No Country for Old Men (Vintage International)[老無所依(電影版)] [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Cormac McCarthy 著

圖書標籤:

• 犯罪小說
• 西部小說
• 懸疑
• 驚悚
• 美國文學
• 科恩兄弟
• 普利策獲奬作品
• 黑色電影
• 現代文學
• 小說

齣版社： Vintage Books USA

ISBN：9780307387134

版次：1

商品編碼：19045229

包裝：平裝

叢書名： Vintage International

齣版時間：2007-10-09

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：320

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：12.95x1.78x20.32cm

內容簡介

In No Country for Old Men, Cormac McCarthy simultaneously strips down the American crime novel and broadens its concerns to encompass themes as ancient as the Bible and as bloodily contemporary as this morning’s headlines.

作者簡介

Cormac McCarthy was born in Rhode Island. He later went to Chicago, where he worked as an auto mechanic while writing his first novel, The Orchard Keeper. The Orchard Keeper was published by Random House in 1965; McCarthy's editor there was Albert Erskine, William Faulkner's long-time editor. Before publication, McCarthy received a traveling fellowship from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, which he used to travel to Ireland. In 1966 he also received the Rockefeller Foundation Grant, with which he continued to tour Europe, settling on the island of Ibiza. Here, McCarthy completed revisions of his next novel, Outer Dark. In 1967, McCarthy returned to the United States, moving to Tennessee. Outer Dark was published by Random House in 1968, and McCarthy received the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Writing in 1969. His next novel, Child of God, was published in 1973. From 1974 to 1975, McCarthy worked on the screenplay for a PBS film called The Gardener's Son, which premiered in 1977. A revised version of the screenplay was later published by Ecco Press. In the late 1970s, McCarthy moved to Texas, and in 1979 published his fourth novel, Suttree, a book that had occupied his writing life on and off for twenty years. He received a MacArthur Fellowship in 1981, and published his fifth novel, Blood Meridian, in 1985. All the Pretty Horses, the first volume of The Border Trilogy, was published by Knopf in 1992. It won both the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award and was later turned into a feature film. The Stonemason, a play that McCarthy had written in the mid-1970s and subsequently revised, was published by Ecco Press in 1994. Soon thereafter, Knopf released the second volume of The Border Trilogy, The Crossing; the third volume, Cities of the Plain, was published in 1998.McCarthy's next novel, No Country for Old Men was published in 2005. This was followed in 2006 by a novel in dramatic form, The Sunset Limited, originally performed by Steppenwolf Theatre Company of Chicago and published in paperback by Vintage Books. McCarthy's most recent novel, The Road, was published in 2006 and won the Pulitzer Prize.

精彩書評

Seven years after Cities of the Plain brought his acclaimed Border Trilogy to a close, McCarthy returns with a mesmerizing modern-day western. In 1980 southwest Texas, Llewelyn Moss, hunting antelope near the Rio Grande, stumbles across several dead men, a bunch of heroin and $2.4 million in cash. The bulk of the novel is a gripping man-on-the-run sequence relayed in terse, masterful prose as Moss, who's taken the money, tries to evade Wells, an ex–Special Forces agent employed by a powerful cartel, and Chigurh, an icy psychopathic murderer armed with a cattle gun and a dangerous philosophy of justice. Also concerned about Moss's whereabouts is Sheriff Bell, an aging lawman struggling with his sense that there's a new breed of man (embodied in Chigurh) whose destructive power he simply cannot match. In a series of thoughtful first-person passages interspersed throughout, Sheriff Bell laments the changing world, wrestles with an uncomfortable memory from his service in WWII and—a soft ray of light in a book so steeped in bloodshed—rejoices in the great good fortune of his marriage. While the action of the novel thrills, it's the sensitivity and wisdom of Sheriff Bell that makes the book a profound meditation on the battle between good and evil and the roles choice and chance play in the shaping of a life.
--Starred Review

McCarthy’s Border Trilogy, distinguished by the award-winning All the Pretty Horses (1992), contains dark Westerns set against beautiful, bleak landscapes. His newest novel updates his character-driven plots and themes of violence and moral ambiguity. Perhaps the true sign of a master is one whose work raises debate—and this is what No Country has done. Most critics praised McCarthy’s clean, simple prose, though a few thought it too spare for such a graceful stylist. ("The man looked at Chigurh’s eyes for the first time. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and opaque. Like wet stones.") Compelling characters (even women) abound, but Sheriff Bell came off as either smart or too long winded. Finally, the violence seemed gratuitous to some. Even if No Country may be a more minor McCarthy novel, it’s still a terrifying page-turner in the vein of the Trilogy.
--Bookmarks Magazine

精彩書摘

I
I sent one boy to the gaschamber at Huntsville. One and only one. My arrest and my testimony. I went up there and visited with him two or three times. Three times. The last time was the day of his execution. I didnt have to go but I did. I sure didnt want to. He’d killed a fourteen year old girl and I can tell you right now I never did have no great desire to visit with him let alone go to his execution but I done it. The papers said it was a crime of passion and he told me there wasnt no passion to it. He’d been datin this girl, young as she was. He was nineteen. And he told me that he had been plannin to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he’d do it again. Said he knew he was goin to hell. Told it to me out of his own mouth. I dont know what to make of that. I surely dont. I thought I’d never seen a person like that and it got me to wonderin if maybe he was some new kind. I watched them strap him into the seat and shut the door. He might of looked a bit nervous about it but that was about all. I really believe that he knew he was goin to be in hell in fifteen minutes. I believe that. And I’ve thought about that a lot. He was not hard to talk to. Called me Sheriff. But I didnt know what to say to him. What do you say to a man that by his own admission has no soul? Why would you say anything? I’ve thought about it a good deal. But he wasnt nothin compared to what was comin down the pike.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I dont know what them eyes was the windows to and I guess I’d as soon not know. But there is another view of the world out there and other eyes to see it and that’s where this is goin. It has done brought me to a place in my life I would not of thought I’d of come to. Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him. I know he’s real. I have seen his work. I walked in front of those eyes once. I wont do it again. I wont push my chips forward and stand up and go out to meet him. It aint just bein older. I wish that it was. I cant say that it’s even what you are willin to do. Because I always knew that you had to be willin to die to even do this job. That was always true. Not to sound glorious about it or nothin but you do. If you aint they’ll know it. They’ll see it in a heartbeat. I think it is more like what you are willin to become. And I think a man would have to put his soul at hazard. And I wont do that. I think now that maybe I never would.
The deputy left Chigurh standing in the corner of the office with his hands cuffed behind him while he sat in the swivelchair and took off his hat and put his feet up and called Lamar on the mobile.
Just walked in the door. Sheriff he had some sort of thing on him like one of them oxygen tanks for emphysema or whatever. Then he had a hose that run down the inside of his sleeve and went to one of them stunguns like they use at the slaughterhouse. Yessir. Well that’s what it looks like. You can see it when you get in. Yessir. I got it covered. Yessir.
When he stood up out of the chair he swung the keys off his belt and opened the locked desk drawer to get the keys to the jail. He was slightly bent over when Chigurh squatted and scooted his manacled hands beneath him to the back of his knees. In the same motion he sat and rocked backward and passed the chain under his feet and then stood instantly and effortlessly. If it looked like a thing he’d practiced many times it was. He dropped his cuffed hands over the deputy’s head and leaped into the air and slammed both knees against the back of the deputy’s neck and hauled back on the chain.
They went to the floor. The deputy was trying to get his hands inside the chain but he could not. Chigurh lay there pulling back on the bracelets with his knees between his arms and his face averted. The deputy was flailing wildly and he’d begun to walk sideways over the floor in a circle, kicking over the wastebasket, kicking the chair across the room. He kicked shut the door and he wrapped the throwrug in a wad about them. He was gurgling and bleeding from the mouth. He was strangling on his own blood. Chigurh only hauled the harder. The nickelplated cuffs bit to the bone. The deputy’s right carotid artery burst and a jet of blood shot across the room and hit the wall and ran down it. The deputy’s legs slowed and then stopped. He lay jerking. Then he stopped moving altogether. Chigurh lay breathing quietly, holding him. When he got up he took the keys from the deputy’s belt and released himself and put the deputy’s revolver in the waistband of his trousers and went into the bathroom.
He ran cold water over his wrists until they stopped bleeding and he tore strips from a handtowel with his teeth and wrapped his wrists and went back into the office. He sat on the desk and fastened the toweling with tape from a dispenser, studying the dead man gaping up from the floor. When he was done he got the deputy’s wallet out of his pocket and took the money and put it in the pocket of his shirt and dropped the wallet to the floor. Then he picked up his airtank and the stungun and walked out the door and got into the deputy’s car and started the engine and backed around and pulled out and headed up the road.
On the interstate he picked out a late model Ford sedan with a single driver and turned on the lights and hit the siren briefly. The car pulled onto the shoulder. Chigurh pulled in behind him and shut off the engine and slung the tank across his shoulder and stepped out. The man was watching him in the rearview mirror as he walked up.
What’s the problem, officer? he said.
Sir would you mind stepping out of the vehicle?
The man opened the door and stepped out. What’s this about? he said.
Would you step away from the vehicle please.
The man stepped away from the vehicle. Chigurh could see the doubt come into his eyes at this bloodstained figure before him but it came too late. He placed his hand on the man’s head like a faith healer. The pneumatic hiss and click of the plunger sounded like a door closing. The man slid soundlessly to the ground, a round hole in his forehead from which the blood bubbled and ran down into his eyes carrying with it his slowly uncoupling world visible to see. Chigurh wiped his hand with his handkerchief. I just didnt want you to get blood on the car, he said.
Moss sat with the heels of his boots dug into the volcanic gravel of the ridge and glassed the desert below him with a pair of twelve power german binoculars. His hat pushed back on his head. Elbows propped on his knees. The rifle strapped over his shoulder with a harnessleather sling was a heavybarreled .270 on a ’98 Mauser action with a laminated stock of maple and walnut. It carried a Unertl telescopic sight of the same power as the binoculars. The antelope were a little under a mile away. The sun was up less than an hour and the shadow of the ridge and the datilla and the rocks fell far out across the floodplain below him. Somewhere out there was the shadow of Moss himself. He lowered the binoculars and sat studying the land. Far to the south the raw mountains of Mexico. The breaks of the river. To the west the baked terracotta terrain of the run- ning borderlands. He spat dryly and wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his cotton workshirt.
The rifle would shoot half minute of angle groups. Five inch groups at one thousand yards. The spot he’d picked to shoot from lay just below a long talus of lava scree and it would put him well within that distance. Except that it would take the better part of an hour to get there and the antelope were grazing away from him. The best he could say about any of it was that there was no wind.
When he got to the foot of the talus he raised himself slowly and looked for the antelope. They’d not moved far from where he last saw them but the shot was still a good seven hundred yards. He studied the animals through the binoculars. In the compressed air motes and heat distortion. A low haze of shimmering dust and pollen. There was no other cover and there wasnt going to be any other shot.
He wallowed down in the scree and pulled off one boot and laid it over the rocks and lowered the forearm of the rifle down into the leather and pushed off the safety with his thumb and sighted through the scope.
They stood with their heads up, all of them, looking at him.
Damn, he whispered. The sun was behind him so they couldnt very well have seen light reflect off the glass of the scope. They had just flat seen him.
The rifle had a Canjar trigger set to nine ounces and he pulled the rifle and the boot toward him with great care and sighted again and jacked the crosshairs slightly up the back of the animal standing most broadly to him. He knew the exact drop of the bullet in hundred yard increments. It was the distance that was uncertain. He laid his finger in the curve of the trigger. The boar’s tooth he wore on a gold chain spooled onto the rocks inside his elbow.

邊境的低語：追蹤命運的幽靈 本書簡介 在這部令人毛骨悚然、氣氛壓抑的敘事中，我們被猛地拽入德剋薩斯州西部的廣袤荒原，一個法律與道德的界限如同乾裂的河床般模糊不清的領域。這不是一個關於英雄與惡棍的傳統故事，而是一場關於人性的荒謬、無法逃避的宿命，以及現代世界中暴力如何像不可阻擋的瘟疫般擴散的深刻沉思。 故事始於一個魯莽的決定。萊韋林·莫斯（Llewelyn Moss），一個在石油鑽井平颱上工作的普通工人，偶然間闖入瞭一場失敗的毒品交易現場。他發現的不是一堆毒品，而是堆積如山的現金，以及兩具冰冷的屍體。那一刻，莫斯選擇瞭一條不歸路——他帶走瞭那筆錢。他以為自己贏得瞭改變命運的機會，卻不知道自己已經觸動瞭一個比他想象中任何人都更冷酷、更有效率的捕食者——安東·西格（Anton Chigurh）。 西格，一個有著近乎哲學意味的殘忍的殺手，他沒有固定的動機，隻有一套遵循的規則。他的工具箱裏沒有普通的手槍，隻有一把高壓空氣壓縮槍，這種武器的嘶鳴聲和緻命的精確性，成為瞭死亡在乾旱平原上行走時的獨特標誌。他不是為瞭金錢而來，而是為瞭完成“修正”這個世界秩序的使命——任何打破平衡的人都必須被抹去。他的每一次齣現，都伴隨著一種令人窒息的必然性，仿佛命運本身披上瞭一層人皮。 與此形成鮮明對比的，是退休警長埃德·湯姆·貝爾（Ed Tom Bell）。貝爾是舊日法律與秩序的最後一位守門人，一個在目睹瞭二十年來德州警務工作的日漸墮落後，內心充滿疲憊與睏惑的老人。他目睹瞭犯罪手法的演變，從傳統的搶劫與謀殺，升級到這種毫無理由、近乎形而上學的暴力。當莫斯的失蹤案浮齣水麵，並牽扯齣那筆神秘的巨款時，貝爾不得不重新穿上警徽，踏上這條他早已厭倦的搜尋之路。他試圖理解這一切的邏輯——如果還有邏輯可言——卻發現自己麵對的，是一個沒有動機、隻有結果的世界。 小說的結構如同沙漠中的迷宮，多綫敘事交織推進，但始終圍繞著那筆錢和追逐者與被追逐者之間的緻命舞蹈展開。 莫斯的逃亡充滿瞭智慧和絕望。他深知自己麵對的是什麼，他像一隻被獵犬鎖定的兔子，利用沙漠的險惡環境、旅店的臨時避難所，以及對人性的精確判斷來暫時延緩死亡的到來。他努力保護他的妻子卡拉·讓（Carla Jean），但槍響和陰影似乎總能找到穿透牆壁的縫隙。每一次他以為自己已經脫身，下一次的電話鈴聲或是不速之客的敲門聲，都將他拉迴現實：他所擁有的，不過是藉來的時間。 西格的視角則令人不安地冷靜。他的行動基於一種冷酷的計算和對概率的掌握。他不是一個會發怒的人，也不是一個會憐憫的人。他使用拋硬幣來決定無辜者的生死，這不僅僅是一種手法，更是一種宣言：在某些至高無上的力量麵前，人類的自由意誌不過是一個隨機事件。他所到之處，隻留下沉默的屍體和等待被解讀的信號。 貝爾的視角則承載瞭小說的全部哲學重量。他不斷地與自己的過去對話，迴憶著他剛入行時那些“可以理解”的犯罪，以及現在這種無法解釋的、純粹的虛無主義暴力。他追逐的不僅僅是莫斯或西格，他追逐的是一個正在消逝的時代，一個他曾經相信的道德體係。當他最終接近真相的邊緣時，他發現自己麵對的深淵，比他想象的還要空曠。 這部作品對美國西部的傳統“邊疆神話”進行瞭徹底的顛覆。這裏的荒涼不再是英雄可以大展身手的舞颱，而是人性被剝去外衣，暴露其最原始恐懼的試驗場。語言簡潔有力，場景描繪細緻入微，作者如同一個冷漠的觀察者，記錄著每一個呼吸和每一個滴落的血點。 它探討瞭選擇的重量，以及當暴力成為一種行業、一種哲學，甚至是一種藝術時，普通人如何徒勞地試圖與之抗衡。最終，讀者會意識到，在這片無垠的土地上，追逐與被追逐的界限終將模糊，而真正的恐怖，不在於誰拿走瞭錢，而在於那股驅使一切發生的、看不見的、不可阻擋的力量。這是一次對現代睏境的深刻、令人不安的審視，其結局留下的迴響，將久久縈繞在讀者的腦海之中。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書的對話是絕妙的。它們極其口語化，充滿瞭地方色彩，卻又蘊含著深刻的哲學思辨。角色之間很少進行無謂的寒暄，每一句話都像是經過韆錘百煉的，直擊要害。尤其是一些關於命運、關於選擇的對白，簡潔到讓人忍不住停下來，反復咀嚼其中的深意。這種文學處理方式，讓讀者在閱讀時不得不積極參與到文本的意義構建中去。它不像有些小說把所有東西都喂到你嘴邊，而是要求你彎下腰，在沙礫中去尋找那些閃光的真理碎片。我常常在想，如果把這些對話抽離齣來，它們本身就是一組組極具力量的短篇故事。這種對白藝術，與小說整體那種荒涼、不加修飾的美學風格完美地融閤在一起，形成瞭一種獨一無二的閱讀體驗，令人過目難忘。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我得承認，這本書並不適閤所有人。它非常“硬核”，需要讀者投入極大的專注力去跟隨那些看似散漫卻又緊密相連的敘事綫索。對我個人而言，這本書更像是一部現代西部悲劇的史詩，隻不過這裏的英雄不再是騎著白馬拯救人民的警長，而是一個被捲入漩渦、努力想保有自己那點可憐尊嚴的普通人。書中彌漫著一種強烈的“失落感”，不是懷舊式的懷舊，而是一種關於道德高地和人性光輝正在迅速崩塌的失落。那種仿佛整個世界都在嚮後退化的絕望感，通過主角最後的睏境被放大到瞭極緻。我喜歡那種氛圍的營造，那種仿佛時間靜止在某個荒涼的交叉路口，所有選擇都導嚮同一片虛無的感受。它不像很多驚悚小說那樣追求高潮迭起，它的張力是持續性的、滲透性的，像一滴水慢慢滴穿石頭。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

說實話，初讀這本書時，我感到一種強烈的疏離感，那種簡潔到近乎殘忍的句式結構，一開始確實讓人有些不適應。麥卡锡似乎完全摒棄瞭傳統小說中那些繁復的內心獨白和情緒鋪墊，他隻是冷漠地記錄著事件的發生。然而，正是這種剋製，反而帶來瞭更強大的情感衝擊力。當你習慣瞭他的節奏後，你會發現每一個被省略的逗號和省略的引導詞，都像是在推動故事以一種不可逆轉的、機械般的步伐嚮前。書中對暴力場麵的描繪，沒有絲毫的煽情或美化，它就是在那裏，冷酷、直接、後果嚴重。這迫使我必須自己去構建和感受那種恐懼和絕望。這本書的厲害之處在於，它探討的不是“好人”與“壞人”的對決，而是當“絕對的混亂”降臨時，個體如何掙紮求存。它讓我開始思考，我們賴以生存的社會規則，在真正的原始力量麵前，究竟有多麼脆弱不堪。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本小說給我帶來的震撼，簡直是文字力量的極緻展現。科馬剋·麥卡锡的筆觸冷峻而精準，像一把鋒利的手術刀，毫不留情地剖開瞭人性的幽暗角落。故事的推進充滿瞭宿命般的壓迫感，你仿佛能聞到德州曠野上那股乾燥、令人窒息的塵土味。人物塑造極其成功，特彆是那個幾乎是純粹邪惡化身的殺手，他的存在本身就是對秩序和道德的徹底顛覆。讀這本書的過程更像是一種體驗，一種直麵混亂和暴力的過程，而不是簡單的消遣。每一次翻頁都伴隨著心跳的加速，因為你知道，作者不會給你任何安慰，他隻會把真相赤裸裸地擺在你麵前，讓你自己去消化那種無處不在的、隨機的、毫無理由的殘酷。那種感覺就像置身於一場永無止境的、沒有明確目標的追逐中，你知道自己跑不掉，但又必須不停地跑下去。結局的處理更是高明，它沒有提供任何廉價的答案或正義的宣泄，留給讀者的隻有無盡的迴味和對生命本質的深刻反思。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

看完這本書後，我花瞭好幾天時間纔真正“走齣來”。它帶來的後勁太大瞭，以至於我看嚮周圍的世界時，總會不自覺地用書中那種冷峻的濾鏡去審視一切。這本書的結構非常巧妙，看似是幾條平行的綫索，最終卻以一種近乎宿命論的方式交匯在一起，揭示瞭某種宏大的、超越個人意誌的運作法則。它探討的“惡”不是那種可以被法律製裁的惡，而是一種宇宙性的、難以名狀的熵增力量。我特彆欣賞作者在描繪環境時的筆法，那些乾旱的平原、無垠的夜空，不僅僅是故事發生的背景，它們本身就是角色，是壓迫主角的沉默力量。閱讀這本書，就像是參與瞭一場漫長而痛苦的儀式，它剝去瞭你對世界的許多不切實際的幻想，但同時也賦予瞭你一種更清醒、更堅韌的生存視角。

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文字比電影有更大的想象空間

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質量很好！

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質量很好！

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和中文版一起買的，用來增進英文能力

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不知道是不是正品，這麼貴

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沒仔細看。書拿到手後，感覺字間距很大。書也沒薄。如果與電影比，我覺得會很失望。

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電影縮短版，但是經典。

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以為是個精裝版，誰知效果也不好

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書不錯，就是略貴，200-100給力