书名：The Aftermath 余波/劫后余生

作者：Rhidian Brook

出版社名称：Penguin

出版时间：2019

语种：英文

ISBN：9780241984062

商品尺寸：12.9 x 2 x 19.8 cm

包装：平装

页数：336（以实物为准）

由凯拉·奈特莉（Keira Knightley）与亚历山大·斯卡斯加德（Alexander Skarsgard）主演的电影《余波》，是一部讲述二战战后故事的文艺片。 其原著改编自Rhidian Brook的同名小说The Aftermath《余波/劫后余生》，故事设定在1946年二战刚结束的德国汉堡。英军上校刘易斯奉命驻扎在这座城市，负责重建工作，他的妻子瑞切尔以及11岁的小儿子艾德蒙和他一起搬到了汉堡。 不过让瑞切尔愤怒的是，他们和一家德国人住在同一幢大房子里。瑞切尔和刘易斯的长子在德军轰炸中丧生，为此她极其痛恨德国人。这家德国人是一位父亲和他16岁的女儿，他们在战争中失去了妻子（母亲），对英国人也没有好脸色。不过刘易斯坚持这样安排，大家只好别别扭扭地住在同一个屋檐下。 二战后的德国非常混乱，占领军与德国人的矛盾一直存在，还有些德国人企图重新集结为纳粹招魂。然而，瑞切尔关心的却是她自己家的问题，丈夫整日忙于工作，无暇顾及自己孩子，她可以交流的人就是那个德国鳏夫（其实她并不知道，丈夫之所以如此忘我工作，也是为了忘却丧子之痛），慢慢地，这两个一开始互相敌视的人相爱了…… 媒体评论：“出色……考验忠诚、挑战良心：它提出了复杂的问题，抗拒了优雅的答案。”——《文学评论》 “精妙……故事发展曲折……布鲁克淋漓尽致地展现了扣人心弦的人类处境，巧妙地呈现了战争蹂躏下的汉堡的小片段。”——《星期日邮报》 “感人至深。”——《独立报》THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER, NOW A MAJOR FILM STARRING KEIRA KNIGHTLEYIn the bitter winter of 1946, Rachael Morgan arrives in the ruins of Hamburg. Here she is reunited with her husband Lewis, a British colonel charged with rebuilding the shattered city. As they set off for their new home Rachael is stunned to discover that Lewis has made an extraordinary decision: they will be sharing the grand house with its previous owners, a German widower and his troubled daughter. In this charged atmosphere, enmity and grief give way to passion and betrayal. Review“Profoundly moving, beautifully written” (Independent) “An extraordinary read” (Daily Mail) “Superb. This masterly novel wrings every drop of feeling out of a gripping human situation”(Mail on Sunday, Novel of the Week) “Superb. Conjuring surprise after surprise” (Guardian) “Excellent, original, masterly. A captivating tale not only of love among the ruins but also of treachery and vengeance”(Literary Review) “Terrific. Suspicion, resentment and misunderstanding haunt this city. Richly atmospheric”(Sunday Telegraph) “Arresting, unsettling and compelling; suffused with suffering and hope” (Claire Messud)

瑞迪安·布鲁克，屡获殊荣的作家，著有小说、电视剧及电影剧本。他的第1部小说《塔莱尔辛的证词》（The Testimony of Taliesin Jones）曾荣获多项奖项，其中包括毛姆文学奖（Somerset Maugham Award）。其短篇小说曾见诸于多家刊物，例如《巴黎评论》（Paris Review）、《新政治家》（New Statesman）和《伦敦指南圣经》（Time Out），并做客BBC广播4频道。瑞迪安定期为《今日一言》（Thought For The Day）供稿。 Rhidian Brook is an award-winning writer of fiction, television drama and film. His first novel, The Testimony of Taliesin Jones, won several prizes including the Somerset Maugham Award. His short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including the Paris Review, New Statesman and Time Out, and have been broadcast on BBC Radio 4. He is also a regular contributor to 'Thought For The Day' on the Today programme.

THE BEAST IS HERE. I’ve seen him. Berti’s seen him. Dietmar’s seen him. With his black fur like a fancy lady’s coat. And those teeth like piano keys. We have to kill him. If we don’t, who will? The Tommies? The Yankees? The Russkies? The French? None of them will, because they’re too busy looking for other things. They want this and they want that. They’re like dogs fighting over a bone that’s got no meat on it. We have to do it ourselves. Get the Beast before he gets us. Then everything will be better.” The boy Ozi readjusted his headgear as he led the others through the pulverized landscape of the Tommy- bombed city. He wore the English hard-helmet he’d stolen from the back of a truck near the Alster. Although it was not as stylish as the American or even the Russian helmets he had in his collection, it fitted him the best and helped him swear in English when he wore it, just like the Tommy sergeant he’d seen shouting at the prisoners at Hamburg’s Dammtor station: “Oi! Put your flicking hands up. F**king up, I said! Where I can see them! Dumb bloody flicking Huns.” Just for a moment those men had failed to raise their hands; not because they didn’t understand, but because they were too weak from lack of food. Dumb-Bloody-F**king-Huns! Below the neck, Ozi’s clothes were a hybrid fashion of make-do invention where rags and riches jumbled together: the dressing gown of a dandy; the cardigan of an old maid; the collarless shirt of a grandfather; the rolled-up trousers of a storm trooper tied with the belt of a clerk’s necktie; and the shoes, shredded at the toe, of a long-gone stationmaster. The ferals—the whites of their eyes wide with fear and accentuated by dirty faces—followed their leader through the shattered scree. Weaving around themoraines of brick-rock, they came to a clearing where the conical rocket of a church spire lay on its side. Ozi raised a hand to halt the others and reached inside his dressing gown for his Luger. He sniffed the air: He’s in here. I can smell him. Can you smell him? The ferals sniffed like twitchy rabbits. Ozi pressed up against the lopped-off spire and inched towards its open end, gun out, guiding him like a divining rod. He paused and tapped the cone with it, indicating that the Beast was probably within. And then: a flash of black as something bolted from inside out into the open. The ferals cowered but Ozi stepped out, took a wide stance, closed one eye, aimed and fired. “Die, Beast!” The shot was muffled in the low, muggy atmosphere, and a tinkling, metallic ricochet threw back the message that he’d missed his target. “Did you hit him?” Ozi lowered the gun and pushed it into his belt.