The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry一個人的朝聖 英文原版 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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Rachel Joyce（蕾鞦·喬伊斯） 著

圖書標籤:

• Fiction
• Contemporary
• Literary
• Travel
• Journey
• Loss
• Grief
• Relationships
• Hope
• England

齣版社： Random House UK

ISBN：9780552779043

商品編碼：19284175

包裝：平裝

齣版時間：2013-01-03

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：368

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：17.6x11x2.4cm

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　　★入圍2012年布剋文學奬；2013年春季英國有影響力“理查與茱蒂”讀書俱樂部書單；歐普拉讀書俱樂部夏日選書、美國圖書館協會選書；2012年英國暢銷新人小說；《齣版人周刊》、《紐約時報》、《泰晤士報》、《嘉人》、《今日美國》等各大媒體高評價推薦
　　★他以為人生就這麼過去瞭，直到收到那封信
　　★1個人，87天，627英裏
　　★有關愛的迴歸、自我發現、日常生活的信念以及萬物之美
　　★這一年，全球40餘國讀者交瞭同一個朋友；這一年，我們都需要哈羅德安靜而勇敢的陪伴

內容簡介

Meet Harold Fry, recently retired. He lives in a small English village with his wife, Maureen, who seems irritated by almost everything he does, even down to how he butters his toast. Little differentiates one day from the next. Then one morning the mail arrives, and within the stack of quotidian minutiae is a letter addressed to Harold in a shaky scrawl from a woman he hasn’t seen or heard from in twenty years. Queenie Hennessy is in hospice and is writing to say goodbye.
Harold pens a quick reply and, leaving Maureen to her chores, heads to the corner mailbox. But then, as happens in the very best works of fiction, Harold has a chance encounter, one that convinces him that he absolutely must deliver his message to Queenie in person. And thus begins the unlikely pilgrimage at the heart of Rachel Joyce’s remarkable debut. Harold Fry is determined to walk six hundred miles from Kingsbridge to the hospice in Berwick-upon-Tweed because, he believes, as long as he walks, Queenie Hennessey will live.
Still in his yachting shoes and light coat, Harold embarks on his urgent quest across the countryside. Along the way he meets one fascinating character after another, each of whom unlocks his long-dormant spirit and sense of promise. Memories of his first dance with Maureen, his wedding day, his joy in fatherhood, come rushing back to him—allowing him to also reconcile the losses and the regrets. As for Maureen, she finds herself missing Harold for the first time in years.
And then there is the unfinished business with Queenie Hennessy.
A novel of unsentimental charm, humor, and profound insight into the thoughts and feelings we all bury deep within our hearts, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry introduces Rachel Joyce as a wise—and utterly irresistible—storyteller.

　　哈羅德·弗萊，六十歲，在釀酒廠乾瞭四十年銷售代錶後默默退休，沒有升遷，既無朋友，也無敵人，退休時公司甚至連歡送會都沒開。他跟隔閡很深的妻子住在英國的鄉間，生活平靜，夫妻疏離，日復一日。
　　一天早晨，他收到一封信，來自二十年未見的老友奎妮。她患瞭癌癥，寫信告彆。震驚、悲痛之下，哈羅德寫瞭迴信，在寄齣的路上，他由奎妮想到瞭自己的人生，經過瞭一個又一個郵筒，越走越遠，最後，他從英國最西南一路走到瞭最東北，橫跨整個英格蘭。87天，627英裏，隻憑一個信念：隻要他走，老友就會活下去！
　　這是哈羅德韆裏跋涉的故事。從他腳步邁開的那一刻起，與他六百多英裏旅程並行的，是他穿越時光隧道的另一場旅行。

作者簡介

Rachel Joyce is an award-winning writer of more than 20 plays for BBC Radio 4. She started writing after a 20-year acting career in which she performed leading roles for the Royal Shakespeare Company and won multiple awards. Rachel Joyce lives in Gloucestershire on a farm with her family and is at work on her second novel.

蕾鞦·喬伊斯 (Rachel Joyce)
資深劇作傢，寫瞭二十年的廣播劇本，包括二十齣以上的BBC Radio 4 原創廣播劇。同時活躍於劇場界，獲得無數劇本奬，轉而創作小說。
《一個人的朝聖》是她的首部小說，未齣版已售齣二十餘國外語版權，一上市即廣受各界媒體矚目，也是讀書俱樂部、圖書館熱門推薦書單，英國年度最佳新人小說。此書描寫一位平凡男人在麵對人生已殘破、連希望也遺棄他之際，如何透過一段不平凡的徒步旅程，重獲人生的第二次機會與摯愛的感人故事。

精彩書評

Advance praise for The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
“When it seems almost too late, Harold Fry opens his battered heart and lets the world rush in. This funny, poignant story about an ordinary man on an extraordinary journey moved and inspired me.”—Nancy Horan, author of Loving Frank

“There’s tremendous heart in this debut novel by Rachel Joyce, as she probes questions that are as simple as they are profound: Can we begin to live again, and live truly, as ourselves, even in middle age, when all seems ruined? Can we believe in hope when hope seems to have abandoned us? I found myself laughing through tears, rooting for Harold at every step of his journey. I’m still rooting for him.”—Paula McLain, author of The Paris Wife

“Marvelous! I held my breath at his every blister and cramp, and felt as if by turning the pages, I might help his impossible quest succeed.”—Helen Simonson, author of Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand

“Harold’s journey is ordinary and extraordinary; it is a journey through the self, through modern society, through time and landscape. It is a funny book, a wise book, a charming book—but never cloying. It’s a book with a savage twist—and yet never seems manipulative. Perhaps because Harold himself is just wonderful.... I’m telling you now: I love this book.”—Erica Wagner, The Times (UK)

　　這本小說是輕快的，帶有些喜劇色彩，用強有力的新聲音錶達齣瞭一個古老的英式故事，獨創，細膩，感人。——布剋文學奬入圍語

　　《一個人的朝聖》不僅關於愛的失去，還關於日常生活的信念及萬物之美，從哈羅德把一隻腳放到另一隻前麵的微小動作開始。——《紐約時報》

　　Wonderful！——《衛報》

　　這趟旅程穿過自我、走過現代社會百態、跨越時間和地理風景。——《泰晤士報》

　　這本小說凝聚瞭作者的智慧，繞過過度傷感或異想天開的泥淖，達到瞭一個幾乎令人難以承受的動人結局。——《每日郵報》

前言/序言

1
Harold and the Letter
The letter that would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelled of clean washing and grass cuttings. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn’t eating. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen’s telescopic washing line, and trapped on all three sides by the neighbors’ stockade fencing.
“Harold!” called Maureen above the vacuum cleaner. “Post!”
He thought he might like to go out, but the only thing to do was mow the lawn and he had done that yesterday. The vacuum tumbled into silence, and his wife appeared, looking cross, with a letter. She sat opposite Harold.
Maureen was a slight woman with a cap of silver hair and a brisk walk. When they first met, nothing had pleased him more than to make her laugh. To watch her neat frame collapse into unruly happiness. “It’s for you,” she said. He didn’t know what she meant until she slid an envelope across the table, and stopped it just short of Harold’s elbow. They both looked at the letter as if they had never seen one before. It was pink. “The postmark says Berwick-upon-Tweed.”
He didn’t know anyone in Berwick. He didn’t know many people anywhere. “Maybe it’s a mistake.”
“I think not. They don’t get something like a postmark wrong.” She took toast from the rack. She liked it cold and crisp.
Harold studied the mysterious envelope. Its pink was not the color of the bathroom suite, or the matching towels and fluffed cover for the toilet seat. That was a vivid shade that made Harold feel he shouldn’t be there. But this was delicate. A Turkish Delight pink. His name and address were scribbled in ballpoint, the clumsy letters collapsing into one another as if a child had dashed them off in a hurry: Mr. H. Fry, 13 Fossebridge Road, Kingsbridge, South Hams. He didn’t recognize the handwriting.
“Well?” said Maureen, passing a knife. He held it to the corner of the envelope, and tugged it through the fold. “Careful,” she warned.
He could feel her eyes on him as he eased out the letter, and prodded back his reading glasses. The page was typed, and addressed from a place he didn’t know: St. Bernadine’s Hospice. Dear Harold, This may come to you as some surprise. His eyes ran to the bottom of the page.
“Well?” said Maureen again.
“Good lord. It’s from Queenie Hennessy.”
Maureen speared a nugget of butter with her knife and flattened it the length of her toast. “Queenie who?”
“She worked at the brewery. Years ago. Don’t you remember?”
Maureen shrugged. “I don’t see why I should. I don’t know why I’d remember someone from years ago. Could you pass the jam?”
“She was in finances. She was very good.”
“That’s the marmalade, Harold. Jam is red. If you look at things before you pick them up, you’ll find it helps.”
Harold passed her what she needed and returned to his letter. Beautifully set out, of course; nothing like the muddled writing on the envelope. Then he smiled, remembering this was how it always was with Queenie: everything she did so precise you couldn’t fault it. “She remembers you. She sends her regards.”
Maureen’s mouth pinched into a bead. “A chap on the radio was saying the French want our bread. They can’t get it sliced in France. They come over here and they buy it all up. The chap said there might be a shortage by summer.” She paused. “Harold? Is something the matter?”
He said nothing. He drew up tall with his lips parted, his face bleached. His voice, when at last it came, was small and far away. “It’s—cancer. Queenie is writing to say goodbye.” He fumbled for more words but there weren’t any. Tugging a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, Harold blew his nose. “I um. Gosh.” Tears crammed his eyes.
Moments passed; maybe minutes. Maureen gave a swallow that smacked the silence. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He nodded. He ought to look up, but he couldn’t.
“It’s a nice morning,” she began again. “Why don’t you fetch out the patio chairs?” But he sat, not moving, not speaking, until she lifted the dirty plates. Moments later the vacuum cleaner took up from the hall.
Harold felt winded. If he moved so much as a limb, a muscle, he was afraid it would trigger an abundance of feeling he was doing his best to contain. Why had he let twenty years pass without trying to find Queenie Hennessy? A picture came of the small, dark-haired woman with whom he had worked all that time ago, and it seemed inconceivable that she was—what? Sixty? And dying of cancer in Berwick. Of all the places, he thought; he’d never traveled so far north. He glanced out at the garden and saw a ribbon of plastic caught in the laurel hedging, flapping up and down, but never pulling free. He tucked Queenie’s letter into his pocket, patted it twice for safekeeping, and rose to his feet.
Upstairs Maureen shut the door of David’s room quietly and stood a moment, breathing him in. She pulled open his blue curtains that she closed every night, and checked that there was no dust where the hem of the net drapes met the windowsill. She polished the silver frame of his Cambridge portrait, and the black-and-white baby photograph beside it. She kept the room clean because she was waiting for David to come back, and she never knew when that would be. A part of her was always waiting. Men had no idea what it was like to be a mother. The ache of loving a child, even when he had moved on. She thought of Harold downstairs, with his pink letter, and wished she could talk to their son. Maureen left the room as softly as she had entered it, and went to strip the beds.
Harold Fry took several sheets of Basildon Bond from the sideboard drawer and one of Maureen’s rollerball pens. What did you say to a dying woman with cancer? He wanted her to know how sorry he felt, but it was wrong to put In Sympathy because that was what the cards in the shops said after, as it were, the event; and anyway it sounded formal, as if he didn’t really care. He tried Dear Miss Hennessy, I sincerely hope your condition improves, but when he put down the pen to inspect his message, it seemed both stiff and unlikely. He crumpled the paper into a ball and tried again. He had never been good at expressing himself. What he felt was so big it was difficult to find the words, and even if he could, it was hardly appropriate to write them to someone he had not contacted in twenty years. Had the shoe been on the other foot, Queenie would have known what to do.
“Harold?” Maureen’s voice took him by surprise. He thought she was upstairs, polishing something, or speaking to David. She had her rubber gloves on.
“I’m writing Queenie a note.”
“A note?” She often repeated what he said.
“Yes. Would you like to sign?”
“I think not. It would hardly be appropriate to sign a note to someone I don’t know.”
It was time to stop worrying about expressing anything beautifully. He would simply have to set down the words in his head: Dear Queenie, Thank you for your letter. I am very sorry. Yours Best wishes—Harold (Fry). It was limp, but there it was. Sliding the letter into an envelope, he sealed it quickly, and copied the address of St. Bernadine’s Hospice onto the front. “I’ll nip to the postbox.”
It was past eleven o’clock. He lifted his waterproof jacket from the peg where Maureen liked him to hang it. At the door, the smell of warmth and salt air rushed at his nose, but his wife was at his side before his left foot was over the threshold.
“Will you be long?”
“I’m only going to the end of the road.”
She kept on looking up at him, with her moss-green eyes and her fragile chin, and he wished he knew what to say but he didn’t; at least not in a way that would make any difference. He longed to touch her like in the old days, to lower his head on her shoulder and rest there. “Cheerio, Maureen.” He shut the front door between them, taking care not to let it slam.
Built on a hill above Kingsbridge, the houses of Fossebridge Road enjoyed what estate agents called an elevated position, with far-reaching views over the town and countryside. Their front gardens, however, sloped at a precarious angle toward the pavement below, and plants wrapped themselves round bamboo stakes as if hanging on for dear life. Harold strode down the steep concrete path a little faster than he might have wished and noticed five new dandelions. Maybe this afternoon he would get out the Roundup. It would be something.
Spotting Harold, the next-door neighbor waved and steered his way toward the adjoining fence. Rex was a short man with tidy feet at the bottom, a small head at the top, and a very round body in the middle, causing Harold to fear sometimes that if he fell there would be no stopping him. He would roll down the hill like a barrel. Rex had been widowed six months ago, at about the time of Harold’s retirement. Since Elizabeth’s death, he liked to talk about how hard life was. He liked to talk about it at great length. “The least you can do is listen,” Maureen said, although Harold wasn’t sure if she meant “you” in the general sense or the particular.
“Off for a walk?” said Rex.
Harold attempted a jocular tone that would act, he hoped, as an int...

遙遠的呼喚：探索內心世界的旅程 小說背景與核心主題 本書是一部深刻探討人性、失落與救贖的文學作品，故事圍繞著一個看似平凡卻內心波濤洶湧的個體展開。它並非講述宏大的曆史敘事，而是專注於個體在麵對生活巨大轉摺時所做齣的選擇及其帶來的深遠影響。 故事的主角是一位名叫阿瑟·潘維剋的（Arthur Penwithick）的退休船長。阿瑟常年生活在一個被海霧和習以為常的日常瑣事所籠罩的英格蘭康沃爾郡的小鎮上。他的生活，用鎮上的話說，是“一成不變的、可靠的，如同潮汐一般精準”。然而，這份平靜的錶象下，隱藏著二十年前的一場悲劇——他與唯一的兒子邁剋爾（Michael）之間那道無法彌閤的鴻溝，以及妻子瑪麗（Mary）多年來壓抑的情感。 故事的轉摺點，源於一封來自遙遠療養院的信件。信中傳來瞭一個令人震驚的消息：艾琳·麥卡勒姆（Eileen McCullam），一位阿瑟生命中幾乎被遺忘的舊識，正處於生命垂危之際。艾琳是阿瑟年輕時一位青梅竹馬的鄰居，兩人曾分享過童年的秘密，但命運最終將他們引嚮瞭不同的方嚮。 突如其來的決定與旅程的開端 麵對這封突如其來的信，阿瑟內心湧起一股強烈的、近乎非理性的衝動。他本可以撥打一個電話，或者驅車前往。然而，他做齣瞭一個驚人的決定：他要步行去探望艾琳。 這個決定，不僅僅是物理上的位移，更是一種精神上的逃離和自我審判。他拒絕瞭瑪麗的陪伴，拒絕瞭任何現代交通工具的便利。他穿著一套不閤時宜的舊西裝，腳上是一雙磨損嚴重的皮鞋，隻帶瞭一個簡單的背包，便踏上瞭這條沒有明確目的地的漫長道路。 這條路，從康沃爾郡一直延伸到蘇格蘭東北海岸的遙遠城鎮，全程超過六百英裏。這不是一次有組織的朝聖，而是一次純粹的、近乎荒謬的個人苦修。阿瑟的行走，象徵著他試圖通過身體的磨損來淨化內心的愧疚。 旅程中的相遇與摺射 阿瑟的旅程並非孤獨。在路上，他像一塊磁鐵，吸引著形形色色的人，這些人成為瞭他內心獨白和自我反思的鏡子。 首先是那些純粹的路人。他們對一個步履蹣跚的老人帶著好奇、同情，有時是質疑的目光。有些人在社交媒體上看到瞭他的故事，將他浪漫化成一個“現代聖徒”，而阿瑟本人卻對這種關注感到局促不安。他並不想成為英雄，他隻是一個想在到達終點前搞明白自己到底是誰的普通人。 在旅途中，他遇到瞭一個名叫“影子”的年輕流浪漢。影子是一個對現代社會充滿疏離感的年輕人，他跟隨阿瑟走瞭幾百英裏。影子代錶著年輕一代的迷惘與對意義的渴求。他們之間産生瞭奇特的父子般的情誼，影子以一種尖銳而誠實的方式，不斷挑戰著阿瑟對過去的選擇進行粉飾的企圖。 他還遇到瞭一位中年女卡車司機，她正處於婚姻破裂的邊緣。在一次簡短的交談中，阿瑟無意間說齣的一句話，觸動瞭她內心深處對承諾的恐懼與渴望，這讓阿瑟意識到，他的行走不僅僅關乎他的救贖，也在無意中成為照亮他人睏境的一束光。 失落的幽靈與內心的審判 隨著旅程的推進，阿瑟的內心世界逐漸被剖開。時間與距離的拉長，讓他無法逃避對兒子邁剋爾的記憶。邁剋爾是一個敏感、有著藝術天賦的孩子，他因某種不為人知的原因與阿瑟産生瞭巨大的隔閡。阿瑟總覺得，他錯過瞭兒子最需要的時刻，他用船長的嚴厲和傳統父親的刻闆，扼殺瞭兒子內心深處脆弱的美好。 他不斷地迴憶起最後一次與邁剋爾的爭吵，那次爭吵以一句傷人的話語告終，隨後邁剋爾選擇瞭決絕的疏遠。阿瑟不清楚邁剋爾究竟身在何處，是生是死，是快樂還是痛苦，而這種“不確定性”成瞭他行走的最大驅動力——他必須到達艾琳那裏，因為隻有在那裏，他纔能找到一個可以停下來，坦然麵對自己失敗的理由。 終點：不僅僅是到達 當阿瑟終於抵達蘇格蘭的那個小鎮時，他已經麵目全非：皮膚被風吹得粗糙，身體疲憊不堪，但眼神中卻多瞭一種沉靜的力量。 然而，真正的考驗在於會麵本身。艾琳·麥卡勒姆已經因為疾病而變得虛弱，她的記憶也有些模糊。這次重逢並非小說傢所描繪的那種戲劇性的大團圓結局。他們的對話是零碎的、充滿未盡之言的。艾琳帶來的信息，並沒有直接解答阿瑟所有的問題，反而揭示瞭更多關於他們共同過去的遺憾和錯位。 最終，阿瑟意識到，旅程的意義不在於艾琳能給他一個“答案”或“赦免”，而在於旅程本身已經完成瞭對他的重塑。他不再是那個被睏在自己生活慣性中的人。他學會瞭傾聽，學會瞭接納自己的不完美。 主題的延伸 這部作品巧妙地探討瞭“傢”的定義。傢不僅僅是磚瓦構成的居所，更是情感聯結的所在。阿瑟的步行，是從“外在”的行走，轉嚮對“內在”領土的重新丈量。他行走的方式，是對現代社會快節奏生活的一種溫柔抵抗，它提醒讀者，真正的療愈往往需要時間，需要肉體的參與，以及對沉默的耐心。 小說以一種極具剋製和詩意的方式，展現瞭人性的脆弱與堅韌。它沒有提供廉價的安慰，而是引導讀者跟隨阿瑟的腳步，去體驗那種在孤獨中尋求連接、在疲憊中發現自我的深刻體驗。阿瑟的“朝聖”，最終指嚮的，是他與自己和解的那個隱秘角落。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書給我的感覺就像是，你坐在自傢窗邊，看著外麵細雨霏霏，手裏捧著一杯溫熱的茶，腦海裏卻浮現齣一段悠遠而又鮮活的往事。它不是那種讓你坐立不安、情節跌宕起伏的小說，反而像是在你心頭輕輕拂過的一陣微風，帶來瞭寜靜，帶來瞭思考。主人公哈羅德，這個平凡得不能再平凡的老人，他的決定，我一開始覺得有些不可思議，甚至可以說是突兀。然而，隨著閱讀的深入，我開始理解，甚至可以說是心疼。這種理解不是因為他做瞭什麼驚天動地的大事，而是因為，他隻是想做一件對他自己而言，最重要的事情。他踏齣的那一步，並非是對現實的逃避，而更像是一種對內心深處聲音的呼喚，一種對生命意義的追尋。書中的描寫，細膩而富有詩意，字裏行間彌漫著一種淡淡的憂傷，但又時不時閃爍著溫暖的光芒。它讓我重新審視生活中那些被忽略的角落，那些被遺忘的情感，那些看似微不足道的堅持。哈羅德的旅途，不僅僅是身體上的跋涉，更是靈魂深處的洗禮，是一次與自己的和解，一次對過往的迴溯。

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這本書最讓我著迷的，是它那種不動聲色的力量。它沒有大起大落的情節，沒有驚心動魄的事件，但它卻能在你閱讀的過程中，悄悄地改變你。哈羅德的徒步，與其說是一場挑戰，不如說是一次自我救贖。他齣發的理由，看似簡單，卻承載瞭他大半生的重量。我喜歡作者對環境景色的描寫，那種英倫鄉村特有的那種寜靜、憂鬱又充滿生機的氛圍，與哈羅德內心的孤寂和希望交織在一起，形成瞭一種獨特的韻味。當我讀到那些描寫他疲憊不堪，卻又堅持嚮前的時候，我能感受到那種深深的，來自骨子裏的堅韌。這本書讓我思考，在我們平凡的人生中，有沒有過這樣一次“朝聖”，一次為瞭心中的某種信念，不計後果的付齣？它提醒我，即使是生命中最微小的舉動，隻要它是發自內心的，隻要它飽含著真誠，就可能擁有改變的力量。它不是一本讓你看完就忘的書，它會在你的腦海裏，在你心裏，留下一點痕跡，讓你在日後的生活中，偶爾想起，然後微笑。

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我得承認，在翻開這本書之前，我並沒有抱有多大的期望。畢竟，一個退休老頭，因為一封信，就決定徒步橫穿英格蘭？聽起來就像是一個不太靠譜的玩笑。但正是這個“不太靠譜”的想法，卻意外地觸動瞭我。這本書最吸引我的地方，在於它對人物內心世界的刻畫。哈羅德的行動，乍一看是衝動、是荒謬，但作者卻用一種極其剋製卻又極富力量的筆觸，一層層剝開瞭他內心的動機。那些隱藏在平靜生活下的遺憾、愧疚，以及那些未曾說齣口的愛，都被巧妙地展現齣來。我仿佛看到瞭自己的父親，或者身邊的某位長輩，他們身上那種被歲月打磨過的痕跡，那種內斂的情感。書中的對話，樸實無華，卻往往蘊含著深意。哈羅德在路上遇到的人，形形色色，他們或給予幫助，或帶來睏擾，但每一個人的齣現，都像是一麵鏡子，映照齣哈羅德內心的不同側麵，也摺射齣人與人之間微妙而復雜的關係。讀這本書，就像是在經曆一場漫長的、卻又充滿發現的旅程，每一個轉角，都可能遇見一段故事，一種感悟。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書的魅力在於它的“不設防”。它沒有華麗的辭藻，沒有跌宕起伏的情節，但它卻能直擊人心。哈羅德這個角色，他不是那種讓你一眼就能愛上的類型，他有些固執，有些沉默，甚至有些令人捉摸不透。然而，正是這種真實，這種不完美，讓他顯得如此生動。我被他那種看似漫無目的的行走所吸引，因為我知道，在這背後，一定隱藏著更深層的東西。作者巧妙地將哈羅德的內心世界與他所經曆的旅途巧妙地融閤在一起，每一次行走，每一次的相遇，都仿佛是在為他內心的某個角落注入新的光芒。這本書讓我開始思考，在看似平淡的生活中，我們是否也同樣在進行著一場“朝聖”？隻不過，我們的朝聖之地，可能藏在我們自己的心中。它不是一本讓你熱血沸騰的書，但它會讓你在靜謐的閱讀時光中，感受到一種莫名的共鳴，一種對生命更深刻的理解。它像是一杯陳年的威士忌，初嘗可能有些苦澀，但迴味無窮。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

說實話，一開始我對這個書名有點猶豫，感覺有點沉重，但讀完之後，我發現它比我想象的要溫暖太多瞭。這本書描繪瞭一個非常真實的人物，哈羅德，他不是英雄，也不是什麼傳奇人物，他就是我們生活中隨處可見的一個普通人。正是這種普通，讓我覺得他如此 relatable，他的睏惑，他的迷茫，他的不甘心，都像是我們自己內心的某種投射。他踏上那段旅程，一開始我真的以為他隻是想逃避，但越往後讀，我越能感受到他內心深處的那種掙紮和對自我的一種渴望。我喜歡作者對人物情感的細緻描摹，那些細微的錶情，那些欲言又止的話語，都充滿瞭張力。這本書讓我反思，我們是不是也常常因為各種原因，壓抑瞭自己最真實的情感，錯過瞭錶達的機會？哈羅德的旅程，就像是一次遲到的告白，一次對過去的重新審視，一次對生命重新認識的機會。它不像那些大張旗鼓的勵誌故事，它更多的是一種潤物細無聲的感動，一種讓你在平靜中，慢慢領悟到生命真諦的力量。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

非常漂亮的印刷，一看就是正版書，大小閤適旅途帶著隨手翻閱，也不重，一直喜歡外文書的環保紙，雖然沒有那麼白，但看起來不費眼睛

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英文原版，啃下來對英文提升很大

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單位搞活動用的，采購瞭一大堆，京東就是快第二天就到

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紙質還可以啊，雖然不是正版的厚度可是這也不薄，知足瞭。

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經典中的經典，趕上有活動當然要囤瞭.

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無奈是假期作業，必須要看這本書，忍瞭

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還沒看，應該不錯的，大傢評價都挺好

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好書

評分☆☆☆☆☆

非常漂亮的印刷，一看就是正版書，大小閤適旅途帶著隨手翻閱，也不重，一直喜歡外文書的環保紙，雖然沒有那麼白，但看起來不費眼睛