书名：The Trumpet of the Swan吹小号的天鹅
难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数750L
作者：E. B. White
出版社名称：William Morrow
出版时间：2000
语种：英文
ISBN：9780064408677
商品尺寸：13 x 1.4 x 19.4 cm
包装：平装
页数：272
20世纪著名的文体家，写下20世纪著名的童话。The Trumpet of the Swan《吹小号的天鹅》是美国作家E·B·怀特所著的三部被誉为“二十世纪读者很多、受爱戴的童话”之一，被列入“美国伟大的儿童文学名著”。本书讲的是一个关于成长的动人故事，当代文豪约翰•厄普代克就曾这样评说：“能有这本书，是我们的幸运！”

媒体评论：
我们要感激E·B·怀特，不仅因其眼光敏锐，乐观幽默；更因其多年来给予读者，不论老少。——美国国家图书委员会

在怀特的三部童话里，《吹小号的天鹅》无拘束，娓娓而谈，这故事给了小朋友一个有说服力的关于成长的寓言。能有这本书，实在是我们的幸运。——约翰·厄普代克

The delightful classic by E. B. White, author of Charlottes Web and Stuart Little, about overcoming obstacles and the joy of music. Now featuring gorgeous illustrations by Fred Marcellino!
Like the rest of his family, Louis is a trumpeter swan. But unlike his four brothers and sisters, Louis cant trumpet joyfully. In fact, he cant even make a sound. And since he cant trumpet his love, the beautiful swan Serena pays absolutely no attention to him.
Louis tries everything he can think of to win Serenas affection--he even goes to school to learn to read and write. But nothing seems to work. Then his father steals him a real brass trumpet. Is a musical instrument the key to winning Louis his love?

Review
"The Trumpet of the Swan glows with the primal ecstasies of space and flight, of night and day, of nurturing and maturing, of courtship and art." - John Updike, The New York Times
路易斯是一只生来就哑巴的雄天鹅。为了说出自己的想法，路易斯学会了在石板上写字。可是其他天鹅是不认字的，路易斯还是没有办法向他心爱的雌天鹅倾诉衷肠。为了帮助路易斯，天鹅爸爸从乐器店里偷来了小号。路易斯练了一遍又一遍，终于从小号里吹出了心底深处的歌。乐声不仅打动了塞蕾娜，也赢得了人们的尊敬与赞赏。生活的道路，在路易斯眼前，越来越宽广。
E·B·怀特(1899-1985)生于纽约蒙特弗农，毕业于康奈尔大学，多年来他为《纽约人》杂志担任专职撰稿人。怀特是一位颇有造诣的散文家、幽默作家、诗人和讽刺作家。对于几代美国儿童来说，他之所以出名是因为他写的儿童读物《小斯图亚特》(1945)和《夏洛特的网》(1952)。一代又一代学生和作者熟悉他，因为他是《风格的要素》这本书的合著者(兼修订者)。散文《自由》于1940年7月由《哈泼斯》杂志发表，当时美国尚未加入反对纳粹的战争，世界正处于纳粹──苏联条约的时期，无论左派或右派都忽略了极权主义对民主的威胁，这篇散文收入怀特的文集《一个人的肉食》(1942)。

E.B. White, the author of twenty books of prose and poetry, was awarded the 1970 Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal for his children’s books, Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web. In 1973, it received the Sequoyah Award (Oklahoma) and the William Allen White Award (Kansas), voted by the school children of those states as their "favorite book" of the year. He also received honorary degrees from seven colleges and universities. Mr. White died on October 1, 1985.
Walking back to camp through the swamp, Sam wondered whether to tell his father what he had seen.
“I know one thing,” he said to himself. “I’m going back to that little pond again tomorrow. And I’d like to go alone. If I tell my father what I saw today, he will want to go with me. I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.
Sam was eleven. His last name was Beaver. He was strong for his age and had black hair and dark eyes like an Indian. Sam walked like an Indian, too, putting one foot straight in front of the other and making very little noise. The swamp through he was traveling was a wild place—there was no trail, and it was boggy underfoot, made walking Every four or five minutes Sam took his compass out of his pocket and checked his course to make sure he was headed in a westerly direction. Canada is a big place. Much of it is wilderness. To get lost in the woods and swamps of western Canada would be a serious matter.
As he trudged on, the boy’s mind was full of the wonder of what he had seen. Not many people in the world have seen the nest of a Trumpeter Swan. Sam had found one on the lonely pond on the day in spring. He had seen the two great white birds with their long white necks and black bills. Nothing he had ever seen before in all his life had made him feel quite the way he felt, on that wild little pond, in the presence of those two enormous swans. They were so much bigger than any bird he had ever seen before. The nest was big, too—a mound of sticks and grasses. The female was sitting on eggs; the male glided slowly back and forth, guarding her.
When Sam reached camp, tired and hungry, he found his father frying a couple of fish for lunch.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Mr. Beaver.
‘Exploring,’ replied Sam. ‘I walked over to a about a mile and a half from here. It’s the one we see from the air as we’re coming in. It isn’t much of a place—nowhere near as big as the lake we’re on.’
‘Did you see anything over there?’ asked his father.
Well,’ said Sam, ‘it’s a swampy pond with a lot of reeds and cattails. I don’t think it would be any good for fishing. Ad it’s hard to get to—you have to cross a swamp.
‘See anything?’ repeated Mr. Beaver.
‘I saw a muskrat,’ said Sam, ‘and a few Red- winged Blackbirds.’
Mr. Beaver looked up from the wood stove, where the fish were sizzling in a pan.