The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2024

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The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装]

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Edith Wharton(伊迪丝·华顿) 著



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发表于2024-07-25

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出版社: Penguin US
ISBN:9780451530882
版次:1
商品编码:19043410
包装:平装
丛书名: Signet Classics
出版时间:2008-03-04
用纸:胶版纸
页数:336
正文语种:英文
商品尺寸:14.73x2.29x17.27cm

The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] epub 下载 mobi 下载 pdf 下载 txt 电子书 下载 2024

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The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] epub 下载 mobi 下载 pdf 下载 txt 电子书 下载 2024

The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载



具体描述

编辑推荐

The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy. Revised reissue.

《纯真时代》是伊迪丝·华顿的杰出代表作品。华顿把爱伦--全书的灵魂人物的性格的各个侧面都描写的栩栩如生。她的温柔、善良、勇敢、真实,尤其是她展现出来的牺牲精神更是伴随着故事的发展而升华。

内容简介

The 1920s novel of a passion threatened by convention and played outagainst a backdrop of New York City-s upper class, unimaginable wealth,and unavoidable tragedy.

《纯真年代》讲述透过老纽约社会培养出的最优秀的青年———纽兰,通过他保守的思想和双眼,奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的形象就是一个极为风情、大胆的女子,有些轻浮、有些散漫,看起来和老纽约社会上的
贵族是那样的不同,在他看来这样的女人也不可能具有什么高贵的品质。但是随着故事的展开,奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的许多优秀的品质被显现出来,尤其是她的人道主义的牺牲精神展现得尤为突出。

作者简介

Edith Wharton:One of America's most important novelists, Edith Wharton was a refined, relentless chronicler of the Gilded Age and its social mores. Along with close friend Henry James, she helped define literature at the turn of the 20th century, even as she wrote classic nonfiction on travel, decorating and her own life.

伊迪丝·华顿(Edith Wharton, 1862年1月24日-1937年8月11日),是19 世纪末女性现实主义作家的代表,她的一生推出了近十余部作品,包括中、长篇小说、诗歌、传记和文学批评等不同体裁。由于她生活的局限性,她的小说一般都是以一种极其细腻的手法描写着贵族生活,所以也被人称为温和现实主义作家。美国女作家,作品有《高尚的嗜好》、《纯真年代》、《四月里的阵雨》、《马恩河》、《战地英雄》等书。

精彩书评

"One of the best novels of the 20th century."
--NY Times Book Review
"The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy."
-- Revised reissue.

精彩书摘

ON A January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in "Faust" at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupé." To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me!—" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . ." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!" with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage lovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera Houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

"The darling!" though The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] 电子书 下载 mobi epub pdf txt


The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载
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立刻按 ctrl+D收藏本页
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用户评价

评分

很好啊,又快质量又好

评分

还行,就是 配送有点慢啊

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单纯无知的皮普慢慢习惯了伦敦的生活,和小时候打架的赫伯斯成了朋友和室友,从律师那里拿钱挥霍,结识了律师手下的一个官员,在一个郝维辛小姐的亲戚家接受教育,并加入了一个愚蠢的俱乐部,并且坚持每星期去看望他喜爱的埃·斯黛拉,并沉湎于她的美色和谎言,并妒嫉一个和埃·斯黛拉来往密切的猥琐龌龊的富有的乡绅士,从而开始了他的交际活动。

评分

好好好好好好好好好好好好好好

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  但他终于只能理所当然地和梅在一起,那么多的羁绊,他无法抗拒。

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  情感依旧压抑纠结,他苦心经营的生活表面上尽善尽美,其中却充满了孤独与无奈。他内心有一个赌注:将内心无能为力的情感寄托给天意。黄昏,金色的湖畔,爱人的背影。他想:要是帆船驶过灯塔之前她能转过身来,他就上前去找她。他远远地望着她凭栏而立的背影,希望她也能心有灵犀的回眸,许应他心中仿徨的情感一股继续支持下去的力量。可她终究没有转身。

评分

刚拿到手,迫不及待翻看了几下。这期还是保持了[]给我的印象图片多,文字客观平和。目测看完这一本,不能说就知道了[],但最起码比我现在知道的要多,它只是一本[],能带给我们知识(客观的,求是的),就已经够可以感恩了。豆瓣上有个评论说得甚合我心,都是值得尊敬的。所以,那些说什么排版不好看啦,信息量少拉,内容陈旧拼凑连百度都可以搜到拉,之类的人,请首先持珍惜的态度。在国内看多了偏激的,愤怒的,莫名其妙的有关[]的评论,这么一本至少可以好好说话的书籍,反正我是真的觉得非常难得并且眼前一亮的。更何况,个人非常喜欢这种饱满的排版(个人喜好),内容的信息量对我来说也算有营养了(难道是我太没文化?),自认为没本事在百度搜到这么多图片(你们说的是真的吗,百度地图连国外的地方都显示不了)。从另一方面来讲,编辑也要珍惜慢慢积累起来的粉丝群,不要随大流,坚持自己的特色,更不要忘了杂志的初衷。这本书不仅能让你看到奋斗,也能让你懂得青春。

评分

  假如“优雅”到了最高境界竟变成其反面,帷幕后面竟是空洞无物,那将怎么办呢?他看着梅——她最后一轮射中靶心后,正面色红润、心态平静地退出场地——心中暗自想道:他还从未揭开过那片帷幕。她代表着社会所代表的表相的和睦、稳定、友谊以及对不可推卸的责任,这些都是他曾一度认为是生活目标的东西,当他在埃伦身上发现了与他同样的对生活的感受和对真实和自由的追求时,梅所代表的社会虚伪被击得粉碎。

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