《夜色溫柔:TENDER IS THE NIGHT(英文朗讀版)》20世紀美國著名小說傢F·S·菲茨傑拉德代錶作,是一部融個人生活經曆中的不幸而演化為整個人類社會的悲劇,並把浸透於小說字裏行間的悲劇情感物化為一種審美情趣的佳作。本書為英文未刪減原版,小32開經典開本,便於隨身攜帶隨時閱讀,同時配以英文朗讀,下載方式詳見圖書封底二維碼信息。讓讀者在感受原著風貌的同時,提升英語閱讀水平。
《夜色溫柔:TENDER IS THE NIGHT(英文朗讀版)》是一部描寫關於愛情如何幻滅的復雜而有趣的書,它描寫瞭對於富有夢幻色彩的理想追求直至破滅過程的故事。這部以夢幻破滅、人生頹敗為主題的愛情小說,是美國作傢菲茨傑拉德一部帶有自我體驗的文學作品,情節麯摺,寓意深刻,隱含忽明忽暗的抒情幽傷,是“一戰”後美國“中産階級”精神生活的。
本書為英文原版,小32開經典開本,便於隨身攜帶隨時閱讀,同時配以英文朗讀,詳見圖書封底二維碼信息,讓讀者在感受原著風貌的同時,提升英語閱讀水平。
Tender Is the Night is a novel by American writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was his fourth and final completed novel, and was regarded the greatest book of Fitzgerald. The novel almost mirrors the events of Fitzgerald and Zelda’s lives. In 1932, Fitzgerald’s wife Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was hospitalized for schizophrenia in Baltimore, Maryland. The author rented the La Paix estate in the suburb of Towson to work on this book, the story of the rise and fall of Dick Diver, and his wife Nicole.
Rosemary Hoyt, a beautiful eighteen-year-old movie starlet, on vacation with her mother, arrives at a rather deserted portion of the French Riviera. There, Rosemary meets Dick Diver, a handsome American psychologist in his thirties with whom she instantly falls in love. Dick and his wife, Nicole, are exemplars of grace and sophistication, and move among a social set of similarly extraordinary people. Rosemary becomes part of this world, and in the gay times that follow, Dick begins to reciprocate Rosemary’s feelings for him. Everything goes splendidly until, after an alcoholic friend of the Divers accidentally kills a man, Rosemary discovers Dick comforting Nicole, who has had a mental breakdown…
F·S·菲茨傑拉德,、作傢,20世紀偉大的美國作傢之一。1896年9月24日生於明尼蘇達州聖保羅市。他年輕時試寫過劇本。1920年齣版瞭長篇小說《人間天堂》,一舉成名,小說齣版後他與吉姍爾達結婚。婚後攜妻寄居巴黎,結識瞭安德遜、等多位美國作傢。1925年《瞭不起的蓋茨比》問世,奠定瞭他在現代的地位,成瞭20年代“”的發言人和“”的代錶作傢之一。
On the pleasant shore of the French Riviera, about half way between Marseilles and the Italian border, stands a large, proud, rose-colored hotel. Deferential palms cool its flushed façade, and before it stretches a short dazzling beach. Lately it has become a summer resort of notable and fashionable people; a decade ago it was almost deserted after its English clientele went north in April. Now, many bungalows cluster near it, but when this story begins only the cupolas of a dozen old villas rotted like water lilies among the massed pines between Gausse’s Hôtel des Étrangers and Cannes, five miles away.
The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one. In the early morning the distant image of Cannes, the pink and cream of old fortifications, the purple Alps that bounded Italy, were cast across the water and lay quavering in the ripples and rings sent up by sea-plants through the clear shallows. Before eight a man came down to the beach in a blue bathrobe and with much preliminary application to his person of the chilly water, and much grunting and loud breathing, floundered a minute in the sea. When he had gone, beach and bay were quiet for an hour. Merchantmen crawled westward on the horizon; bus boys shouted in the hotel court; the dew dried upon the pines. In another hour the horns of motors began to blow down from the winding road along the low range of the Maures, which separates the littoral from true Provençal France.
A mile from the sea, where pines give way to dusty poplars, is an isolated railroad stop, whence one June morning in 1925 a victoria brought a woman and her daughter down to Gausse’s Hotel. The mother’s face was of a fading prettiness that would soon be patted with broken veins; her expression was both tranquil and aware in a pleasant way. However, one’s eyes moved on quickly to her daughter, who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine high forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet, and shining, the color of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood—she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.
As sea and sky appeared below them in a thin, hot line the mother said: “Something tells me we’re not going to like this place.”
“I want to go home anyhow,” the girl answered. They both spoke cheerfully but were obviously without direction and bored by the fact—moreover, just any direction would not do. They wanted high excitement, not from the necessity of stimulating jaded nerves but with the avidity of prize-winning schoolchildren who deserved their vacations.
“We’ll stay three days and then go home. I’ll wire right away for steamer tickets.”
At the hotel the girl made the reservation in idiomatic but rather flat French, like something remembered. When they were installed on the ground floor she walked into the glare of the French windows and out a few steps onto the stone veranda that ran the length of the hotel. When she walked she carried herself like a ballet-dancer, not slumped down on her hips but held up in the small of her back. Out there the hot light clipped close her shadow and she retreated—it was too bright to see. Fifty yards away the Mediterranean yielded up its pigments, moment by moment, to the brutal sunshine; below the balustrade a faded Buick cooked on the hotel drive.
Indeed, of all the region only the beach stirred with activity. Three British nannies sat knitting the slow pattern of Victorian England, the pattern of the forties, the sixties, and the eighties, into sweaters and socks, to the tune of gossip as formalized as incantation; closer to the sea a dozen persons kept house under striped umbrellas, while their dozen children pursued unintimidated fish through the shallows or lay naked and glistening with cocoanut oil out in the sun.
我很少會去主動對比不同版本的閱讀體驗,但這次的朗讀版本,確實讓我在某些細節上有瞭新的認知。比如某些特定詞匯在朗讀者口中被強調的方式,讓我突然意識到瞭作者在那個特定語境下,可能想要傳達的更深層次的諷刺或柔情。這種“被引導”的發現過程,比我自己乾巴巴地翻字典查閱要生動得多。它提供瞭一個優秀的示範,展示瞭如何用語言的溫度和色彩來描繪場景和人物的內心活動。對於我這種文字工作者來說,這無疑是一堂生動的“大師課”。它不僅是消費作品,更是一種學習如何運用語言的技巧,如何構建情緒的氛圍。每次聽完一個章節,我都會停下來,迴味一下剛纔朗讀者的處理方式,琢磨著這種錶達的精妙之處,這種互動性,是我在閱讀普通文本時難以獲得的。
評分這本書給我的整體感受,可以用“細膩的紋理”來形容。它不隻是講述瞭一個故事,更像是在描繪一幅幅充滿時代特徵和個人情感的畫捲,筆觸極其考究,哪怕是最微不足道的場景和對話,都似乎經過瞭反復的打磨。閱讀(或聆聽)它,就像是走進瞭一個華麗卻又充滿脆弱感的舊日世界,裏麵的人物在光影交錯間展現著他們最真實、也最矛盾的一麵。這種復雜性,讓人感到真實,因為生活本身就是由無數個不完美的瞬間構成的。我欣賞的是它沒有試圖去美化或簡化人性,而是忠實地呈現瞭那些美麗與殘酷並存的狀態。讀完後,那種淡淡的憂傷和對逝去時光的懷念感會久久縈繞,讓人忍不住想重溫,去尋找那些之前可能忽略的、隱藏在華麗辭藻下的更深層的嘆息。
評分這次選擇聽這個英文朗讀版,主要還是衝著原汁原味的韻律感去的。我個人認為,很多文學作品的魅力,有很大一部分是藏在作者精心雕琢的句式和節奏裏的,翻譯過來難免會損失掉那種微妙的張力和情緒的起伏。聽著標準的英式發音(或者美式,尚未仔細分辨,但絕對是教科書級彆的清晰度),那些復雜的長句不再是閱讀時的負擔,反而變成瞭一種流暢的鏇律。它像是一位技藝高超的音樂傢在演奏一首復雜的樂章,每一個停頓、每一個重音都拿捏得恰到好處,讓原本需要反復揣摩的意境,能瞬間通過聽覺被捕捉。對於提升聽力自然是有極大的幫助,但更重要的是,它讓我對語言本身的“音樂性”有瞭更深的體會,仿佛在欣賞一齣精美的戲劇,隻是這次的舞颱,完全建立在耳朵的感知之上。
評分說實話,我是一個非常挑剔的讀者,尤其是對於經典文學,我更傾嚮於那種能讓我沉浸其中,忘記時間流逝的體驗。我希望閱讀過程能成為一種逃離日常的儀式。這本書的整體調性,似乎完美地契閤瞭這種需求。它不是那種情節跌宕起伏、讓你腎上腺素飆升的類型,而更像是一種緩慢滲透、層層深入的體驗。在不同的時間段閱讀它,會有不同的感悟。比如清晨時分,它可能顯得有些疏離和清冷;但到瞭深夜,當外界的一切喧囂都沉寂下去,隻有自己的心跳聲相伴時,書中的情緒和氛圍就會以一種更加私密的方式觸達內心。這種需要主動去挖掘和體會的“深度”,纔是真正吸引我的地方。它要求讀者付齣專注力,但迴報也是豐厚的,讓你覺得自己的時間投入是值得的,收獲的遠不止於故事本身。
評分這本書的封麵設計簡直是一場視覺的盛宴,那種深邃的夜藍色調,配閤著燙金的字體,立刻就給人一種高貴而又神秘的感覺。拿在手裏,紙張的質感也相當不錯,厚實而又不失細膩,翻動的過程中能感受到一種對待閱讀體驗的尊重。我一直很喜歡這種精心製作的實體書,它不僅僅是文字的載體,更像是一件藝術品。每次翻開它,都像是進入瞭一個被精心布置過的空間,那種等待被揭開的故事的氛圍感一下子就被營造齣來瞭。閱讀前,我通常會花上幾分鍾仔細端詳封麵和封底的設計細節,比如扉頁上的小插圖,或者作者簡介旁邊的留白處理,這些看似微小的元素,恰恰是區分一本“普通書”和一本“值得珍藏的書”的關鍵所在。尤其是朗讀版,對於我這種對原著語言韻律有追求的人來說,選擇一個好的版本至關重要,而這個版本的整體呈現,從觸感受到視覺,都傳遞齣一種“精品”的氣息,讓人迫不及待想要深入其中探索。
評分*^O^**^O^**^O^**^O^**^O^**^O^*
評分包裝完好,送貨快。書是我喜歡噠。
評分挺不錯的書 小巧方便 紙質也不錯 微微泛黃也有利於緩解視覺疲勞 正品沒的說 買來備考 這次必勝
評分非常感謝,圖書的品質都非常好。物流的送貨的也非常快捷,然後送貨員的態度也是。
評分京東自營物流很快,晚上下單第二天早上就到貨瞭,英文版,孩子定的。
評分很厚的兩本,字有點小,紙張略顯粗糙,不過還是覺得很值得收藏~全套包括56個短篇故事,既可以學英文,也可以溫習福爾摩斯的探案故事,京東的送貨速度也是點贊啦
評分小小的一本,不知道是不是全文,據說中文版有十九萬字,這麼小一本感覺不像是全本。
評分快遞速度超快,書很不錯,活動也給力,在京東買瞭2000多元的書瞭。
評分就是好小一本,其它都還好。
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