古茲曼藉著智利三部曲的創作計畫,十年間分別在《星空塵土》(Nostoligia for the Light,2010)、《深海光年》(The Pearl Button,2015)、《浮山若夢》(The Cordillera of Dreams,2019),一步步自星空、深海、山脈,在其中的遺骸、鏽蝕與沈積慢慢挖掘、尋找所有得以組構記憶的碎片與痕跡,將這些並非完全具象可見,然而奠基於理性客觀的科學探照,試圖折射其中無以名狀、龐大的歷史記憶。
Johannes Fabian, “How Others Die - Reflections on the Anthropology of Death,” in Arien Mack, ed., Death in American Experience (New York: Schocken Books, 1973), 198.
露斯・貝哈 Ruth Behar《傷心人類學》(台北市:群學,2010),頁 102。
皮耶・諾哈 Pierre Nora《記憶所繫之處》,台北:行人文化實驗室,2012。
Phillip Abrams “Notes on the Difficulty of Studying the State”, The Anthropology of the State, 1988.
Pablo Corral Vega, Mario Vargas Llosa, ANDES. National Geographic, 2001. "Patrolling the invisible border line that separates Bolivia from Chile, in such frozen solitudes, is a very boring duty. There is almost nothing to do but try to keep warm in your khaki uniform, stick your hands in your pockets, and remember what a blessing your life was back there in your village or city, before the damned draft plucked you out of your life as an ordinary fellow and dragged you off to the barracks to fulfill your military service. After a very hasty instruction, and not a few kicks and knocking about from the corporal of your section, they sent you here to protect the frontier, this icy, barren plateau where the cold has cracked your lips, turned your skin blue and streaked your ears and feet with chilblains. With your head shaved like that, and barely protected by a thin knit cap, you have the sensation that at any moment this polar cold could split your skull open like a pomegranate. But maybe even worse than the whistling knifeblade wind, worse than the blazing morning sun and ice of night, is this interminable loneliness; that clamps onto to you and numbs you the minute you step out the door of the barracks-its white walls not much better protection-to report for guard duty. At least you have a partner on your watch. If you were alone you would go out of your mind from the emptiness and silence. You would hallucinate, maybe, and see an army of terrifying extraterrestrials blast out of the snowstorm, mounted on balls of fire. Or the devil might spring up before you, or God knows what. Thank goodness you drew Pedrito to stand guard with you, Pedrito, the “camba,” the Indian from Santa Cruz de la Sierra. You have become good friends because he’s a regular guy; he has a good sense of humor, and he tells jokes that make you laugh out loud, and even though he’s 18 years old, the same age as you, he still has the soul of a mischievous and playful kid. Again, just like you. So one day Padrito got the idea for a game that would help the time pass faster on your shift: the game of the birds. And that’s what you play, roaring with laughter, when there’s no officer or corporal or sergeant nosing around. It’s a simple game, maybe a little silly, but it’s really fun. What you do is climb up on a rock, and from up there you leeeeeap off with your arms open, yelling and screaming. You feel that at any minute you might take off, lift up and fly. Maybe one day it will happen. Because in this weird place, you get the feeling that anything could happen-even a man turning into a bird."