出版时间:2009-7 出版社:清华大学 作者:(美)弗·斯格特·菲茨杰拉德|译者:纪飞//刘乃亚 页数:160 字数:174000
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前言
通读了尉老师的书稿后,真感觉文如其人,我从中看到站在我面前的是一位对社会持有深沉责任意识与使命感、富有思考与批判能力、博学、笃志、执著、令人可畏的青年教师。 本书的内容结构和编排技巧富有新意,上篇侧重于建筑理论,下篇侧重于建筑历史。讲论则旁征博引、深入浅出,几乎是将天文地理、哲学宗教、文化艺术、社会历史……凡与建筑相关的知识全都巧妙地编排了一遍,文笔畅达;说史则环环相扣,通过十篇文章将人类建筑文明史作了一番传奇式的精彩表述,同时又将东西方文化比较、各种增广贤言及作者自身的价值判断巧妙地穿插其间,既普及了历史知识,又普及了现代意识。这对于一位青年教师来说是非常难能可贵的,由此也可知为什么他的授课如此受到学生们的欢迎。 我还想说一下作者写作此书所采用的方式。这本书虽是作者以自己在大学课堂上的教学讲稿为基础整理出来的,但却是以大众读物的形式来编撰的。因此,通篇文字深入浅出,“故事”情节引人入胜,成功地克服了以往学术著作“理论玄妙得高不可攀,历史繁杂得令人生厌”的弊端,将“小众知识”普及为人所皆知的常识,这是值得我们思考的——我们未来的大学教科书,是否也应该考虑一下可读性的问题呢? 此外,作者在书稿中凡引用别人的东西,均不厌其烦,用括注、脚注、尾注等各种不同形式一一注明,恐有疏漏之处更在“后记”中坦率说明,一丝不苟,这是一种严谨、诚实的学风。 因时间仓促,虽通读了全书,但尚未能细细咀嚼品味,所发皆是一些粗浅看法,算不上序。
内容概要
The Great Gatsby,中文译名为《了不起的盖茨比》,它是美国著名作家弗·斯格特·菲茨杰拉德的作品,被誉为二十世纪最伟大的英文小说之一。小说的主人公盖茨比出身寒微,一次偶然的机会他认识了富家女黛西,两人一见钟情,私订终身,但是黛西背叛了他,嫁给了有钱人汤姆。盖茨比为了赢得爱情,不择手段聚积金钱,但是他的理想最终还是破灭了,盖茨比带着残破的梦死去。这个故事一直以来被认为是“美国梦”的崛起、旺盛与衰落的标准象征。时至今日,该书依然是美国一部家喻户晓的经典小说。无论作为文学作品的经典读本,还是作为语言学习的课外读物,对当代中国的读者,特别是大学生读者,该书将产生积极的影响。为了使读者能够了解每章的主要内容,进而提高阅读速度和阅读水平,在每个主题的开始部分都增加了中文导读。
作者简介
弗·斯格特·菲茨杰拉德(1896-1940),20世纪与海明威、福克纳齐名的美国著名作家。著名诗人兼文艺评论家艾略特对《了不起的盖茨比》进行了高度评价,称之为“美国小说自亨利·詹姆斯以来迈出的第一步”。海明成在回忆菲茨杰拉德时写道:“既然他能够写出一本像《了不起的盖
书籍目录
第一章/Chapter 1 1第二章/Chapter 2 20第三章/Chapter 3 34第四章/Chapter 4 53第五章/Chapter 5 71第六章/Chapter 6 86第七章/Chapter 7 99第八章/Chapter 8 130第九章/Chapter 9 144
章节摘录
第 一 章 Chapter 1 尼克年轻的时候,父亲曾告诉他,并不是世上所有的人都拥有他这样的优越条件。为此,他习惯于对人保留判断和倾听别人的诉说,所以,大学期间人们指责他为小政客。尼克认为人在道德观念上的分配是不均的,如果所有人在道德上像军人站立正姿势那样一致就好了,但有一个人例外——那就是盖茨比,他有一种对人生希望高度敏感的天赋和富于浪漫的敏捷。 尼克的姓氏卡罗威在当地也算是个名门望族,据说还是布娄奇公爵的后裔。尼克祖父的哥哥于一八五一年来到那里买了个替身参加南北战争,然后自己做起了五金批发生意,这买卖现在由尼克的父亲经营。尼克一九一五年从纽黑文毕业,后来到东部学债券生意。父亲答应为他提供一年的费用,于是,一九二一年他到了东部大城市纽约。尼克准备和同事在近郊合租一套房子,但后来同事调到华盛顿去了,他只好一个人搬到了郊外。In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Res- erving judgements is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
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