Never Let Me Go (Vintage International) 石黑一雄：别让我走 2017诺贝尔文学奖得主作品 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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Kazuo Ishiguro（石黑一雄） 著

图书标签:

• 石黑一雄
• 别让我走
• 科幻
• 反乌托邦
• 克隆
• 爱情
• 伦理
• 英国文学
• 诺贝尔文学奖
• 小说

出版社： Vintage Books USA

ISBN：9781400078776

版次：2

商品编码：19045218

包装：平装

出版时间：2006-03-14

用纸：胶版纸

页数：288

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：13.21x1.52x20.32cm

编辑推荐

布克奖提名、欧洲文学奖得主

From The Washington Post
Kazuo Ishiguro's strange, and strangely affecting, new novel revolves around three people whom we first meet as children and whose fates are decided in early adulthood. It is an exceedingly difficult novel to review because essential aspects of it are also essential to the complex mystery at its core, so discussing it almost immediately becomes a delicate balance between what can and cannot be revealed. Believing as I strongly do that readers must be allowed to discover a book's secrets for themselves, guided by the author's hand, rather than have those secrets gratuitously spilled by a reviewer, I shall err on the side of silence, so please bear with me.
Never Let Me Go is set in an undisclosed time -- not in the future, though the novel pays more than a slight bow to science fiction, perhaps between the 1950s and the 1970s -- at a place in the British countryside called Hailsham. It is a school, but a school unlike any other. It was intended to be "a shining beacon, an example of how we might move to a more humane and better way of doing things." The teachers are called "guardians" and the students, though that is what they are called, are neither ordinary students nor ordinary children. They come to Hailsham at a very early age and stay there until, as older teenagers, they are permitted to live in "the Cottages" or "the White Mansion" or "Poplar Farm," halfway houses from which they make tentative steps into the real world.
The narrator of the novel is Kathy, or Kath, and the two other principal characters are her close friends and occasional rivals, Ruth and Tommy. She is "thirty-one years old, and . . . a carer now for over eleven years." What is a carer? One of the novel's mysteries, not really to be solved until two-thirds of the way through; suffice it to say that it's a difficult, emotionally and physically wearing job. Ruth and Tommy, approximately her own age, are "donors," but that mystery, too, must be left to Ishiguro to solve.
In any event, for most of the novel Ishiguro is primarily concerned with the three as children and with the odd world they inhabit at Hailsham. The school, or institution, or whatever one cares to call it, is located on a large parcel of beautiful land, isolated from the outer world. Its students are made to understand that "we were all very special," that "we were different from our guardians, and also from the normal people outside." Their futures are hinted at but not faced head-on: "We hated the way our guardians, usually so on top of everything, became so awkward whenever we came near this territory. It unnerved us to see them change like that." They have a "special chance," but they have only the vaguest idea what that might be.
They are so caught up in the rituals and routines of Hailsham, though, that they have little time for speculation about the distant time of adulthood. They excitedly await "Exchanges," for example: "Four times a year -- spring, summer, autumn, winter -- we had a kind of big exhibition-cum-sale of all the things we'd been creating in the three months since the last Exchange. Paintings, drawings, pottery; all sorts of 'sculptures' made from whatever was the craze of the day -- bashed-up cans, maybe, or bottle tops stuck onto cardboard." Each child is given "Exchange Tokens" with which he or she can "buy work done by students in your own year," from which they form collections that become precious mementos of their time at Hailsham.
The very best products of their creative labors go to "the Gallery." None of them has ever seen it or even knows where it is, but the pieces for it are regularly chosen by a woman whose name they do not know -- "we called her 'Madame' because she was French or Belgian -- there was a dispute as to which -- and that was what the guardians always called her" -- and having one's work selected is regarded as a great honor. They also know that Miss Emily, the head of Hailsham, told one student "that things like pictures, poetry, all that kind of stuff, she said they revealed what you were like inside. She said they revealed your soul."
Besides the Exchanges, the children look forward to the Sales, which "were important to us because that was how we got hold of things from outside." Every month "a big white van" brings the flotsam and jetsam of the outside world:
"Looking back now, it's funny to think we got so worked up, because usually the Sales were a big disappointment. There'd be nothing remotely special and we'd spend our tokens just renewing stuff that was wearing out or broken with more of the same. But the point was, I suppose, we'd all of us in the past found something special at a Sale, something that had become special: a jacket, a watch, a pair of craft scissors never used but kept proudly next to a bed. We'd all found something like that at one time, and so however much we tried to pretend otherwise, we couldn't ever shake off the old feelings of hope and excitement."
Too, the Sales are a way of connecting to the world outside: "at that stage in our lives, any place beyond Hailsham was like a fantasy land; we had only the haziest notions of the world outside and about what was and wasn't possible there." Hailsham is a closed circle beyond which they are not permitted to venture, with the result that the larger world becomes the subject of apprehension as well as curiosity: The children are "fearful of the world around us, and -- no matter how much we despised ourselves for it -- unable quite to let each other go."
That theme, which recurs throughout the book, is summarized for Kathy by a long-playing record she owned for a while -- eventually, and mysteriously, it vanished -- called "Songs After Dark," by a singer named Judy Bridgewater (fictitious, as best I can determine), one track of which is a song titled "Never Let Me Go." The students have been told "it was completely impossible for any of us to have babies," but even as a very young child Kathy dreams of having one:
"What was so special about this song? Well, the thing was, I didn't used to listen properly to the words; I just waited for that bit that went: 'Baby, baby, never let me go. . . .' And what I'd imagined was a woman who'd been told she couldn't have babies, who'd really, really wanted them all her life. Then there's a sort of miracle and she has a baby, and she holds this baby very close to her and walks around singing: 'Baby, never let me go. . .' partly because she's so happy, but also because she's so afraid something will happen, that the baby will get ill or be taken away from her. Even at the time, I realized this couldn't be right, that this interpretation didn't fit with the rest of the lyrics. But that wasn't an issue with me. The song was about what I said, and I used to listen to it again and again, on my own, whenever I got the chance."
One time Kathy is alone in her room, playing the song, "swaying about slowly in time to the song, holding an imaginary baby to my breast." Then "something made me realize I wasn't alone, and I opened my eyes to find myself staring at Madame framed in the doorway. . . . She was out in the corridor, standing very still, her head angled to one side to give her a view of what I was doing inside. And the odd thing was she was crying. It might even have been one of her sobs that had come through the song to jerk me out of my dream." When she tells Tommy about this, he says: "Maybe Madame can read minds. She's strange. Maybe she can see right inside you."
What Madame thinks she sees will not be revealed for many pages, but it gets right to the essence of this quite wonderful novel, the best Ishiguro has written since the sublime The Remains of the Day. It is almost literally a novel about humanity: what constitutes it, what it means, how it can be honored or denied. These little children, and the adults they eventually become, are brought up to serve humanity in the most astonishing and selfless ways, and the humanity they achieve in so doing makes us realize that in a new world the word must be redefined. Ishiguro pulls the reader along to that understanding at a steady, insistent pace. If the guardians at Hailsham "timed very carefully and deliberately everything they told us, so that we were always just too young to understand properly the latest piece of information," by the same token Ishiguro carefully and deliberately unfolds Hailsham's secrets one by one, piece by piece, as if he were slowly peeling an artichoke.

内容简介

From the Booker Prize-winning author of The Remains of the Day comes a devastating new novel of innocence, knowledge, and loss. As children Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy were students at Hailsham, an exclusive boarding school secluded in the English countryside. It was a place of mercurial cliques and mysterious rules where teachers were constantly reminding their charges of how special they were. Now, years later, Kathy is a young woman. Ruth and Tommy have reentered her life. And for the first time she is beginning to look back at their shared past and understand just what it is that makes them special–and how that gift will shape the rest of their time together. Suspenseful, moving, beautifully atmospheric, Never Let Me Go is another classic by the author of The Remains of the Day.

作者简介

Kazuo Ishiguro is the author of five previous novels, including The Remains of the Day, which won the Booker Prize and became an international best seller. His work has been translated into twenty-eight languages. In 1995 he received an Order of the British Empire for service to literature, and in 1998 was named a Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French government. He lives in London with his wife and daughter.

　　石黑一雄，著名日裔英国小说家。曾获得了在英语文学里享有盛誉的“布克奖”。他的文体以细腻优美著称，几乎每部小说都被提名或得奖，其作品已被翻译成二十八种语言。
　　所获奖项：
　　1989年，石黑一雄获得了在英语文学里享有盛誉的“布克奖”。石黑一雄的文体以细腻优美著称，几乎每部小说都被提名或得奖，其作品已被翻译成二十八种语言。
　　石黑一雄年轻时即享誉世界文坛，与鲁西迪、奈波尔被称为“英国文坛移民三雄”，以“国际主义作家”自称。曾被英国皇室授勋为文学骑士，并获授法国艺术文学骑士勋章。
　　虽然拥有日本和英国双重的文化背景，但石黑一雄却是极为少数的、不专以移民或是国族认同作为小说题材的亚裔作家之一。即使评论家们总是想方设法，试图从他的小说中找寻出日本文化的神髓，或是耙梳出后殖民理论的蛛丝马迹，但事实上，石黑一雄本人从来不刻意去操作亚裔的族群认同，而更以身为一个国际主义的作家来自诩。
　　对石黑一雄而言，小说乃是一个国际化的文学载体，而在一个日益全球化的现代世界中，要如何才能突破地域的疆界，写出一本对于生活在任何一个文化背景之下的人们，都能够产生意义的小说，才是他一向努力的目标。因此，石黑一雄与并称为“英国文坛移民三雄”的鲁西迪、奈波尔相比，便显得大不相同了。

精彩书评

"A page turner and a heartbreaker, a tour de force of knotted tension and buried anguish.” —Time

“A Gothic tour de force. . . . A tight, deftly controlled story . . . . Just as accomplished [as The Remains of the Day] and, in a very different way, just as melancholy and alarming.” —The New York Times

"Elegaic, deceptively lovely. . . . As always, Ishiguro pulls you under." —Newsweek

“Superbly unsettling, impeccably controlled . . . . The book’s irresistible power comes from Ishiguro’s matchless ability to expose its dark heart in careful increments.” —Entertainment Weekly

前言/序言

My name is Kathy H. I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve been a carer now for over eleven years. That sounds long enough, I know, but actually they want me to go on for another eight months, until the end of this year. That’ll make it almost exactly twelve years. Now I know my being a carer so long isn’t necessarily because they think I’m fantastic at what I do. There are some really good carers who’ve been told to stop after just two or three years. And I can think of one carer at least who went on for all of fourteen years despite being a complete waste of space. So I’m not trying to boast. But then I do know for a fact they’ve been pleased with my work, and by and large, I have too. My donors have always tended to do much better than expected. Their recovery times have been impressive, and hardly any of them have been classified as “agitated,” even before fourth donation. Okay, maybe I am boasting now. But it means a lot to me, being able to do my work well, especially that bit about my donors staying “calm.” I’ve developed a kind of instinct around donors. I know when to hang around and comfort them, when to leave them to themselves; when to listen to everything they have to say, and when just to shrug and tell them to snap out of it.
Anyway, I’m not making any big claims for myself. I know carers, working now, who are just as good and don’t get half the credit. If you’re one of them, I can understand how you might get resentful—about my bedsit, my car, above all, the way I get to pick and choose who I look after. And I’m a Hailsham student—which is enough by itself sometimes to get people’s backs up. Kathy H., they say, she gets to pick and choose, and she always chooses her own kind: people from Hailsham, or one of the other privileged estates. No wonder she has a great record. I’ve heard it said enough, so I’m sure you’ve heard it plenty more, and maybe there’s something in it. But I’m not the first to be allowed to pick and choose, and I doubt if I’ll be the last. And anyway, I’ve done my share of looking after donors brought up in every kind of place. By the time I finish, remember, I’ll have done twelve years of this, and it’s only for the last six they’ve let me choose.
And why shouldn’t they? Carers aren’t machines. You try and do your best for every donor, but in the end, it wears you down. You don’t have unlimited patience and energy. So when you get a chance to choose, of course, you choose your own kind. That’s natural. There’s no way I could have gone on for as long as I have if I’d stopped feeling for my donors every step of the way. And anyway, if I’d never started choosing, how would I ever have got close again to Ruth and Tommy after all those years?
But these days, of course, there are fewer and fewer donors left who I remember, and so in practice, I haven’t been choosing that much. As I say, the work gets a lot harder when you don’t have that deeper link with the donor, and though I’ll miss being a carer, it feels just about right to be finishing at last come the end of the year.
Ruth, incidentally, was only the third or fourth donor I got to choose. She already had a carer assigned to her at the time, and I remember it taking a bit of nerve on my part. But in the end I managed it, and the instant I saw her again, at that recovery centre in Dover, all our differences—while they didn’t exactly vanish—seemed not nearly as important as all the other things: like the fact that we’d grown up together at Hailsham, the fact that we knew and remembered things no one else did. It’s ever since then, I suppose, I started seeking out for my donors people from the past, and whenever I could, people from Hailsham.
There have been times over the years when I’ve tried to leave Hailsham behind, when I’ve told myself I shouldn’t look back so much. But then there came a point when I just stopped resisting. It had to do with this particular donor I had once, in my third year as a carer; it was his reaction when I mentioned I was from Hailsham. He’d just come through his third donation, it hadn’t gone well, and he must have known he wasn’t going to make it. He could hardly breathe, but he looked towards me and said: “Hailsham. I bet that was a beautiful place.” Then the next morning, when I was making conversation to keep his mind off it all, and I asked where he’d grown up, he mentioned some place in Dorset and his face beneath the blotches went into a completely new kind of grimace. And I realised then how desperately he didn’t want reminded. Instead, he wanted to hear about Hailsham.
So over the next five or six days, I told him whatever he wanted to know, and he’d lie there, all hooked up, a gentle smile breaking through. He’d ask me about the big things and the little things. About our guardians, about how we each had our own collection chests under our beds, the football, the rounders, the little path that took you all round the outside of the main house, round all its nooks and crannies, the duck pond, the food, the view from the Art Room over the fields on a foggy morning. Sometimes he’d make me say things over and over; things I’d told him only the day before, he’d ask about like I’d never told him. “Did you have a sports pavilion?” “Which guardian was your special favourite?” At first I thought this was just the drugs, but then I realised his mind was clear enough. What he wanted was not just to hear about Hailsham, but to remember Hailsham, just like it had been his own childhood. He knew he was close to completing and so that’s what he was doing: getting me to describe things to him, so they’d really sink in, so that maybe during those sleepless nights, with the drugs and the pain and the exhaustion, the line would blur between what were my memories and what were his. That was when I first understood, really understood, just how lucky we’d been—Tommy, Ruth, me, all the rest of us.
.
Driving around the country now, I still see things that will remind me of Hailsham. I might pass the corner of a misty field, or see part of a large house in the distance as I come down the side of a valley, even a particular arrangement of poplar trees up on a hillside, and I’ll think: “Maybe that’s it! I’ve found it! This actually is Hailsham!” Then I see it’s impossible and I go on driving, my thoughts drifting on elsewhere. In particular, there are those pavilions. I spot them all over the country, standing on the far side of playing fields, little white prefab buildings with a row of windows unnaturally high up, tucked almost under the eaves. I think they built a whole lot like that in the fifties and sixties, which is probably when ours was put up. If I drive past one I keep looking over to it for as long as possible, and one day I’ll crash the car like that, but I keep doing it. Not long ago I was driving through an empty stretch of Worcestershire and saw one beside a cricket ground so like ours at Hailsham I actually turned the car and went back for a second look.
We loved our sports pavilion, maybe because it reminded us of those sweet little cottages people always had in picture books when we were young. I can remember us back in the Juniors, pleading with guardians to hold the next lesson in the pavilion instead of the usual room. Then by the time we were in Senior 2—when we were twelve, going on thirteen—the pavilion had become the place to hide out with your best friends when you wanted to get away from the rest of Hailsham.
The pavilion was big enough to take two separate groups without them bothering each other—in the summer, a third group could hang about out on the veranda. But ideally you and your friends wanted the place just to yourselves, so there was often jockeying and arguing. The guardians were always telling us to be civilised about it, but in practice, you needed to have some strong personalities in your group to stand a chance of getting the pavilion during a break or free period. I wasn’t exactly the wilting type myself, but I suppose it was really because of Ruth we got in there as often as we did.
Usually we just spread ourselves around the chairs and benches—there’d be five of us, six if Jenny B. came along—and had a good gossip. There was a kind of conversation that could only happen when you were hidden away in the pavilion; we might discuss something that was worrying us, or we might end up screaming with laughter, or in a furious row. Mostly, it was a way to unwind for a while with your closest friends.
On the particular afternoon I’m now thinking of, we were standing up on stools and benches, crowding around the high windows. That gave us a clear view of the North Playing Field where about a dozen boys from our year and Senior 3 had gathered to play football. There was bright sunshine, but it must have been raining earlier that day because I can remember how the sun was glinting on the muddy surface of the grass.
Someone said we shouldn’t be so obvious about watching, but we hardly moved back at all. Then Ruth said: “He doesn’t suspect a thing. Look at him. He really doesn’t suspect a thing.”
When she said this, I looked at her and searched for signs of disapproval about what the boys were going to do to Tommy. But the next second Ruth gave a little laugh and said: “The idiot!”
And I realised that for Ruth and the others, whatever the boys chose to do was pretty remote from us; whether we approved or not didn’t come into it. We were gathered around the windows at that moment not because we relished the prospect of seeing Tommy get humiliated yet again, but just becaus...

好的，这是一本完全不涉及石黑一雄《别让我走》内容的图书简介，力求详尽且自然流畅。 《时间的回响：探寻人类文明的失落旋律》 作者：艾莉亚·文森特 出版社：星轨文化 出版年份：2024年 装帧：精装，附赠手绘插图集 页数：680页 ISBN：978-1-94772-XXXX-X --- 内容简介： 一段跨越千年的史诗，一次对存在本质的深邃叩问。 《时间的回响》并非一部传统的历史编年史，而是一部宏大而细腻的“未完成”文明的挽歌。艾莉亚·文森特以其令人惊叹的叙事驾驭能力和对人类情感的深刻洞察力，构建了一个虚构的，却又无比真实的“亚特兰蒂斯后文明时代”。 故事的舞台设定在公元三千年，地球经历了一场被称为“大寂静”的全球性信息崩溃事件，使得数千年的数字和书面记录几乎化为乌有。人类社会被迫退回到一种高度依赖口述传统、符号解读和碎片化考古发现的阶段。我们的主角，年轻的符号学家卡兰·萨尔，隶属于一个致力于重建“前寂静时代”知识体系的秘密机构——“记忆守护者”。 卡兰的使命并非简单地拼凑历史碎片，而是要解读那些被刻意隐藏或被时间磨损的“回响”——那些在文明衰落前夕，由一群被称为“编织者”的哲学家、艺术家和科学家留下的隐晦信息。这些信息以复杂的音乐结构、难以破解的几何图形，以及只存在于特定天文现象下才能显现的文字符号形式存在。 第一部：废墟之歌 故事始于卡兰在被海水淹没的旧大陆核心区——“沉寂之城”的探索。他发现了一个保存完好的地下档案馆，其中唯一的“活物”是一个古老的机械钟，它并非用来计时，而是根据恒星运行规律发出特定的、低频的共振。卡兰意识到，这些共振频率本身就是一种语言。他与他的导师，年迈且多疑的语言学家伊莲娜，共同踏上了解密之旅。伊莲娜坚信“大寂静”并非偶然，而是一次精心策划的“知识净化”，目的在于防止人类重蹈覆辙，掌握过于强大的、可能导致自我毁灭的技术。 文森特巧妙地将悬疑的追寻与哲学思辨融为一体。在追寻过程中，卡兰不仅要面对外界势力——信奉绝对“去知识化”的激进派“纯净之手”的阻挠，更要面对知识本身带来的伦理困境：有些真相，是否注定不该被后人知晓？ 第二部：共振与失落的科学 随着调查的深入，卡兰和伊莲娜追踪到了“编织者”留下的一个关键线索——一个关于“时间场域稳定器”的理论模型。这个模型暗示，前寂静时代的人类曾试图利用某种量子效应来稳定地球的气候和地质活动。然而，实验的失败并非带来了灾难，而是以一种更加微妙的方式改变了现实的结构，造成了信息流的断裂。 本部分着重于描绘一个复杂而迷人的科学图景。文森特没有使用晦涩的术语，而是将复杂的概念转化为感性的体验：卡兰必须学习如何“聆听”石头和金属的微小振动，如何通过调整自己身体的生物节律来与古老的机械产生共鸣。他开始体验到一种“记忆回溯”的能力，短暂地‘看到’前人生活的场景，这些场景充满了超越我们想象的色彩和光影。 然而，每一次回溯都伴随着对卡兰心智的消耗。他逐渐发现，他的情感和记忆正在与那些遥远的前人产生混淆。他爱上了一个似乎只存在于符号学交叉点上的女性形象——薇拉，一位被记载为最后一位“编织者”的继承人。 第三部：伦理的边界与选择 故事的高潮发生在卡兰破解了“时间场域”的核心算法时。他发现，“编织者”们留下的并非警告，而是一份“复兴蓝图”。他们设计了一种机制，可以通过特定的能量释放，将部分“大寂静”前的信息流重新注入当代社会。 但代价是巨大的：要重新激活知识，必须牺牲当前社会赖以维生的、但技术上不成熟的平衡状态。伊莲娜坚持认为，这种介入是对历史进程的亵渎，人类必须学会与自身的局限共存。而卡兰，被薇拉的“回响”所引导，坚信只有完整地继承过去，文明才能真正重生，而非仅仅是重复失败的循环。 冲突升级为一场关于“进步的定义”的辩论。文森特在此刻展现了其叙事的深度：她迫使读者思考，在文明的存续面前，个体自由、知识的获取与集体稳定之间，哪一个权重更高？ 结局：永恒的开放 《时间的回响》没有提供一个简单的答案。卡兰最终启动了激活程序，但结果并非他所预期的“辉煌回归”。信息以前所未有的、碎片化的方式涌入，带来了短暂的启蒙与随之而来的混乱。卡兰没有成为救世主，反而成为了一个新的历史断层的见证者。 小说以卡兰在新的“启蒙时代”的边缘，手持着那把古老的机械钟结束。钟声依旧，但它此刻的意义已经超越了“回响”或“警告”，它成为了人类永恒追寻和不懈重建的象征。 本书特色： 独特的叙事结构： 结合了考古学、符号语言学和量子物理学的想象元素，构建了一个富有张力和美感的架空世界。 深刻的哲学探讨： 反思了信息时代的脆弱性、知识的伦理责任以及“遗忘”在文明存续中的必要性。 精湛的文字功底： 艾莉亚·文森特以其富有诗意的散文笔触，将宏大的史诗背景与细腻入微的内心挣扎完美融合。 附赠特辑： 本精装版内含一本独立的小册子，收录了书中提及的几种关键“符号几何图形”的精美复刻版插图，为读者提供了更直观的沉浸体验。 《时间的回响》是一部挑战认知边界的杰作，它邀请读者不仅去阅读一个故事，更是去体验一次人类文明在时间的洪流中，不断消逝、又不断尝试重生的永恒循环。这是一部关于我们是谁、我们曾是谁，以及我们可能成为谁的史诗级沉思。

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这本书的氛围营造，简直可以称得上教科书级别的典范。它不像那些充斥着爆炸和追逐的畅销小说，而是将所有的冲突和张力，都压缩在了人物之间那几不可闻的眼神交流和未说出口的潜台词里。读起来，你总感觉背后有一股无形的寒意，它不是来自于外部的威胁，而是源自于故事内部逻辑的冷酷无情。这种“温柔的残酷”是如此独特，它让你在享受优美散文式叙事的同时，又被一种深沉的悲剧预感所裹挟。我发现自己不自觉地会去分析每一个场景的布景和道具，试图从中寻找作者隐藏的象征意义，那种感觉就像是在解读一幅文艺复兴时期的油画，表面宁静祥和，实则暗藏了无数宗教或哲学上的隐喻。特别是他们共同生活的那个环境，那个地方被描绘得既像一个田园牧歌式的避风港，又像一个精心构建的、隔绝了外界的玻璃罩，这种矛盾的统一性，极大地增强了故事的深度和令人不安的美感。阅读体验是层层递进的，前期你可能只是觉得这是一部关于成长的忧伤小说，但越往后读，你对“成长”和“人性”的定义都会被颠覆。

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真正让我感到震撼的是作者对时间流逝的独特处理。这本书仿佛被置于一个被拉伸或压缩的时空之中，某些时刻的细节被拉得极长，让你能清晰地感知到每一秒的重量，而另一些关键的转折点，却如同闪电般倏忽而过，留给读者的反应时间极短。这种节奏上的不均衡，完美地映照了书中人物那种被困在特定轨迹上，却又试图抓住“人性”或“情感”的徒劳努力。我仿佛能感受到他们对“正常生活”的渴望，那种渴望不是通过激烈的反抗表现出来，而是通过对微小幸福的珍惜和留恋。例如，他们对艺术和文学的痴迷，那不仅仅是爱好，更像是一种精神上的避难所，是他们在既定框架下，为自己争取到的最后一寸呼吸空间。每当读到他们分享那些珍贵的、几乎不被外界承认的“人性证明”时，我都会感到一种强烈的、混合着怜悯与崇敬的复杂情感。这本书的厉害之处在于，它没有用宏大的叙事去批判什么，而是通过聚焦于个体微弱的挣扎，让读者自己去构建对“价值”和“存在”的思考。

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从结构上看，这本书的构建是极其精巧的，它不是一条直线前进的故事，而更像是一个不断自我指涉的圆环。作者不断地在过去、现在和对未来的模糊预感之间进行切换，但每一次切换都不是为了制造悬念，而是为了加深读者对“已知结局”的理解和体验。这种环形结构，巧妙地避免了传统叙事中“揭示真相”带来的冲击力减弱，反而让真相本身成为了一种持续的、渗透性的存在。我个人认为，这本书最成功的地方在于，它挑战了我们对“生命意义”的传统定义。它没有提供廉价的希望或积极的口号，而是将一个残酷的设定，包裹在一层极致的、对友谊和爱的细腻描绘之下。这使得最终的情感冲击力达到了最大化——你为他们之间的纯粹情感而感动，却又为这种情感注定要面对的结局而感到无力。读完后，那种久久不能平息的情绪，与其说是对故事情节的留恋，不如说是对作者所构建的那个世界观的深思：如果生命被赋予了如此明确的终点，我们又该如何定义过程中的价值？这无疑是一部需要时间去沉淀和回味的作品。

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这本书的文字有一种奇特的魔力，像是在一个迷雾缭绕的清晨，你努力想看清远处的景物，却发现眼前的每一个细节都带着一种不真实的、却又无比鲜活的质感。作者的叙事节奏把握得极好，他从不急于抛出那些足以震撼人心的真相，而是用一种近乎平淡的、细水长流的方式，让你沉浸在人物日常的琐碎和微妙的情感波动之中。我尤其欣赏他对于“记忆”和“身份”的处理，那些看似无关紧要的童年片段，随着故事的推进，如同被精心排列的碎片，慢慢拼凑出一个令人心碎却又无法抗拒的整体图景。读到一半时，我常常会放下书，盯着窗外发呆，不是因为情节有多么跌宕起伏，而是那种渗透在空气中的、挥之不去的宿命感，让我不得不停下来消化。那种感觉，就像是看着一个美丽的玻璃器皿，你知道它迟早会碎裂，但你还是忍不住去触碰它，去欣赏它在阳光下折射出的每一道光芒，即使那光芒本身就预示着易碎的结局。作者的笔触极其细腻，对人物内心的挣扎和潜意识的恐惧，刻画得入木三分，让人在阅读过程中产生强烈的代入感和同理心。

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这本书的对话设计简直是一门艺术，它透露出一种刻意的、略带疏离的克制感。人物之间的交流，很少有直截了当的表白或争吵，更多的是试探、是迂回，甚至是回避。你必须非常专注地去捕捉那些“没有被说出来的话”，那些隐藏在简单问句和陈述句背后的巨大情感能量。这种叙事技巧，有效地塑造了一种集体性的“沉默的接受”的氛围，让人读起来倍感压抑，但又不得不承认，这正是人物生存环境下的必然反应。我尤其喜欢那种略显复古和正式的用词，它让整个故事有了一种脱离了现代喧嚣的永恒感，仿佛发生在任何一个时代都成立的悲剧寓言。这种语言上的距离感，反而加深了读者对人物内心孤独的共鸣，因为很多时候，我们现实生活中的痛苦，也是被语言所无力表达的那些部分。整本书读下来，你会感觉自己像是一个安静的旁观者，站在一扇半开的窗户边，看着里面的人们用一种优雅而缓慢的姿态，走向不可避免的命运。

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書友注意了，京東原版書價格起伏超級大，我買的時候是80+，美國好久居然出現50+的價格。另外買原版書亞馬遜上比較好，很多好書就跟撿白菜一樣的價格

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没想到原版书质量真心一般般啊，比国内印刷纸张差还奇贵

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除了送来的时候封面有细小的划痕，其他都还可以

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書友注意了，京東原版書價格起伏超級大，我買的時候是80+，美國好久居然出現50+的價格。另外買原版書亞馬遜上比較好，很多好書就跟撿白菜一樣的價格

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不错，京东信的过 不错，京东信的过

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预定 一月22下单 三月26送到 25打过电话问客服 之后就开始备货了

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希望对提高英语有帮助

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不错

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还可以，清晰。等孩子看了再来说