微物之神 英文原版小说 The God of Small Things 南印度小村庄 英国布克奖 美国guo家图书奖 英文版进口书 Flamingo
运费: | ¥ 0.00-999.00 |
库存: | 58 件 |
商品详情
书名:The God of Small Things微物之神
难度:Lexile蓝思阅读指数840L
作者:Arundhati Roy
出版社名称:Flamingo
出版时间:1997
语种:英文
ISBN:9780006551096
商品尺寸:11.1 x 2.2 x 17.8 cm
包装:平装
页数:368
这是一部获得英国布克奖、美国国家图书奖,销售超过600万册的旷世之作!唯美的笔触,一层层地揭开惊人的神秘与哀伤,让人读完后总是忍不住再从头读一遍!
阿兰达蒂·洛伊以优美动人的笔触,一点点揭开作品的神秘面纱;她对故事的灵巧闪避,令人目眩,讨论情节对她将是一种冒犯。就像虔诚地建造神殿一般,The God of Small Things《微物之神》以精致、热烈而动人的情节,建成了庞大的连锁结构。一部真正有所追求的小说,应该创造出属于它自己的语言,此书做到了这一点。
媒体评论:
本书充满了神奇、神秘和哀伤,使人看完之后回味无穷。于是,完美的故事又再度萦绕心头。
——《今日美国》
这是一个趣味盎然的故事,它以深沉、细微的个人情感所串成如史诗般的情节……有好多次,我必须停止阅读,因为我对其中的人物感到恐惧;有时,我又必须重读一段或一页,好让自己能够记得它的幽雅。——伦敦《每日快讯》
在大西洋两岸,此书得到了许多应得的欣赏和赞扬……这确实称得上是一部大师之作。
——伦敦《观察者报》
The literary phenomenon of the year.
More magical than Mistry, more of a rollicking good read than Rushdie, more nerve-tinglingly imagined than Naipaul, here, perhaps, is the greatest Indian novel by a woman. Arundhati Roy has written an astonishingly rich, fertile novel, teeming with life, colour, heart-stopping language, wry comedy and a hint of magical realism.
Set against a background of political turbulence in Kerala, Southern India, The God of Small Things tells the story of twins Esthappen and Rahel. Amongst the vats of banana jam and heaps of peppercorns in their grandmother’s factory, they try to craft a childhood for themselves amidst what constitutes their family – their lonely, lovely mother, their beloved Uncle Chacko (pickle baron, radical Marxist and bottom-pincher) and their avowed enemy Baby Kochamma (ex-nun and incumbent grand-aunt).
Review
‘In part a perfectly paced mystery story, in part an Indian Wuthering Heights: a gorgeous and seductive fever dream of a novel, and a truly spectacular debut.’--Kirkus
‘The God of Small Things genuinely is a masterpiece, utterly exceptional in every way, and there can be little doubt that posterity will place it very near the top of any shortlist of Indian novels published this century.’--William Dalyrmple, Harpers and Queen
‘The quality of Ms. Roy’s narration is so extraordinary – at once so morally strenuous and so imaginatively supple – that the reader remains enthralled all the way through to its agonizing finish… it evokes in the reader a feeling of gratitude and wonderment.’--New York Times
The God of Small Things《微物之神》透过女性敏锐的心灵和孩童清澈的眼光,观察南印度一个小村庄的宗教、社会和历史,处处流露着深沉、古老的悲伤,但悲中却不见一滴眼泪。因为喀拉拉的女人和孩子早已流干了眼泪,生命中只剩下些许的苍凉,无可奈何地嘲谑、嘲笑那些沉溺在种姓阶级制度[黑暗之心]中妄自尊大的男人;同时也嘲谑她们自己,因为除了自我嘲谑,她们实不在能做什么。
阿兰达蒂·洛伊(Arundhati Roy),印度作家。16岁时离家,只身来到新德里,在学校主修建筑;毕业后做过记者、编辑,后从事电影文学剧本写作,37岁凭借《微物之神》成为第1个获得美国国家图书奖、英国文学大奖“布克奖”的印度作家。
Arundhati Roy is an award-winning film-maker and a trained architect. The God of Small Things is her first novel.
May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun.
The nights are dear but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation.
But by early June the south-west monsoon breaks and there are three months of wind and water with short spells of sharp, glittering sunshine that thrilled children snatch to play with. The countryside turns an immodest green. Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom. Brick walls turn mossgreen. Pepper vines snake up electric poles. Wild creepers burst through laterite banks and spill across the flooded roads. Boats ply in the bazaars. And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the PWD potholes on the highways.
It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, ploughing it up like gunfire. The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its cars like a low hat. The walls, streaked with moss, had grown soft, and bulged a little with dampness that seeped up from the ground. The wild, overgrown garden was full of the whisper and scurry of small lives. In the undergrowth a rat snake rubbed itself against a glistening stone. Hopeful yellow bullfrogs cruised the scummy pond for mates. A drenched mongoose flashed across the 1eafstrewn driveway.
The house itself looked empty. The doors and windows were locked. The front verandah bare. Unfurnished. But the skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins was still parked outside, and inside, Baby Kochamma was still alive.
She was Rahel’s baby grand aunt, her grandfather’s younger sister. 11cr name was really Navomi, Navomi Ipe, but everybody called her Baby. She became Baby Kochamma when she was old enough to be an aunt. Rahel hadn’t come to see her, though. Neither niece nor baby grand aunt laboured under any illusions on that account. Rahel had come to see her brother, Estha. They were two-egg twins. ‘Dizygotic’ doctors called them. Born from separate but simultaneously fertilized eggs. Estha — Esthappen — was the older by eighteen minutes.
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