Runaway逃离 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Alice Munro（艾丽丝·门罗） 著

图书标签:

• 悬疑
• 惊悚
• 心理惊悚
• 家庭关系
• 失踪
• 秘密
• 平装书
• 英文原版
• Runaway
• 逃离

出版社： Vintage Books

ISBN：9781400077915

商品编码：19352525

包装：平装

丛书名： Vintage Contemporaries

出版时间：2005-11-08

用纸：胶版纸

页数：335

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：1.9x14x19.1cm

编辑推荐

　　她们的生活细节，世上女人天天都在经历；细节背后的情绪，无数女人一生都不曾留意
　　荣获2009年布克国际奖
　　《隐之书》作者拜雅特倾情推荐
　　著名翻译家李文俊精心翻译
　　《纽约时报》年度图书
　　法国《读书》杂志年度外国小说
　　荣获加拿大文学大奖吉勒奖
　　逃离，或许是旧的结束。或许是新的开始。
　　或许只是一些微不足道的瞬间，就像看戏路上放松的脚步，就像午后窗边怅然的向往。

内容简介

The incomparable Alice Munro’s bestselling and rapturously acclaimed Runaway is a book of extraordinary stories about love and its infinite betrayals and surprises, from the title story about a young woman who, though she thinks she wants to, is incapable of leaving her husband, to three stories about a woman named Juliet and the emotions that complicate the luster of her intimate relationships. In Munro’s hands, the people she writes about–women of all ages and circumstances, and their friends, lovers, parents, and children–become as vivid as our own neighbors. It is her miraculous gift to make these stories as real and unforgettable as our own.

　　逃离，或许是旧的结束。或许是新的开始。或许只是一些微不足道的瞬间，就像看戏路上放松的脚步，就像午后窗边怅然的向往。
　　卡拉，十八岁从父母家出走，如今又打算逃脱丈夫和婚姻； 朱丽叶，放弃学术生涯，毅然投奔在火车上偶遇的乡间男子；佩内洛普，从小与母亲相依为命，某一天忽然消失得再无踪影；格雷斯，已然谈婚论嫁，却在一念之间与未婚夫的哥哥出逃了一个下午……
　　一次次逃离的闪念，就是这样无法预知，无从招架，或许你早已被它们悄然逆转，或许你早已将它们轻轻遗忘。

作者简介

**Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature**
Alice Munro grew up in Wingham, Ontario, and attended the University of Western Ontario. She has published eleven new collections of stories-Dance of the Happy Shades; Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You; The Beggar Maid; The Moons of Jupiter; The Progress of Love; Friend of My Youth; Open Secrets; The Love of a Good Woman; Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage; Runaway; and a volume of Selected Stories-as well as a novel, Lives of Girls and Women. During her distinguished career she has been the recipient of many awards and prizes, including the Man Booker International Prize, three of Canada's Governor General's Literary Awards and two of its Giller Prizes, the Rea Award for the Short Story, the Lannan Literary Award, England's W. H. Smith Book Award, the United States' National Book Critics Circle Award, and the Edward MacDowell Medal in literature. Her stories have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, The Paris Review, and other publications, and her collections have been translated into thirteen languages.
Alice Munro divides her time between Clinton, Ontario, near Lake Huron, and Comox, British Columbia.

　　艾丽丝·门罗（Alice Munro，1931.07.10~），加拿大女作家，被称为“加拿大的契科夫”。艾丽丝·门罗1931年生于加拿大加拿大渥太华，大部分时间都在这个安静的城市度过，少女时代即开始写小说。门罗以短篇小说见长，截至2013年10月，创作了11部短篇小说集和1部类似故事集的长篇小说。1968年，门罗发表第一部短篇小说集《快乐影子舞》(Dance of the Happy Shades)，并获得加拿大总督文学奖。其代表作有《好荫凉之舞》和《逃离》。门罗多次获奖，其中包括三次加拿大总督奖，两次吉勒奖，以及英联邦作家奖、欧亨利奖、笔会马拉穆德奖和美国全国书评人奖等。2009年获得第三届布克国际奖。
　　2013年10月10日，艾丽丝·门罗获得2013年诺贝尔文学奖，获奖理由是：“当代短篇小说大师。”爱丽丝·门罗是诺贝尔文学奖历史上获此殊荣的第13位女性作家。

精彩书评

There seems nothing missing in this yet again brilliant collection...a literary inspiration'
-- Lorrie Moore

'Alice Munro has a strong claim to being the best fiction wirter in North America. Runaway is a marvel'
-- Jonathan Franzen

'Her genius cannot be denied...The contemporary writer I admire above all others'
-- Paul Bailey, The Independent

'Magic...It is a beautiful, echoing collection, and a demonstration of perfected and unflinching form'
-- Ali Smith, Scotsman

'The stories of Alice Munro make everyone else's look like the work of babies'
-- Ethan Canin

　　她是我们这个时代最伟大的短篇小说作家。
　　——A.S.拜雅特（《隐之书》作者，布克奖得主）

　　被中断的人生、岁月的痕迹、生命的残酷……艾丽丝·门罗达到了无以伦比的高度。
　　——《纽约时报》（美）

　　每读艾丽丝·门罗的小说，便知道生命中曾经疏忽遗忘太多事情。
　　——布克国际奖评语

　　令人难以忘怀的作品：语言精细独到，情节朴实优美，令人回味无穷。
　　——吉勒奖评语

　　乔伊斯，力压契诃夫，每个故事中都是一个丰沛的人生。
　　——《波士顿环球报》（美）

精彩书摘

Carla heard the car coming before it topped the little rise in the road that around here they called a hill. It’s her, she thought. Mrs. Jamieson—Sylvia—home from her holiday in Greece. From the barn door—but far enough inside that she could not readily be seen—she watched the road Mrs. Jamieson would have to drive by on, her place being half a mile farther along the road than Clark and Carla’s.

If it was somebody getting ready to turn in at their gate it would be slowing down by now. But still Carla hoped. Let it not be her.

It was. Mrs. Jamieson turned her head once, quickly—she had all she could do maneuvering her car through the ruts and puddles the rain had made in the gravel—but she didn’t lift a hand off the wheel to wave, she didn’t spot Carla. Carla got a glimpse of a tanned arm bare to the shoulder, hair bleached a lighter color than it had been before, more white now than silver-blond, and an expression that was determined and exasperated and amused at her own exasperation—just the way Mrs. Jamieson would look negotiating such a road. When she turned her head there was something like a bright flash—of inquiry, of hopefulness—that made Carla shrink back.

So.

Maybe Clark didn’t know yet. If he was sitting at the computer he would have his back to the window and the road.

But Mrs. Jamieson might have to make another trip. Driv- ing home from the airport, she might not have stopped for groceries—not until she’d been home and figured out what she needed. Clark might see her then. And after dark, the lights of her house would show. But this was July, and it didn’t get dark till late. She might be so tired that she wouldn’t bother with the lights, she might go to bed early.

On the other hand, she might telephone. Any time now.

This was the summer of rain and more rain. You heard it first thing in the morning, loud on the roof of the mobile home. The trails were deep in mud, the long grass soaking, leaves overhead sending down random showers even in those moments when there was no actual downpour from the sky and the clouds looked like clearing. Carla wore a high, wide-brimmed old Australian felt hat every time she went outside, and tucked her long thick braid down her shirt.

Nobody showed up for trail rides, even though Clark and Carla had gone around posting signs in all the camping sites, in the cafes, and on the tourist office billboard and anywhere else they could think of. Only a few pupils were coming for lessons and those were regulars, not the batches of schoolchildren on vacation, the busloads from summer camps, that had kept them going through last summer. And even the regulars that they counted on were taking time off for holiday trips, or simply cancelling their lessons because of the weather being so discouraging. If they called too late, Clark charged them for the time anyway. A couple of them had complained, and quit for good.

There was still some income from the three horses that were boarded. Those three, and the four of their own, were out in the field now, poking around in the grass under the trees. They looked as if they couldn’t be bothered to notice that the rain was holding off for the moment, the way it often did for a while in the afternoon. Just enough to get your hopes up—the clouds whitening and thinning and letting through a diffuse brightness that never got around to being real sunshine, and was usually gone before supper.

Carla had finished mucking out in the barn. She had taken her time—she liked the rhythm of her regular chores, the high space under the barn roof, the smells. Now she went over to the exercise ring to see how dry the ground was, in case the five o’clock pupil did show up.

Most of the steady showers had not been particularly heavy, or borne on any wind, but last week there had come a sud- den stirring and then a blast through the treetops and a nearly horizontal blinding rain. In a quarter of an hour the storm had passed over. But branches lay across the road, hydro lines were down, and a large chunk of the plastic roofing over the ring had been torn loose. There was a puddle like a lake at that end of the track, and Clark had worked until after dark, digging a channel to drain it away.

The roof had not yet been repaired. Clark had strung fence wire across to keep the horses from getting into the mud, and Carla had marked out a shorter track.

On the Web, right now, Clark was hunting for someplace to buy roofing. Some salvage outlet, with prices that they could afford, or somebody trying to get rid of such material secondhand. He would not go to Hy and Robbert Buckley’s Building Supply in town, which he called Highway Robbers Buggery Supply, because he owed them too much money and had had a fight with them.

Clark had fights not just with the people he owed money to. His friendliness, compelling at first, could suddenly turn sour. There were places he would not go into, where he always made Carla go, because of some row. The drugstore was one such place. An old woman had pushed in front of him—that is, she had gone to get something she’d forgotten and come back and pushed in front, rather than going to the end of the line, and he had complained, and the cashier had said to him, “She has emphysema,” and Clark had said, “Is that so? I have piles, myself,” and the manager had been summoned, to say that was uncalled-for. And in the coffee shop out on the highway the advertised breakfast discount had not been allowed, because it was past eleven o’clock in the morning, and Clark had argued and then dropped his takeout cup of coffee on the floor—just missing, so they said, a child in its stroller. He said the child was half a mile away and he dropped the cup because no cuff had been provided. They said he had not asked for a cuff. He said he shouldn’t have had to ask.

“You flare up,” said Carla.

“That’s what men do.”

She had not said anything to him about his row with Joy Tucker. Joy Tucker was the librarian from town who boarded her horse with them. The horse was a quick-tempered little chestnut mare named Lizzie—Joy Tucker, when she was in a jokey mood, called her Lizzie Borden. Yesterday she had driven out, not in a jokey mood at all, and complained about the roof’s not being fixed yet, and Lizzie looking miserable, as if she might have caught a chill.

There was nothing the matter with Lizzie, actually. Clark had tried—for him—to be placating. But then it was Joy Tucker who flared up and said that their place was a dump, and Lizzie deserved better, and Clark said, “Suit yourself.” Joy had not—or not yet—removed Lizzie, as Carla had expected. But Clark, who had formerly made the little mare his pet, had refused to have anything more to do with her. Lizzie’s feelings were hurt, in consequence—she was balky when exercised and kicked up a fuss when her hoofs had to be picked out, as they did every day, lest they develop a fungus. Carla had to watch out for nips.

But the worst thing as far as Carla was concerned was the absence of Flora, the little white goat who kept the horses company in the barn and in the fields. There had not been any sign of her for two days. Carla was afraid that wild dogs or coyotes had got her, or even a bear.

She had dreamt of Flora last night and the night before. In the first dream Flora had walked right up to the bed with a red apple in her mouth, but in the second dream—last night—she had run away when she saw Carla coming. Her leg seemed to be hurt but she ran anyway. She led Carla to a barbed-wire barricade of the kind that might belong on some battlefield, and then she—Flora—slipped through it, hurt leg and all, just slithered through like a white eel and disappeared.

The horses had seen Carla go across to the ring and they had all moved up to the fence—looking bedraggled in spite of their New Zealand blankets—so that she would take notice of them on her way back. She talked quietly to them, apologizing for coming empty-handed. She stroked their necks and rubbed their noses and asked whether they knew anything about Flora.

Grace and Juniper snorted and nuzzled up, as if they recognized the name and shared her concern, but then Lizzie butted in between them and knocked Grace’s head away from Carla’s petting hand. She gave the hand a nip for good measure, and Carla had to spend some time scolding her.

Up until three years ago Carla never really looked at mobile homes. She didn’t call them that, either. Like her parents, she would have thought “mobile home” pretentious. Some people lived in trailers, and that was all there was to it. One trailer was no different from another. When Carla moved in here, when she chose this life with Clark, she began to see things in a new way. After that she started saying “mobile home” and she looked to see how people had fixed them up. The kind of curtains they had hung, the way they had painted the trim, the ambitious decks or patios or extra rooms that had been built on. She could hardly wait to get at such improvements herself.

Clark had gone along with her ideas, for a while. He had built new steps, and spent a lot of time looking for an old wrought-iron railing for them. He didn’t make any complaint about the money spent on paint for the kitchen and bathroom or the material for curtains. Her paint job was hasty—she didn’t know, at that time, that you should take the hinges off the cupboard doors. Or that you should line the curtains, which had since faded.

What Clark balked at was tearing up the carpet, which was the same in every room and the thing that she had most counted on replacing. It was divided into small brown squares, each with a pattern of darker brown and rust and tan...

好的，这是一部关于在广袤的荒野中求生与自我发现的史诗级冒险小说。 《迷途之径：荒野回响》 作者：艾莉丝·范宁 译者：[虚构译者姓名] 出版社：[虚构出版社名称] 出版日期：[虚构日期] --- 内容简介 在现代文明的喧嚣与舒适中，总有一些灵魂深处的声音在呼唤着未知的远方。然而，很少有人能真正鼓起勇气，割断与现有生活的一切联系，义无反顾地踏入那片被时间遗忘的蛮荒之地。 《迷途之径：荒野回响》讲述了建筑师卡莱布·霍姆斯的故事。卡莱布，一个在钢筋水泥的丛林中摸爬滚打二十年的精英，成功、体面，却感到生命被一种无形的、令人窒息的倦怠感所吞噬。某日，他收到一封来自他素未谋面的祖父留下的信件，信中只有一张手绘的地图和一句简洁的指示：“找到它，方能找到你自己。” 这张地图指向了北美洲西北部，一片以其极端气候、变幻莫测的地理环境以及几乎与世隔绝的原始生态而闻名的偏远山脉——“寂静之脊”。卡莱布做出了一个令所有同事和亲友震惊的决定：辞去工作，清空所有资产，购买了一批最基础的户外装备，毅然决然地踏上了这段旅程。 第一部分：文明的崩塌与重塑 故事的开篇，卡莱布的旅程充满了新手常犯的错误。他过高地估计了自己的体能，低估了荒野的严酷性。他携带的物资很快在一次突如其来的山洪中损失殆尽。被困在人烟稀少的峡谷中，饥饿、寒冷和恐惧如同毒蛇般缠绕着他。 在这里，他遇到了伊莱亚斯，一位神秘的老猎人，据说是这片山脉的“活地图”。伊莱亚斯带着一种近乎哲学家的冷静和对自然的深刻敬畏，开始“教导”卡莱布如何真正地活下去。这不是生存手册上的技巧，而是关于倾听风声、辨识植物、理解动物行为的古老智慧。卡莱布必须抛弃他引以为傲的逻辑和规划能力，转而依靠直觉和本能。他的身体经历了极限的重塑，皮肤被风霜雕刻，肌肉被磨练得如同岩石般坚韧。 第二部分：寂静之脊的秘密 随着卡莱布逐渐适应了荒野的节奏，他开始深入“寂静之脊”的腹地。他发现这片山脉不仅是地理上的障碍，更是一个充满历史回响的地方。他发现了被遗弃的矿井、被雨水侵蚀的印第安部落遗迹，以及一些关于早期探险家失踪的民间传说。 祖父的地图指引他寻找一个被称为“回音湖”的地点。在穿越一片布满巨大冰川融水的苔原时，卡莱布必须独自面对一场突如其来的暴风雪。在这段被困的绝境中，他开始回忆自己逃离的“文明生活”：被无休止的会议占据的时间，对升职的焦虑，以及一段未能挽回的感情。荒野的孤独迫使他直面内心最深处的恐惧和遗憾。他意识到，他逃离的或许不是工作，而是那个活在他人期待中的自己。 第三部分：边界的模糊 在接近“回音湖”的过程中，卡莱布与伊莱亚斯发生了理念上的冲突。伊莱亚斯坚持认为，人类的最高境界是融入自然，成为其不可分割的一部分，而不应试图“征服”或“标记”任何事物。而卡莱布，尽管心向自然，却仍保留着探险家试图“到达终点”的执念。 “回音湖”并非一个壮丽的景观，而是一个隐藏在瀑布后的洞穴群。在这里，卡莱布找到了祖父留下的最终遗物：不是金银财宝，而是一本厚厚的皮革日记。日记详细记录了祖父当年并非是“迷失”于此，而是主动选择留下来，体验一种不受现代社会干扰的生活。祖父写道：“真正的逃离，不是跑得更远，而是将你的内心安顿在最需要它的地方。” 第四部分：抉择与回归 日记的结尾，祖父并没有给出明确的指引，只留下一个问题：“你现在找到了你‘要找的’东西，那么，你‘要做’什么？” 卡莱布站在“回音湖”畔，面临着他生命中最艰难的抉择：是永远留在这片他已深爱的土地上，追随祖父的足迹，与伊莱亚斯一起过着与世隔绝的生活？还是带着这片荒野赋予他的平静与力量，重返他曾抛弃的都市？ 故事的后半段聚焦于卡莱布的内在转变。他不再是那个为KPI焦虑的白领，他学会了耐心、谦逊和真正的独立。他与荒野建立了一种深刻的、相互尊重的关系。 最终，卡莱布选择了一条出乎所有人意料的道路。他带着从自然中学到的建筑理念——与环境和谐共存、使用可持续的材料、尊重土地的承载力——离开了“寂静之脊”。他没有完全回归都市的快节奏，而是选择在文明的边缘地带，建立一个小型的工作室，致力于设计真正尊重生态、能够让人类与自然重新对话的居住空间。 《迷途之径：荒野回响》 是一部关于自我救赎、环境哲学和人性韧性的深刻作品。它提醒读者，真正的冒险不在于抵达地图上的终点，而在于在彻底迷失之后，重新发现自己的坐标系。这是一场穿越冰川、河流与内心迷宫的史诗之旅，展示了在极致的孤独中，人如何重新学习如何成为一个完整的人。 --- 主题提炼： 自然的力量与人类的谦卑： 对比现代社会的过度自信与荒野的残酷法则。 探险的真正目的： 探索物质世界的边界是为了界定精神世界的疆域。 技能的传承与重构： 传统生存智慧与现代思维的碰撞与融合。 孤独与自我认知： 只有在绝对的安静中，才能听见内心最真实的声音。 本书适合所有对户外探险、生存文学、心理成长和环境伦理感兴趣的读者。它将带你进行一场身体与灵魂的双重洗礼。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

这本《Runaway逃离》的平装版本，在我拿到手的那一刻，就有一种沉甸甸的满足感。书页的质感很舒服，不是那种廉价的纸张，翻阅起来带着一种淡淡的书香，让我瞬间就沉浸在了即将开始的阅读之旅中。封面设计也相当吸引人，简单的线条勾勒出一个充满张力的场景，暗示着故事中隐藏的惊险与不安。我喜欢这种简洁但充满力量的设计，它不像那些花哨的书皮那样喧宾夺主，而是恰到好处地激发了读者的好奇心。尽管我还没来得及深入阅读，但仅凭这初步的触感和视觉体验，我已经对作者构建的世界充满了期待。我知道，好的故事往往始于一个引人入胜的开端，而这本《Runaway逃离》无疑已经成功地做到了这一点。它的存在本身，就像一个等待被点燃的引信，让我迫不及待地想去探寻它所带来的震撼。在快节奏的生活中，拥有一本能够让人暂时抽离，沉浸其中的纸质书籍，本身就是一种奢侈的享受。我把这本书放在床头，每天睡前都要翻上几页，感受它独特的魅力，为即将到来的深度阅读做足心理准备。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

《Runaway逃离》的平装版，对于我这个喜欢收集实体书的人来说，简直就是一件艺术品。书的装帧非常精致，每一页的印刷都清晰锐利，文字排列整齐，没有丝毫的模糊感，这点对于长时间阅读非常重要。边缘的处理也相当到位，摸起来顺滑，不会有毛刺感。握在手里，能感受到它扎实的工艺，这种踏实感是电子书无法比拟的。我喜欢它的重量，不轻不重，刚刚好，适合放在膝盖上或者捧在手中阅读。封面图案的细节也处理得相当出色，光泽度恰到好处，在灯光下会泛起微妙的光晕，更添几分神秘感。从外在的包装到内在的触感，都透露出一种对品质的追求。我相信，一本精心制作的书籍，往往能为阅读体验增色不少，让读者在接触故事之前，就能感受到一种仪式感。这种对细节的关注，也让我对书的内容更加充满信心，觉得作者一定也是一个对自己作品一丝不苟的人。在书架上，它摆放起来也格格不入，与其他书籍和谐共处，成为我藏书中的亮点。

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拿到《Runaway逃离》的平装版本，我第一眼就被它的封面设计所吸引。那种简约却极富视觉冲击力的风格，仿佛在第一时间就将故事的基调定格。我不太喜欢那种过于复杂或者写实风格的封面，而这个封面恰恰击中了我的审美点。简单的图形和色彩搭配，却能营造出一种强大的张力，让人不由自主地想要去了解背后的故事。书的纸张选择也让我惊喜，触感细腻，翻页时发出轻微的沙沙声，这是我独爱的阅读体验。而且，它不是那种容易留下指纹的封面，保持清洁也变得简单。我把这本书放在我的书桌上，它不仅仅是一本书，更像是一个艺术品，为我的工作空间增添了一抹亮色。我期待它能像它的封面一样，在故事的推进中，也能够保持这种简洁而深刻的力量，让我沉浸其中，无法自拔。这种对于书籍外观的重视，也让我相信，作者在内容上也同样会下足功夫，带来一场精彩绝伦的阅读盛宴。

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我特别喜欢《Runaway逃离》的这个平装版本。书的整体外观设计简洁而有力，封面没有太多繁杂的元素，却能准确地传达出一种引人入胜的气息。我一直认为，一本好的书籍，它的封面设计就如同一个故事的序章，能够瞬间抓住读者的眼球，激起他们的探索欲望。这本书就做到了这一点。纸张的质量也相当不错，手感温润，翻页时不会发出刺耳的声音，而且墨迹清晰，长时间阅读也不会觉得眼睛疲劳。我把这本书放在我的书架上，它和我的其他藏书摆在一起，显得格外突出，充满了吸引力。这种对细节的追求，也让我对这本书的内容更加充满信心，我知道，这不仅仅是一次简单的阅读，更可能是一次心灵的触动，一次深刻的体验。这本书的质感，让我对即将开启的阅读之旅充满了期待。

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《Runaway逃离》的平装版本，手感非常棒。书的尺寸也刚刚好，不会太大显得笨重，也不会太小显得不够大气，非常适合随身携带，或者在家里的沙发上悠闲地阅读。书页的厚度适中，不会过于透明，也不会太厚导致翻页困难。翻开书页，能闻到一股淡淡的油墨香，这是实体书独有的味道，瞬间就能让人进入一种放松的状态。我喜欢在夜晚，泡上一杯热茶，然后捧着这本《Runaway逃离》，在柔和的灯光下，慢慢品味其中的文字。这种体验是电子设备无法给予的。书本的装订也很牢固，不用担心会散页。总之，这是一本从拿在手里到翻开阅读，都充满质感和愉悦感的书。它让我感受到一种回归传统的阅读乐趣，也让我更加期待书中精彩的故事内容。

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应该很不错，只是买了还没时间拜读。诺奖获得者，读过她的其他作品，很棒

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送货速度很快，一大早就送过来了。

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评价真麻烦

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还没看………………

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好。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

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爱丽丝门罗 ，喜欢的女作家

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书籍是人类进步的阶梯，多看书，改变人的气质。

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在京东买了这么多年东西！第一次严重感受到自己的消费者权益受到了极大的伤害！建议京东加强员工素质培养啊！明明下订单是六本书，只给寄来五本！也是无语了←_←

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包装很垃圾。书质量还行。