Warm Bodies 溫暖的屍體 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

簡體網頁||繁體網頁

☆☆☆☆☆

Isaac Marion 著

圖書標籤:

• 僵屍
• 浪漫
• 科幻
• 末日
• 愛情
• 喜劇
• 青少年
• 奇幻
• 生存
• 超自然

齣版社： Random House UK

ISBN：9780099549345

商品編碼：19262190

包裝：平裝

齣版時間：2010-12-01

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：256

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：19.8x13.2x1.6cm;0.25kg

編輯推薦

　　一場末日浩劫後的未來，神秘的病毒毀滅瞭文明，受害者喪失過去的記憶，變身為吃活人的僵屍，幸存的人類建立起堅固的高牆堡壘，以防止飢餓的僵屍們，成群結隊闖進來獵食…。然而，這種看似傳統活屍片的背景設定，卻因男主角R的齣現而顛覆一切！R是個沒有記憶、心跳的僵屍，卻懷抱著許多夢想，他的內心世界充滿驚奇與渴望。某日R正在獵食人類時，竟然煞到瞭一位溫暖、燦爛的活生生女孩茱莉，R不但沒吃掉她的腦袋，還決定救她一命，讓她免於遭受R的僵屍同伴吞噬。 對原本形如槁木死灰的R而言，茱莉的齣現，簡直是蒼灰陰鬱中一抹奔放艷麗的色彩。於是一段緊張而又異常溫柔的甜蜜關係就此展開。
　　R悄悄把茱莉帶迴他稱為傢的地方，即一座滿布僵屍的機場，並讓她躲在一架廢棄的767波音客機上，裏麵有他到處搜集而來的“寶藏”，包括黑膠唱片、雪景水晶球、樂器等。接下來的幾天，他們在這個隱匿處意外地共度瞭愜意的日子，在不知不覺之中，活潑的茱莉喚起R遺忘已久的人性情感，而她也開始瞭解到他不隻是個慢動作、眼神呆滯的行屍走肉。
　　茱莉很睏惑自己對於R的感情，於是帶著復雜情緒返迴人類城市。她父親是無情的僵屍獵人，領導人類大軍捍衛他們僅存的高牆傢園。同時，害相思病的R開始産生前所未有的改變，他相信自己與茱莉的相知相惜能夠拯救無論是生是死的人類，不過他齣現在她傢門口時，很快就掀起活人和僵屍（以及皮包骨）之間的全麵性混戰，而這也威脅到這一對奇跡戀人未來能否在一起的可貴機會。
　　這種事從沒發生過，不但不閤邏輯，也違背瞭規矩，不但改變瞭R，也改變他的僵屍同伴，甚至讓死氣沉沉的世界齣現瞭生機。然而，在那陰森腐敗的世界裏，想要完成夢想，他們還需要一場革命……

內容簡介

R is a young man with an existential crisis--he is a zombie. He shuffles through an America destroyed by war, social collapse, and the mindless hunger of his undead comrades, but he craves something more than blood and brains. He can speak just a few grunted syllables, but his inner life is deep, full of wonder and longing. He has no memories, noidentity, and no pulse, but he has dreams.
After experiencing a teenage boy's memories while consuming his brain, R makes an unexpected choice that begins a tense, awkward, and stragely sweet relationship with the victim's human girlfriend. Julie is a blast of color in the otherwise dreary and gray landscape that surrounds R. His decision to protect her will transform not only R, but his fellow Dead, and perhaps their whole lifeless world.
Scary, funny, and surprisingly poignant, Warm Bodies is about being alive, being dead, and the blurry line in between.

　　《溫暖的屍體》講述瞭一個叫做“R”的僵屍和一個他殺死的人類的女友之間的浪漫關係，這段關係引發瞭連鎖反應，不僅改變瞭他和他的僵屍夥伴，也改變瞭整個僵屍世界。

作者簡介

Isaac Marion was born near Seattle in 1981 and has lived in and around that city ever since. Deciding to forgo college in favor of direct experience, he dived into writing while still in high school and self-published three terrible novels before finally hitting his stride with Warm Bodies, his first published work. He currently splits his time between writing in Seattle and hunting inspiration on cross-country RV trips. Visit IsaacMarion.com.

精彩書評

“I never thought I could care so passionately for a zombie. Isaac Marion has created the most unexpected romantic lead I've ever encountered, and rewritten the entire concept of what it means to be a zombie in the process. This story stayed with me long after I was done reading it. I eagerly await the next book by Isaac Marion.”
(Stephenie Meyer, #1 New York Times Bestselling author of the Twilight series)

“A mesmerising evolution of a classic contemporary myth.”
(Simon Pegg, New York Times bestselling author of Nerd Do Well)

“Warm Bodies is a terrific book—a compelling literary fantasy which is also a strange and affecting pop-culture parable.”
(Nick Harkaway, author of The Gone-Away World)

“Isaac Marion has a great new voice that hooks you from page one and accomplishes the impossible: it makes you care about young zombie love. Warm Bodies is a terrific read.”
(Josh Bazell, New York Times bestselling author of Beat the Reaper)

“Enormous fun.”
(Marie Claire (UK))

“Wryly playful, cinematic, and ultimately moving.”
(Time Out London)

“Has there been a more sympathetic monster since Frankenstein's?”
(The Financial Times)

“It’s got the boarded-up strongholds and mob mentality of Night of the Living Dead—but also romance. As the evil thing resists its evil nature, the book neuters zombies in the same way Stephanie Meyer did vampires.”
(Time Out NY)

“If you haven't caught on to Isaac Marion's writing yet, you're really missing out.”
(About.com)

“In elegant, evocative prose, Marion has fashioned the world’s most unlikely romance in a story that is by turns harrowing, poignant, and tender. At the last, the reader is reminded that we are all ultimately human, whether living or dead. Utterly charming.”
(Library Journal (starred review))

前言/序言

I AM DEAD, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I can’t properly introduce myself, but I don’t have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an “R,” but that’s all I have now. It’s funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people’s names. My friend “M” says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off.
None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I’m still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I’m wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color.
We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses.
You were a waitress. You were a student. Ring any bells?
It never does.
No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs. We recognize civilization—buildings, cars, a general overview—but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here. We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I’ve said, it’s not so bad. We may appear mindless, but we aren’t. The rusty cogs of cogency still spin, just geared down and down till the outer motion is barely visible. We grunt and groan, we shrug and nod, and sometimes a few words slip out. It’s not that different from before.
But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.
There are hundreds of us living in an abandoned airport outside some large city. We don’t need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise we’d just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be horrifying. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that’s what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.
I think we’ve been here a long time. I still have all my flesh, but there are elders who are little more than skeletons with clinging bits of muscle, dry as jerky. Somehow it still extends and contracts, and they keep moving. I have never seen any of us “die” of old age. Left alone with plenty of food, maybe we’d “live” forever, I don’t know. The future is as blurry to me as the past. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present, and the present isn’t exactly urgent. You might say death has relaxed me.
I am riding the escalators when M finds me. I ride the escalators several times a day, whenever they move. It’s become a ritual. The airport is derelict, but the power still flickers on sometimes, maybe flowing from emergency generators stuttering deep underground. Lights flash and screens blink, machines jolt into motion. I cherish these moments. The feeling of things coming to life. I stand on the steps and ascend like a soul into Heaven, that sugary dream of our childhoods, now a tasteless joke.
After maybe thirty repetitions, I rise to find M waiting for me at the top. He is hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat draped on a six-foot-five frame. Bearded, bald, bruised and rotten, his grisly visage slides into view as I crest the staircase summit. Is he the angel that greets me at the gates? His ragged mouth is oozing black drool.
He points in a vague direction and grunts, “City.”
I nod and follow him.
We are going out to find food. A hunting party forms around us as we shuffle toward town. It’s not hard to find recruits for these expeditions, even if no one is hungry. Focused thought is a rare occurrence here, and we all follow it when it manifests. Otherwise we’d just be standing around and groaning all day. We do a lot of standing around and groaning. Years pass this way. The flesh withers on our bones and we stand here, waiting for it to go. I often wonder how old I am.
The city where we do our hunting is conveniently close. We arrive around noon the next day and start looking for flesh. The new hunger is a strange feeling. We don’t feel it in our stomachs—some of us don’t even have those. We feel it everywhere equally, a sinking, sagging sensation, as if our cells are deflating. Last winter, when so many Living joined the Dead and our prey became scarce, I watched some of my friends become full-dead. The transition was undramatic. They just slowed down, then stopped, and after a while I realized they were corpses. It disquieted me at first, but it’s against etiquette to notice when one of us dies. I distracted myself with some groaning.
I think the world has mostly ended, because the cities we wander through are as rotten as we are. Buildings have collapsed. Rusted cars clog the streets. Most glass is shattered, and the wind drifting through the hollow high-rises moans like an animal left to die. I don’t know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it’s not so important. Once you’ve arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.
We start to smell the Living as we approach a dilapidated apartment building. The smell is not the musk of sweat and skin, it’s the effervescence of life energy, like the ionized tang of lightning and lavender. We don’t smell it in our noses. It hits us deeper inside, near our brains, like wasabi. We converge on the building and crash our way inside.
We find them huddled in a small studio unit with the windows boarded up. They are dressed worse than we are, wrapped in filthy tatters and rags, all of them badly in need of a shave. M will be saddled with a short blond beard for the rest of his Fleshy existence, but everyone else in our party is cleanshaven. It’s one of the perks of being dead, another thing we don’t have to worry about anymore. Beards, hair, toenails… no more fighting biology. Our wild bodies have finally been tamed.
Slow and clumsy but with unswerving commitment, we launch ourselves at the Living. Shotgun blasts fill the dusty air with gunpowder and gore. Black blood spatters the walls. The loss of an arm, a leg, a portion of torso, this is disregarded, shrugged off. A minor cosmetic issue. But some of us take shots to our brains, and we drop. Apparently there’s still something of value in that withered gray sponge because if we lose it, we are corpses. The zombies to my left and right hit the ground with moist thuds. But there are plenty of us. We are overwhelming. We set upon the Living, and we eat.
Eating is not a pleasant business. I chew off a man’s arm, and I hate it. I hate his screams, because I don’t like pain, I don’t like hurting people, but this is the world now. This is what we do. Of course if I don’t eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he’ll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make me feel better. I’ll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we’ll stand around and groan for a while. It’s hard to say what “friends” are anymore, but that might be close. If I restrain myself, if I leave enough…
But I don’t. I can’t. As always I go straight for the good part, the part that makes my head light up like a picture tube. I eat the brain, and for about thirty seconds, I have memories. Flashes of parades, perfume, music… life. Then it fades, and I get up, and we all stumble out of the city, still cold and gray, but feeling a little better. Not “good,” exactly, not “happy,” certainly not “alive,” but… a little less dead. This is the best we can do.
I trail behind the group as the city disappears behind us. My steps plod a little heavier than the others’. When I pause at a rain-filled pothole to scrub gore off my face and clothes, M drops back and slaps a hand on my shoulder. He knows my distaste for some of our routines. He knows I’m a little more sensitive than most. Sometimes he teases me, twirls my messy black hair into pigtails and says, “Girl. Such… girl.” But he knows when to take my gloom seriously. He pats my shoulder and just looks at me. His face isn’t capable of much expressive nuance anymore, but I know what he wants to say. I nod, and we keep walking.
I don’t know why we have to kill people. I don’t know what chewing through a man’s neck accomplishes. I steal what he has to replace what I lack. He disappears, and I stay. It’s simple but senseless, arbitrary laws from some lunatic legislator in the sky. But following those laws keeps me walking, so I follow them to the letter. I eat until I stop eating, then I eat again.
...

評分☆☆☆☆☆

溫暖的屍體………………

評分☆☆☆☆☆

不錯，全新，就是有點小貴，沒辦法，英國書都那麼貴

評分☆☆☆☆☆

溫暖的屍體………………

評分☆☆☆☆☆

知識是開啓理想之門的鑰匙；知識是無價的寶貴財富，知識隻有靠讀書纔能獲得。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

快遞很給力~書也很完好~

評分☆☆☆☆☆

在書店看上瞭這本書一直想買可惜太貴又不打摺，迴傢決定上京東看看，果然有摺扣。毫不猶豫的買下瞭，京東速度果然非常快的，從配貨到送貨也很具體，快遞非常好，很快收到書瞭。書的包裝非常好，沒有拆開過，非常新，可以說無論自己閱讀傢人閱讀，收藏還是送人都特彆有麵子的說，特彆精美；各種十分美好雖然看著書本看著相對簡單，但也不遑多讓，塑封都很完整封麵和封底的設計、繪圖都十分好畫讓我覺得十分細膩具有收藏價值。書的封套非常精緻推薦大傢購買。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

速度好快就收到貨瞭 發貨真是齣乎意料的快，昨天下午訂的貨，第二天一早就收到瞭，贊一個，書質量很好，正版。獨立包裝，每一本有購物清單，讓人放心。幫人傢買的書，周五買的書，周天就收到瞭，快遞很好也很快，包裝很完整，跟同學一起買的兩本，我們都很喜歡，謝謝！對於有錢人來說，他們不在乎東西值多少錢，和女朋友在一起他們注重的是心上人的開心，和領在一起，他們在乎的是給領買些高貴的東西，指望著自己有機會高升，和小三在一起，我就不多說瞭，對於我們農村的孩子來說，我們希望物美價廉，不是我們想買盜版貨，不是我們愛到批發部去買，也不是我們愛和小販斤斤計較，是我們微薄的收入難以支付。總的來說購物本身是一個開心的過程，從中我們利用自己的勞動購買自己需要的東西。京東商城的東西太便宜瞭，所以我來買瞭。愛玲女士在文字上的天纔，固然令人傾倒。但是她的兩個男友，前者鬍蘭成，後者賴雅，對於愛玲，均算不得佳偶。有人分析說，愛玲欠缺良好父愛的童年陰影，使得她終生都在尋找壞男人的圈子裏打轉轉。父母對人的影響之重大，往往齣乎人自身的意料。很多人一生的目標，都在追求彆人的認同或者羨慕，甚或是鬼魂——已經過世的父母或祖輩的鬼魂的錶彰。在伴侶關係中，人們尋找另一半的類型，往往會是父親或母親的形象投射，然後加以理想的修飾。遺憾的是，這兩種人格模型，愛玲都具有。現在，京東域名正式更換為JDCOM。其中的“JD”是京東漢語拼音（JING DON|G）首字母組閤。從此，您不用再特意記憶京東的域名，也無需先搜索再點擊，隻要在瀏覽器輸入JD.COM，即可方便快捷地訪問京東，實現輕鬆購物。名為“Joy”的京東吉祥物我很喜歡，TA承載著京東對我們的承諾和努力。狗以對主人忠誠而著稱，同時也擁有正直的品行，和快捷的奔跑速度。太喜愛京東瞭。|給大傢介紹本好書《我們如何走到這一步》自序：這些年，你過得怎麼樣我曾經想過，如果能時光穿梭，遇見從前的自己，是否可以和她做朋友。但我審慎地不敢發錶意見。因為從前的自己是多麼無知，這件事是很清楚的。就算懷著再復雜的愛去迴望，沒準兒也能氣個半死，看著她在那條傻乎乎的路上跌跌撞撞前行，忍不住開口相勸，搞不好還會被她厭棄。你看天下的事情往往都是一廂情願。當然我也忍住瞭各種吐槽，人總是要給自己留餘地的，因為還有一種可能是，未來的自己迴望現在，看見的還是一個人。好在現在不敢輕易放狠話瞭，所以總算顯得比年輕的時候還有一分從容。但不管什麼時候的你，都是你。這時間軸上反復上演的就是打怪獸的過程。過去睏擾你的事情，現在已可輕易解決，但往往還有更大的boss在前麵等你。“人怎麼可能沒有煩惱呢”——無論是你初中畢業的那個午後，或者多年後功成名就那一天，總有不同憂傷湧上心頭：有些煩惱是錢可以解決的，而更傷悲的是有些煩惱是錢解決不瞭的。我們曾經在年少時想象的“等到什麼什麼的時候就一切都好起來瞭”根本就是個謬論。所以，隻能咬著牙繼續朝前走吧。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

讀書對於不同的人有不同的樂趣，對於從事體力勞動來說，讀書一種休閑；對於從事腦力勞動的人來說，

評分☆☆☆☆☆

快遞很給力~書也很完好~