Into the Wild 荒野生存 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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Jon Krakauer（乔恩·克拉考尔） 著

图书标签:

• 荒野生存
• 冒险
• 纪实文学
• 旅行
• 自然
• 个人成长
• 美国文学
• 生存
• 户外
• 非虚构

出版社： Anchor Books

ISBN：9780385486804

版次：1

商品编码：19276496

包装：平装

出版时间：1997-01-20

用纸：胶版纸

页数：207

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：20.269x13.411x1.321cm;0.172kg

编辑推荐

　　人心中都有一个克里斯
　　拿到《荒野生存》，最让我不解的是，一名年轻流浪者的经历，如何能让不少记者尾随其踪迹花一两年解开其谜团，让肖恩？潘执著十年等待克里斯父母的允许开拍电影？更重要的是，《荒野生存》雄踞《纽约时报》畅销书排行榜两年以上，牵动了几百万美国人的心。说到底，克里斯不过是一名不幸的流浪者。
　　“一千个人眼中有一千个哈姆雷特”，那是因为读者们都加入了自己对生活的理解。克里斯奇迹般地得到那么多人的关爱、牵挂、赞扬和苛责，是不是也可以说因为他们心中都有一个克里斯？可能有读者要反驳，谁要去那种没水没电的地方风餐露宿，那是蚊子、野兽和疯子的乐园。
　　然而，谁敢说自己不曾年轻过，不曾有过敏感、叛逆和渴望流浪的心？美国有“嬉皮士”、“垮掉的一代”；中国有无数为崔健的音乐疯狂，曾经梦想抱着木吉他去流浪的年轻人。只不过，我们绝大多数人在成长中学会谨慎理智，甚至反过来责难那些不切实际的游民，正由于此，人类社会生生不息地繁衍、发展。但是，一小撮被视为另类的边缘人，形体上的或精神上的游民，他们放不下自己唯美的固执，在霓虹灯的阴影，在心灵的边缘，坚持着那个浪漫得一塌糊涂，却高贵动人的梦想。
　　拥挤的人群不一定代表丰盈满足，人们在写字楼里，在宴席中，在24小时灯火通明的大都市，不是也常常会感到空虚迷茫？只不过，人们以为是自己拥有得不够，因为贫乏而失落，于是更急切地去寻找更多的填充物，而不是一无所有的荒凉之地。
　　有人说，我们是不举的衰神，绝大多数人没有和这个社会较过一次真，只是选择默默地接受由别人创造的社会、思想、规则甚至邻居的看法。我们自己掂量了一下自己，决定还是把头默默地低下去继续，其间用很多精神食粮和爱情信仰调调味，让它容易下咽一些。
　　成为传奇的人物却不接受这样的活法，他们说，即使活不下去，也要活出我自己。
　　也许，这么多人言辞激烈地苛责克里斯，是因为克里斯让他们想到从前的自己。曾经年轻、敏感、叛逆、偏激的自己。莫名心惊。莫名失落。
　　所有曾经发现内在声音的人，都应该看看《荒野生存》。

内容简介

In April 1992 a young man from a well-to-do family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. His name was Christopher Johnson McCandless. He had given $25,000 in savings to charity, abandoned his car and most of his possessions, burned all the cash in his wallet, and invented a new life for himself. Four months later, his decomposed body was found by a moose hunter. How McCandless came to die is the unforgettable story of Into the Wild.

Immediately after graduating from college in 1991, McCandless had roamed through the West and Southwest on a vision quest like those made by his heroes Jack London and John Muir. In the Mojave Desert he abandoned his car, stripped it of its license plates, and burned all of his cash. He would give himself a new name, Alexander Supertramp, and , unencumbered by money and belongings, he would be free to wallow in the raw, unfiltered experiences that nature presented. Craving a blank spot on the map, McCandless simply threw the maps away. Leaving behind his desperate parents and sister, he vanished into the wild.

Jon Krakauer constructs a clarifying prism through which he reassembles the disquieting facts of McCandless's short life. Admitting an interst that borders on obsession, he searches for the clues to the dries and desires that propelled McCandless. Digging deeply, he takes an inherently compelling mystery and unravels the larger riddles it holds: the profound pull of the American wilderness on our imagination; the allure of high-risk activities to young men of a certain cast of mind; the complex, charged bond between fathers and sons.

When McCandless's innocent mistakes turn out to be irreversible and fatal, he becomes the stuff of tabloid headlines and is dismissed for his naiveté, pretensions, and hubris. He is said to have had a death wish but wanting to die is a very different thing from being compelled to look over the edge. Krakauer brings McCandless's uncompromising pilgrimage out of the shadows, and the peril, adversity , and renunciation sought by this enigmatic young man are illuminated with a rare understanding--and not an ounce of sentimentality. Mesmerizing, heartbreaking, Into the Wild is a tour de force. The power and luminosity of Jon Krakauer's stoytelling blaze through every page.

　　《荒野生存》同名电影由肖恩·潘执著10年倾情编导。纽约时报评论“令人震慑，让人感动，一个探索人类心灵深处某种追寻的动人故事。”
　　我们究竟是谁？我们究竟何在？什么是生命中必要的事情？生活从来都不诗情画意。因此，无论如何，记得给自己留条回来的路。
　　扣动美国人心弦的阿拉斯加之谜：
　　为什么富家子弟、名牌大学毕业生放弃一切走进阿拉斯加荒野？
　　为了逃离沉重的家庭桎梏？躲避复杂的人际关系？
　　渴望惊心动魄的冒险？还是执着探寻灵魂之乡？
　　为什么他在萍水相逢的过客心中都留下了刻骨铭心的印记？
　　为何一个无名的旅行者竟引起美国媒体的争相报道？
　　为何一个年轻流浪者在美国主流社会刮起一阵阅读、讨论旋风？
　　记者乔恩·克拉考尔沿着他的足迹奔走于美国西部，走访与他的旅途曾有交集的人，阅读他留下的谜样日记、照片、书籍和信件，并毫无保留地讲述自己年轻时的“魔指”峰冒险，以及使他醉心户外探险的家庭、心理因素，试图解开这个“阿拉斯加之谜”。

作者简介

Jon Krakauer is the author of Under the Banner of Heaven, Eiger Dreams, Into the Wild, and Into Thin Air and is editor of the Modern Library Exploration series.

精彩书评

"Terrifying...Eloquent...A heart-rending drama of human yearning."
--New York Times

"A narrative of arresting force. Anyone who ever fancied wandering off to face nature on its own harsh terms should give a look. It's gripping stuff."
--Washington Post

"Compelling and tragic...Hard to put down."
--San Francisco Chronicle

"Engrossing...with a telling eye for detail, Krakauer has captured the sad saga of a stubborn, idealistic young man."
--Los Angeles Times Book Review

"It may be nonfiction, but Into the Wild is a mystery of the highest order."
--Entertainment Weekly

前言/序言

THE ALASKA INTERIOR
April 27th, 1992
Greetings from Fairbanks! This is the last you shall hear from me, Wayne. Arrived here 2 days ago. It was very difficult to catch rides in the Yukon Territory. But I finally got here.
Please return all mail I receive to the sender. It might be a very long time before I return South. If this adventure proves fatal and you don't ever hear from me again I want you to know you're a great man. I now walk into the wild. --Alex.
(Postcard received by Wayne Westerberg in Carthage, South Dakota.)
Jim Gallien had driven four miles out of Fairbanks when he spotted the hitchhiker standing in the snow beside the road, thumb raised high, shivering in the gray Alaska dawn. He didn't appear to be very old: eighteen, maybe nineteen at most. A rifle protruded from the young man's backpack, but he looked friendly enough; a hitchhiker with a Remington semiautomatic isn't the sort of thing that gives motorists pause in the forty-ninth state. Gallien steered his truck onto the shoulder and told the kid to climb in.
The hitchhiker swung his pack into the bed of the Ford and introduced himself as Alex. "Alex?" Gallien responded, fishing for a last name.
"Just Alex," the young man replied, pointedly rejecting the bait. Five feet seven or eight with a wiry build, he claimed to be twenty-four years old and said he was from South Dakota. He explained that he wanted a ride as far as the edge of Denali National Park, where he intended to walk deep into the bush and "live off the land for a few months."
Gallien, a union electrician, was on his way to Anchorage, 240 miles beyond Denali on the George Parks Highway; he told Alex he'd drop him off wherever he wanted. Alex's backpack looked as though it weighed only twenty-five or thirty pounds, which struck Gallien--an accomplished hunter and woodsman--as an improbably light load for a stay of several months in the backcountry, especially so early in the spring. "He wasn't carrying anywhere near as much food and gear as you'd expect a guy to be carrying for that kind of trip," Gallien recalls.
The sun came up. As they rolled down from the forested ridges above the Tanana River, Alex gazed across the expanse of windswept muskeg stretching to the south. Gallien wondered whether he'd picked up one of those crackpots from the lower forty-eight who come north to live out ill-considered Jack London fantasies. Alaska has long been a magnet for dreamers and misfits, people who think the unsullied enormity of the Last Frontier will patch all the holes in their lives. The bush is an unforgiving place, however, that cares nothing for hope or longing.
"People from Outside," reports Gallien in a slow, sonorous drawl, "they'll pick up a copy of Alaska magazine, thumb through it, get to thinkin' 'Hey, I'm goin' to get on up there, live off the land, go claim me a piece of the good life.' But when they get here and actually head out into the bush--well, it isn't like the magazines make it out to be. The rivers are big and fast. The mosquitoes eat you alive. Most places, there aren't a lot of animals to hunt. Livin' in the bush isn't no picnic."
It was a two-hour drive from Fairbanks to the edge of Denali Park. The more they talked, the less Alex struck Gallien as a nutcase. He was congenial and seemed well educated. He peppered Gallien with thoughtful questions about the kind of small game that live in the country, the kinds of berries he could eat--"that kind of thing."
Still, Gallien was concerned. Alex admitted that the only food in his pack was a ten-pound bag of rice. His gear seemed exceedingly minimal for the harsh conditions of the interior, which in April still lay buried under the winter snowpack. Alex's cheap leather hiking boots were neither waterproof nor well insulated. His rifle was only .22 caliber, a bore too small to rely on if he expected to kill large animals like moose and caribou, which he would have to eat if he hoped to remain very long in the country. He had no ax, no bug dope, no snowshoes, no compass. The only navigational aid in his possession was a tattered state road map he'd scrounged at a gas station.
A hundred miles out of Fairbanks the highway begins to climb into the foothills of the Alaska Range. As the truck lurched over a bridge across the Nenana River, Alex looked down at the swift current and remarked that he was afraid of the water. "A year ago down in Mexico," he told Gallien, "I was out on the ocean in a canoe, and I almost drowned when a storm came up."
A little later Alex pulled out his crude map and pointed to a dashed red line that intersected the road near the coal-mining town of Healy. It represented a route called the Stampede Trail. Seldom traveled, it isn't even marked on most road maps of Alaska. On Alex's map, nevertheless, the broken line meandered west from the Parks Highway for forty miles or so before petering out in the middle of trackless wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. This, Alex announced to Gallien, was where he intended to go.
Gallien thought the hitchhiker's scheme was foolhardy and tried repeatedly to dissuade him: "I said the hunting wasn't easy where he was going, that he could go for days without killing any game. When that didn't work, I tried to scare him with bear stories. I told him that a twenty-two probably wouldn't do anything to a grizzly except make him mad. Alex didn't seem too worried. 'I'll climb a tree' is all he said. So I explained that trees don't grow real big in that part of the state, that a bear could knock down one of them skinny little black spruce without even trying. But he wouldn't give an inch. He had an answer for everything I threw at him."
Gallien offered to drive Alex all the way to Anchorage, buy him some decent gear, and then drive him back to wherever he wanted to go.
"No, thanks anyway,"Alex replied, "I'll be fine with what I've got."
Gallien asked whether he had a hunting license.
"Hell, no," Alex scoffed. "How I feed myself is none of the government's business. Fuck their stupid rules."
When Gallien asked whether his parents or a friend knew what he was up to--whether there was anyone who would sound the alarm if he got into trouble and was overdue Alex answered calmly that no, nobody knew of his plans, that in fact he hadn't spoken to his family in nearly two years. "I'm absolutely positive," he assured Gallien, "I won't run into anything I can't deal with on my own."
"There was just no talking the guy out of it," Gallien remembers. "He was determined. Real gung ho. The word that comes to mind is excited. He couldn't wait to head out there and get started."
Three hours out of Fairbanks, Gallien turned off the highway and steered his beat-up 4 x 4 down a snow-packed side road. For the first few miles the Stampede Trail was well graded and led past cabins scattered among weedy stands of spruce and aspen. Beyond the last of the log shacks, however, the road rapidly deteriorated. Washed out and overgrown with alders, it turned into a rough, unmaintained track.
In summer the road here would have been sketchy but passable; now it was made unnavigable by a foot and a half of mushy spring snow. Ten miles from the highway, worried that he'd get stuck if he drove farther, Gallien stopped his rig on the crest of a low rise. The icy summits of the highest mountain range in North America gleamed on the southwestern horizon.
Alex insisted on giving Gallien his watch, his comb, and what he said was all his money: eighty-five cents in loose change. "I don't want your money," Gallien protested, "and I already have a watch."
"If you don't take it, I'm going to throw it away," Alex cheerfully retorted. "I don't want to know what time it is. I don't want to know what day it is or where I am. None of that matters."
Before Alex left the pickup, Gallien reached behind the seat, pulled out an old pair of rubber work boots, and persuaded the boy to take them. "They were too big for him," Gallien recalls. "But I said, 'Wear two pair of socks, and your feet ought to stay halfway warm and dry.'"
"How much do I owe you?"
"Don't worry about it," Gallien answered. Then he gave the kid a slip of paper with his phone number on it, which Alex carefully tucked into a nylon wallet.
"If you make it out alive, give me a call, and I'll tell you how to get the boots back to me."
Gallien's wife had packed him two grilled-cheese-and-tuna sandwiches and a bag of corn chips for lunch; he persuaded the young hitchhiker to accept the food as well. Alex pulled a camera from his backpack and asked Gallien to snap a picture of him shouldering his rifle at the trailhead. Then, smiling broadly, he disappeared down the snow-covered track. The date was Tuesday, April 28, 1992.
Gallien turned the truck around, made his way back to the Parks Highway, and continued toward Anchorage. A few miles down the road he came to the small community of Healy, where the Alaska State Troopers maintain a post. Gallien briefly considered stopping and telling the authorities about Alex, then thought better of it. "I figured he'd be OK," he explains. "I thought he'd probably get hungry pretty quick and just walk out to the highway. That's what any normal person would do."

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　　也许，这么多人言辞激烈地苛责克里斯，是因为克里斯让他们想到从前的自己。曾经年轻X、敏感、叛逆、V偏激的自己。莫名心惊。莫名W失落。

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