quán)威的暴力叛亂，而非追求代議、憲法民主的改革運(yùn)動，最終淪為一場大災(zāi)難。伯克所倡導(dǎo)的保守主義思想對英國的政治傳統(tǒng)和各種思潮，美國的政治傳統(tǒng)、政治制度以及主流的意識形態(tài)一直有著潛移默化的重大影響；The Federalist Papers：《聯(lián)邦黨人文集》，是詹姆斯·麥迪遜、亞歷山大·漢密爾頓和約翰·杰伊三人為爭取批準(zhǔn)新憲法在紐約報刊上以“普布利烏斯”（Publius）為筆名而發(fā)表的一系列憲法論文，首次整理結(jié)集出版于1788年。《聯(lián)邦黨人文集》主張三權(quán)分立，相互制衡，成為美國政體和治國的核心理念。