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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.

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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

評分☆☆☆☆☆

《日斯巴彌亞城觀鬥牛歌》描寫鬥牛場麵，繪聲繪色，猶如電視現場直播，真是妙筆，結尾引《孟子》以羊易牛釁鍾之仁心仁術，反襯齣鬥牛殺牛以博一樂之殘忍風尚。以上諸詩，使事用典中西閤璧，且將地球、電燈、機器、黑奴等西方新名詞，嵌入中國古典詩歌中，如鹽入水，溶化無痕。此種境界，應為張蔭桓獨闢首創，纔是“詩界哥倫布”。（“詩界哥倫布”，乃丘逢甲贊黃遵憲語也）。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

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。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

故事，語言都不錯，可以推薦！

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　“這位小哥，您要不要試試我們今年剛齣的桃花墨，研墨的時候您就知道它的妙處，有一股子淡淡桃花香氣。”

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　“這個前些日子已買過瞭，給介紹款最普通的。”

評分☆☆☆☆☆

評分☆☆☆☆☆

1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

紐伯瑞大奬童書，屯書中

評分☆☆☆☆☆

原版紐奬書，孩子喜歡。字體比較小。

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