Lord of the Flies[蝇王] 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

William Golding（威廉·戈尔丁） 著

图书标签:

• Classic
• Adventure
• Dystopian
• Fiction
• Coming-of-age
• Survival
• British Literature
• Allegory
• Psychological Thriller
• School Story

出版社： Faber and Faber

ISBN：9780571200535

商品编码：19280097

包装：平装

出版时间：1999-05-04

用纸：胶版纸

页数：240

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：11.2x17.8cm

内容简介

Lord of the Flies remains as provocative today as when it was first published in 1954, igniting passionate debate with its startling, brutal portrait of human nature. Though critically acclaimed, it was largely ignored upon its initial publication. Yet soon it became a cult favorite among both students and literary critics who compared it to J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye in its influence on modern thought and literature.

Labeled a parable, an allegory, a myth, a morality tale, a parody, a political treatise, even a vision of the apocalypse, Lord of the Flies has established itself as a true classic.

作者简介

Born in Cornwall, England, in 1911 and educated at Oxford University, William Gerald Golding's first book, Poems, was published in 1935. Following a stint in the Royal Navy and other diversions during and after World War II, Golding wrote Lord of the Flies while teaching school. This was the first of several novels including Pincher Martin, Free Fall, and The Inheritors and a play, The Brass Butterfly, which led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1983.

精彩书评

"The most influential novel...since Salinger's Catcher in the Rye."
-- Time

"Lord of the Flies [is my selection for The Book That Changed My Life] because it is both a story with a message and because it is a great tale of adventure. My advice about reading is to do a lot of it."
-- Stephen King, for the National Book Foundation, The Book That Changed My Life

"[T]his brilliant work is a frightening parody on man's return (in a few weeks) to that state of darkness from which it took him thousands of years to emerge. Fully to succeed, a fantasy must approach very close to reality. Lord of the Flies does. It must also be superbly written. It is."
-- The New York Times Book Review

"[S]parely and elegantly written...Lord of the Flies is a grim anti-pastoral in which adults are disguised as children who replicate the worst of their elders' heritage of ignorance, violence, and warfare."
-- Joyce Carol Oates, New York Review of Books

精彩书摘

THE SOUND OF THE SHELL
THE BOY WITH FAIR HAIR LOWERED HIMSELF down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon. Though he had taken off his school sweater and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He was clambering heavily among the creepers and broken trunks when a bird, a vision of red and yellow, flashed upwards with a witchlike cry; and this cry was echoed by another.
"Hi!" it said. "Wait a minute!"
The undergrowth at the side of the scar was shaken and a multitude of raindrops fell pattering.
"Wait a minute," the voice said. "I got caught up."
The fair boy stopped and jerked his stockings with an automatic gesture that made the jungle seem for a moment like the Home Counties.
The voice spoke again.
"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."
The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowth so that twigs scratched on a greasy wind-breaker. The naked crooks of his knees were plump, caught and scratched by thorns. He bent down, removed the thorns carefully, and turned around. He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat. He came forward, searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and then looked up through thick spectacles.
"Where's the man with the megaphone?"
The fair boy shook his head.
"This is an island. At least I think it's an island. That's a reef out in the sea. Perhaps there aren't any grownups anywhere."
The fat boy looked startled.
"There was that pilot. But he wasn't in the passenger cabin, he was up in front."
The fair boy was peering at the reef through screwed-up eyes.
"All them other kids," the fat boy went on. "Some of them must have got out. They must have, mustn't they?"
The fair boy began to pick his way as casually as possible toward the water. He tried to be offhand and not too obviously uninterested, but the fat boy hurried after him.
"Aren't there any grownups at all?"
"I don't think so."
The fair boy said this solemnly; but then the delight of a realized ambition overcame him. In the middle of the scar he stood on his head and grinned at the reversed fat boy.
"No grownups!"
The fat boy thought for a moment.
"That pilot."
The fair boy allowed his feet to come down and sat on the steamy earth.
"He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn't land here. Not in a place with wheels."
"We was attacked!"
"He'll be back all right."
The fat boy shook his head.
"When we was coming down I looked through one of them windows. I saw the other part of the plane. There were flames coming out of it."
He looked up and down the scar.
"And this is what the cabin done."
The fair boy reached out and touched the jagged end of a trunk. For a moment he looked interested.
"What happened to it?" he asked. "Where's it got to now?"
"That storm dragged it out to sea. It wasn't half dangerous with all them tree trunks falling. There must have been some kids still in it."
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again.
"What's your name?"
"Ralph."
The fat boy waited to be asked his name in turn but this proffer of acquaintance was not made; the fair boy called Ralph smiled vaguely, stood up, and began to make his way once more toward the lagoon. The fat boy hung steadily at his shoulder.
"I expect there's a lot more of us scattered about. You haven't seen any others, have you?"
Ralph shook his head and increased his speed. Then he tripped over a branch and came down with a crash.
The fat boy stood by him, breathing hard.
"My auntie told me not to run," he explained, "on account of my asthma."
"Ass-mar?"
"That's right. Can't catch my breath. I was the only boy in our school what had asthma," said the fat boy with a touch of pride. "And I've been wearing specs since I was three."
He took off his glasses and held them out to Ralph, blinking and smiling, and then started to wipe them against his grubby wind-breaker. An expression of pain and inward concentration altered the pale contours of his face. He smeared the sweat from his cheeks and quickly adjusted the spectacles on his nose.
"Them fruit."
He glanced round the scar.
"Them fruit," he said, "I expect—"
He put on his glasses, waded away from Ralph, and crouched down among the tangled foliage.
"I'll be out again in just a minute—"
Ralph disentangled himself cautiously and stole away through the branches. In a few seconds the fat boy's grunts were behind him and he was hurrying toward the screen that still lay between him and the lagoon. He climbed over a broken trunk and was out of the jungle.
The shore was fledged with palm trees. These stood or leaned or reclined against the light and their green feathers were a hundred feet up in the air. The ground beneath them was a bank covered with coarse grass, torn everywhere by the upheavals of fallen trees, scattered with decaying coconuts and palm saplings. Behind this was the darkness of the forest proper and the open space of the scar. Ralph stood, one hand against a grey trunk, and screwed up his eyes against the shimmering water. Out there, perhaps a mile away, the white surf flinked on a coral reef, and beyond that the open sea was dark blue. Within the irregular arc of coral the lagoon was still as a mountain lake—blue of all shades and shadowy green and purple. The beach between the palm terrace and the water was a thin stick, endless apparently, for to Ralph's left the perspectives of palm and beach and water drew to a point at infinity; and always, almost visible, was the heat.
He jumped down from the terrace. The sand was thick over his black shoes and the heat hit him. He became conscious of the weight of clothes, kicked his shoes off fiercely and ripped off each stocking with its elastic garter in a single movement. Then he leapt back on the terrace, pulled off his shirt, and stood there among the skull-like coconuts with green shadows from the palms and the forest sliding over his skin. He undid the snake-clasp of his belt, lugged off his shorts and pants, and stood there naked, looking at the dazzling beach and the water.
He was old enough, twelve years and a few months, to have lost the prominent tummy of childhood and not yet old enough for adolescence to have made him awkward. You could see now that he might make a boxer, as far as width and heaviness of shoulders went, but there was a mildness about his mouth and eyes that proclaimed no devil. He patted the palm trunk softly, and, forced at last to believe in the reality of the island laughed delightedly again and stood on his head. He turned nearly on to his feet, jumped down to the beach, knelt and swept a double armful of sand into a pile against his chest. Then he sat back and looked at the water with bright, excited eyes.
"Ralph—"
The fat boy lowered himself over the terrace and sat down carefully, using the edge as a seat.
"I'm sorry I been such a time. Them fruit—"
He wiped his glasses and adjusted them on his button nose. The frame had made a deep, pink "V" on the bridge. He looked critically at Ralph's golden body and then down at his own clothes. He laid a hand on the end of a zipper that extended down his chest.
"My auntie—"
Then he opened the zipper with decision and pulled the whole wind-breaker over his head.
"There!"
Ralph looked at him sidelong and said nothing.
"I expect we'll want to know all their names," said the fat boy, "and make a list. We ought to have a meeting."
Ralph did not take the hint so the fat boy was forced to continue.
"I don't care what they call me," he said confidentially, "so long as they don't call me what they used to call me at school."
Ralph was faintly interested.
"What was that?"
The fat boy glanced over his shoulder, then leaned toward Ralph.
He whispered.
"They used to call me Piggy.'"
Ralph shrieked with laughter. He jumped up.
"Piggy! Piggy!"
"Ralph—please!"
Piggy clasped his hands in apprehension.
"I said I didn't want—"
"Piggy! Piggy!"
Ralph danced out into the hot air of the beach and then returned ...

前言/序言

尘封的记忆：一个关于失落与重逢的史诗 书名：流光尽头的挽歌 (The Elegy at the End of Time) 作者：伊莱亚斯·凡恩 (Elias Thorne) 装帧：精装版，附带烫金扉页与手绘地图 页数：880页 --- 第一章：海湾的耳语与遗忘的钟声 故事的序幕拉开于“寂静群岛”中最偏远的一座岛屿——阿卡迪亚。这是一个被现代文明遗忘的角落，时间在这里仿佛凝固在维多利亚时代末期的黄昏。我们的主人公，塞拉斯·文森特 (Silas Vincent)，一个对古老机械和失落语言有着近乎偏执热爱的青年学者，正追随着一份模糊不清的家族遗嘱，踏上了这片布满浓雾与苔藓的土地。 塞拉斯并非为了财富而来，他寻找的是他祖父——那位在世纪之交神秘失踪的探险家和天文学家——留下的最后遗物：一本名为《星辰之钥》的手抄本，据说其中记载了绘制“时间裂隙”的秘密。 阿卡迪亚岛的居民，世代以捕捞和维护一座古老的灯塔为生。他们沉默寡言，皮肤被海盐和烈日刻下了深刻的痕迹。他们的生活遵循着一种近乎宗教仪式的规律：日出而作，日落而息，唯一打破宁静的是那座孤独耸立在悬崖之巅的“失语灯塔” (The Mute Beacon)。 塞拉斯抵达时，正是岛上“雾季”的开端。浓厚的，带着铁锈气味的雾气如同活物般吞噬着海岸线，使得远方的船只只剩下一个模糊的轮廓。他很快发现，岛上的生活远比想象中要复杂和压抑。灯塔的看守者，一个名叫玛格丽特 (Margaret) 的老妇人，以其锐利的目光和不容置疑的权威统治着岛上的秩序。她声称灯塔的运作需要遵循一套古老的“调频”，任何微小的偏差都可能唤醒“沉睡之物”。 塞拉斯在整理祖父遗留的残破小屋时，发现了一系列令人不安的线索：被撕毁的星图、用不知名血液绘制的符号，以及一架锈迹斑斑、构造奇特的望远镜。这架望远镜的镜筒上刻着一行拉丁文：“Quod vides, non est”（你所见的，并非真实）。 第二章：机械的低语与历史的断层 随着调查的深入，塞拉斯意识到阿卡迪亚岛的历史存在着一个巨大的断层。在官方记载中，岛屿在1888年被“发现”并建立灯塔，但在更早的民间传说和岛民的低语中，这里曾是一个繁荣的、信奉“时间之神”的古代文明的祭祀地。 塞拉斯的注意力被灯塔核心的机械结构所吸引。这座灯塔的结构复杂得令人难以置信，它既不是简单的导航设施，也并非纯粹的照明设备。它更像是一个巨大的、被埋藏了数百年的复杂计时器。每一次灯光的旋转，都伴随着一种低沉的、几乎听不见的共振，直达人心最深处的恐惧。 在岛上唯一能与塞拉斯稍微交流的，是年轻的船匠卡莱布 (Caleb)。卡莱布继承了家族对机械的敏感，他帮助塞拉斯拆解了灯塔内部一个被严密封锁的房间。房间内，他们发现了一面巨大的黄铜圆盘，上面布满了难以辨认的星座图和齿轮。 圆盘中央，镶嵌着一块被打磨得光滑如镜的黑曜石。当塞拉斯将祖父的星图碎片与黑曜石对齐时，圆盘发出了一声尖锐的啸叫，随后，整个灯塔的运作节奏开始失控。雾气变得更加粘稠，岛上的动物开始发出痛苦的哀嚎。 玛格丽特找到了他们，她的眼神中充满了绝望和愤怒：“你们唤醒了它！光明的平衡已经被打破了！”她透露了一个令人毛骨悚然的秘密：这座灯塔并非为了指引迷航的船只，而是为了压制一个被困在时间夹缝中的实体——“织网者”。每当星象排列到特定位置，实体就会试图“爬出”，而灯塔的光芒，就是将它钉在原地的锚点。 第三章：时间的囚徒与错位的现实 塞拉斯发现祖父留下的《星辰之钥》并不是一本关于天文学的书，而是一本关于“共时性”和“维度缝隙”的理论手册。祖父相信，时间并非线性的河流，而是由无数交织的“瞬间”构成的网格。阿卡迪亚岛，正是其中一个薄弱的节点。 随着灯塔的失灵，现实开始扭曲。塞拉斯开始看到“回声”——那些不属于他所处时代的片段：穿着古老服饰的人影在浓雾中穿梭，远方海面上出现了一艘造型奇异的蒸汽船，船上的人影对着他挥手，面容模糊不清。 卡莱布的记忆也开始错乱。他时而坚信自己是岛上唯一的居民，时而又清晰地记得多年前一场暴风雨中，有一艘载着乘客的客轮在此沉没，船上的人们带着惊恐的表情向他呼救。 在一次与玛格丽特的激烈争执中，塞拉斯得知了岛屿的悲剧起源：百年前，灯塔的设计者——塞拉斯的祖父，试图利用灯塔的能量实现“时间回溯”，想要挽救一场未遂的灾难。然而，他的实验失败了，他不仅没有回到过去，反而将岛屿本身的存在与一个不稳定的时间维度锁在了一起，成为了“织网者”的狩猎场。 第四章：黄昏的抉择与未竟的航行 塞拉斯明白，要修复平衡，他必须重建祖父的实验，但这次，必须完全逆转那个启动机制。他需要一种罕见的、能稳定高频能量的“谐振晶体”，而这种晶体，只存在于灯塔深处的“核心室”——一个据说通往岛屿真实地基的密室。 玛格丽特拒绝协助，她认为这是对命运的再度挑战。但当“织网者”的影响日益增强，岛上开始出现无法解释的物理现象——重力失衡，声音在不同区域以不同的速度传播——她最终被塞拉斯的决心所打动。 在核心室的深处，塞拉斯不仅找到了晶体，也找到了他祖父最后的日记。日记揭示了一个残酷的真相：祖父成功地“拯救”了某些人，但代价是他们被永远地困在了“时间之外”。而他自己，选择留下来，成为灯塔永久的“操作员”，用自己的生命力维持着这脆弱的稳定。 塞拉斯将谐振晶体放置在黄铜圆盘中央，按照祖父留下的最后指示，他必须在特定星辰排列的瞬间，启动逆转程序。 当光芒重新以一种稳定而深沉的频率闪烁时，阿卡迪亚岛上的扭曲现象开始消退。雾气散去，海面恢复了熟悉的蔚蓝。然而，塞拉斯感到一股强大的吸力正在将他拉向圆盘。 在最后的时刻，卡莱布冲了进来，他知道，维持稳定需要一个“观察者”，一个锚定现实的意识。他将自己固定在控制台上，用他自己对机械的热情和对岛屿的忠诚，取代了塞拉斯祖父的位置。 塞拉斯被晶体的反作用力推了出去，他带着《星辰之钥》和一箱祖父留下的航海日志，在卡莱布的帮助下，登上了玛格丽特早已准备好的小帆船。 当船驶离阿卡迪亚的海岸线时，他最后一次回头望去。失语灯塔的光芒再次变得柔和而规律，但这一次，光芒中似乎多了一种不易察觉的、略带忧伤的频率。塞拉斯明白，有些记忆永远无法被完全抹去，有些失落也无法被完全弥补。 他带着对失落文明的敬畏、对时间本质的困惑，以及对卡莱布牺牲的沉重记忆，驶向了无边无际的海洋，去追寻那些被时间之网遗漏的、真正的星辰。本书的结尾，是塞拉斯在日记扉页上写下的一句话：“我们追逐光明，却往往在阴影中，才真正看清了世界的形状。” --- 主题解读： 《流光尽头的挽歌》是一部融合了哥特式悬疑、蒸汽朋克美学与哲学探讨的长篇小说。它深入探讨了： 1. 时间的不可逆性与干预的代价： 探究人类试图掌控超越自身理解范畴的自然力量时，必然付出的沉重代价。 2. 记忆的建构与遗忘的必要性： 岛屿居民的集体失忆与塞拉斯对历史的挖掘形成了鲜明对比，引人深思：一个文明是否需要遗忘才能存续？ 3. 机械与灵魂的交织： 灯塔作为核心意象，象征着人类试图用理性（机械）去约束非理性（超自然力量）的努力，以及最终的妥协与融合。 这部作品以其繁复的符号系统、细腻的环境描写和扣人心弦的叙事节奏，为读者构建了一个既宏大又私密的，关于失落、责任与救赎的史诗画卷。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

这本书的封面设计就足够引人入胜，简单却极具象征意义。那种粗糙的纸张触感，仿佛预示着故事本身的质朴与原始。我尤其喜欢书名《Lord of the Flies》的处理方式，字体设计既有力量感，又带有一丝诡异的吸引力，让人一眼就能感受到故事中某种潜在的黑暗力量。拿在手里，会有一种沉甸甸的感觉，不仅仅是纸张的重量，更是故事所承载的厚重感。每一次翻开它，都像是在开启一段探索未知心灵的旅程。我曾把它放在书架最显眼的位置，它就像一个沉默的邀请，总是在不经意间吸引我的目光，勾起我想要再次沉浸其中的冲动。平装本的优势在于它的便携性，可以随时随地带着它，在通勤的地铁里，在午后的咖啡馆，甚至是在静谧的夜晚，都可以进入那个孤岛的世界。书页的展开方式也很自然，不会有那种硬壳书的束缚感，让阅读体验更加流畅和舒适。它不像某些精装书那样需要小心翼翼地对待，反而更显出一种日常的亲切感，仿佛它早已是我生活的一部分，是我可以随时依靠的精神伴侣。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

这本书的文字，有一种让人着迷的魔力，它以一种近乎写实的手法，将人性的复杂性一点点剥开。我尤其喜欢作者那种不动声色的叙述方式，没有过多的煽情，却能在平淡的描写中，透露出最深刻的洞察。平装本的优势在于它的亲切感，它不像那些精装书那样具有距离感，而是可以随意地拿在手中，在任何角落里翻阅。我记得有一次，我在旅行的途中，带着这本书，看着窗外掠过的风景，心里却在想着书中的那些孩子们，仿佛整个世界都变得模糊起来，只剩下那片孤岛和那些挣扎的灵魂。书名《Lord of the Flies》本身就带着一种寓意，简单却意味深长，每一次看到它，我都会想起故事中那些象征性的元素。它不是那种读完就丢在一旁的读物，它会在你的脑海里留下深深的烙印，让你在之后的很长一段时间里，都会时不时地回想起它，反思它所提出的问题。它的文字就像一种陈年的酒，越品越有味道，越品越能体会其中的深意。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

阅读这本书的过程，就像是在体验一场缓慢而不可逆转的心理坠落。我至今仍清晰地记得，随着故事的推进，我内心的那种不安感是如何逐渐累积的。它不是突如其来的冲击，而是像一场细雨，一点一点浸湿了我的思绪，最终让我感到无处可逃。平装本的触感，那种略微粗糙的纸张，仿佛与故事中孩子们赤脚走在沙滩上的感觉相呼应。每次翻开它，都能感受到一种原始的力量，一种对最基本人性赤裸裸的展现。我曾经在深夜，借着昏黄的灯光阅读它，那些文字仿佛带着一种魔力，将我拉入那个孤岛的绝望之中。书本的轻便性，让它成为了我随身携带的伴侣，无论走到哪里，它都能在我需要的时候，提醒我关于人性的复杂和脆弱。我喜欢它封面设计的那种简洁而深刻的意象，没有过多的修饰，却直击人心。它不是一本需要被供奉起来的书，而是可以被反复阅读、反复品味的，每一次阅读都会有新的感悟，都会在那些熟悉的字句中发现新的含义，就像一个深不见底的矿井，总能挖掘出更深层次的思考。

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这本书的魅力在于它对人性的深刻洞察，它以一种近乎残酷的方式，揭示了文明的脆弱和野性的潜伏。我曾多次将它带在身边，每一次阅读，都能从中获得新的启示。平装本的设计，既方便携带，又散发出一种质朴的亲切感，让我感觉它就像一位老朋友，随时可以与之交流。书的封面，简单却极富象征意义，它没有华丽的装饰，却能迅速抓住读者的注意力，并引发内心的联想。我喜欢那种触碰纸张时的真实感，仿佛每一次翻动，都在与书中的角色进行着无声的对话。它不是一本娱乐性的读物，它带来的思考是深刻而持久的，常常在合上书本之后，我仍然会沉浸在书中的世界里，回味着那些场景和对话。它就像一面镜子，映照出人性的复杂与矛盾，让人不得不审视自己内心深处的东西。这本书的文字，朴实无华，却力量惊人，能够穿透表象，直达人性的核心，每一次阅读，都能带来一种涤荡心灵的感受。

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这本书在我手中，最让我印象深刻的是它所引发的那种难以言喻的压抑感，即使在合上书本，这种感觉也久久不散。它不仅仅是故事本身的震撼，更是那种对人性的深刻拷问，让人不得不停下来反思。我记得第一次读完的时候，我坐在那里很久，脑海里回荡着那些画面，那些孩子们的挣扎，那些逐渐暴露出来的野性，都让我感到一丝寒意。这种感觉不是那种惊悚片带来的瞬间恐惧，而是一种缓慢渗透、深入骨髓的体验，它迫使你直面自己内心深处可能存在的东西。平装本的设计，反而更能凸显这种沉重的主题。那种略显粗糙的纸张，那种朴实的装帧，都与故事中赤裸裸的现实主义风格恰如其分地呼应。它不像那些华丽的书籍，试图用外在的美学来掩饰内容的深刻，而是选择了一种最直接、最真实的方式来呈现。每一次拿起它，我都能感受到那种沉甸甸的重量，仿佛不仅仅是纸张的重量，更是那些关于文明、野蛮、理智与冲动之间界限的思考。它不是一本轻松读物，但正因如此，它的价值才更加凸显，它带来的震撼和启发是持久而深刻的。

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很轻便，给孩子买的，没事读一点儿

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坦白说，我是做不到的。所以说，我真是很佩服meiya。

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戈尔丁是个多产作家，继《蝇王》之后，他发表的长篇小说有《继承者》（1955）、《品契·马丁）（1956）、《自由堕落》（1959）、《塔尖》（1964）、《金字塔》（1967）、《看得见的黑暗》（1979）、《航程祭典》（1980）、《纸人》（1984）、《近方位）（1987）、《巧语》（1995）等。其中《航行祭典》获布克·麦克内尔图书奖。此外，他还写过剧本、散文和短篇小说，并于1982年出版了文学评论集《活动的靶子》。

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京东的书要是再便宜些就好了

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此用户未填写评价内容

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东西很赞 物流很快 店家态度也很好

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真是被自己当时那一副傻乎乎的样子给笑到不行，原来我也有过那么……哈哈哈哈 的时候啊！

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纸张好 比较清晰。看起来是正版！

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威廉·戈尔丁1911年9月19日出生于英格兰西南角康沃尔郡一个知识分子家庭，7岁开始写作。父亲是当地学校的校长，也是一位学者，痴迷于求知和探索。其父对政治有极大的热情，相信科学。母亲是位主张女性有参政权的妇女。戈尔丁继承了父亲开明、理智的秉性，自小爱好文学。