...And Now Miguel 牧童历险记 [平装] [8岁及以上] 下载 mobi epub pdf 电子书 2025

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内容简介

He wanted to be treated like a man, not a child.

Every summer the men of the Chavez family go on a long and difficult sheep drive to the mountains. All the men, that is, except for Miguel. All year long, twelve-year-old Miguel tries to prove that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too is ready to take the sheep into his beloved Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

When his deeds go unnoticed, he prays to San Ysidro, the saint for farmers everywhere. And his prayer is answered . . . but with devastating consequences.

When you act like an adult but get treated like a child, what else can you do but keep your wishes secret and pray that they'll come true.

This is the story of a twelve-year-old Miguel Chavez, who yearns in his heart to go with the men of his family on a long and hard sheep drive to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains--until his prayer is finally answered, with a disturbing and dangerous exchange.

作者简介

Joseph Krumgold received the Newbery Medal for ...And Now Miguel. One of the few people to receive the medal twice, he was subsequently awarded it for his novel Onion John,also available in a Harper Trophy edition.

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精彩书评

"A memorable and deeply moving story of a family of New Mexican sheepherders, in which Miguel, neither child nor man, tells of his great longing to accompany men and sheep to summer pasture, and expresses his need to be recognized as a maturing individual."
-- BL.

精彩书摘

CHAPTER ONE
It was love at first sight and I was astonished that it should be happening to me because the first sight had nothing in the least alluring about it. The roads from airports to cities rarely do. I was like a man who bewilders his friends by becoming infatuated with a particularly unprepossessing woman-warts and a squint and a harelip. 'What on earth does he see in her?' I've often wondered myself. What did I see in that dreary road which was taking me to Paris?
This sudden incomprehensible love affair might have been a little less mysterious if I had arrived in France with gooseflesh anticipations of romantic garrets and dangerous liaisons in them, the Latin Quarter and champagne at five francs a bottle, and artists' studios-all the preposterous sentimental paraphernalia from absinthe to midinettes. But I had not included any of these notions in my meagre luggage, I had no preliminary yearnings towards the country. Rather the contrary. In Australia I had spent much of my time with a young woman who had visited France just before the war and had gone down with a bad attack of what someone called 'French flu'. She babbled so fervently and persistently about France and Paris that she infected me with a perverse loathing for both.
The fact nonetheless inexplicably remains. A hundred yards from the airport we passed a café ('Le Looping', with the two o's aerobatically askew to make the point clear) and puppy love overwhelmed me-puppy love from which this old dog has not yet shaken himself free. 'Le Looping' and the handful of unremarkable customers sipping their drinks on the terrace instantaneously bewitched me.
I knew, with no rational justification, that I was in a country which for me was unlike any other country. It was as though some indigenous evangelist had caused me to be 'born again'.
One life abruptly ended and another began. There and then I shed my twenty-five years. To this day, in my own head and heart I am twenty-five years younger than the miserable reality.
The passengers in the airport bus were a drab lot. It was only eighteen months since the war had ended. There had not been much time to spruce up. In my besotted state, they seemed to me as fabulous as troubadours. The houses along the road were dismal little pavilions badly in need of a coat of paint. I gaped at them as if each one were the Chateau de Versailles. And in the distance the Eiffel Tower looked so impossibly like itself as depicted on a thousand postcards and a thousand amateur paintings that the sense of unreality which I had been feeling deepened still further.
What had brought me to Paris was my eagerness to visit a writer I had admired since my school days. He and his wife were to become two of my closest friends. We saw a great deal of each other in the years ahead-in Paris, in the South of France, in the Loire Valley. Of all the countless occasions on which we laughed together, argued, drank wine, loafed on a Mediterranean beach, listened to music, none was as sheerly magical as that first evening in Paris.
Our relationship took shape from the very beginning. We were already friends by the time we left their studio and strolled together down the Boulevard de Montparnasse. For some reason, twilight in Parts, then at least, was not like twilight in any other city. It enveloped you in a wonderful blue and golden luminosity and it had its own special unidentifiable perfume. That one-and-only twilight dreamily descending on us was so unlike anything I had known that I had my first vague glimpse of a mystery which was to become more and more apparent as time went by: Parts was the city of the unexpected. You always felt as though something extraordinary were about to happen. Sometimes it did, sometimes not; but the expectation never diminished. One went on waiting.
Twilight aside, most things were in short supply in 1947. Fortunately, the writer had been familiar with Paris for thirty years or more. He was already on the right sort of terms with the proprietor of an unassuming restaurant in one of the side streets. So we were served with a mixture of raw vegetables, a sorrel omelette (I can still recall the metallic taste of that sorrel) and, thanks to the proprietor's peasant brother, some wild duck. The wine was a muscular red with a powerful rasp to it but (a symptom of French flu?) I thought I had never drunk anything so delicious. It was served in cups as if we were in the prohibition speakeasy era because otherwise less privileged customers would have been clamouring for some and there wasn't any too much to be had.
Afterwards we walked back along the boulevard towards the studio. We stopped midway for a glass of brandy at the D?me. Tourists had not yet ventured to return to Paris. The other customers on the terrace were all French, completely nondescript but fascinating because they were French. There were practically no cars on the roads. Those there were either had great charcoal-burning furnaces fixed to the back or carried dirigible-like bags of gas on their roofs. Every so often a fiacre went clip-clopping past. The air was almost startling pure. The stars were sharply visible in a translucent sky. I turned to the man at the next table and asked him for a light-speaking French for the first time in my life. I managed to make three ludicrous grammatical blunders in the course of that one short sentence. If he was amused by my linguistic ineptitude he was too polite to show it. La politesse francaise-that still existed, too.

前言/序言

...And Now Miguel 牧童历险记 [平装] [8岁及以上] 下载 mobi epub pdf txt 电子书 格式

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　　“好来，您看这款，连咱们碧落轩的印记也没有，用起来却是半分不差的。”伙计看他衣饰普通，料是囊中羞涩，也不点破，从善如流，推荐上了。

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三

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孩子学英语，不是在学一种道理，也不必长期参加培训班，而是生活在英语的生活里。换句话说，家长、老师要尽量帮助孩子，养成天天用英语的习惯。 我见到很多孩子，很喜欢看书，只不过原版书是英文写的，孩子暂时还不能“心领神会”，所以孩子就不爱看。我见到有的家长给 10 岁左右的孩子买过几本简单的原版书，但是孩子没看几天就不看了，因为阅读很吃力。孩子阅读吃力的时候，最需要的是帮助，而不是眼睁睁看着孩子就这么放弃。障碍不解决，就永远是障碍。况且，孩子是能把这本书读下去的。我们可以参考香港小学一些好的教法。 香港特别重视小学英语课外活动。10 年前，香港第一任行政长官董建华先生，在 2001 年《政府施政报告》第5部分，向市民承诺“从 2002 年开始，政府将采取措施，加强小学的英语教学”。怎么加强呢？有一种做法，就是督促学校在课外开展广泛的英语阅读活动。香港教育当局很重视推广阅读风气，他们下发给小学的指导文件里，反复提到：“英语阅读能力，是孩子终身必备的学习能力。” 香港一些小学，每天放学之后，有一个小时英语阅读活动，他们称之为 reading workshop ，有点类似咱们的托管班，放学后的孩子，聚在老师身边读英语书。在香港著名的圣保罗学校附属小学，有一位老师，给2年级孩子分别用英语和粤语，讲读 Charlotte's Web，老师带着学生从头讲到尾，一边讲，一边让学生用荧光笔在原版书上作记号。 这位老师不给孩子讲语法术语，也没必要给孩子讲语法术语。这位老师利用荧光笔，利用孩子天生对色彩的敏感，把重要的英语结构，自然而然印在孩子心里，让孩子不知不觉，学到很多东西。 老师把整整一本书，给孩子认认真真讲一遍，从头到尾，没有一句遗漏，这很关键。如果老师只是简单串讲一个故事梗概，意义就不大了。我们有的孩子看英语书，就有一点走马观花，碰到文字稍微困难的地方，就跳过去不看了；还有的孩子看英语，碰到不懂的地方，就直接去看中文翻译，这实际上是在读故事，英语的提高很有限。 老师给孩子讲读原版书，不是为了讲故事。老师的教学意图，是让孩子以后能够独立阅读；是让孩子掌握阅读策略，提高阅读速度；是借用各种色彩，帮孩子熟悉英文语法；是以附带习得的方式，扩大孩子的单词量...... 香港很多 10 岁的小学生，每天自己看原版书，并非孩子聪明过人，而是老师已经带着孩子们认认真真读过几本原版书了，经过细水长流的教学铺垫，孩子的英语才能飞跃。 学英语，不能断断续续，孩子需要天天沉潜在英语里。我举台湾地区的例子，近些年台湾教育当局强调英语学习与国际接轨，台湾一些重点小学，开家长会的时候，英语老师会给家长推荐一份原版书的书单，并对家长说：“英语学习与国际接轨不是一句口号，而是具体的生活方式，让孩子每天睡觉前，读半小时原版书。” 让英文原版书，成为孩子的好朋友。有阅读原版书习惯的孩子，学英语所收获的，不是一朵小花，而是一个春天。

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获奖作品，给儿子囤的，搞活动买价格很便宜。

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Every summer the men of the Chavez family go on a long and difficult sheep drive to the mountains. All the men, that is, except for Miguel. All year long, twelve-year-old Miguel tries to prove that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too is ready to take the sheep into his beloved Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

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　　此举不光刘彦荷措手不及，在暗处看了一场好戏的莫熙也十分错愕。

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很有意思的书，适合英语程度好的9-12岁男孩子看。

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