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內容簡介

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.

作者簡介

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.

內頁插圖

精彩書評

"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.

精彩書摘

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 牧童曆險記 [平裝] [8歲及以上] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書

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原版紐奬書，孩子喜歡。字體比較小。

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　　錢塘的街市很有地方特色，有店麵的鋪子沿街相對，中間一溜兒都是小攤。她慢悠悠地往前幾日剛剛光顧過的碧落軒錢塘分號走去。

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閱讀的重要性是不言而喻的，但對於孩子來說，閱讀又有一定難度。如何能讓天性好動的孩子坐下來專心閱讀呢？ 首先是要樹立對書的尊重和親近。 聽書也是一個人的閱讀史中很重要的一頁。固然，很多知識是可以從電視、從交談、從觀察、從生活中的各種渠道獲得，但就深度來說，沒有任何一種形式能夠代替閱讀。讀書的速度是可快可慢的，書的內容也可以自由挑選，這比其他吸收知識的形式多瞭許多思考的空間，主動性更強。讀的時候還可以提問、講解，還可以有目的地查閱，這樣使得一段文字的擴展性非常大。也許它隻是一個引子，由它引發的探討和追問，最後可能把人帶到完全不能想象的地方。 　　培養孩子對書的興趣，傢長本人就應該有對書的熱愛，一個本身就鄙視閱讀、厭惡閱讀的人，很難想象他的傢裏會有閱讀的氛圍。不愛書的人，他無論怎麼威逼利誘，努力讓孩子看書，都帶有強烈的功利目的——為瞭考試得高分，為瞭寫作文有詞兒，為瞭談話有炫耀的資本。沒有真正體驗到閱讀的樂趣，就不可能愛上閱讀，即使孩子勉強讀瞭，也不可能保持長久的興趣。至於閱讀中的積極思考，那更是誰也強迫不瞭的。發自內心喜歡閱讀，和被迫坐在書桌前閱讀，效果差彆很大。 　　如何讓孩子發自內心地喜歡閱讀呢？聽書就是必要的一步。 　　在孩子的識字量還很小，理解力也很有限的時候，讓他讀書肯定讀不進去。他的注意力大部分都放在識字上，沒讀幾個字，情緒還沒有進入到內容中，就已經纍瞭，怎麼可能很有興趣地讀呢？因此過早強迫孩子讀書，隻能把他的胃口搞壞，看到書就煩。 　　聽書卻可以毫不費力地讓他瞭解書中的世界。在一些比較簡單的地方，讓他自己讀一部分，他會很有成就感。 　　而且講書的過程，實際上也是一個傳授閱讀方法的過程。你可以把有關的背景知識穿插進去，也可以提齣一些疑問讓孩子思考，還可以邊讀書邊和孩子討論；這些實際上都是很重要的學習方法，孩子耳濡目染慢慢會有所領悟。

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[ZZ]寫的的書都寫得很好，[sm]還是朋友推薦我看的，後來就非非常喜歡，他的書瞭。除瞭他的書，我和我傢小孩還喜歡看鄭淵潔、楊紅櫻、黃曉陽、小橋老樹、王永傑、楊其鐸、曉玲叮當、方洲，他們的書我覺得都寫得很好。[SM]，很值得看，價格也非常便宜，比實體店買便宜好多還省車費。 書的內容直得一讀[BJTJ]，閱讀瞭一下，寫得很好，[NRJJ]，內容也很豐富。[QY]，一本書多讀幾次，[SZ]。 快遞送貨也很快。還送貨上樓。非常好。 [SM]，超值。買書就來來京東商城。價格還比彆傢便宜，還免郵費不錯，速度還真是快而且都是正版書。[BJTJ]，買迴來覺得還是非常值的。我喜歡看書，喜歡看各種各樣的書，看的很雜，文學名著，流行小說都看，隻要作者的文筆不是太差，總能讓我從頭到腳看完整本書。隻不過很多時候是當成故事來看，看完瞭感嘆一番也就丟下瞭。所在來這裏買書是非常明智的。然而，目前社會上還有許多人被一些價值不大的東西所束縛，卻自得其樂，還覺得很滿足。經過幾百年的探索和發展，人們對物質需求已不再迫切，但對於精神自由的需求卻無端被抹殺瞭。總之，我認為現代人最缺乏的就是一種開闊進取，尋找最大自由的精神。 中國人講“虛實相生，天人閤一”的思想，“於空寂處見流行，於流行處見空寂”，從而獲得對於“道”的體悟，“唯道集虛”。這在傳統的藝術中得到瞭充分的體現，因此中國古代的繪畫，提倡“留白”、“布白”，用空白來錶現豐富多彩的想象空間和廣博深廣的人生意味，體現瞭包納萬物、吞吐一切的胸襟和情懷。讓我得到瞭一種生活情趣和審美方式，伴著筆墨的清香，細細體味，那自由孤寂的靈魂，高尚清真的人格魅力，在尋求美的道路上指引著我，讓我拋棄浮躁的世俗，嚮美學叢林的深處邁進。閤上書，閉上眼，書的餘香猶存，而我腦海裏浮現的，是一個“皎皎明月，仙仙白雲，鴻雁高翔，綴葉如雨”的衝淡清幽境界。願我們身邊多一些主教般光明的使者，有更多人能加入到助人為樂、見義勇為的隊伍中來。社會需要這樣的人，世界需要這樣的人，隻有這樣我們纔能創造我們的生活，[NRJJ]希望下次還呢繼續購買這裏的書籍，這裏的書籍很好，非常的不錯，。給我帶來瞭不錯的現實享受。希望下次還呢繼續購買這裏的書籍，這裏的書籍很好，非常的不錯，。給我帶來瞭不錯的現實享受。

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這些書都還不錯,孩子喜歡

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孩子學英語，不是在學一種道理，也不必長期參加培訓班，而是生活在英語的生活裏。換句話說，傢長、老師要盡量幫助孩子，養成天天用英語的習慣。 我見到很多孩子，很喜歡看書，隻不過原版書是英文寫的，孩子暫時還不能“心領神會”，所以孩子就不愛看。我見到有的傢長給 10 歲左右的孩子買過幾本簡單的原版書，但是孩子沒看幾天就不看瞭，因為閱讀很吃力。孩子閱讀吃力的時候，最需要的是幫助，而不是眼睜睜看著孩子就這麼放棄。障礙不解決，就永遠是障礙。況且，孩子是能把這本書讀下去的。我們可以參考香港小學一些好的教法。 香港特彆重視小學英語課外活動。10 年前，香港第一任行政長官董建華先生，在 2001 年《政府施政報告》第5部分，嚮市民承諾“從 2002 年開始，政府將采取措施，加強小學的英語教學”。怎麼加強呢？有一種做法，就是督促學校在課外開展廣泛的英語閱讀活動。香港教育當局很重視推廣閱讀風氣，他們下發給小學的指導文件裏，反復提到：“英語閱讀能力，是孩子終身必備的學習能力。” 香港一些小學，每天放學之後，有一個小時英語閱讀活動，他們稱之為 reading workshop ，有點類似咱們的托管班，放學後的孩子，聚在老師身邊讀英語書。在香港著名的聖保羅學校附屬小學，有一位老師，給2年級孩子分彆用英語和粵語，講讀 Charlotte's Web，老師帶著學生從頭講到尾，一邊講，一邊讓學生用熒光筆在原版書上作記號。 這位老師不給孩子講語法術語，也沒必要給孩子講語法術語。這位老師利用熒光筆，利用孩子天生對色彩的敏感，把重要的英語結構，自然而然印在孩子心裏，讓孩子不知不覺，學到很多東西。 老師把整整一本書，給孩子認認真真講一遍，從頭到尾，沒有一句遺漏，這很關鍵。如果老師隻是簡單串講一個故事梗概，意義就不大瞭。我們有的孩子看英語書，就有一點走馬觀花，碰到文字稍微睏難的地方，就跳過去不看瞭；還有的孩子看英語，碰到不懂的地方，就直接去看中文翻譯，這實際上是在讀故事，英語的提高很有限。 老師給孩子講讀原版書，不是為瞭講故事。老師的教學意圖，是讓孩子以後能夠獨立閱讀；是讓孩子掌握閱讀策略，提高閱讀速度；是藉用各種色彩，幫孩子熟悉英文語法；是以附帶習得的方式，擴大孩子的單詞量...... 香港很多 10 歲的小學生，每天自己看原版書，並非孩子聰明過人，而是老師已經帶著孩子們認認真真讀過幾本原版書瞭，經過細水長流的教學鋪墊，孩子的英語纔能飛躍。 學英語，不能斷斷續續，孩子需要天天沉潛在英語裏。我舉颱灣地區的例子，近些年颱灣教育當局強調英語學習與國際接軌，颱灣一些重點小學，開傢長會的時候，英語老師會給傢長推薦一份原版書的書單，並對傢長說：“英語學習與國際接軌不是一句口號，而是具體的生活方式，讓孩子每天睡覺前，讀半小時原版書。” 讓英文原版書，成為孩子的好朋友。有閱讀原版書習慣的孩子，學英語所收獲的，不是一朵小花，而是一個春天。

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