原标题：【媒库文选】“封城”时期的数字情书：《电子情书》何以重回千禧一代视野
The digital love letters of lockdown: why You’ve Got Mail is back on millennial screens “封城”时期的数字情书：《电子情书》何以重回千禧一代视野
By Susannah Goldsbrough 苏珊娜·戈兹布拉夫
“I hear nothing， not even a sound on the streets of New York， just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you.”
The silence on today’s streets is more likely to be caused by a pandemic-induced lockdown than Meg Ryan’s adrenaline-raised heartbeat. Nevertheless， the opening lines of Nora Ephron’s 1998 rom-com seem to be resonating: the film’s arrival on Netflix this month has prompted a wave of nostalgic re-watching.
Millennial taste-maker Dolly Alderton declared on Twitter: “You’ve Got Mail is a perfect screenplay， there is not one word that isn’t perfect” – and received a burst of general agreement.
So why does this tale of an unlikely， email-fuelled romance between the owner of an independent children’s bookshop （Ryan） and the tycoon who presides over a Barnes & Noble-esque chain （Hanks） speak to our lockdown plight？
Two New Yorkers who met in a digital chat room exchange long， intimate messages while knowing virtually nothing about each other. Their professional animosity is offset by their digital intimacy， but not the kind that dating-app addicts would recognise.
The emails give the relationship meaning， not the other way around. And since Ryan’s character finds so much to enjoy in the lexicon of Pride and Prejudice， it seems unfair to use such an unromantic term as email. These are digital love letters.
This explains why lonely people across the world right now， walled away from their friends and lovers， are watching You’ve Got Mail. I ask one friend why she has started writing to the boyfriend she hasn’t seen since lockdown began. “I miss talking over dinner，” she replies. Letters have proved the best approximators of conversations that stretch and bubble in unpredictable directions. “It’s like hearing her think，” says another. “And that’s about as close as you can get.”
Another friend wrote a letter to his ex after watching Normal People， the BBC’s hit adaptation of Sally Rooney’s story of first love; he decided， however， not to send it. It was “remorseful， nostalgic and completely overwrought，” he admits， “and so clearly about me processing things rather than having anything worth communicating.”
But this is a truth about letters in general: they’re always more about the writer than the recipient. And in lockdown， that’s precisely their charm. More permanent than a phone call， more physical than a Zoom， they offer themselves up as little proxy pieces of the sender， ink-smudged or pencil-furry， crisp or yellowing. You can hold them close， as you can’t hold the one to whom they’re addressed.
And beyond the individual connections， there’s comfort in the knowledge that even as the world freezes for this long， long moment， as cars sit idle in driveways and the sky is emptied of planes， the post is still being delivered. Some things， it seems， never change.
One friend is a prolific postcard writer. She describes the pleasures of a postcard’s enforced briefness， the inevitable slide from the generic greeting， in large loopy letters， to the cramped scramble at the end， when the writer is suddenly caught by a thought they really want to share and they have to squish it into the dwindling space.
So much of Hanks and Ryan’s digital letters feel like this: sudden thoughts that catch them and demand to be shared， random but precise. They write to each other of bagel shops and butterflies， of Joni Mitchell and grief. The scope of a letter is small and specific， but that is what makes it intimate.
“People say things in writing that they would never say over text or even face to face，” muses my postcard philosopher. “A letter sits you down and makes you acknowledge what you most want to say to that person， with no assurance of reply. Every letter is a profession of love.”
“我什么都听不见，甚至听不见纽约街头的一丝声响，只听到自己的心跳。我有新邮件。你发来的。”
让今天的街道陷入沉寂的可能是大流行病引发的“封城”，而非梅格·瑞安在肾上腺素的作用下加快的心跳。尽管如此，诺拉·艾芙隆1998年执导的这部爱情喜剧的开场白似乎正在激起共鸣：本月登陆奈飞的这部影片掀起了一波引发怀旧情绪的重温经典风潮。
千禧一代潮流引领者多莉·奥尔德顿在推特网上宣称：“《电子情书》的电影剧本堪称完美，无一句不完美。”——并引来一大片赞同之声。
那么，一间独立经营的童书店的店主（瑞安）和掌管巴恩斯-诺布尔式连锁书店的大老板（汉克斯）之间这个看似不可能发生的因电子邮件而起的爱情故事为何紧扣我们的“封城”困境？
两个在数字聊天室相遇的纽约人在彼此几乎一无所知的情况下，交流了长长的亲密信息。职业上的敌对被数字世界的亲密抵消，但不是沉迷约会应用的人所体会的那种亲密。
电子邮件赋予了这段关系以意义，而不是反过来。鉴于瑞安饰演的角色从《傲慢与偏见》的用词中感受到了极大的快乐，使用电子邮件这样一个不浪漫的词似乎有失公允。这是数字情书。
正因为如此，世界各地与朋友、恋人分隔两处的孤单的人此刻正在观看《电子情书》。我问一位朋友，为何开始给自“封城”以来还没见过面的男友写信。她回答：“我想念吃晚饭时的聊天。”事实证明，信件最接近天马行空般的谈话。另一个朋友说：“看到信就像是听到了她的所思所想。你所能达到的最亲近的状态莫过于此。”
还有个朋友在看了英国广播公司根据萨莉·鲁尼笔下的初恋故事改编的热门电视剧《普通人》后，给前任写了封信；不过，他决定不将信发走。他承认，信中充满“悔恨、恋旧、过于矫情，很显然是我自己在消化一些事情，而不是有什么东西值得交流”。
不过这正是总体而言关于信件的真相：它们向来更多地与写信人而不是收信人有关。而在“封城”期间，这恰恰是信件的魅力所在。比电话恒久，比软视频有形，借助洇晕的墨水痕迹或是模糊的铅笔字迹，发脆抑或泛黄的纸张，它们让自己成为发信人的小小替身。你可以抱紧它们，权当抱住收信的那个人。
除了建立个人之间的联系，令人感到安慰的是，当全世界在这个极其漫长的时刻凝固，当汽车闲置在车道上，当空中不见飞机的踪迹，你知道邮件依然在被投递。有些东西似乎从未改变。
一位朋友是个多产的明信片写手，她描述了明信片强加于人的简洁所带来的乐趣：从字大行稀的泛泛问候不可避免地落入末了在局促空间里制造的混乱，那时书写者突然冒出很想与对方分享的一个念头，于是不得不将它挤进越来越狭小的空白处。
汉克斯和瑞安的许多数字情书就给人这样的感觉：突然的念头袭上心头，需要与对方分享，随意但确切。他们在信中提起百吉饼店与蝴蝶，提起乔妮·米切尔与忧伤。信件所涉及的内容细小而具体，但正因为如此才让它显得亲密。
我的那位明信片哲人朋友沉吟道：“人们用书写的方式说出他们决不会通过短信甚至当面说出的话。信件让你坐下来，让你在不确信会得到回复的情况下坦承最想对那个人说的话。每封信都是爱的表白。”（李凤芹译自英国《每日电讯报》5月12日文章）
