书名：Sing, Unburied, Sing歌唱吧，无法安息的灵魂，歌唱吧 

作者：Jesmyn Ward 

出版社名称：Bloomsbury Publishing PLC 

出版时间：2018 

语种：英文 

ISBN：9781408890967 

商品尺寸：12.9 x 2.3 x 19.7 cm 

包装：平装 

页数：298 （以实物为准）本书Sing, Unburied, Sing《歌唱吧，无法安息的灵魂，歌唱吧》结合了灵异故事和公路小说，描述了家人羁绊的力量和极限，是一幅亲密的家庭肖像画，也是一部带着希望与挣扎的故事。一经出版即受到肯定，荣获美国国家图书奖和英国女性小说奖。书中独特又充满诗意的文字，编织出一个精彩的家庭故事，受到无数读者的喜爱。 SHORTLISTED FOR THE WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR FICTION 2018 WINNER OF THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD 2017 ONE OF BARACK OBAMA'S BEST BOOKS OF 2017 SELECTED AS A BOOK OF THE YEAR BY THE NEW YORK TIMES, THE NEW STATESMAN, THE FINANCIAL TIMES, THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW, TIME AND THE BBC An intimate portrait of a family and an epic tale of hope and struggle, Sing, Unburied, Sing examines the ugly truths at the heart of the American story and the power - and limitations - of family bonds. Jojo is thirteen years old and trying to understand what it means to be a man. His mother, Leonie, is in constant conflict with herself and those around her. She is black and her children's father is white. Embattled in ways that reflect the brutal reality of her circumstances, she wants to be a better mother, but can't put her children above her own needs, especially her drug use. When the children's father is released from prison, Leonie packs her kids and a friend into her car and drives north to the heart of Mississippi and Parchman Farm, the State Penitentiary. At Parchman, there is another boy, the ghost of a dead inmate who carries all of the ugly history of the South with him in his wandering. He too has something to teach Jojo about fathers and sons, about legacies, about violence, about love. Rich with Ward's distinctive, lyrical language, Sing, Unburied, Sing brings the archetypal road novel into rural twenty-first century America. Review "However eternal its concerns, Sing, Unburied, Sing, Ward's new book, is perfectly poised for the moment. It combines aspects of the American road novel and the ghost story with a timely treatment of the long aftershocks of a hurricane and the opioid epidemic devouring rural America."--The New York Times "Sing, Unburied, Sing is many things: a road novel, a slender epic of three generations and the ghosts that haunt them, and a portrait of what ordinary folk in dire circumstances cleave to as well as what they -- and perhaps we all -- are trying to outrun."--New York Times Book Review "Sing, Unburied Sing is Ward's third novel and her most ambitious yet. Her lyrical prose takes on, alternately, the tones of a road novel and a ghost story ... Sing, which is longlisted for a 2017 National Book Award, establishes Ward as one of the most poetic writers in the conversation about America's unfinished business in the black South."--The Atlantic "[A] tour de force ... Ward is an attentive and precise writer who dazzles with natural and supernatural observations and lyrical details ... she continues telling stories we need to hear with rare clarity and power."--O, the Oprah Magazine "Electric ... a harrowing panorama of the rural South."--L.A. Review of Books "Gorgeous ... Always clear-eyed, Ward knows history is a nightmare. But she insists all the same that we might yet awaken and sing."--Chicago Tribune 被祖父母照顾长大的乔乔今年才十三岁，他人生中的许多男子占有相当重要的地位，抚养他长大的黑人祖父波普是他的模范，白人父亲犯了罪、正准备要出狱，白人祖父根本不承认他的存在，还有黑人舅舅在年轻时就被怀恨在心的白人射杀身亡。 而生命中的女人，除了他深爱的祖母外，母亲兰妮总是出现又消失、消失又出现，乔乔知道要是由母亲来照顾他和妹妹，两人的麻烦可大了，因为兰妮是个自私又不负责任的女人，因嗑药而总是头脑不清。 兰妮很清楚自己的过错，但悲伤、毒瘾、社会不公并没有给她多少机会去改变自己的生活，她所遭受的压力不是十三岁的乔乔可以理解的。 但就在父亲即将出狱之际，兰妮又出现了，把乔乔和妹妹赶上车，途中乔乔发现有个青少年里奇的鬼魂也跟着他们，似乎也只有乔乔看得见他，而里奇似乎和其他男人一样，也有一些事要告诉乔乔……

Jesmyn Ward，在美国密西西比州德利斯勒长大，在密歇根大学获得艺术硕士学位。在校期间，凭借散文、戏剧、小说赢得过霍普沃德奖。她是斯坦福瓦勒斯·斯蒂格纳写作班的成员，也是密西西比大学客座作家。她的处女作《Where the Line Bleeds》曾入选“精要读书俱乐部”（Essence Book Club），也荣获美国图书馆协会非洲裔成员奖（Black Caucus of the ALA Honor Award）、弗吉尼亚联邦大学卡贝尔小说奖（VCU Cabell First Novelist Award）和赫斯顿/怀特奖（Hurston/Wright Legacy Award）。2011年曾凭借《拾骨》（Salvage the Bones）荣获美国国家图书奖。 Jesmyn Wardreceived her MFA from the University of Michigan and has received the MacArthur Genius Grant, a Stegner Fellowship, a John and Renee Grisham Writers Residency, and the Strauss Living Prize. She is the winner of two National Book Awards for Fiction for Sing, Unburied, Sing (2017) and Salvage the Bones (2011). She is also the author of the novel Where the Line Bleeds and the memoir Men We Reaped, which was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award and won the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize and the Media for a Just Society Award. She is currently an associate professor of creative writing at Tulane University and lives in Mississippi.  I like to think I know what death is. I like to think that it’s something I could look at straight. When Pop tell me he need my help and I see that black knife slid into the belt of his pants, I follow Pop out the house, try to keep my back straight, my shoulders even as a hanger; that’s how Pop walks. I try to look like this is normal and boring so Pop will think I’ve earned these thirteen years, so Pop will know I’m ready to pull what needs to be pulled, separate innards from muscle, organs from cavities. I want Pop to know I can get bloody. Today’s my birthday. I grab the door so it don’t slam, ease it into the jamb. I don’t want Mam or Kayla to wake up with none of us in the house. Better for them to sleep. Better for my little sister, Kayla, to sleep, because on nights when Leonie’s out working, she wake up every hour, sit straight up in the bed, and scream. Better for Grandma Mam to sleep, because the chemo done dried her up and hollowed her out the way the sun and the air do water oaks. Pop weaves in and out of the trees, straight and slim and brown as a young pine tree. He spits in the dry red dirt, and the wind makes the trees wave. It’s cold. This spring is stubborn; most days, it won’t make way for warmth. The chill stays like water in a bad-draining tub. I left my hoodie on the floor in Leonie’s room, where I sleep, and my T-shirt is thin, but I don’t rub my arms. If I let the cold goad me, I know when I see the goat, I’ll flinch or frown when Pop cuts the throat. And Pop, being Pop, will see. “Better to leave the baby asleep,” Pop says. Pop built our house himself, narrow in the front and long, close to the road so he could leave the rest of the property wooded. He put his pigpen and his goat yard and the chicken coop in small clearings in the trees. We have to walk past the pigpen to get to the goats. The dirt is black and muddy with shit, and ever since Pop whipped me when I was six for running around the pen with no shoes on, I’ve never been barefoot out here again. You could get worms, Pop had said. Later that night, he told me stories about him and his sisters and brothers when they were young, playing barefoot because all they had was one pair of shoes each and them for church. They all got worms, and when they used the outhouse, they pulled worms out of their butts. I don’t tell Pop, but that was more effective than the whipping.