The notice board said Parish Church of~St. Brelade<br >and the place was crammed with headstones "~Xnd tombs,<br >and here and there a granite cross reared up. There was a<br >winged angel on the far side, I noticed that, and then thun-<br >der rumbled on the horizon and rain swept in across the<br >bay.<br > The porter at the hotel had given me an umbrella and I<br >put it up and ventured in. On Sunday in Boston I d never<br >heard of the British Channel Islands off the coast of France<br >or the Island of Jersey. Now it was Thursday and here I was<br >having traveled halfway round the world to seek the final<br >answer to something that had taken three years out of my<br >life.<br > The church was very old and built of granite. I moved<br >toward it through the tombstones, pausing to look out over<br >the bay. The tide was out and there was a fine sweep of<br >golden sands extending to a concrete seawall and I could<br >see my hotel.<br > I heard voices and, turning, saw two men in cloth caps,<br >sacks over their shoulders, crouching under a cypress tree<br >by the far wall of the graveyard. They stood up and moved<br >away, laughing together as ff at some joke, and I noticed<br >they were carrying spades. They disappeared around the<br >back of the church and I crossed to the wall.<br > There was a freshly dug grave, covered with a tarpaulin<br >although the tree gave it some protection from the rain. I<br >don t think I~e ever felt so excited. It was as if it had been<br >waiting for me and I turned and moved through the head-<br >stones to the entrance of the church, opened the door and<br >went inside.<br > I d expected a place of darkness and gloom, but the lights<br >were on and it was really very beautiful, the vaulted ceiling<br > unusual in that it was constructed of granite, no evidence<br > of wooden beams there at all. I walked toward the altar and<br >12<br >stood for a moment, looking around me, aware of the quiet.<br >There was the click of a door opening and closing. A man<br >approached.<br > He had white hair and eyes of the palest blue. He wore a<br >black cassock and carried a raincoat over one arm. His<br >voice was dry and very old and there was a hint of Irish to<br >it when he spoke. "Can I help you?"<br > "Are you the rector?"<br > "Oh, no." He smiled good-humoredly. ~rhey put me out<br >to grass a long time ago. My name is Cullen. Canon Donald<br >Cullen. You re an American?"<br > ~I~at s right." I shook hands. He had a surprisingly firm<br >grip. "Alan Stacey."<br > "Your first visit to Jersey?"<br > "Yes," I said. "Until a few days ago I never knew the place<br >existed. Like most Americans, I d only heard of New Jer-<br >sey~"<br > He smiled. We moved toward the door and he carriedon,<br >"You~e chosen a bad time of the year for your first visit.<br >Jersey can be one of the most desirable places on earth,<br >but not usually during March."<br > "I didn t have much choice," I said. "You re burying<br >someone here today. Harry Martineau,"<br > He had started to pull on his raincoat and paused in<br >surprise. "rhat s right. I m performing the ceremony my-<br >serf, as a matter of fact. Two o clock this afternoon. Are you<br >a relativeT <br > "Not exactly, although I sometimes feel as if I am. I m an<br >assistant professor of philosophy at Harvard. I ve been<br >working on a biography of Martineau for the past three<br >years."<br > "I see." He opened the door and we went out into the<br >porch.<br > "Do you know much about him?" I asked.<br ><br >
杰克希金斯(1929~ )
本名哈里·帕特森,出生于贝尔法斯特,成长于北爱尔兰与英国政治冲突的风暴中心。他有超高的智商(部队智商测试147分),却无心读书,亦无心当一个优秀军人,因为他发觉“一切都只是一个毫无意义的游戏而已”;然而他却塑造了一系列文学史上的另类英雄形象,帮助我们看透,不论政治立场如何变化,什么才是人最本质、最重要的。
杰克·希金斯被称为现代惊险小说之父,启发了当代惊险小说超级天王汤姆·克兰西、克莱夫·卡斯勒等。他的作品被翻译成超过五十五种语言,全球累计销售两亿五千万册。代表作《德国式英雄》在全球累计销量超过五千万册,是历史上最成功的畅销书之一,也是关于二战的最著名畅销小说。“过去的五十年,杰克·希金斯改变了英国的流行小说世界。”(英国《星期日电讯报》)
看完那本封面飘着德国旗的雄鹰着陆后紧接着读这本,这次封面换了一面米字旗在飘,可想而知这次轮到替盟军代言了。确实故事散发的是属于盟军的正能量。 真无法理解中译名——“无路可退的战士”,是不是套错了?看完书对照着内容来对号这个译名,入不了座啊。“德国式英雄”里...
评分看完那本封面飘着德国旗的雄鹰着陆后紧接着读这本,这次封面换了一面米字旗在飘,可想而知这次轮到替盟军代言了。确实故事散发的是属于盟军的正能量。 真无法理解中译名——“无路可退的战士”,是不是套错了?看完书对照着内容来对号这个译名,入不了座啊。“德国式英雄”里...
这本书的氛围营造得真是绝了,从翻开第一页开始,我就感觉自己被一股浓郁的、近乎触摸得到的潮湿气息所笼罩。作者对环境的描写简直是大师级的,那些细微的光影变化,空气中弥漫的泥土和腐叶的气味,甚至是远方不知名野兽低沉的嘶吼,都通过文字立体地呈现在我的脑海里。我仿佛能亲眼看见那片森林在月光下呈现出的诡异蓝色,感觉到脚下松软的苔藓对脚步声的无情吞噬。这种沉浸感是很少有作品能给予的,它不是那种浮于表面的风景描述,而是深入到感官层面的体验。故事的节奏把握得也恰到好处,总是在你以为一切平静下来的时候,突然抛出一个让人心惊肉跳的转折,让你不得不屏住呼吸,生怕错过任何一个细微的线索。那些角色之间的互动,带着一种难以言喻的张力,你总觉得他们之间藏着不为人知的秘密,而你作为一个旁观者,却只能眼睁睁地看着猜疑和误解像藤蔓一样缠绕得越来越紧。我尤其喜欢作者在处理人物内心挣扎时的那种细腻和克制,没有过多的内心独白,全靠行动和对话来暗示人物复杂的情感世界,这使得整个故事的解读空间被极大地拓宽了。
评分如果你期待的是那种传统的、节奏明快、非黑即白的故事,那么这本书可能会让你感到有些“慢热”。但如果你是一个喜欢在文字的肌理中寻找隐藏宝藏的读者,那么你一定会爱上它。它的“慢”,并非情节推进的迟缓,而是对细节的极度偏爱。作者花费了大量篇幅去描绘那些“无用”的物件——一把生锈的钥匙、一张褪色的地图边缘、墙上莫名出现的裂纹。起初,我以为这些只是装饰,但随着剧情的深入,我才恍然大悟,这些物件本身就是散落在时间线上的信标,它们是解读过去的关键。这种对“物”的文学处理,赋予了物体以灵魂和记忆,让整个故事的背景——无论是那栋老宅还是那片荒野——都变成了一个活生生的、具有历史感的角色。这种对环境细节的执着,使得故事的每一个角落都充满了历史的重量感,让整个叙事拥有了一种扎根于土地的、令人信服的真实感。它需要耐心,但回报是丰厚的。
评分坦白讲,这本书的对白设计堪称一绝,它们是如此的精炼和充满暗示性,每一个词语似乎都被称重过。你几乎找不到任何一句废话,那些看似随意的寒暄背后,都可能隐藏着关键的密码或是角色间微妙的权力斗争。很多时候,角色们真正想表达的内容,恰恰是通过他们**没有**说出口的话,或者通过停顿、叹息、甚至是眼神的闪躲来传达的。我经常需要放慢速度,甚至倒回去重新阅读一段对话,只为捕捉那种微妙的语气变化。作者对口音和语域的把握也极其精准,不同背景的人物在交流时展现出的细微差别,极大地丰富了他们的身份背景。这种“少即是多”的对话哲学,让读者必须主动地去填补空白,去解读潜台词,这本身就是一种极具参与感的阅读体验。它强迫你停止被动接受信息,转而成为一个积极的解码者,这也是为什么这本书能让人如此投入的原因之一。
评分关于这本书中对“信任”这一主题的探讨,我感到非常深刻和复杂。它不是简单地告诉我们“不要相信任何人”,而是深入剖析了在极端压力环境下,人性中那些闪烁不定、摇摆不定的灰色地带。书中主要人物的决策过程,常常不是基于绝对的善恶判断,而是基于生存的本能、对过去的执念,以及对未来的恐惧。我特别欣赏作者没有将任何一个角色塑造成完美的圣人或者纯粹的恶棍。即便是那些做出背叛行为的角色,他们的动机也往往源于某种深植于童年创伤或无法摆脱的责任感。这种多层次的动机刻画,使得我们无法轻易地站在道德的高地上去审判他们。相反,我们会被迫反思:如果是我处于那种绝境,我的“忠诚”又能坚守到何时何地?这种对道德模糊性的探讨,让这本书的深度远超一般的惊悚类型,它更像是一部关于人性脆弱性的哲学思辨录,令人读后久久不能平静,甚至会影响到对现实生活中人际关系的看法。
评分我得说,这本书在叙事结构上的大胆尝试非常值得称赞。它完全没有采用那种线性叙事的老套路,而是像打碎了一块镜子,将时间线和不同角色的视角碎片化地抛给我们。起初,这种跳跃感确实让人有些摸不着头脑,需要集中全部注意力去拼凑那些零散的图像和对话,但一旦你适应了这种独特的节奏,那种“啊哈!”的顿悟感简直让人欲罢不能。作者就像一个高明的棋手,每一步看似随意的落子,其实都暗藏着深远的布局。我们跟随A角色看到了事件的开端,却对C角色在那同一时刻的境遇一无所知,直到故事的后半部分,这些线索才如同被魔法连接起来一般,完美地契合。这种结构不仅增加了阅读的挑战性,更极大地提升了故事的悬念和回味价值。每一次重读,我都能发现之前忽略掉的微小暗示,这说明作者的笔力之深厚,远超一般的商业小说。它不仅仅是在讲一个故事,更像是在搭建一个精密的、需要读者共同参与才能完成的艺术品。
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