书名：Wringer敲诈者/真正的勇者
难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数690L
作者：Jerry Spinelli
出版社名称：HarperCollins
出版时间：1998
语种：英文
ISBN：9780064405782
商品尺寸：14 x 1.9 x 19.7 cm
包装：平装
页数：240
本书Wringer《敲诈者/真正的勇者》是纽伯瑞银奖获奖作品，讲述了十岁的男孩帕默反抗残酷的传统，保护鸽子、找寻自我的故事。

Newbery Honor Book * ALA Notable Childrens Book
In Palmer LaRues hometown of Waymer, turning ten is the biggest event of a boys life. But for Palmer, his tenth birthday is not something to look forward to but something to dread.
Then one day, a visitor appears on his windowsill, and Palmer knows that this, more than anything else, is a sign that his time is up. Somehow, he must learn how to stop being afraid and stand up for what he believes in.
Wringer is an unforgettable tour de force from Newbery Medal winner Jerry Spinelli.

Review
"Deeply felt. Presents a moral question with great care and sensitivity." --The New York Times

"A spellbinding story about rites of passage." --Publishers Weekly

"A realistic story with the intensity of a fable." --The Horn Book

"Thought-provoking." --School Library Journal
在帕默居住的小镇上每年都要举行鸽子节，今年鸽子节的举办是为城镇的操场筹钱，大家把鸽子困住并在当天放飞并射击，十岁的男孩们可以获得荣耀——他们把受伤但还没有死去的鸽子的脖子扭断，美其名曰：把他们从痛苦中解放出来。当帕默九岁的时候，他的伙伴们要求他加入他们成为“扭断者”。由于怕被大家排斥，他不得不加入他们，直到一天，一只鸽子来到了他的窗口……
Jerry Spinelliis the author of Maniac Magee, winner of the 1991 Newbery Medal, and Wringer, named a Newbery Honor book in 1998. He went to Gettysburg College and John Hopkins University. He and his wife, Eileen, also a writer of childrens books, have seven children. Jerry Spinellis books are funny and true to life. Whenever students ask him where he gets his ideas, he replies, "From you. Youre the funny ones." Spinelli enjoys writing about the adventure in the typical experiences of children and young people.
He did not want to be a wringer.
This was one of the first things he had learned about himself. He could not have said exactly when he learned it, but it was very early. And more than early, it was deep inside. In the stomach, like hunger.
But different from hunger, different and worse. Because it was always there. Hunger came only sometimes, such as just before dinner or on long rides in the car. Then, quickly, it was gone the moment it was fed. But this thing, there was no way to feed it. Well, one way perhaps, but that was unthinkable. So it was never gone.
In fact, gone was something it could not be, for he could not escape it any more than he could escape himself. The best he could do was forget it. Sometimes he did so, for minutes, hours, maybe even for a day or two.
But this thing did not like to be forgotten. Like air escaping a punctured tire, it would spread out from his stomach and be everywhere. Inside and outside, up and down, day and night, just beyond the foot of his bed, in his sock drawer, on the porch steps, at the edges of the lips of other boys, in the sudden flutter from a bush that he had come too close to. Everywhere.
Just to remind him.
This thing, this not wanting to be a wringer, did it ever knock him from his bike? Untie his sneaker lace? Call him a name? Stand up and fight?
No. It did nothing. It was simply, merely there, a whisper of featherwings, reminding him of the moment he dreaded above all others, the moment when the not wanting to be a wringer would turn to becoming one.
In his dreams the moment had already come. In his dreams he looks down to find his hands around the neck of the pigeon. It feels silky. The pigeon’s eye is like a polished shirt button. The pigeon’s eye is orange with a smaller black button in the center. It looks up at him. It does not blink. It seems as if the bird is about to speak, but it does not. Only the voices speak: “Wring it! Wring it! Wring it!”