《北妹》是一本由盛可以著作，天津人民出版社出版的平装图书，本书定价：26.00元，页数：282，特精心从网络上整理的一些读者的读后感，希望对大家能有帮助。

　　《北妹》精选点评：

　　●本书没有过多的评论，只有简单的叙事，打工妹的欲望被赤裸展现～钱小红留给家里的信是唯一一段疑似作者想要为其洗白和正名的文字，真是做了婊子又立牌坊，太过恶心～北妹的确是真实存在的一类人，不明白为何很多读者会对她们产生同情和怜悯之情，所谓可怜之人必有可恨之处即是如此。看本书就如同在看一部揭露底层人民人性丑陋面的片子，我接受你的存在，但我并不认可你。

　　●不知道该怎么评价它，李健说，盛可以太了解男人了。因为自己缺乏社会经验，我开始喜欢这种在我的经验之外的新奇的小说。这本书是盛可以的处女作，虽然不完美，但它表现了盛可以的一些写作特点，像非洲鼓点般，充满着蓬勃的生命里。

　　●楚地有才，于文唯盛。#如何推荐盛可以#

　　●何解要看虐心的东西

　　●对于结局很是惆怅···这个世界真折腾，什么时候活明白了也就离死不远了

　　●我總算明白了。盛可以的作品，有文字的快感，也有豐滿的生活（情節），卻欠缺最要命的思想，思想的單薄，技巧的拙劣，讓她的長篇不忍卒看。也許她寫短篇比較合適吧。

　　●没有那么多钱小红，但有好多李思江耶~

　　●底层叙事，打工浪潮，作为符号的乳房和生活不下去的城市、回不去的农村。很多问题都是浅尝辄止。不如针对某一个问题思考深入些，或许会更好。

　　●觉得花了5.99不看可惜才坚持看下去，然后觉得果然不如不看

　　●区别就是，凯鲁亚克在路上见过一些人，钱小红在路上草过一些人。

　　《北妹》读后感(一)：能够从一个断面记录这个时代的故事就很棒

　　冯唐说真正码字人人的任务应该是在角落里记录时间和空间。

　　一个变革的时代需要很多不同的侧面描述社会的不同断面。头脑日渐开放，无数的乡下打工者怀着憧憬走向城市，他们的故事在暗处但是同样精彩或者无奈。

　　《北妹》读后感(二)：推荐一看

　　以女性视角来写作的作品大多数是唯美派的。但是盛可以的作品却突出了很多生活和心里方面的描写。很真实，但是又很小说。这个作家以前没有听过，看过这本书后我还专门查阅了她的资料，蛮有意思的一个人。而且这本书还有英文版。可惜人在英国，买不到相应的英文版。该书似乎只有在澳洲有卖。很期待盛可以把这本书在Amazon出版或者自出版。希望有朝一日能在Kindle看到她的作品。

　　《北妹》读后感(三)：可以吗？

　　《北妹》是一本小说，在丽江的时候拉姆还专门叮嘱我，拿回客栈好好读完，评价一下那个女的，那个女的就是作者盛可以。还开玩笑的说这是她的情敌，她买齐了这女的出的所有书。我读了几页就无法读下去了，想着拉姆的叮嘱，这可关系到她的终生幸福，才勉强看了三十来页，文字实在惨不忍睹，无美感无诗意。封底上出现几段极尽献媚的赞词，这已成为中国图书业的通病，但是对于这本书的赞词不得不让人怀疑所有当事人的人品。

　　以下是2002年度"华语文学传媒大奖"之"最具潜力新人奖"的授奖词：她身上不同凡响的潜质，使她刚出道便成为当代文坛不可忽视的存在。她的语言尖锐而富于个性，她抵达女性生活深层景观的方式直接而有力，加上她在叙事上的训练有素，使她获得了一个良好的起点，并酝酿着一切可能的艺术突破。现在，除了她自己，已经没有任何力量可以阻止她向新的文学高度进发。

　　对吧，很操蛋的颁奖词。这书我是读不完了，很简单，浪费时间，打脏眼睛，影响肠胃。最后，我是需要给拉姆一个交代，我只想说，一个人思想的高度决定了她人生境界的高度，这女的远远在拉姆之下，不论是文字还是人格，只不过爱情有时是盲目的，与境界无关，与什么都无关。

　　《北妹》读后感(四)：在网络与现实间进出

　　认识盛可以，是在网络，那时候，她叫折荷泛舸女。网络是新锐作家们的发家所、跳板，我更愿说是摇篮，有很多人摇了十多年还在昏睡，有些人却一个筋斗翻身入云，见风就长，一日一个模样。折荷泛舸女，就是属于长得比较快的。2002年，盛可以在网络上旋空出世时，正值美女作家当道。当我在网上一些著名的文学版块屡屡与之擦肩而过时，总能感受到其灼人的风采。这使我一度怀疑，她是有备而来的、意欲分网络这一杯羹的传统写手。为此，我在《十小资批判书》中为她写过专题，嬉笑怒骂之，她也没生气。

　　跟声名大噪的安妮宝贝、赵波等小资作家不同，盛可以多了骨气，少了媚气，多了阳气，少了阴气，多了正气，少了酸气，多了空气，少了废气。她是女人中的男人，软性文学中的极品，小资集团总公司的松散层、分公司，游离于小资却又与之无限接近。这种暧昧关系注定她写出来的东东比其他小资女人走得远些。盛可以，可谓是中性小资的代表。在女人之外镶上一点英气，在颓废之外多了一层壮美。我们或可称之为“中间人”状态。她对故事的讲述通常是内省的，也是坚强的，常表现为男性化的语体与文风。这种刚柔相济型导致盛可以的形象是：时而极端女权主义地对男人不屑一顾，时而又陷入对爱情的盲目崇拜中。对习惯了小资文学的读者来说，盛可以小说的冷峻和深刻绝对是一种阅读上的诅咒，刀尖上跳舞，绝不让你轻松。它绝对具备了让你深思的内核，使你在阅读的过程中一层层增重。

　　盛可以的语言无疑精美的，上帝给了她一枝有灵性的笔和敏锐的洞察力与感染力。她对通感手法的运用相当娴熟，这使她笔下的人物多了一层耐看，也使她偏执地乐此不疲。作为网络写手出身的盛可以，其小说一般都是先在网上帖出，引来观者如堵好评如潮。然而，不到半年时间，其名字又频繁在《收获》、《天涯》、《芙蓉》、《江南》等刊物上现身。短短的一年里，盛可以，以惊人的速度和高质高产，创造了作品在网络、纸媒双丰收的神话。

　　在网上，盛可以曾经的签名档是：“写作一边是清理自己，一边是自我援助。”网上的她四处出击、风光无限，网下的她居无定所、埋头笔耕不辍。剔开数量繁多的中篇小说不论，仅长篇小说她就以每年一部的高产牢牢牵引了我们的视线。2002年有《水乳》，2003有《火宅》，2004年有《北妹》，接下来我以为盛可以会带给我们带来更多的惊喜，但时光匆逝，造化弄人，遂使热情减退、激情难再。现在，我只想说：可以兄，好久不见，我们一直等着你。

　　《北妹》读后感(五)：[转载]《纽约时报》：盛可以

　　挺好的，可以了解下作者哈～～

　　http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_670c01470100vqpw.html

　　A River's Gifts

　　When I was younger I was ashamed to admit I came from a remote village, yet I lacked the courage to claim I was from a city, so I usually said simply that I came from an outlying township. Now I must tell the truth, that I was born in an isolated village.

　　Let me start from the banks of a humble river where my life began and which is the true source of my writing. My fellow villagers live and while away their time in a monotonous environment completely cut off from the outside world. I know their lives only too well. If I had not harbored a distant dream from a very young age I would have shared their fate.

　　In the northeastern part of Hunan Province in an area called Yiyang a river passes a place that is not found on maps and is only known to the people who live there. This humble river passes through the ancient township of Lanxi, so, like the haphazard naming of village children, the river is called the Lanxi River.

　　All my memories of a joyful childhood and the pains of growing up are intertwined with the river. She keeps all of my secrets.

　　To this day I have never seen such a beautiful river as the Lanxi River, with its sweet translucent waters, verdant embankments and weeping willows gently sweeping the water’s surface. In the 1970s, skiffs with white sails still languidly glided by while barefooted boat trackers trudged along the sandy verges. Poverty and poetic beauty are inseparable twins — whenever this image resurfaces in my conscience, more often it is the sorrow of life that comes to my mind.

　　The Cultural Revolution, the “smashing of the Gang of Four,” the reform and opening up — these momentous events did not make much impression on me as I grew up in this isolated rural setting. I just remember my mother scrounging for rice to feed her family and the look of despair on her face whenever she returned empty-handed; I remember the exquisite aroma of pork and lard; I remember going to school barefoot, and the chill in the air as my bare feet squished in the muddy roads is as vivid today as it was back then; I remember every semester my school fees were in arrears until my mother was able to sell off a basket of eggs. But at the time, I was too young to worry about the hardships of life. The river brought me unlimited childish pleasure — swimming, fishing, catching shrimps, sailing.

　　I cannot agree with people who praise the poetic beauty of the countryside. I cannot agree with them because I know, in reality, life in the countryside is all about poverty and hunger.

　　The cruel and harsh elements in my literary works often stymie the romantic feelings people have for rural life. I can’t help that. It’s the reality I grew up with and I don’t want to dress it up with a layer of poetic beauty.

　　Of course, I was blessed to be born in that remote village, and to spend my childhood by the crystal clear river. Looking back at my path from the village gives rise to a complicated happiness. The river gave me a humble yet unique life experience — as if it was preparing me for my literary journey. Whatever life has given me, be it poverty, hunger, misfortune or tragedy, for me, they are treasures. I will be forever grateful for, and feel blessed by these treasures.

　　Having a complete set of textbooks was a dream for schoolchildren in the isolated countryside. My first two encounters with literature and reading were not honorable events and I will never forget them.

　　The first took place when I was 6 or 7. One day, Mother and I were on our way back from a visit to my grandmother. We were in the Yiyang county seat waiting for a boat to take us back to Lanxi. I stood at a bookstand reading comic books. I was only halfway through when the boat arrived. My heart began to race because I knew what I was about to do. I was horrified with my decision. We got on to the boat, and for a long while I lost my voice. In my pocket, my hand was clenching the thin copy of the comic book version of The Three Kingdoms, a classical Chinese novel written in the 14th century. That was the first time I was captivated by drawings because at the time I could read very few words.

　　The second encounter relates to my grandfather’s treasure box. My grandfather turned 100 this year but he is still very healthy. He is an aloof figure. He never paid attention to the younger generation, and never helped us with our studies. He was rarely home. Even when he came home, he would take a chair outside and just read, regardless of whether or not it was busy in the fields. After reading, he would put the book back in his treasure box, lock it and then take to the road again.

　　It was when I was in high school. One day he stepped out of his room without locking the door. I sneaked in and opened his treasure box. There were some bottles and a few well-read books. The book I randomly picked up was a kung fu novel by Louis Cha, a famous Hong Kong writer. I flipped through the book and selectively read the passages about romance and kung fu fighting. After I finished, I carefully returned the book. The reading experience was satisfying. That was probably the first time I felt the magical power of words and literature.

　　If I were asked to identify the moment of my literary enlightenment, I would have to refer to these two stolen literary encounters.

　　Despite having lived in big cities for many years, I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi. Nine years ago when, in a large city, I decided to write a novel, I first of all thought of the Lanxi River and the people whose livelihoods depend on the river. I wrote of women whose fates were in the hands of others, I wrote of men who lost their lives to the constraints of tradition, I wrote of women who battled inequities to achieve better lives, and those silent and obedient souls who live and die unnoticed.

　　ince China began economic reforms in 1978, countless girls like Qian Xiaohong, the protagonist of my first novel, Northern Girls, have left the rural areas for the big city lights. Their struggles to find their place in the new world brought dramatic social changes, affecting family relationships, fashion trends and moral values. Northern Girls reflects the life experience of these women and the process of urbanization. While I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi, I am conflicted because I shudder to think that I could become one of my fellow villagers and live that dreadful life of theirs. I am constantly driven by a desire to break away and escape to an even more distant place.

　　When a lonely river flows out of the village, it flows past a variety of landscapes along the way, winding and twisting, and its relation with the world changes and its loneliness grows. Three years ago I started to work on my new novel, Death Fugue. My perspective is different, but the loneliness and despair remain the same. Death Fugue is a twisted fable about revolution, faith, sexual taboos and utopia, how the desire for freedom brings only confinement and how an initial rebellion against the ruling power was transformed into a ruling power. I want to write about how intellectuals face the destruction of faith after social turmoil, their passiveness and their struggles. Through my book, I want to retrieve the historical memories that are about to be washed away by the river of time.

　　I had thought life would be better and people would be happier and friendlier when they had more money. However, I was wrong. A section of the Lanxi River has been carved off for fish farming and turned into a filthy ditch almost 10 kilometers long. The river water is no longer suitable for drinking or swimming. Worse, the water now is full of blood flukes. No one dares to get into the water any more.

　　When a river stops flowing, its beauty dies, the tranquil and simple country life disappears and people start to change. I feel the most precious thing in my life has been destroyed. Destroyed by what？ I don’t know. No one can truly understand my sadness. What happened？ I put my questions and sighs in my novels. Several kilometers of my journey home are alongside the Lanxi River. I always sit on the side with a river view. All kinds of feelings well up when I gaze at the water, when I gaze at the disappearing country life and when I gaze at myself in the past. Slowly, an idea began to grow — I will use my pen to write about the beauty of a living river, to revive the crystal clear Lanxi River and realize its dream of joining the ocean.

　　I believe there are many similar humble villages and rivers in this world, and many ordinary people being neglected, forgotten and abandoned; I believe every one of us is a humble river, being carried forward by loneliness, and we move forward, regardless of whether we have dreams or not, regardless of whether we have ambition or not; I believe no life deserves to be forgotten and that is what I believe is the value of my writing.