姐,51。。。
轻松的小说阅读环境
Site Manager
双城记英文版 - Part 2 Chapter XXI. KNITTING
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  There had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine- shop of Monsieur Defarge. As early as six o’clock in the morning, sallow faces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending over measures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the best of times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that he sold at this time. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for its influence on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. No vivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of Monsieur Defarge: but, a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark, lay hidden in the dregs of it.This had been the third morning in succession, on which there had been early drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had been begun on Monday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of early brooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and whispered and slunk about there from the time of the opening of the door, who could not have laid a piece of money on the counter to save their souls. These were to the full as interested in the place, however, as if they could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided from seat to seat, and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedy looks.Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine-shop was not visible. He was not missed; for, nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to see only Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution of wine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defaced and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had come.A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in at every place, high and low, from the king’s palace to the criminal’s gaol. Games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built towers with them, drinkers drew figures on the table with spilt drops of wine, Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her toothpick, and saw and heard something invisible and inaudible a long way off.Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. It was high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and under his swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the other a mender of roads in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two entered the wine-shop. Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows. Yet, no one had followed them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, though the eyes of every man there were turned upon them.“Good day, gentlemen!” said Monsieur Defarge.It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It elicited an answering chorus of “Good day!”“It is bad weather, gentlemen,” said Defarge, shaking his head.Upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast down their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and went out.“My wife,” said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: “I have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, called Jacques. I met him—by accident—a day and a half’s journey out of Paris. He is a good child, this mender of roads, called Jacques. Give him to drink, my wife!”A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge set wine before the mender of roads called Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company, and drank. In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread; he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking near Madame Defarge’s counter. A third man got up and went out.Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine—but, he took less than was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was no rarity—and stood waiting until the countryman had made his breakfast. He looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not even Madame Defarge, who had taken up her knitting, and was at work.“Have you finished your repast, friend?” he asked, in due season.“Yes, thank you.”“Come, then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you could occupy. It will suit you to a marvel.”Out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into a courtyard, out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garret—formerly the garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there who had gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and the white-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in at him through the chinks in the wall.Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice:“Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is the witness encountered by appointment, by me, Jacques Four. He will tell you all. Speak, Jacques Five!”The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy forehead with it, and said, “Where shall I commence, monsieur?”“Commence,” was Monsieur Defarge’s not unreasonable reply, “at the commencement.”“I saw him then, messieurs,” began the mender of roads, “a year ago this running summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by the chain. Be hold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road, the sun going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascending the hill, he hanged by the chain—like this.”Again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in which he ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had been the infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his village during a whole year.Jacques One struck in, and asked if he had ever seen the man before?“Never,” answered the mender of roads, recovering his perpendicular.Jacques Three demanded how he afterwards recognised him then?“By his tall figure,” said the mender of roads, softly, and with his finger at his nose. “When Monsieur the Marquis demands that evening, ‘Say, what is he like?’ I make response, ‘Tall as a spectre.’”“You should have said, short as a dwarf,” returned Jacques Two.“But what did I know? The deed was not then accomplished, neither did he confide in me. Observe! Under those circumstances even, I do not offer my testimony. Monsieur the Marquis indicates me with his finger, standing near our little fountain, and says, ‘To me! Bring that rascal!’ My faith, messieurs, I offer nothing.”“He is right there, Jacques,” murmured Defarge, to him who had interrupted. “Go on!”“Good!” said the mender of roads with an air of mystery. “The tall man is lost, and he is sought—how many months? Nine, ten, eleven?”“No matter, the number,” said Defarge. “He is well hidden, but at last he is unluckily found. Go on!”“I am again at work upon the hillside, and the sun is again about to go to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in the village below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes, and see coming over the hill six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tall man with his arms bound—tied to his sides—like this!”With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with his elbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him.“I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiers and their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where any spectacle is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, I see no more than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, and that they are almost black to my sight—except on the side of the sun going to bed, where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I see that their long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite side of the road, and are on the hill above it, and are like the shadows of giants. Also, I see that they are covered with dust, and that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! But when they advance quite near to me, I recognise the tall man, and he recognises me. Ah, but he would be well content to precipitate himself over the hillside once again, as on the evening when he and I first encountered, close to the same spot!”He described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.“I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does not show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with our eyes. ‘Come on!’ says the chief of that company, pointing to the village, ‘bring him fast to his tomb!’ and they bring him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with their guns—like this!”He imitated the action of a man’s being impelled forward by the butt-ends of muskets.“As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. They laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and covered with dust, but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. They bring him into the village; all the village runs to look; they take him past the mill, and up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gate open in the darkness of the night—and swallow him—like this!”He opened his mouth wide as he could, and shut it with a sounding snap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect by opening it again. Defarge said, “Go on, Jacques.”“All the village,” pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a low voice, “withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the village sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within the locks and bars of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it, except to perish. In the morning, with my tools upon my shoulder, eating my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuit by the prison, on my way to my work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. He has no hand free, to wave to me; I dare not call to him; he regards me like a dead man.”Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of all of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to the countryman’s story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, was authoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; Jacques One and Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally intent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding over the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge standing between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the light of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them to him.“Go on, Jacques,” said Defarge.“He remains up there in his iron cage some days. The village looks at him by stealth, for it is afraid. But always looks up, from a distance, at the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the work of the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned towards the prison. Formerly, they were turned towards the posting-house; now, they turned towards the prison. They whisper at the fountain, that although condemned to death he will not be executed; they say that petitions have been presented in Paris, showing that he was enraged and made mad by the death of his child; they say that a petition has been presented to the King himself. What do I know? It is possible. Perhaps yes, perhaps no.”“Listen then, Jacques,” Number One of that name sternly interposed. “Know that a petition was presented to the King and Queen. All here, yourself excepted, saw the King take it, in his carriage in the street, sitting beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at the hazard of his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition in his hand.”“And once again listen, Jacques!” said the kneeling Number Three: his fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for something—that was neither food nor drink; “the guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and struck him blows. You hear?”“I hear, messieurs.”“Go on then,” said Defarge.“Again; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain,” resumed the countryman, “that he is brought down into our country to be executed on the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whisper that because he has slain Monseigneur, and because Monseigneur was the father of his tenants—serfs—what you will—he will be executed as a parricide. One old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, armed with the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into wounds which will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will be poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally, that he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. That old man says, all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt on the life of the late King, Louis Fifteen. But how do I know if he lies? I am not a scholar.”“Listen once again then, Jacques!” said the man with the restless hand and the craving air. “The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; and nothing was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eager attention to the last—to the last. Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! And it was done—why, how old are you?”“Thirty-five,” said the mender of roads, who looked sixty.“It was done when you were more than ten years old; you might have seen it.”“Enough!” said Defarge, with grim impatience. “Long live the Devil! Go on.”“Well! Some whisper this, some whisper that; they speak of nothing else; even the fountain appears to fall to that tune. At length, on Sunday night when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from the prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street. Workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by the fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning the water.”The mender of roads looked through rather than at the low ceiling, and pointed as if he saw the gallows somewhere in the sky.“All work is stopped, all assemble there, nobody leads the cows out, the cows are there with the rest. At midday, the roll of drums. Soldiers have marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midst of many soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gag—tied so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if he laughed.” He suggested it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, from the corners of his mouth to his ears. “On the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. He is hanged there forty feet high—and is left hanging, poisoning the water.”They looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to wipe his face, on which the perspiration had started afresh while he recalled the spectacle.“It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children draw water! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it, have I said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun was going to bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, across the mill, across the prison—seemed to strike across the earth, messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it!”The hungry man gnawed one of his fingers as he looked at the other three, and his finger quivered with the craving that was on him.“That’s all, messieurs. I left at sunset (as I had been warned to do), and I walked on, that night and half next day, until I met (as I was warned I should) this comrade. With him, I came on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And here you see me!”After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said, “Good! You have acted and recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little, outside the door?”“Very willingly,” said the mender of roads, whom Defarge escorted to the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.The three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back to the garret.“How say you, Jacques?” demanded Number One. “To be registered?”“To be registered, as doomed to destruction,” returned Defarge.“Magnificent!” croaked the man with craving, “The chateau, and all the race?” inquired the first.“The chateau and all the race,” returned Defarge. “Extermination.”The hungry man repeated, in a rapturous croak, “Magnificent!” and began gnawing another finger.“Are you sure,” asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, “that no embarrassment can rise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able to decipher it—or, I ought to say, will she?”“Jacques,” returned Defarge, drawing himself up, “if madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a word of it—not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.”There was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man who hungered, asked: “Is this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so. He is very simple; is he not a little dangerous?”“He knows nothing,” said Defarge; “at least nothing more than would easily elevate himself to a gallows of the same height. I charge myself with him; let him remain with me; I will take care of him, and set him on his road. He wishes to see the fine world—the King, the Queen, and Court; let him see them on Sunday.”“What?” exclaimed the hungry man, staring. “Is it a good sign, that he wishes to see Royalty and Nobility?”“Jacques,” said Defarge; “judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him to bring it down one day.”Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found already dozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on the pallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soon asleep.Worse quarters than Defarge’s wine-shop, could easily have been found in Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for a mysterious dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was very new and agreeable. But, madame sat all day at her counter, so expressly unconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to perceive that his being there had any connexion with anything below the surface, that he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that lady might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do a murder and afterwards flay the victim, she would infallibly go through with it until the play was played out.Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted (though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany monsieur and himself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to have madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was additionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in the afternoon, still with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited to see the carriage of the King and Queen.“You work hard, madame,” said a man near her.“Yes,” answered Madame Defarge; “I have a good deal to do.”“What do you make, madame?”“Many things.”“For instance—”“For instance,” returned Madame Defarge, composedly, “shrouds.”The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended by the shining Bull’s Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxicating, that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody and everything! As if he had never heard of ubiquitous Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen, more Bull’s Eye, more lords and ladies, more Long live they all! Until he absolutely wept with sentiment. During the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company, and throughout Defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them to pieces.“Bravo!” said Defarge, clapping him on the back when it was over, like a patron; “you are a good boy!”The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful of having made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.“You are the fellow we want,” said Defarge, in his ear; “you make these fools believe that it will last for ever. Then, they are the more insolent, and it is the nearer ended.”“Hey!” cried the mender of roads, reflectively; “that’s true.”“These fools know nothing. While they despise your breath, and would stop it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather than in one of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells them. Let it deceive them then, a little longer; it cannot deceive them too much.”Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation.“As to you,” said she, “you would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?”“Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment.”“If you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?”“Truly yes, Madame.”“Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds of the finest feather: would you not?”“It is true, madame.”“You have seen both dolls and birds today,” said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent; “now go home!”
或许您还会喜欢:
如此之爱
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:2
摘要:风野的妻子并不知道衿子的住处,但是清楚他与她来往。可是妻子从不问衿子的地址和电话。话说回来,即使真被妻子询问,风野也是绝对不会说的。因为妻子的不闻不问,风野才得以安心。但是恰恰如此又给风野带来些许担忧。风野作为职业作家出道不久,上门约稿者还不多。万一他不在家,就很可能失去难得的机遇。风野以前曾打算把衿子的电话告诉一两个有交情的编辑,可又觉得这么做有些唐突也就作罢了。 [点击阅读]
妖窟魔影
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:2
摘要:当山冈圭介来到琴川河的上游地区,已是时近中午。山冈行走在岩石地带时,极为小心谨慎。如果从同上次一样的道路上通过,则很容易留下足印。山冈圭介连那足印也极力避免留下。他每一步都尽量地避开土质松软的地方,以及草地,把步子尽可能踩在土质坚硬的路面上以及岩石上,以免留下走过的痕迹。他的整个行动都小心翼翼。他深知,稍有不慎,就会导致严重的后果。山冈进入到岩石地带的中心部位。 [点击阅读]
安德的代言
作者:佚名
章节:19 人气:2
摘要:星际议会成立之后1830年,也就是新元1830年,一艘自动巡航飞船通过安赛波①发回一份报告:该飞船所探测的星球非常适宜于人类居住。人类定居的行星中,拜阿是距离它最近的一个有人口压力的行星。于是星际议会作出决议,批准拜阿向新发现的行星移民。如此一来,拜阿人就成为见证这个新世界的第一批人类成员,他们是巴西后裔,说葡萄矛浯,信奉天主教。 [点击阅读]
安德的游戏
作者:佚名
章节:84 人气:2
摘要:“我用他的眼睛来观察,用他的耳朵来聆听,我告诉你他是独特的,至少他非常接近于我们要找的人。”“这话你已经对他的哥哥说过。”“由于某些原因,他哥哥已经被测试过不符合需要,但这和他的能力无关。”“他的姐姐也是这样,我很怀疑他会不会也是这样,他的性格太过柔弱,很容易屈服于别人的意愿。”“但不会是对他的敌人。”“那么我们怎么做?将他无时不刻的置于敌人之中?”“我们没有选择。”“我想你喜欢这孩子。 [点击阅读]
安迪密恩的觉醒
作者:佚名
章节:60 人气:2
摘要:01你不应读此。如果你读这本书,只是想知道和弥赛亚[1](我们的弥赛亚)做爱是什么感觉,那你就不该继续读下去,因为你只是个窥婬狂而已。如果你读这本书,只因你是诗人那部《诗篇》的忠实爱好者,对海伯利安朝圣者的余生之事十分着迷且好奇,那你将会大失所望。我不知道他们大多数人发生了什么事。他们生活并死去,那是在我出生前三个世纪的事情了。 [点击阅读]
情人 杜拉斯
作者:佚名
章节:17 人气:2
摘要:一个与昆德拉、村上春树和张爱玲并列的小资读者、时尚标志的女作家,一个富有传奇人生经历、惊世骇俗叛逆性格、五色斑斓爱情的艺术家,一个堪称当代法国文化骄傲的作家,一个引导世界文学时尚的作家……《情人》系杜拉斯代表作之一,自传性质的小说,获一九八四年法国龚古尔文学奖。全书以法国殖民者在越南的生活为背景,描写贫穷的法国女孩与富有的中国少爷之间深沉而无望的爱情。 [点击阅读]
瓦尔登湖
作者:佚名
章节:24 人气:2
摘要:这本书的思想是崇尚简朴生活,热爱大自然的风光,内容丰厚,意义深远,语言生动,意境深邃,就像是个智慧的老人,闪现哲理灵光,又有高山流水那样的境界。书中记录了作者隐居瓦尔登湖畔,与大自然水-乳-交融、在田园生活中感知自然重塑自我的奇异历程。读本书,能引领人进入一个澄明、恬美、素雅的世界。亨利·戴维·梭罗(1817-1862),美国超验主义作家。 [点击阅读]
老妇还乡
作者:佚名
章节:3 人气:2
摘要:正文第一幕火车站一阵报时钟声后,幕徐徐升起。接着就看到“居仑”两字。显然,这是北京处隐约可见的小城的名称,一片破烂、败落的景象。车站大楼同样破败不堪,墙上标出有的州通车,有的州不通;还贴着一张破烂不堪的列车时刻表,车站还包括一间发黑的信号室,一扇门上写着:禁止入内。在北京中间是一条通往车站的马路,样子可怜得很,它也只是用笔勾勒出来。 [点击阅读]
荆棘鸟
作者:佚名
章节:30 人气:2
摘要:考琳·麦卡洛,生于澳大利亚新南威尔士州的惠灵顿。她曾从事过多种工作——旅游业、图书馆、教书;后来终于成了一名神经病理学家,曾就学于美国耶鲁大学。她的第一部小说是《蒂姆》,而《荆棘鸟》则构思了四年,作了大量的调查工作,方始动笔。此书一发表,作者便一举成名。作者是位多才多艺的人,喜欢摄影、音乐、绘画、服装裁剪等。她现定居于美国。 [点击阅读]
藏书房女尸之谜
作者:佚名
章节:19 人气:2
摘要:有些陈腐的词语只属于某些类型的小说。比如情节剧里的“秃头坏男爵”,侦探故事里的“藏书室里的尸体”。多年来我一直试图为人们熟知的主题作一些适当的改变。我为自己订立了条件:书里描写的藏书室必须属于非常正统、传统的那一类,而尸体则必须让人觉得悱恻不定、触目惊心。遵循这些原则,几年来出现在笔记本上的只有短短几行文字。 [点击阅读]
解忧杂货店
作者:佚名
章节:45 人气:2
摘要:导读这就是东野圭吾的本事东野圭吾小说普及性之所以这么高,几乎等于畅销书保证,一个不能不提的因素,即他的作品并非只有谜团,只是卖弄诡计;一个更重要的元素,即他过人的说故事能力,以及很有温度的文字书写;身为作家,强项一堆,难怪东野的创作总是多元又量产。 [点击阅读]
野性的呼唤
作者:杰克·伦敦
章节:13 人气:2
摘要:它目睹了人与人、狗与狗、强者与弱者之间冷酷无情和生死争斗,于是为了生存,它学会了只求活命、不顾道义的处世原则,变得凶悍、机智而狡诈。最后,在森林中狼群的呼唤下,巴克狼性*复萌,逃入丛林,重归荒野。在小说中,杰克·伦敦运用拟人手法,把狗眼中的世界及人类的本质刻画地淋漓尽致,反映了资本主义社会冷酷的现实和“优胜劣汰,适者生存”的客观现实。 [点击阅读]
Copyright© 2006-2019. All Rights Reserved.