书名：The Bonesetter’s Daughter 接骨师之女

难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数800L

作者：Amy Tan

出版社名称：Ballantine Books

出版时间：2002

语种：英文

ISBN：9780804114981

商品尺寸：10.5 x 2.7 x 17.4 cm

包装：简装

页数：416 （以实物为准）

The Bonesetter’s Daughter《接骨师之女》是电影同名小说《喜福会》作者，华裔女作家谭恩美的经典之作——当女儿长大成人，在生活中艰难前行时，才终于能理解那颗婉转倾诉的慈母之心，继承那段亦真亦幻的遥远记忆。龙骨、北京猿人、制墨世家、接骨神药，谭恩美用奇崛的想象力与瑰丽的叙事手法，用祖辈魔幻又真实的经历，在陌生的文化背景下，构建起一座关于遥远东方的奇异迷宫。 推荐理由： 1.《喜福会》作者，美国华裔女作家谭恩美经典之作； 2.谭恩美自传性强、表现华裔移民母女关系深入和感人的巨作； 3. 英文原版，文风流畅，清婉动人，阅读难度不大。 Review “The Bonesetter’s Daughter dramatically chronicles the tortured, devoted relationship between LuLing Young and her daughter Ruth... A strong novel, filled with idiosyncratic, sympathetic characters, haunting images, historical complexity, significant contemporary themes, and suspenseful mystery.”  —Los Angeles Times “TAN AT HER BEST... Rich and hauntingly forlorn... The writing is so exacting and unique in its detail.”  —San Francisco Chronicle “For Tan, the true keeper of memory is language, and so the novel is layered with stories that have been written down–by mothers for their daughters, passing along secrets that cannot be said out loud but must not be forgotten.”  —The New York Times Book Review “AMY TAN [HAS] DONE IT AGAIN...The Bonesetter’s Daughter tells a compelling tale of family relationships; it layers and stirs themes of secrets, ambiguous meanings, cultural complexity and self-identity; and it resonates with metaphor and symbol.”  —The Denver Post

The Bonesetter’s Daughter《接骨师之女》是美国华裔女作家谭恩美的代表作之一，写于2001年。小说创作期间作者的母亲和编辑先后辞世，受此影响，该作带有很深的个人色彩。小说共讲述了两对母女、三代人横跨大洋两岸的故事。露丝是一名面临中年危机的代笔写手，她个性柔弱、隐忍，对工作、生活、伴侣的不满与不平让她渐渐迷失自我，并且束手无策。 一日，露丝带母亲体检时，发现母亲患有老年痴呆症，愧疚之余，她搬回家照顾母亲，并尝试去解读一直被她忽略的母亲的手稿。通过手稿，她逐渐了解了母亲坎坷多舛的人生，以及发生在外婆身上的惨烈故事，渐渐开始理解母亲的痛楚与深情，并开始反思自己年少无知时犯下的错误，母女二人终于和解。在照顾母亲的过程中，露丝也逐渐理清了自己的困惑，走出中年危机，开始了新的生活。 Ruth Young and her widowed mother, LuLing, have always had a tumultuous relationship. Now, before she succumbs to forgetfulness, LuLing gives Ruth some of her writings, which reveal a side of LuLing that Ruth has never known... In a remote mountain village where ghosts and tradition rule, LuLing grows up in the care of her mute Precious Auntie as the family endures a curse laid upon a relative known as the bonesetter. When headstrong LuLing rejects the marriage proposal of the coffinmaker, a shocking series of events are set in motion—all of which lead back to Ruth and LuLing in modern San Francisco. The truth that Ruth learns from her mother’s past will forever change her perception of family, love, and forgiveness.

谭恩美（Amy Tan），知名美籍华裔女作家，1952年出生于美国加州奥克兰。三十三岁开始写小说，后出版首部长篇小说《喜福会》，自此奠定了她在文学界的声誉。《喜福会》生动地描写了母女之间的微妙的感情，这本小说不仅获得该年度国家书卷奖，还被改编成了电影，创下了极高的票房佳绩。其他作品有《灶神之妻》《灵感女孩》《接骨师之女》《沉没之鱼》和为儿童创作的《月亮夫人》《中国暹罗猫》等。 Amy Tan is the author ofThe Joy Luck Club,The Kitchen God’s Wife,The Hundred Secret Senses,The Bonesetter’s Daughter,The Opposite of Fate,Saving Fish from Drowning, and two children’s books,The Moon Lady andThe Chinese Siamese Cat, which has been adapted as Sagwa, a PBS series for children. Tan was also the co-producer and co-screenwriter of the film version ofThe Joy Luck Club, and her essays and stories have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. Her work has been translated into more than twenty-five languages. Tan, who has a master’s degree in linguistics from San Jose University, has worked as a language specialist to programs serving children with developmental disabilities. She lives with her husband in San Francisco and New York.

TRUTH These are the things I know are true: My name is LuLing Liu Young. The names of my husbands were Pan Kai Jing and Edwin Young, both of them dead and our secrets gone with them. My daughter is Ruth Luyi Young. She was born in a Water Dragon Year and I in a Fire Dragon Year. So we are the same but for opposite reasons. I know all this, yet there is one name I cannot remember. It is there in the oldest layer of my memory, and I cannot dig it out. A hundred times I have gone over that morning when Precious Auntie wrote it down. I was only six then, but very smart. I could count. I could read. I had a memory for everything, and here is my memory of that winter morning. I was sleepy, still lying on the brick k’ang bed I shared with Precious Auntie. The flue to our little room was furthest from the stove in the common room, and the bricks beneath me had long turned cold. I felt my shoulder being shaken. When I opened my eyes, Precious Auntie began to write on a scrap of paper, then showed me what she had written. “I can’t see,” I complained. “It’s too dark.” She huffed, set the paper on the low cupboard, and motioned that I should get up. She lighted the teapot brazier, and tied a scarf over her nose and mouth when it started to smoke. She poured face-washing water into the teapot’s chamber, and when it was cooked, she started our day. She scrubbed my face and ears. She parted my hair and combed my bangs. She wet down any strands that stuck out like spider legs. Then she gathered the long part of my hair into two bundles and braided them. She banded the top with red ribbon, the bottom with green. I wagged my head so that my braids swung like the happy ears of palace dogs. And Precious Auntie sniffed the air as if she, too, were a dog wondering, What’s that good smell? That sniff was how she said my nickname, Doggie. That was how she talked. She had no voice, just gasps and wheezes, the snorts of a ragged wind. She told me things with grimaces and groans, dancing eyebrows and darting eyes. She wrote about the world on my carry-around chalkboard. She also made pictures with her blackened hands. Hand-talk, face-talk, and chalk-talk were the languages I grew up with, soundless and strong. As she wound her hair tight against her skull, I played with her box of treasures. I took out a pretty comb, ivory with a rooster carved at each end. Precious Auntie was born a Rooster. “You wear this,” I demanded, holding it up. “Pretty.” I was still young enough to believe that beauty came from things, and I wanted Mother to favor her more. But Precious Auntie shook her head. She pulled off her scarf and pointed to her face and bunched her brows. What use do I have for prettiness? she was saying. Her bangs fell to her eyebrows like mine. The rest of her hair was bound into a knot and stabbed together with a silver prong. She had a sweet-peach forehead, wide-set eyes, full cheeks tapering to a small plump nose. That was the top of her face. Then there was the bottom. She wiggled her blackened fingertips like hungry flames. See what the fire did. I didn’t think she was ugly, not in the way others in our family did. “Ai-ya, seeing her, even a demon would leap out of his skin,” I once heard Mother remark. When I was small, I liked to trace my fingers around Precious Auntie’s mouth. It was a puzzle. Half was bumpy, half was smooth and melted closed. The inside of her right cheek was stiff as leather, the left was moist and soft. Where the gums had burned, the teeth had fallen out. And her tongue was like a parched root. She could not taste the pleasures of life: salty and bitter, sour and sharp, spicy, sweet, and fat. No one else understood Precious Auntie’s kind of talk, so I had to say aloud what she meant. Not everything, though, not our secret stories. She often told me about her father, the Famous Bonesetter from the Mouth of the Mountain, about the cave where they found the dragon bones, how the bones were divine and could cure any pain, except a grieving heart. “Tell me again,” I said that morning, wishing for a story about how she burned her face and became my nursemaid. I was a fire-eater, she said with her hands and eyes. Hundreds of people came to see me in the market square. Into the burning pot of my mouth I dropped raw pork, added chilis and bean paste, stirred this up, then offered the morsels to people to taste. If they said, “Delicious!” I opened my mouth as a purse to catch their copper coins. One day, however, I ate the fire, and the fire came back, and it ate me. After that, I decided not to be a cook-pot anymore, so I became your nursemaid instead. I laughed and clapped my hands, liking this made-up story best. The day before, she told me she had stared at an unlucky star falling out of the sky and then it dropped into her open mouth and burned her face. The day before that, she said she had eaten what she thought was a spicy Hunan dish only to find that it was the coals used for cooking.