书名：Champion: A Legend Novel传奇系列3：冠军
作者：Marie Lu
出版社名称：Penguin Group
出版时间：2014
语种：英文
ISBN：9780147512284
商品尺寸：14 x2.8x20.9 cm
包装：平装
页数：370

Champion: A Legend Novel《传奇系列3：冠军》是美国纽约时报畅销作家陆希未广受好评的原创系列小说作品，峰回路转、辉煌灿烂的第三集！喜欢《饥饿游戏》或《分歧者》的你，千万不要错过。
推荐理由：
1.与《饥饿游戏》《冰与火之歌》并列为年度必看小说,电影版权由《暮光之城》制作人买下，由《体温》导演筹备开拍中；
2.全球热销逾一百万本！引爆二十六国读者肾上腺素，反乌托邦；
3.美国豆瓣Goodreads书评网站逾6万名读者5颗星满分推荐，年度青少年小说；
4.美国亚马逊网站四颗半星推荐！上市首周即攻占纽约时报畅销排行榜第二名；
5.2012年青少年图书馆服务协会（YALSA）票选青少年小说TOP10，2012年Goodreads网站YA轻小说（反乌托邦类）TOP5。
The explosive finale to Marie Lu’sNew York Times bestselling LEGEND trilogy—perfect for fans of THE HUNGER GAMES and DIVERGENT!
Reviews:
“Fine writing and excellent execution. Sequel, please!” —FromENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY
“Legend doesn’t merely survive the hype, it deserves it.” —FromTHE NEW YORK TIMES
“Marie Lu’s dystopian novel is a ‘Legend’ in the making.”—FromUSA TODAY
“an action-packed love story full of inventive details.” —FromTHE LOS ANGELES TIMES
“Lu’s debut is a stunner…raises hopes high for the sequels to come.” —STARRED REVIEW fromPUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“A gripping thriller in dystopic future Los Angeles. This is no didactic near-future warning of present evils, but a cinematic adventure featuring endearing, compelling heroes.” — STARRED REVIEW from KIRKUS REVIEWS
“Delicious details keep pages turning… you’ve got the makings for a potent sequel.” —STARRED REVIEW from BOOKLIST

他是【传奇】，她是【菁英】；而谁将会是【冠军】呢？
琼和戴伊为了共和国人民——还有彼此——牺牲许多，如今，他们的国家正处于革新的动荡时期。琼回到共和国之后，得到特别的礼遇，以参议长候选人之姿在政府高层菁英圈工作，戴伊则获邀担任高阶军官。
然而谁也想不到，局势逼得他们再次聚首。就在和平协议即将签订之际，爆发了一场瘟疫，导致殖民地恐慌，眼见共和国边界城市又要陷入战争危机。这个新型瘟疫比以往更致命，只有琼握有保卫国家之钥。然而若要拯救成千上万人的性命，就表示她必须请求她所爱的人放弃一切……
He is a Legend.
She is a Prodigy.
Who will be Champion?  
June and Day have sacrificed so much for the people of the Republic—and each other—and now their country is on the brink of a new existence. June is back in the good graces of the Republic, working within the government’s elite circles as Princeps Elect while Day has been assigned a high level military position. But neither could have predicted the circumstances that will reunite them once again. Just when a peace treaty is imminent, a plague outbreak causes panic in the Colonies, and war threatens the Republic’s border cities. This new strain of plague is deadlier than ever, and June is the only one who knows the key to her country’s defense. But saving the lives of thousands will mean asking the one she loves to give up everything he has. With heart-pounding action and suspense, Marie Lu’s bestselling trilogy draws to a stunning conclusion.

陆希未，是《纽约时报》畅销作品《传奇三部曲》的作者，毕业于南加州大学，目前居住在加州洛杉矶。在成为全职作家前，她曾是电玩游戏公司Online Alchemy（在线炼金术）的艺术指导。
Marie Lu is the author of the New York Times bestsellingLegend series. She graduated from the University of Southern California and jumped into the video game industry, working for Disney Interactive Studios as a Flash artist. Now a full-time writer, she spends her spare time reading, drawing, playingAssassin’s Creed, and getting stuck in traffic. She lives in Los Angeles, California, with one husband, one Chihuahua mix, and two Pembroke Welsh corgis.

OUT OF ALL THE DISGUISES I’VE WORN, THIS ONE might be my favorite.
Dark red hair, different enough from my usual white-blond, cut to just past my shoulders and pulled back into a tail. Green contacts that look natural when layered over my blue eyes. A crumpled, half-tucked collar shirt, its tiny silver buttons shining in the dark, a thin military jacket, black pants and steel-toed boots, a thick gray scarf wrapped around my neck, chin, and mouth. A dark soldier cap is pulled low over my forehead, and a crimson, painted tattoo stretches all over the left half of my face, changing me into someone unfamiliar. Aside from this, I wear an ever-present earpiece and mike. The Republic insists on it.
In most other cities, I’d probably get even more stares than I usually do because of that giant goddy tattoo—not exactly a subtle marker, I gotta admit. But here in San Francisco, I blend right in with the others. The first thing I noticed when Eden and I moved to Frisco eight months ago was the local trend: young people painting black or red patterns on their faces, some small and delicate, like Republic seals on their temples or something similar, others huge and sprawling, like giant patterns of the Republic’s land shape. I chose a pretty generic tattoo tonight, because I’m not loyal enough to the Republic to stamp that loyalty right on my face. Leave that to June. Instead, I have stylized flames. Good enough.
My insomnia’s acting up tonight, so instead of sleeping, I’m walking alone through a sector called Marina, which as far as I can tell is the hillier, Frisco equivalent of LA’s Lake sector. The night’s cool and pretty quiet, and a light drizzle is blowing in from the city’s bay. The streets are narrow, glistening wet, and riddled with potholes, and the buildings that rise up on both sides—most of them tall enough to vanish into tonight’s low-lying clouds—are eclectic, painted with fading red and gold and black, their sides fortified with enormous steel beams to counter the earthquakes that roll through every couple of months. JumboTrons five or six stories high sit on every other block, blaring the usual barrage of Republic news. The air smells salty and bitter, like smoke and industrial waste mixed with seawater, and somewhere in there, a faint whiff of fried fish. Sometimes, when I turn down a corner, I’ll suddenly end up close enough to the water’s edge to get my boots wet. Here the land slopes right into the bay and hundreds of buildings poke out half submerged along the horizon. Whenever I get a view of the bay, I can also see the Golden Gate Ruins, the twisted remnants of some old bridge all piled up along the other side of the shore. A handful of people jostle past me now and then, but for the most part the city is asleep. Scattered bonfires light alleyways, gathering spots for the sector’s street folks. It’s not that different from Lake.
Well—I guess there are some differences now. The San Francisco Trial Stadium, for one, which sits empty and unlit off in the distance. Fewer street police in the poor sectors. The city’s graffiti. You can always get an idea of how the people are feeling by looking at the recent graffiti. A lot of the messages I’ve seen lately actually support the Republic’s new Elector. He is our hope, says one message scrawled on the side of a building. Another painted on the street reads: The Elector will guide us out of the darkness. A little too optimistic, if you ask me, but I guess they’re good signs. Anden must be doing something right. And yet. Every now and then, I’ll also see messages that say, The Elector’s a hoax, or Brainwashed, or The Day we knew is dead.
I don’t know. Sometimes this new trust between Anden and the people feels like a string . . . and I am that string. Besides, maybe the happy graffiti’s fake, painted by propaganda officers. Why not?
You never know with the Republic.
Eden and I, of course, have a Frisco apartment in a rich sector called Pacifica, where we stay with our caretaker, Lucy. The Republic’s gotta take care of its seventeen-year-old most-wanted-criminal-turned-national-hero, doesn’t it? I remember how much I distrusted Lucy—a stern, stout, fifty-two-year-old lady dressed in classic Republic colors—when she first showed up at our door in Denver. “The Republic has assigned me to assist you boys,” she told me as she bustled in to our apartment. Her eyes had settled immediately on Eden. “Especially the little one.”
Yeah. That didn’t sit well with me. First of all, it’d taken me two months before I could even let Eden out of my sight. We ate side by side; we slept side by side; he was never alone. I’d gone as far as standing outside his bathroom door, as if Republic soldiers would somehow suck him out through a vent, take him back to a lab, and hook him up to a bunch of machines.
“Eden doesn’t need you,” I’d snapped at Lucy. “He’s got me. I take care of him.”
But my health started fluctuating after those first couple of months. Some days I felt fine; other days, I’d be stuck in bed with a crippling headache. On those bad days, Lucy would take over—and after a few shouting matches, she and I settled into a grudging routine. She does make pretty awesome meat pies. And when we moved here to Frisco, she came with us. She guides Eden. She manages my medications.
When I’m finally tired of walking, I notice that I’ve wandered right out of Marina and into a wealthier neighboring district. I stop in front of a club with THE OBSIDIAN LOUNGE scored into a metal slab over its door. I slide against the wall into a sitting position, my arms resting on my knees, and feel the music’s vibrations. My metal leg is ice-cold through the fabric of my trousers. On the wall across from me, graffiti scrawled in red reads, Day = Traitor. I sigh, take a silver tin from my pocket, and pull out a long cigarette. I run a finger across the SAN FRANCISCO CENTRAL HOSPITAL text imprinted down its length. Prescription cigarettes. Doctor’s orders, yeah? I put it to my lips with trembling fingers and light it up. Close eyes. Take a puff. Gradually I lose myself in the clouds of blue smoke, waiting for the sweet, hallucinogenic effects to wash over me.
Doesn’t take long tonight. Soon the constant, dull headache disappears, and the world around me takes on a blurry sheen that I know isn’t only from the rain. A girl’s sitting next to me. It’s Tess.
She gives me the grin I was so familiar with back on the streets of Lake. “Any news from the JumboTrons?” she asks me, pointing toward a screen across the road.
I exhale blue smoke and lazily shake my head. “Nope. I mean, I’ve seen a couple of Patriot-related headlines, but it’s like you guys vanished off the map. Where are you? Where are you going?”
“Do you miss me?” Tess asks instead of answering.
I stare at the shimmery image of her. She’s how I remember from the streets—her reddish-brown hair tied into a messy braid, her eyes large and luminous, kind and gentle. Little baby Tess. What were my last words to her . . . back when we had botched the Patriots’ assassination attempt on Anden? Please, Tess—I can’t leave you here. But that’s exactly what I did.