书名：Norwegian Wood 挪威的森林

作者：Haruki Murakami村上春树

出版社名称：Vintage

出版时间：2011

语种：英文

ISBN：9780307744661

商品尺寸：10.5 x 2.1 x 17.5 cm

包装：简装

页数：400

纯而又纯的青春情感，百分之百的恋爱小说。Norwegian Wood《挪威的森林》系日本知名作家村上春树的重要作品之一，也是其作品中最容易看和写实的一部。小说描写一个背井离乡的大学生，爱上了一个忧郁深情的少女，同时也被一个热情奔放的少女所吸引，在两个少女之间徘徊，表现了初涉人世的年轻人的独特爱情观。 《挪威的森林》没有神出鬼没的迷官，没有卡夫卡式的隐喻，没有匪夷所思的情节，只是用平净的语言娓娓讲述已逝的青春，讲述青春时代的种种经历、体验和感触，讲述青春快车的乘客沿途所见的实实在在的风景。 First American PublicationThis stunning and elegiac novel by the author of the internationally acclaimed Wind-Up Bird Chronicle has sold over 4 million copies in Japan and is now available to American audiences for the first time.  It is sure to be a literary event. Toru, a quiet and preternaturally serious young college student in Tokyo, is devoted to Naoko, a beautiful and introspective young woman, but their mutual passion is marked by the tragic death of their best friend years before.  Toru begins to adapt to campus life and the loneliness and isolation he faces there, but Naoko finds the pressures and responsibilities of life unbearable.  As she retreats further into her own world, Toru finds himself reaching out to others and drawn to a fiercely independent and sexually liberated young woman. A poignant story of one college student’s romantic coming-of-age, Norwegian Wood takes us to that distant place of a young man’s first, hopeless, and heroic love.Review “A masterly novel...Norwegian Wood bears the unmistakable marks of Murakami’s hand.” —The New York Times Book Review “Norwegian Wood... not only points to but manifests the author’s genius.” —Chicago Tribune “[A] treat... Murakami captures the heartbeat of his generation and draws the reader in so completely you mourn when the story is done.” —The Baltimore Sun “Vintage Murakami [and] easily the most erotic of [his] novels.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review

Norwegian Wood《挪威的森林》是日本小说家村上春树的长篇小说。汉堡机场一曲忧郁的《挪威的森林》，复苏了主人公渡边感伤的二十岁记忆：娴静缅腆、多愁善感的直子，是他动情倾心的女孩，那缠绵的病况，如水的柔情，甚至在她花烛香销之后，仍令他无时或忘；神采飞扬、野性未脱的绿子，是他邂逅相遇的情人，那迷人的活力、大胆的表白，即使是他山盟已订之时，也觉她难以抗拒。悲欢恋情，如激弦，如幽曲，掩卷犹余音颤袅；奇句妙语，如泉涌，如露凝，读来真口角噙香。

村上春树（1949年1月12日—），日本现代小说家，生于京都伏见区。毕业于早稻田大学文学系，三十岁登上文坛， 曾获谷崎润一郎等文学奖项，作品被翻译成多国文字，在世界各地深具影响，现任美国普林斯顿大学客座教授。代表作：《且听风吟》《挪威的森林》《1Q84》《海边的卡夫卡》《舞舞舞》等。村上春树的作品风格深受欧美作家的影响，基调轻盈，少有日本战后阴郁沉重的文字气息，被称作第1个纯正的“二战后时期作家”，并誉为日本1980年代的文学旗手。 Haruki Murakami was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into more than fifty languages, and the most recent of his many international honors is the Jerusalem Prize, whose previous recipients include J. M. Coetzee, Milan Kundera, and V. S. Naipaul.

OneI was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the Hamburg airport. Cold November rains drenched the earth and lent everything the gloomy air of a Flemish landscape: the ground crew in rain gear, a flag atop a squat airport building, a BMW billboard. So-Germany again. Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood.” The melody never failed to send a shudder through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever. I bent forward in my seat, face in hands to keep my skull from splitting open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and asked in English if I were sick. “No,” I said, “just dizzy.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Thanks.” She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened up and looked out the plane window at the dark clouds hanging over the North Sea, thinking of what I had lost in the course of my life: times gone forever, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never know again. The plane reached the gate. People began unlatching their seatbelts and pulling baggage from the storage bins, and all the while I was in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be twenty. The stewardess came to check on me again. This time she sat next to me and asked if I was all right. “I’m fine, thanks,” I said with a smile. “Just feeling kind of blue.” “I know what you mean,” she said. “It happens to me, too, every once in a while.” She stood and gave me a lovely smile. “Well, then, have a nice trip. Auf Wiedersehen.” “Auf Wiedersehen. Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer’s dust by days of gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October breeze set white fronds of head-tall grasses swaying. One long streak of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to look at that faroff sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and send back snatches of distant barking-a hazy sound that seemed to reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright, red birds leap startled from the center of the meadow and dart into the woods. As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells. Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene, I hardly paid it any mind. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that eighteen years later I would recall it in such detail. I didn’t give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. It was the age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind. Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to me. The smell of the grass, the faint chill of the wind, the line of the hills, the barking of a dog: these are the first things, and they come with absolute clarity. I feel as if I can reach out and trace them with a fingertip. And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No one. Naoko is not there, and neither am I. Where could we have disappeared to? How could such a thing have happened? Everything that seemed so important back then-Naoko, and the self I was then, and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It’s true, I can’t even bring back Naoko’s face-not right away, at least. All I’m left holding is a background, sheer scenery, with no people up front.