书名：The Enchanted April情迷四月天

作者：Elizabeth von Armin

出版社名称：Alma Classics

出版时间：2018

语种：英文

ISBN：9781847497215

商品尺寸：12.7 x 1.9 x 20 cm

包装：平装

页数：256 （以实物为准）

The Enchanted April《情迷四月天》是英国小说家伊丽莎白·亚宁非常受欢迎的一部作品，讲述了四个各不相同的英国女人离开了阴雨和不幸福的生活，来到了阳光明媚的意大利，在美好的环境中重新找到了希望和爱的故事。书末附有具体页数的内容注释，方便读者更好地理解。

这部小说细腻地描写了女性之间的情谊，让Portofino渔村上的15世纪城堡Castello Brown成为了知名的旅游景点。此外，小说曾被多次改编为音乐剧、电影等，深受读者和观众的喜爱。 Four women, with very different backgrounds and characters – the artless Lottie Wilkins, the pious Rose Arbuthnot, the cantankerous Mrs Fisher and the haughty Lady Caroline Dester – respond to an advertisement in The Times offering a medieval castle to rent in Italy that April. As their joint holiday begins, tensions flare up between them, but they soon bond over their past misfortunes and rediscover hope and the pleasures of life in their tranquil surroundings. A huge best-seller when it was published in 1922, The Enchanted April has inspired generations of readers since and established Portofino and the Italian Riviera as a mainstay of the tourist circuit. Review“Italian holidays get more than their fair share of literary attention, but this uplifting novel is unmissable -- reading it is almost as good as taking a holiday oneself.” --Observer “Brims with magic and laughter” --The Guardian “This delicious confection will work its magic on all.” --Daily Telegraph

在二十年代的伦敦，有两位婚姻生活平淡的家庭主妇为了争取重拾丈夫的爱情，她们相约另两名同伴，到一个温暖而浪漫的南欧国度享受一个月的解放生活……

伊丽莎白·亚宁（Elizabeth von Arnim，1866-1941），本名Mary Annette Beauchamp，是澳大利亚出生的英国小说家。半自传小说Vera被誉为“简奥斯丁版的《呼啸山庄》”，根据另一部作品《史格芬顿先生》改编的电影曾获奥斯卡提名。

Elizabeth von Arnim (1866–1941) was an Australian-born British novelist who was married to a Prussian aristocrat. Her most famous works include Elizabeth and Her German Garden and The Enchanted April.

IT BEGAN IN A WOMAN’S CLUB in London on a February afternoon — an uncomfortable club, and a miserable afternoon — when Mrs Wilkins, who had come down from Hampstead to shop and had lunched at her club, took up The Times from the table in the smoking room, and running her listless eye down the agony column saw this:

To Those Who Appreciate Wisteria and Sunshine. Small medieval Italian castle on the shores of the Mediterranean to be let furnished for the month of April. Necessary servants remain. Z, Box1,000, The Times. That was its conception; yet, as in the case of many another, the conceiver was unaware of it at the moment. So entirely unaware was Mrs Wilkins that her April for that year had then and there been settled for her that she dropped the newspaper with a gesture that was both irritated and resigned, and went over to the window and stared drearily out at the dripping street. Not for her were medieval castles — even those that are specially described as small. Not for her the shores in April of the Mediterranean, and the wisteria and sunshine. Such delights were only for the rich. Yet the advertisement had been addressed to persons who appreciate these things: so that it had been, anyhow, addressed too to her, for she certainly appreciated them — more than anybody knew — more than she had ever told. But she was poor. In the whole world she possessed of her own only ninety pounds, saved from year to year, put by carefully pound by pound, out of her dress allowance. She had scraped this sum together at the suggestion of her husband, as a shield and refuge against a rainy day. Her dress allowance given her by her father was £100 a year, so that Mrs Wilkins’s clothes were what her husband — urging her to save — called modest and becoming, and her acquaintance to each other, when they spoke of her at all, which was seldom for she was very negligible, called a perfect sight. Mr Wilkins, a solicitor, encouraged thrift, except that branch of it which got into his food. He did not call that thrift — he called it bad housekeeping. But for the thrift which, like moth, penetrated into Mrs Wilkins’s clothes and spoilt them, he had much praise. “You never know,” he said, “when there will be a rainy day and you may he very glad to find you have a nest egg. Indeed we both may.” Looking out of the club window into Shaftesbury Avenue— hers was an economical club, but convenient for Hampstead, where she lived, and for Shoolbred’s, where she shopped — Mrs Wilkins, having stood there some time very drearily, her mind’s eye on the Mediterranean in April and the wisteria and the enviable opportunities of the rich, while her bodily eye watched the really extremely horrible sooty rain falling steadily on the hurrying umbrellas and splashing omnibuses, suddenly wondered whether perhaps this was not the rainy day Mellersh — Mellersh was Mr Wilkins — had so often encouraged her to prepare for, and whether to get out of such a climate and into the small medieval castle wasn’t perhaps what Providence had all along intended her to do with her savings.