Why Do Americans Idolize Dumb Big Men?为何美国人视无脑巨人为偶像？

马克·阿西塔基斯 译/孙美萍 Mark Athitakis

Who made America？ Men made America. Big men. Men like Pecos Bill， who could tame a mountain lion and make a lasso1 out of a rattlesnake. Or Paul Bunyan， who felled entire forests with one mighty swing of his ax and carved the Grand Canyon by dragging his giant pick2 behind him.

Needless to say its false. Folklore， fakelore， tall tales3. Not just the literal facts but the Great Man spirit of Manifest Destiny4. And yet America has never quite shaken its admiration for stories about manly men with the power to conquer and tame a lawless land. Recent polling suggests that about 40% of U.S. registered voters remain keen on the concept of a macho， I-alone-can-fix-it folk hero bringing law and order to a wild country. We can recognize the ridiculousness of folk tales， but they have a way of worming5 into our national narrative infrastructure.

Pete Beattys very funny， rambunctious6 debut novel， “Cuyahoga，” is not a Trump-era allegory. It could be read with pleasure in 2002， or 1950. Or 1837， when most of it is set. Its a satire of tall tales， but not a distant， too-cool treatment. Beatty， a Cleveland-area native， deeply inhabits the tone and style of the form， paying sidelong homage to an essential American genre. He knows that we needed these big guys to rationalize Americans headlong urge to press forward， consequences be damned.

Its also just a hoot7 of a tale about a man who reputedly “drank a barrel of whiskey and belched fire.” Big Son comes straight from tall-tale central casting， possessing “shoulders wide as ox yokes，” according to the narrator， his brother Medium Son， or Meed. “A waist trim8 as a sleek schooner9. Muscles curlicued10 like rich mans furniture.” Big has single-handedly cleared the forest west of the Cuyahoga River and south of Lake Erie， establishing Ohio City as a rival to the budding metrop-olis of Cleveland to the east. Its thankless work. Hed like to be paid for his labors， but money is scarce. And alas， his feats fail to win the heart of Cloe， a woman “as pretty as Big were strong.”

The plot turns on a plan to construct a bridge across the Cuyahoga. Clevelanders see an opportunity for expansion， but Ohio City residents fear the span will siphon off11 business and force the communities to merge. Nativist suspicion of Clevelanders escalates， and the bridge soon becomes a target of sabotage， with Big recruited to repair the damage. Meed reports that some residents would rather the bridge remain half-exploded， using the wisdom of a cockeyed Solomon12. “If half the bridge belonged to Ohio [City]， then Ohio [City] had the right to half-destroy the bridge. Cleveland could do with their half how they liked.”

That folksy tone comes straight out of Twain. Beattys style in the novel is what you might call Modified Huck13： Grammatically concussed14 but knowing and down to earth. Beattys sentences in this mode are homespun15 and lyrical， without coming off as hokum16： “I drank down a gulp of autumn air and looked through my brains for what I ought to do” Or： “The whole assembly went quiet with the work of believing their eyes.” Describing Bigs accomplishments， he rattles a run-on sentence like hes speaking in tongues： “lied to the devil—stalked the deepest woods—hogtied17 panthers—drained jugs—got stung by one thousand hornets and only smiled.”

The mytho-rustic tone of “Cuyahoga” is its own pleasure， but its also essential to the story. To remunerate Big and shore up the notion of Ohio Citys greatness， Meed is recruited to write an almanac that will detail Bigs accomplishments， most of them wildly fanciful （“Climbed to heaven and dared Christ to a rastle”）. With Bigs reputation preceding itself， Beatty sets the stage for a climax that requires Big to prove his mettle18—to conquer the river and Cloes affections.

“Cuyahoga” is as fun as any well-told campfire tale， all the more so for19 having few rivals. There is a touch of George Saunders limber satire， and some of the grit20 of other Ohio-bred writers obsessed with folklore and myth—William H. Gass “Omensetters Luck，” Toni Morrisons “Beloved，” Donald Ray Pollocks “The Devil All the Time.” But none of these wrote tall tales， which present a particular challenge to a novelist： They allow the writer to be freewheeling21 but dont leave much room for the readers empathy.

Big is more myth than person， so he becomes hard to get a grip on. Meed suggests that theres a moral in Bigs origin story （he discovered his might after he was kicked in the head by a horse）. “We cannot live without gobbling up the world—taking its trouble into our bones and flesh—a kick will bust22 the trouble loose，” he writes. How should we feel toward a hero whose defining feature is getting kicked in the head？ Admiring？ Pitying？

But theres another suggestion in the line： Perhaps we put a little too much stock in23 heroes who are defined by their kicked-in-the-headed-ness. Meed is an unreliable narrator on behalf of an unbelievable character. He spins a lot of lies in the name of progress， independence and civic pride， and Ohio Citys anxiety over Cleveland is largely a phantom24. Clevelanders， Meed reports， “look the same and generally act the same. The only difference is that Clevelanders are wrong all over.”

“Cuyahoga” covers a particular moment in history as well as a wide swath of Americas historical consciousness. “Every age and place has got its Big Sons，” Beatty writes. “Folks who hang the sky that we shelter under. Stand up the timbers of a place.” A healthy society might stand to be more skeptical of the myth-making that creates such figures. But in the society we have， they endure， and Beatty wrings absurd and serious pleasure from them. “Let us have tenderness but also a dash of cussedness25 and tragedy，” Meed promises early on. He delivers.

谁造了美国？人，巨人。比如佩科斯·比尔，他可以驯服美洲狮，也可以用响尾蛇做出一个套索。又比如保罗·班扬，他用力一挥斧头就砍倒了整片森林，又拉着巨镐雕刻出了大峡谷。

不用说，这些都不是真的。民间传说、伪传说、荒诞故事，不仅仅是字面上的事实，天定命运论的伟人精神也是假的。然而对于那些关于强壮厉害的人征服并驯服不法之地的故事，美国人从未动摇过他们的钦羡之心。最近的投票显示，美国大约40%的登记选民仍然热衷于具有男子气概的英雄，那种单凭一己之力就可以给野蛮的国家带来法律与秩序的民间英雄。我们可以认识到民间故事的荒谬性，但它们往往渗透到我们民族叙事的基础结构中。

皮特·贝蒂的处女作小说《凯霍加河》非常有趣欢快，它不是对特朗普时代的讽喻。在2002年或1950年，或者是1837年（大部分故事发生在那时），读起来都会乐趣无穷。本书是对荒诞故事的讽刺，但并无孤傲冷酷之感。贝蒂生长于克利夫兰地区，深深地融入了这种文学形式的基调和风格，间接地向一种重要的美国流派致敬。他清楚我们需要这些大家伙来为美国人轻率冒进的冲动找寻合理的依据，后果就见鬼去吧。

这确实也不过是一个滑稽故事：据说一个男人“喝了一桶威士忌后喷出了火”。“大儿子”是荒诞故事的典型角色，根据叙事者——“大儿子”的兄弟“中儿子”米德所言，“大儿子”拥有“牛轭那样宽的肩膀，腰部如同造型优美的纵帆船那样修长，肌肉如同富人家具的雕花般一块块鼓起”。“大儿子”独自清理了凯霍加河以西、伊利湖以南的森林，并建立了俄亥俄城，与东部新兴的大都市克利夫兰相抗衡。这是吃力不讨好的活儿。他希望自己的劳动换来钱，但大家都没什么钱。同时可惜的是，他的壮举没有赢得克洛的芳心。克洛是一个“美貌可以和‘大儿子的健壮相匹敌”的女子。

故事情节围绕在凯霍加河上架桥的计划展开。克利夫兰人看到了扩张的机会，但是俄亥俄城的居民担心大桥会让生意外流，迫使社区合并。本土主义者对克利夫兰人的怀疑不断升级，大桥迅速成为破坏目标，“大儿子”受命修补。米德称，一些居民听取一个自作聪明之人的愚蠢建议，宁愿大桥保持被炸掉一半的状态。“如果一半大桥归俄亥俄（城）所有，那么俄亥俄（城）有权损坏一半大桥，克利夫兰也可以随意处置他们的那一半。”

这种乡土腔直接来自马克·吐温。贝蒂在这部小说中的风格可以称之为翻版的哈克：语法上令人不解，但又通透接地气。贝蒂这种风格的遣词造句简单朴素且富有诗意，丝毫不让人觉得是胡扯：“我饮下一大口秋天的空气，透过大脑看看我该做什么”或者“所有的人都安静下来，相信自己的眼睛”。在描写“大儿子”的成就时，他如同说方言般前言不搭后语地喋喋不休：“向魔鬼撒谎——潜入最深的丛林——捆住黑豹——喝干壶里的水——被一千只大黄蜂刺蛰却只是傻笑”。

《凯霍加河》的“半神话半乡土文学”基调本身是一种乐趣，但这对故事也非常重要。为了回报“大儿子”并标榜俄亥俄城的伟大，米德受命写一部年鉴来详述“大儿子”的功绩，其中大多数都是天马行空的想象（“爬上天，要跟耶稣打架”）。随着“大儿子”声名渐起，贝蒂将故事引向高潮，“大儿子”需要证明自身的魄力——征服凯霍加河，赢得克洛的芳心。

《凯霍加河》和任何一个引人入胜的篝火故事一样有趣，尤其是因为几乎没有几个故事可以与它匹敌。书中有一点乔治·桑德斯的轻快讽刺，以及痴迷于民间传说和神话的俄亥俄州其他本土作家的那种勇气——威廉·霍华德·加斯的《奥门塞特的运气》、托妮·莫里森的《宠儿》、唐纳德·雷·波洛克的《神弃之地》。但是这些作家都不创作荒诞故事，因为那给小说家带来一个特别的挑战：荒诞故事允许作者自由发挥，但不给读者留下太多的共鸣空间。

与人性相比，“大儿子”具备更多的神性，所以他很难把握。米德认为“大儿子”的起源故事具有寓意（他被马踢中头部后发现了自己的威力）。他写道：“我们要想活命就得吞噬这个世界——把它的麻烦融入我们的骨肉中——踢一脚就能解决问题。”我们该如何看待这样一个以脑袋被踢为典型特征的英雄呢？崇敬抑或惋惜？

但是这句话又有另外一层含义：也许我们过于相信因为脑袋被踢而出名的英雄。米德是一个不可靠叙述者，代表着一个不可信的角色。他以进步、独立和居民自豪感为名编造了许多谎言，俄亥俄城对克利夫兰的紧张感在很大程度上是幻影而已。米德称，克利夫兰人“看起来和我们一样，行动上也大体一样。唯一的區别就是克利夫兰人从头到脚都是错的”。

《凯霍加河》涵盖了历史上的一个特殊时期，体现了美国广泛的历史意识。“每个时代、每个地方都有它的‘大儿子。”贝蒂写道，“这些人筑起庇护之所。”对于创造此类人物形象的神话创作，一个健全的社会或许应该抱持更加怀疑的态度。但他们在我们所处的社会中长久不衰，贝蒂从中提炼出亦庄亦谐的乐趣。“我们要拥有柔情，但也要来点儿乖僻和悲剧。”米德很早就做出了承诺。他实现了承诺。

（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者;单位：北京外国语大学）