《夜色温柔:TENDER IS THE NIGHT(英文朗读版)》20世纪美国著名小说家F·S·菲茨杰拉德代表作,是一部融个人生活经历中的不幸而演化为整个人类社会的悲剧,并把浸透于小说字里行间的悲剧情感物化为一种审美情趣的佳作。本书为英文未删减原版,小32开经典开本,便于随身携带随时阅读,同时配以英文朗读,下载方式详见图书封底二维码信息。让读者在感受原著风貌的同时,提升英语阅读水平。
《夜色温柔:TENDER IS THE NIGHT(英文朗读版)》是一部描写关于爱情如何幻灭的复杂而有趣的书,它描写了对于富有梦幻色彩的理想追求直至破灭过程的故事。这部以梦幻破灭、人生颓败为主题的爱情小说,是美国作家菲茨杰拉德一部带有自我体验的文学作品,情节曲折,寓意深刻,隐含忽明忽暗的抒情幽伤,是“一战”后美国“中产阶级”精神生活的。
本书为英文原版,小32开经典开本,便于随身携带随时阅读,同时配以英文朗读,详见图书封底二维码信息,让读者在感受原著风貌的同时,提升英语阅读水平。
Tender Is the Night is a novel by American writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was his fourth and final completed novel, and was regarded the greatest book of Fitzgerald. The novel almost mirrors the events of Fitzgerald and Zelda’s lives. In 1932, Fitzgerald’s wife Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was hospitalized for schizophrenia in Baltimore, Maryland. The author rented the La Paix estate in the suburb of Towson to work on this book, the story of the rise and fall of Dick Diver, and his wife Nicole.
Rosemary Hoyt, a beautiful eighteen-year-old movie starlet, on vacation with her mother, arrives at a rather deserted portion of the French Riviera. There, Rosemary meets Dick Diver, a handsome American psychologist in his thirties with whom she instantly falls in love. Dick and his wife, Nicole, are exemplars of grace and sophistication, and move among a social set of similarly extraordinary people. Rosemary becomes part of this world, and in the gay times that follow, Dick begins to reciprocate Rosemary’s feelings for him. Everything goes splendidly until, after an alcoholic friend of the Divers accidentally kills a man, Rosemary discovers Dick comforting Nicole, who has had a mental breakdown…
F·S·菲茨杰拉德,、作家,20世纪伟大的美国作家之一。1896年9月24日生于明尼苏达州圣保罗市。他年轻时试写过剧本。1920年出版了长篇小说《人间天堂》,一举成名,小说出版后他与吉姗尔达结婚。婚后携妻寄居巴黎,结识了安德逊、等多位美国作家。1925年《了不起的盖茨比》问世,奠定了他在现代的地位,成了20年代“”的发言人和“”的代表作家之一。
On the pleasant shore of the French Riviera, about half way between Marseilles and the Italian border, stands a large, proud, rose-colored hotel. Deferential palms cool its flushed façade, and before it stretches a short dazzling beach. Lately it has become a summer resort of notable and fashionable people; a decade ago it was almost deserted after its English clientele went north in April. Now, many bungalows cluster near it, but when this story begins only the cupolas of a dozen old villas rotted like water lilies among the massed pines between Gausse’s Hôtel des Étrangers and Cannes, five miles away.
The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one. In the early morning the distant image of Cannes, the pink and cream of old fortifications, the purple Alps that bounded Italy, were cast across the water and lay quavering in the ripples and rings sent up by sea-plants through the clear shallows. Before eight a man came down to the beach in a blue bathrobe and with much preliminary application to his person of the chilly water, and much grunting and loud breathing, floundered a minute in the sea. When he had gone, beach and bay were quiet for an hour. Merchantmen crawled westward on the horizon; bus boys shouted in the hotel court; the dew dried upon the pines. In another hour the horns of motors began to blow down from the winding road along the low range of the Maures, which separates the littoral from true Provençal France.
A mile from the sea, where pines give way to dusty poplars, is an isolated railroad stop, whence one June morning in 1925 a victoria brought a woman and her daughter down to Gausse’s Hotel. The mother’s face was of a fading prettiness that would soon be patted with broken veins; her expression was both tranquil and aware in a pleasant way. However, one’s eyes moved on quickly to her daughter, who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine high forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet, and shining, the color of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood—she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.
As sea and sky appeared below them in a thin, hot line the mother said: “Something tells me we’re not going to like this place.”
“I want to go home anyhow,” the girl answered. They both spoke cheerfully but were obviously without direction and bored by the fact—moreover, just any direction would not do. They wanted high excitement, not from the necessity of stimulating jaded nerves but with the avidity of prize-winning schoolchildren who deserved their vacations.
“We’ll stay three days and then go home. I’ll wire right away for steamer tickets.”
At the hotel the girl made the reservation in idiomatic but rather flat French, like something remembered. When they were installed on the ground floor she walked into the glare of the French windows and out a few steps onto the stone veranda that ran the length of the hotel. When she walked she carried herself like a ballet-dancer, not slumped down on her hips but held up in the small of her back. Out there the hot light clipped close her shadow and she retreated—it was too bright to see. Fifty yards away the Mediterranean yielded up its pigments, moment by moment, to the brutal sunshine; below the balustrade a faded Buick cooked on the hotel drive.
Indeed, of all the region only the beach stirred with activity. Three British nannies sat knitting the slow pattern of Victorian England, the pattern of the forties, the sixties, and the eighties, into sweaters and socks, to the tune of gossip as formalized as incantation; closer to the sea a dozen persons kept house under striped umbrellas, while their dozen children pursued unintimidated fish through the shallows or lay naked and glistening with cocoanut oil out in the sun.
说实话,我是一个非常挑剔的读者,尤其是对于经典文学,我更倾向于那种能让我沉浸其中,忘记时间流逝的体验。我希望阅读过程能成为一种逃离日常的仪式。这本书的整体调性,似乎完美地契合了这种需求。它不是那种情节跌宕起伏、让你肾上腺素飙升的类型,而更像是一种缓慢渗透、层层深入的体验。在不同的时间段阅读它,会有不同的感悟。比如清晨时分,它可能显得有些疏离和清冷;但到了深夜,当外界的一切喧嚣都沉寂下去,只有自己的心跳声相伴时,书中的情绪和氛围就会以一种更加私密的方式触达内心。这种需要主动去挖掘和体会的“深度”,才是真正吸引我的地方。它要求读者付出专注力,但回报也是丰厚的,让你觉得自己的时间投入是值得的,收获的远不止于故事本身。
评分这本书给我的整体感受,可以用“细腻的纹理”来形容。它不只是讲述了一个故事,更像是在描绘一幅幅充满时代特征和个人情感的画卷,笔触极其考究,哪怕是最微不足道的场景和对话,都似乎经过了反复的打磨。阅读(或聆听)它,就像是走进了一个华丽却又充满脆弱感的旧日世界,里面的人物在光影交错间展现着他们最真实、也最矛盾的一面。这种复杂性,让人感到真实,因为生活本身就是由无数个不完美的瞬间构成的。我欣赏的是它没有试图去美化或简化人性,而是忠实地呈现了那些美丽与残酷并存的状态。读完后,那种淡淡的忧伤和对逝去时光的怀念感会久久萦绕,让人忍不住想重温,去寻找那些之前可能忽略的、隐藏在华丽辞藻下的更深层的叹息。
评分这次选择听这个英文朗读版,主要还是冲着原汁原味的韵律感去的。我个人认为,很多文学作品的魅力,有很大一部分是藏在作者精心雕琢的句式和节奏里的,翻译过来难免会损失掉那种微妙的张力和情绪的起伏。听着标准的英式发音(或者美式,尚未仔细分辨,但绝对是教科书级别的清晰度),那些复杂的长句不再是阅读时的负担,反而变成了一种流畅的旋律。它像是一位技艺高超的音乐家在演奏一首复杂的乐章,每一个停顿、每一个重音都拿捏得恰到好处,让原本需要反复揣摩的意境,能瞬间通过听觉被捕捉。对于提升听力自然是有极大的帮助,但更重要的是,它让我对语言本身的“音乐性”有了更深的体会,仿佛在欣赏一出精美的戏剧,只是这次的舞台,完全建立在耳朵的感知之上。
评分这本书的封面设计简直是一场视觉的盛宴,那种深邃的夜蓝色调,配合着烫金的字体,立刻就给人一种高贵而又神秘的感觉。拿在手里,纸张的质感也相当不错,厚实而又不失细腻,翻动的过程中能感受到一种对待阅读体验的尊重。我一直很喜欢这种精心制作的实体书,它不仅仅是文字的载体,更像是一件艺术品。每次翻开它,都像是进入了一个被精心布置过的空间,那种等待被揭开的故事的氛围感一下子就被营造出来了。阅读前,我通常会花上几分钟仔细端详封面和封底的设计细节,比如扉页上的小插图,或者作者简介旁边的留白处理,这些看似微小的元素,恰恰是区分一本“普通书”和一本“值得珍藏的书”的关键所在。尤其是朗读版,对于我这种对原著语言韵律有追求的人来说,选择一个好的版本至关重要,而这个版本的整体呈现,从触感受到视觉,都传递出一种“精品”的气息,让人迫不及待想要深入其中探索。
评分我很少会去主动对比不同版本的阅读体验,但这次的朗读版本,确实让我在某些细节上有了新的认知。比如某些特定词汇在朗读者口中被强调的方式,让我突然意识到了作者在那个特定语境下,可能想要传达的更深层次的讽刺或柔情。这种“被引导”的发现过程,比我自己干巴巴地翻字典查阅要生动得多。它提供了一个优秀的示范,展示了如何用语言的温度和色彩来描绘场景和人物的内心活动。对于我这种文字工作者来说,这无疑是一堂生动的“大师课”。它不仅是消费作品,更是一种学习如何运用语言的技巧,如何构建情绪的氛围。每次听完一个章节,我都会停下来,回味一下刚才朗读者的处理方式,琢磨着这种表达的精妙之处,这种互动性,是我在阅读普通文本时难以获得的。
评分挺不错的,还没有发现有错印的,用来给自己学习英语用的。
评分好,挺喜欢的,下次还买,还买哦,还在京东
评分书特别特别薄,和图片厚度完全不符,感觉受到了欺骗
评分印刷清晰,挺好的,不错
评分挺不错的书 小巧方便 纸质也不错 微微泛黄也有利于缓解视觉疲劳 正品没的说 买来备考 这次必胜
评分正版书籍,整体上很不错的。
评分赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞赞
评分学习学习,学习学习
评分买给儿子暑假读的书,他很喜欢。
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