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許淵沖譯唐詩(shī)三百首:漢文·英語(yǔ)
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一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 版權(quán)信息
- ISBN：9787201169040
- 條形碼：9787201169040 ; 978-7-201-16904-0
- 裝幀：一般純質(zhì)紙
- 冊(cè)數(shù)：暫無(wú)
- 重量：暫無(wú)
- 所屬分類：>>
一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 本書(shū)特色
★ 入選蘭登書(shū)屋現(xiàn)代文庫(kù)"20世紀(jì)百佳英文小說(shuō)" ★ 被《時(shí)代》周刊評(píng)為百佳英文小說(shuō) ★ 本書(shū)為全英文版，精校未刪減，經(jīng)典32開(kāi)本便于隨身攜帶閱讀。 ★ 學(xué)好英語(yǔ)，從原版閱讀開(kāi)始。
一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 內(nèi)容簡(jiǎn)介
One of 100 Best English-language Novels Published Since 1923No. 34 in the Modern Library’s List of 100 Best NovelsA Handful of Dust is a novel by the British writer Evelyn Waugh, first published in 1934. It is often grouped with the author’s early, satirical comic novels for which he became famous in the pre-World War II years.Set between the wars in the chic upper-middle classes in and around London, A Handful of Dust is full of horrible people doing horrible things to each other, but it adds up to a bitter indictment of human behaviour. And it’s not all jokes. There’s despair lurking beneath the brittle laughs, and sadness at the waste of potential...The book’s initial critical reception was modest, but it was popular with the public and has never been out of print. In the years since publication the book’s reputation has grown; it is generally considered one of Waugh’s best works, and has more than once figured on unoffi lists of the 20th century’s best novels.
一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 目錄
CHAPTER 1 DU CÔTÉ DE CHEZ BEAVER
CHAPTER 2 ENGLISH GOTHIC
CHAPTER 3 HARD CHEESE ON TONY
CHAPTER 4 ENGLISH GOTHIC—II
CHAPTER 5 IN SEARCH OF A CITY
CHAPTER 6 DU CÔTÉ DE CHEZ TODD
CHAPTER 7 ENGLISH GOTHIC—III
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一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 節(jié)選
CHAPTER 1 DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins everything. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were completely gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of somber and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity-racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her twoseater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toilede-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now"... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten."
一抔塵土(英文版) A Handful of Dust 作者簡(jiǎn)介
伊夫林·沃（1903-1966）英國(guó)著名小說(shuō)家，被譽(yù)為"英語(yǔ)文學(xué)史上極具摧毀力、成果顯著的諷刺小說(shuō)家之一"。是一位優(yōu)秀的文體家，作品文字簡(jiǎn)潔，文筆辛辣，結(jié)構(gòu)巧妙。 1903年，伊夫林·沃出生于英國(guó)漢普斯特德的一個(gè)文學(xué)世家，父親是著名出版商和文學(xué)評(píng)論家。沃從小受家庭環(huán)境影響，熱愛(ài)文學(xué)。自1928年發(fā)表第一部長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)《衰落與瓦解》一舉成名后，他先后出版了20余部長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)，多部短篇小說(shuō)集及不少游記。 1998年，著名的蘭登書(shū)屋現(xiàn)代文庫(kù)評(píng)選出"20世紀(jì)百佳英文小說(shuō)"，沃有三部作品入選，包括《一抔塵土》（1934）、《獨(dú)jia新聞》（1938）、《故園風(fēng)雨后》（1945）。
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