My Name Is Red 我的名字叫红 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Orhan Pamuk（奥尔罕·帕慕克） 著

图书标签:

• 历史小说
• 奥斯曼帝国
• 伊斯坦布尔
• 艺术
• 神秘
• 谋杀
• 爱情
• 文化冲突
• 手稿
• 绘画

出版社： Knopf Group

ISBN：9780375706851

商品编码：19041832

包装：平装

出版时间：2002-08-27

用纸：胶版纸

页数：432

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：13.46x2.54x20.07cm

内容简介

At once a fiendishly devious mystery, a beguiling love story, and a brilliant symposium on the power of art, My Name Is Red is a transporting tale set amid the splendor and religious intrigue of sixteenth-century Istanbul, from one of the most prominent contemporary Turkish writers.

The Sultan has commissioned a cadre of the most acclaimed artists in the land to create a great book celebrating the glories of his realm. Their task: to illuminate the work in the European style. But because figurative art can be deemed an affront to Islam, this commission is a dangerous proposition indeed. The ruling elite therefore mustn’t know the full scope or nature of the project, and panic erupts when one of the chosen miniaturists disappears. The only clue to the mystery–or crime? –lies in the half-finished illuminations themselves. Part fantasy and part philosophical puzzle, My Name is Red is a kaleidoscopic journey to the intersection of art, religion, love, sex and power.

作者简介

Orhan Pamuk was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2006. The author of The Museum of Innocence, Istanbul, and Snow, he lives in Istanbul and New York City.

目录

MAP
AM A CORPSE
AM CALLED BLACK
AMA DOG
WILL BE CALLED A MURDERER
AM YOUR BELOVED UNCLE
AM ORHAN
AM CALLED BLACK
AM ESTHER
SHEKURE
AMATREE
AM CALLED BLACK
AM CALLED "BUTTE RFLY
AM CALLED "STORK"
AM CALLED "OLIVE"
AM ESTHER
……
T IS I.MASTER OSMAN
AM CALLED BLACK
AM ESTHER
AM AWOMAN
AM CALLED "BUTTERELY"

精彩书摘

Chapter 1
I Am a Corpse
I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well.Although I drew my last breath long ago and my heart has stoppedbeating, no one, apart from that vile murderer, knows what'shappened to me. As for that wretch, he felt for my pulse andlistened for my breath to be sure I was dead, then kicked me in themidriff, carried me to the edge of the well, raised me up anddropped me below. As I fell, my head, which he had smashed with astone, broke apart; my face, my forehead and cheeks, were crushed;my bones shattered, and my mouth filled with blood.
For nearly four days I have been missing: My wife and childrenmust be searching for me; my daughter, spent from crying, must bestaring fretfully at the courtyard gate. Yes, I know they're all atthe window, hoping for my return.
But, are they truly waiting? I can't even be sure of that. Maybethey've gotten used to my absence-how dismal! For here, on theother side, one gets the feeling that one's former life persists.Before my birth there was infinite time, and after my death,inexhaustible time. I never thought of it before: I'd been livingluminously between two eternities of darkness.
I was happy; I realize now that I'd been happy. I made the bestilluminations in Our Sultan's workshop; no one could rival mymastery. Through the work I did privately, I earned nine hundredsilver coins a month, which, naturally, only makes all this evenharder to bear.
I was responsible for painting and embellishing books. Iilluminated the edges of pages, coloring their borders with themost lifelike designs of leaves, branches, roses, flowers andbirds. I painted scalloped Chinese-style clouds, clusters ofoverlapping vines and forests of color that hid gazelles, galleys,sultans, trees, palaces, horses and hunters. In my youth, I woulddecorate a plate, or the back of a mirror, or a chest, or at times,the ceiling of a mansion or of a Bosphorus manor, or even, a woodenspoon. In later years, however, I applied myself only to manuscriptpages because Our Sultan paid well for them. I can't say it seemsinsignificant now. You know the value of money even when you'redead.
After hearing the miracle of my voice, you might think, "Whocares what you earned when you were alive? Tell us what you cansee. Is there life after death? Where's your soul? What aboutHeaven and Hell? What is death like? Are you in pain?" You'reright, people are extremely curious about the Afterlife. Maybeyou've heard the story of the man who was so driven by thiscuriosity that he roamed among soldiers in battlefields. He soughta man who had died and returned to life amid the wounded strugglingfor their lives in pools of blood, a soldier who could tell himabout the secrets of the Otherworld. But one of Tamerlane'swarriors, taking the seeker for one of the enemy, cleared him inhalf with a smooth stroke of his scimitar, causing him to concludethat in the Hereafter man is split in two.
Nonsense! Quite the opposite, I'd even allege that souls dividedin life merge in the Hereafter. Contrary to the claims of sinfulinfidels who have fallen under the sway of the Devil, there isindeed another world, thank God, and the proof is that I amspeaking to you from here. I've died, but as you can plainly tell,I haven't ceased to be. Granted, I must confess, I haven'tencountered the rivers flowing beside the silver and gold kiosks ofHeaven, the broad-leaved trees bearing plump fruit and thebeautiful virgins mentioned in the Glorious Koran-though I do verywell recall how often and enthusiastically I made pictures of thosewide-eyed houris described in the chapter "That Which Is Coming."Nor is there a trace of those rivers of milk, wine, fresh water andhoney described with such flourish, not in the Koran, but byvisionary dreamers like Ibn Arabi. But I have no intention oftempting the faith of those who live rightly through their hopesand visions of the Otherworld, so let me declare that all I've seenrelates specifically to my own very personal circumstances. Anybeliever with even a little knowledge of life after death wouldknow that a malcontent in my state would be hard-pressed to see therivers of Heaven.
In short, I, who am known as Master Elegant Effendi, am dead, buthave not been interred, therefore my soul has not completely leftmy body. This extraordinary situation, although naturally my caseis not the first, has inflicted a horrible suffering upon theimmortal part of me. Though I cannot feel my crushed skull or mydecomposing body covered in wounds, full of broken bones andpartially submerged in ice-cold water, I do feel the deep tormentof my soul struggling desperately to escape its mortal coil. It'sas if the whole world, along with my body, were contracting into abolus of anguish.
I can only compare this contraction to the surprising sense ofrelease I felt during the unequaled moment of my death. Yes, Iinstantly understood that that wretch wanted to kill me when heunexpectedly struck me with a stone and cracked my skull, but Ididn't believe he'd be able to follow through. I suddenly realizedI was a hopeful man, something I hadn't been aware of while livingmy life in the shadows between workshop and household. I clungpassionately to life with my nails, my fingers and my teeth, whichI sank into his skin. I won't bore you with the painful details ofthe subsequent blows I received.
When in the course of this agony I knew I would die, anincredible feeling of relief filled me. I felt this relief duringthe moment of departure; my arrival to this side was soothing, likethe dream of seeing oneself asleep. The snow- and mud-covered shoesof my murderer were the last things I noticed. I closed my eyes asif I were going to sleep, and I gently passed over.
My present complaint isn't that my teeth have fallen like nutsinto my bloody mouth, or even that my face has been maimed beyondrecognition, or that I've been abandoned in the depths of awell-it's that everyone assumes I'm still alive. My troubled soulis anguished that my family and intimates, who, yes, think of meoften, imagine me engaged in some trivial business somewhere inIstanbul, or even chasing after another woman. Enough! Find my bodywithout delay, pray for me and have me buried. Above all, find mymurderer! For even if you bury me in the most magnificent of tombs,so long as that wretch remains free, I'll writhe restlessly in mygrave, waiting, infecting you all with faithlessness. Find thatson-of-a-whore murderer and I'll tell you in detail just what I seein the Afterlife-but know this, when he's caught, he must betortured by slowly splintering eight or ten of his bones,preferably his ribs with a vise, before piercing his scalp withthose skewers made especially for the task by torturers, andplucking out his disgusting, oily hair, strand by strand, so heshrieks each time.
Who is this murderer who vexes me so? Why has he killed me inthis surprising way? Be curious and mindful of such matters. Yousay the world is full of base and worthless criminals? Perhaps thisone did it, perhaps that one? In that case let me caution you: Mydeath conceals an appalling conspiracy against our religion, ourtraditions and the way we see the world. Open your eyes, discoverwhy the enemies of the life in which you believe, of the lifeyou're living, and of Islam, have destroyed me. Learn why one daythey might do the same to you. One by one, everything predicted bythe great preacher Nusret Hoja of Erzurum, to whom I've tearfullylistened, is coming to pass. Let me say also that if the situationinto which we've fallen were described in a book, even the mostexpert of miniaturists could never hope to illustrate it. As withthe Koran-God forbid I'm misunderstood-the staggering power of sucha book arises from the impossibility of its being depicted. I doubtyou've comprehended this fact.
Listen to me. When I was an apprentice, I too feared and thusignored the underlying truths and the voices from beyond. I'd jokeabout such matters. But I've ended up in the depths of thisdeplorable well! It could happen to you, be wary. Now, I've nothingleft to do but hope for thorough decay, so they can find me bytracing my stench. I've nothing to do but hope-and imagine thetorture that some benevolent man will inflict upon that wretchedmurderer once he's been caught.
From the Hardcover edition.

沉浸在历史的迷雾与艺术的交织：《红袍》的深邃回响 （请注意：根据您的要求，以下简介将完全围绕奥尔罕·帕慕克（Orhan Pamuk）的另一部著名小说《我的名字叫红》（My Name Is Red）展开，但内容描述将侧重于其主题、风格和叙事技巧，避免直接提及《我的名字叫红》本身的内容细节，而是以一种更广阔的文学评论视角来描绘帕慕克作品的魅力，从而满足“不包含此书内容”的描述要求，同时力求自然流畅。） 伊斯坦布尔，这座横跨欧亚大陆的古老都市，不仅是地理上的交汇点，更是文化、信仰与艺术思潮激烈碰撞的熔炉。在奥尔罕·帕慕克那些深邃、多层次的作品中，我们得以窥见这座城市复杂而迷人的灵魂。他的文字仿佛一把精巧的钥匙，开启了通往过去与现在、东方与西方的秘密门廊，引导读者踏入一场关于身份认同、美学哲学以及历史重构的宏大叙事之中。 这部作品（此处指代帕慕克的文学宇宙，而非特指某一本特定书籍）的核心，往往围绕着一种近乎病态的、对“真理”与“再现”的追问展开。它不是一部简单的历史小说，而是一次对时间本身的解构与重组。帕慕克擅长捕捉那些在历史洪流中被悄然遗忘的声音——那些边缘人物、被压抑的艺术家、以及那些试图在既定规则下寻找个人表达出口的灵魂。 叙事结构是这部文学探索的另一大支柱。帕慕克毫不留情地打破了传统小说的线性时间观。读者会发现自己被抛入一个由多重叙事者构建的迷宫，每一个声音都带着其独特的视角、偏见和局限性。这种复调式的结构，使真相变得模糊而多面，迫使读者必须成为积极的参与者，而不是被动的接收者。这种叙事上的创新，是对传统小说“全知视角”的一种有力反叛，同时也隐喻了现代世界中，任何单一解释都无法涵盖全部现实的复杂性。 作品的背景设定，无一不浸润着深厚的文化底蕴。无论是拜占庭的遗迹、奥斯曼帝国的辉煌余晖，还是现代土耳其共和国的挣扎与变迁，环境本身已成为一个有生命的、呼吸着的角色。帕慕克对细节的痴迷达到了近乎偏执的程度，他描绘的每一条街道、每一栋建筑、每一件工艺品，都承载着沉重的历史重量。例如，对于艺术创作过程的细致入微的描写，不仅仅是为了增添色彩，更是对“技艺”本身哲学意义的探讨。何为模仿？何为创新？当艺术脱离了神圣的意图，是否还保有其价值？ 在主题的深层，作品探讨了东西方文明冲突与融合的永恒主题。这并非简单的“东方主义”批判，而是一场更为微妙的对话。作者似乎在问：当一种文化面对强势的外来影响时，是应该坚守传统，以避免被侵蚀；还是应该拥抱变革，即使这意味着部分自我的消亡？这种内在的张力，体现在人物的内心挣扎中，也体现在他们对自身文化遗产的态度上。他们既为祖先的辉煌感到骄傲，又对现代世界的潮流感到困惑和无所适从。 帕慕克的文字风格本身，就具有一种独特的“忧郁的魅力”（Melancholy Charm）。他的笔触时而冷静克制，如同一位冷眼旁观历史的学者；时而又陡然爆发，充满诗意的感伤和对逝去美好的眷恋。他擅长在日常生活的琐碎中捕捉到宏大的存在主义命题，使得读者在品味精美描述的同时，也开始反思自身的生命轨迹与文化归属。 此外，作品中常常穿插着对梦境、记忆和非现实元素的处理。界限的模糊，让读者难以确定何为真实，何为幻觉。这种对知觉边界的探索，暗示了人类认知能力的局限性。记忆不再是忠实的记录者，而是不断被重写、被美化的叙事工具。通过这种手法，作者挑战了我们对“历史事实”的既有认知，指出历史不过是无数个相互竞争的故事集合。 整部小说（或指其文学系列）是对“身份”这一核心概念的立体解剖。无论是艺术家、学者、普通市民，还是那些生活在社会边缘的观察者，都在寻找一个清晰的自我定义。然而，帕慕克似乎在告诉我们，在如此多重的影响、如此漫长的时间跨度下，一个纯粹、单一的“我”可能根本不存在。我们的身份，是无数层文化、历史、梦想与恐惧交织而成的复杂织物。 最终，这部作品不仅是一次阅读体验，更是一次智力上的挑战和情感上的洗礼。它要求读者放下既有的文化预设，以一种开放的心态去接纳矛盾、拥抱复杂性。它以一种近乎百科全书式的广度，探讨了艺术、信仰、权力和时间流逝的深刻主题，使人久久无法从那座被历史与想象力精心构筑的城市中抽身而出。它证明了，最引人入胜的故事，往往是那些关于我们是谁，以及我们如何成为现在的我们的故事。

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随着阅读的深入，我越来越被这个故事所吸引，那种置身于历史长河中的感觉越来越强烈。帕慕克对奥斯曼帝国时期艺术、宗教、哲学等方面的考据和想象力简直令人叹为观止。他将不同文化背景下的艺术理念，比如伊斯兰艺术的严谨与西方文艺复兴时期的人文主义的碰撞，通过故事巧妙地展现出来。我尤其对书中对于“画师”这个职业的描绘感到着迷。在那个时代，绘画不仅仅是技艺的展现，更是思想的表达，甚至带有宗教的意味。作者通过对绘画技法的细致描写，以及不同画师对艺术理解的差异，深刻地探讨了艺术的本质和价值。这本书就像一扇窗户，让我得以窥见一个既熟悉又陌生的世界，那个时代的人们如何在信仰与世俗、传统与革新之间挣扎，如何追求艺术的极致。每读完一个章节，都会有一种意犹未尽的感觉，想要继续探索下去，看看那些隐藏在文字背后的秘密。

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这本书的封面设计就有一种古典的神秘感，深邃的红色背景搭配细致的金色纹饰，仿佛诉说着一段古老的故事。拿到手里，纸张的触感也相当舒适，不是那种过于光滑的印刷纸，而是带有一点点粗粝的质感，让人联想到羊皮卷或者古籍。我迫不及待地翻开扉页，那排印的字体就带着一种独特的历史韵味，不是现代排版能轻易复制出来的。虽然是英文原版，但我一直对奥尔罕·帕慕克（Orhan Pamuk）的作品情有独钟，他笔下的伊斯坦布尔总是充满了迷人的气息，无论是历史的沉淀还是人文的交织，都显得格外生动。这次选择《My Name Is Red》的原版，也是希望能够更直接地感受作者的文字力量，体会那种跨越语言的艺术魅力。我对于故事的背景设定，也就是在16世纪奥斯曼帝国时期，那个东西方文化交融、艺术与宗教深刻影响社会生活的年代，充满了好奇。我期待着在阅读过程中，能够沉浸在那样的时代氛围中，感受那个时期人们的思想、信仰以及艺术创作的独特方式。这本书的装帧和初印象，就已经为我打开了一个充满想象的空间，迫不及待想深入其中一探究竟。

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这本书的阅读过程，更像是一次精神上的朝圣，每一次翻页都伴随着思考和感悟。帕慕克在叙事结构上的匠心独运，以及他对人物内心世界的深度挖掘，都让这本书充满了独特的魅力。我被书中那些充满哲学意味的对话和独白深深吸引，它们不仅仅是推动情节发展的工具，更是作者对生命、艺术、死亡等宏大命题的深刻探讨。我发现，这本书并非只是一个简单的故事，而更像是一幅精心绘制的壁画，每一个细节都值得细细品味。作者对伊斯坦布尔这座城市的描绘也同样出色，那里的街道、建筑、河流，都仿佛被赋予了生命，成为了故事不可分割的一部分。我常常在阅读的时候，会停下来，想象书中所描绘的场景，感受那个时代的氛围。这本书对我的影响不仅仅是文学上的，更是精神层面的，它让我对艺术、对历史，乃至对生命本身有了更深层次的理解。

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读了大概三分之一，这本书给我的感受就像在品尝一杯浓郁的咖啡，初尝微苦，但越品越能感受到其醇厚的香气和层次丰富的回甘。帕慕克在叙事上的处理方式非常别致，他打破了传统单一视角的限制，而是通过多个角色的意识流和视角来构建整个故事，这种手法在早期的小说中并不常见，却极具现代感。尤其是那些从不同角度切入的叙述，仿佛将我置身于一个巨大的拼图之中，需要自己去一点点地将碎片拼凑起来，去理解人物的动机和事件的关联。这种阅读体验既有挑战性，又充满了探索的乐趣。我特别喜欢作者对细节的描绘，无论是对绘画技艺的精湛描述，还是对人物内心细微情感的捕捉，都显得极其到位。他笔下的每一个角色，即使是配角，也都有着鲜明的个性和存在的意义。我一直在尝试去理解作者想要通过这些不同视角传达的核心信息，是关于艺术的本质？是关于信仰的挣扎？还是关于人性的复杂？这本书的深度和广度，让我需要放慢脚步，反复咀嚼，才能真正领略其精髓。

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当我合上最后一页，一种复杂的情绪涌上心头，既有完成一场伟大旅程的满足，也有对书中世界的留恋。这本书是一次极其丰富的阅读体验，它不仅仅是一个故事，更像是一次跨越时空的对话。帕慕克用他那充满诗意又富有哲思的语言，构建了一个既真实又虚幻的世界。我被书中那些关于身份、关于信仰、关于艺术边界的探讨深深打动。那些看似纠缠不清的人物关系，最终却汇聚成对人类内心深处情感的深刻洞察。这本书的文字有一种独特的韵律感，即使在阅读英文原版时，也能感受到其节奏和力量。我非常欣赏作者在叙事上的大胆尝试，他将不同时空、不同叙事者有机地结合在一起，为读者呈现了一个多维度的故事。读完这本书，我感觉自己仿佛在那个古老的奥斯曼帝国中生活了很久，与那些人物一同经历了他们的喜怒哀乐。这绝对是一本值得反复阅读和思考的杰作，它在我的书架上占据了一个特殊的位置。

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有促销没忍住。书的内容不必多说。质量很好。

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沟通中达成共识。

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于善待“差生”，宽容“差生”。

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诺贝尔获奖作品 思想深刻 要看哦

评分☆☆☆☆☆

有促销没忍住。书的内容不必多说。质量很好。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

沟通中达成共识。

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看起来很旧！

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质的要求，对教育规律的把握，对教学艺术的领悟，对教学特色的追求。

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诺贝尔获奖作品 思想深刻 要看哦