Fevre Dream[热夜之梦] [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

George R. R. Martin（乔治 R·R·马丁） 著

图书标签:

• 奇幻
• 蒸汽朋克
• 历史小说
• 哥特小说
• 吸血鬼
• 美国内战
• 密西西比河
• 冒险
• 恐怖
• 文学小说

出版社： Bantam

ISBN：9780553577938

商品编码：19253004

包装：平装

出版时间：2012-04-24

用纸：胶版纸

页数：480

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：17.27x10.67x3.3cm;0.22kg

内容简介

A THRILLING REINVENTION OF THE VAMPIRE NOVEL BY THE MASTER OF MODERN FANTASY, GEORGE R. R. MARTIN

Abner Marsh, a struggling riverboat captain, suspects that something’s amiss when he is approached by a wealthy aristocrat with a lucrative offer. The hauntingly pale, steely-eyed Joshua York doesn’t care that the icy winter of 1857 has wiped out all but one of Marsh’s dilapidated fleet; nor does he care that he won’t earn back his investment in a decade. York’s reasons for traversing the powerful Mississippi are to be none of Marsh’s concern—no matter how bizarre, arbitrary, or capricious York’s actions may prove. Not until the maiden voyage of Fevre Dream does Marsh realize that he has joined a mission both more sinister, and perhaps more noble, than his most fantastic nightmare—and humankind’s most impossible dream.

作者简介

George R. R. Martin's bestselling A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series has earned him the title of 'the American Tolkien'. The first book of the series has been made into a HBO TV adaptation, A Game of Thrones. He is the author of eight novels, several collections of short stories and numerous screenplays for television drama and feature films. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

　　乔治·雷蒙德·理查德·马丁（Geoger Raymond Richard Martin）欧美奇幻小说大师。1948年9月20日出生于美国新泽西州的贝约恩，在伊利诺伊州伊凡斯顿的西北大学就读，主修新闻写作，1971年取得硕士学位。马丁的作品主要以人物为关注点，描写细腻丰富，突破了幻想文学界固有的创作模式，多次引领阅读潮流。代表作有十大浪漫太空歌剧之一的《光逝》、由雨果奖获奖名篇扩展而成的《风港》、在杂志读者群中深受爱戴的《图夫航行记》，以及当代正统奇幻的第一经典《冰与火之歌》等。由于马丁的辉煌成就，他被誉为美国的托尔金和新世纪的海明威。从1989年开始，马丁淡出文学界，转而投身演艺界发展，其中包括《美女与野兽》的编剧和The Twilight Zone的剧本编辑。1996年他才重返文坛而开始奇幻文学的创作，处女作便是《权力的游戏》（The Game Of Throne），即为《冰与火之歌》（The Song Of Fire And Ice）的首部曲。虽然封笔几近10年，但大师风范犹在，《权力的游戏》甫出便拿下了British Fantasy Society、 世界奇幻奖和星云奖年度最佳幻想作品提名，即使是由其中抽取章节编成的Blood of the Dragon也获得多个最佳中篇奖，在科幻奇幻界引起极大的反响。在非官方的不记名奇幻作品投票中，《冰与火之歌》俨然已经可以和《魔戒》平起平坐，作者网站的访问量也是和斯蒂芬·金、J.K.罗琳等不相上下，其受欢迎的程度可见一斑。他的读者群早已是远远的超越奇幻科幻爱好者的范围，而受到更为广泛的关注。
　　权力的游戏已在HBO播出。乔治·马丁被时代杂志评选为2011年影响世界的一百人。

精彩书评

“A novel that will delight fans of both Stephen King and Mark Twain . . . darkly romantic, chilling and rousing by turns . . . a thundering success.”
—Roger Zelazny

“An adventure into the heart of darkness that transcends even the most inventive vampire novels . . . Fevre Dream runs red with original, high adventure.”
—Los Angeles Herald Examiner

“Stands alongside Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire as a revolutionary work.”
—Rocky Mountain News

“Engaging and meaningful.”
—The Washington Post Book World

精彩书摘

Chapter One
St. Louis, April 1857 Abner Marsh rapped the head of his hickory walking stick smartly on the hotel desk to get the clerk’s attention. “I’m here to see a man named York,” he said. “Josh York, I believe he calls hisself. You got such a man here?”
The clerk was an elderly man with spectacles. He jumped at the sound of the rap, then turned and spied Marsh and smiled. “Why, it’s Cap’n Marsh,” he said amiably. “Ain’t seen you for half a year, Cap’n. Heard about your misfortune, though. Terrible, just terrible. I been here since ’36 and I never seen no ice jam like that one.”
“Never you mind about that,” Abner Marsh said, annoyed. He had anticipated such comments. The Planters’ House was a popular hostelry among steamboatmen. Marsh himself had dined there regularly before that cruel winter. But since the ice jam he’d been staying away, and not only because of the prices. Much as he liked Planters’ House food, he was not eager for its brand of company: pilots and captains and mates, rivermen all, old friends and old rivals, and all of them knowing his misfortune. Abner Marsh wanted no man’s pity. “You just say where York’s room is,” he told the clerk peremptorily.
The clerk bobbed his head nervously. “Mister York won’t be in his room, Cap’n. You’ll find him in the dining room, taking his meal.”
“Now? At this hour?” Marsh glanced at the ornate hotel clock, then loosed the brass buttons of his coat and pulled out his own gold pocket watch. “Ten past midnight,” he said, incredulous. “You say he’s eatin’?”
“Yes sir, that he is. He chooses his own times, Mister York, and he’s not the sort you say no to, Cap’n.”
Abner Marsh made a rude noise deep in his throat, pocketed his watch, and turned away without a word, setting off across the richly appointed lobby with long, heavy strides. He was a big man, and not a patient one, and he was not accustomed to business meetings at midnight. He carried his walking stick with a flourish, as if he had never had a misfortune, and was still the man he had been.
The dining room was almost as grand and lavish as the main saloon on a big steamer, with cut-glass chandeliers and polished brass fixtures and tables covered with fine white linen and the best china and crystal. During normal hours, the tables would have been full of travelers and steamboatmen, but now the room was empty, most of the lights extinguished. Perhaps there was something to be said for midnight meetings after all, Marsh reflected; at least he would have to suffer no condolences. Near the kitchen door, two Negro waiters were talking softly. Marsh ignored them and walked to the far side of the room, where a well-dressed stranger was dining alone.
The man must have heard him approach, but he did not look up. He was busy spooning up mock turtle soup from a china bowl. The cut of his long black coat made it clear he was no riverman; an Easterner then, or maybe even a foreigner. He was big, Marsh saw, though not near so big as Marsh; seated, he gave the impression of height, but he had none of Marsh’s girth. At first Marsh thought him an old man, for his hair was white. Then, when he came closer, he saw that it was not white at all, but a very pale blond, and suddenly the stranger took on an almost boyish aspect. York was clean-shaven, not a mustache nor side whiskers on his long, cool face, and his skin was as fair as his hair. He had hands like a woman, Marsh thought as he stood over the table.
He tapped on the table with his stick. The cloth muffled the sound, made it a gentle summons. “You Josh York?” he said.
York looked up, and their eyes met.
Till the rest of his days were done, Abner Marsh remembered that moment, that first look into the eyes of Joshua York. Whatever thoughts he had had, whatever plans he had made, were sucked up in the maelstrom of York’s eyes. Boy and old man and dandy and foreigner, all those were gone in an instant, and there was only York, the man himself, the power of him, the dream, the intensity.
York’s eyes were gray, startlingly dark in such a pale face. His pupils were pinpoints, burning black, and they reached right into Marsh and weighed the soul inside him. The gray around them seemed alive, moving, like fog on the river on a dark night, when the banks vanish and the lights vanish and there is nothing in the world but your boat and the river and the fog. In those mists, Abner Marsh saw things; visions swift-glimpsed and then gone. There was a cool intelligence peering out of those mists. But there was a beast as well, dark and frightening, chained and angry, raging at the fog. Laughter and loneliness and cruel passion; York had all of that in his eyes.
But mostly there was force in those eyes, terrible force, a strength as relentless and merciless as the ice that had crushed Marsh’s dreams. Somewhere in that fog, Marsh could sense the ice moving, slow, so slow, and he could hear the awful splintering of his boats and all his hopes.
Abner Marsh had stared down many a man in his day, and he held his gaze for the longest time, his hand closed so hard around his stick that he feared he would snap it in two. But at last he looked away.
The man at the table pushed away his soup, gestured, and said, “Captain Marsh. I have been expecting you. Please join me.” His voice was mellow, educated, easy.
“Yes,” Marsh said, too softly. He pulled out the chair across from York and eased himself into it. Marsh was a massive man, six foot tall and three hundred pounds heavy. He had a red face and a full black beard that he wore to cover up a flat, pushed-in nose and a faceful of warts, but even the whiskers didn’t help much; they called him the ugliest man on the river, and he knew it. In his heavy blue captain’s coat with its double row of brass buttons, he was a fierce and imposing figure. But York’s eyes had drained him of his bluster. The man was a fanatic, Marsh decided. He had seen eyes like that before, in madmen and hell-raising preachers and once in the face of the man called John Brown, down in bleeding Kansas. Marsh wanted nothing to do with fanatics, with preachers, and abolitionists and temperance people.
But when York spoke, he did not sound like a fanatic. “My name is Joshua Anton York, Captain. J. A. York in business, Joshua to my friends. I hope that we shall be both business associates and friends, in time.” His tone was cordial and reasonable.
“We’ll see about that,” Marsh said, uncertain. The gray eyes across from him seemed aloof and vaguely amused now; whatever he had seen in them was gone. He felt confused.
“I trust you received my letter?”
“I got it right here,” Marsh said, pulling the folded envelope from the pocket of his coat. The offer had seemed an impossible stroke of fortune when it arrived, salvation for everything he feared lost. Now he was not so sure. “You want to go into the steamboat business, do you?” he said, leaning forward.
A waiter appeared. “Will you be dining with Mister York, Cap’n?”
“Please do,” York urged.
“I believe I will,” Marsh said. York might be able to outstare him, but there was no man on the river could outeat him. “I’ll have some of that soup, and a dozen oysters, and a couple of roast chickens with taters and stuff. Crisp ’em up good, mind you. And something to wash it all down with. What are you drinking, York?”
“Burgundy.”
“Fine, fetch me a bottle of the same.”
York looked amused. “You have a formidable appetite, Captain.”
“This is a for-mid-a-bul town,” Marsh said carefully, “and a formid-a-bul river, Mister York. Man’s got to keep his strength up. This ain’t New York, nor London neither.”
“I’m quite aware of that,” York said.
“Well, I hope so, if you’re going into steamboatin’. It’s the for-mid-a-bullest thing of all.”
“Shall we go directly to business, then? You own a packet line. I wish to buy a half-interest. Since you are here, I take it you are interested in my offer.”
“I’m considerable interested,” Marsh agreed, “and considerable puzzled, too. You look like a smart man. I reckon you checked me out before you wrote me this here letter.” He tapped it with his finger. “You ought to know that this last winter just about ruined me.
York said nothing, but something in his face bid Marsh continue.
“The Fevre River Packet Company, that’s me,” Marsh went on. “Called it that on account of where I was born, up on the Fevre near Galena, not ’cause I only worked that river, since I didn’t. I had six boats, working mostly the upper Mississippi trade, St. Louis to St. Paul, with some trips up the Fevre and the Illinois and the Missouri. I was doing just fine, adding a new boat or two most every year, thinking of moving into the Ohio trade, or maybe even New Orleans. But last July my Mary Clarke blew a boiler and burned, up near to Dubuque, burned right to the water line with a hundred dead. And this winter—this was a terrible winter. I had four of my boats wintering here at St. Louis. The Nicholas Perrot, the Dunleith, the Sweet Fevre, and my Elizabeth A., brand new, only four months in service and a sweet boat too, near 300 feet long with 12 big boilers, fast as any steamboat on the river. I was real proud of my lady Liz. She cost me $200,000, but she was worth every penny of it.” The soup arrived. Marsh tasted a spoonful and scowled. “Too hot,” he said. ...

《寂静的海岸：一个关于失落与重生的故事》 作者：埃莉诺·凡斯 主题： 探索记忆的碎片、失落的艺术，以及在遗忘的边缘寻求救赎的漫长旅程。 书籍简介 在波涛永不休止地拍打着灰色卵石滩的奥克利角，时间似乎被潮汐的力量冻结了。这里矗立着一座名为“灯塔之心”的古老建筑，它不仅是航海者的指引，也是伊芙琳·里德尔——一位身份成谜、沉默寡言的画家——的最后避难所。 《寂静的海岸》并非一个关于快速行动或戏剧性转折的故事，而是一部沉浸式的、充满了感官细节和哲学深思的叙事作品。它关注的是那些潜藏在日常表象之下，等待被缓慢挖掘的真相。 人物群像与核心冲突 故事的主人公，伊芙琳·里德尔，她的过去是一张被撕碎的地图。她来到奥克利角已经七年，几乎不与外界交流，唯一的慰藉是她那不断堆积的、以海景为主题的画作。她的画笔下的海浪，时而狂暴，时而宁静，但总有一种难以言喻的忧郁笼罩其中，仿佛她正在试图用颜料重塑一段她无法清晰回忆的经历。 与伊芙琳形成鲜明对比的是西拉斯·霍尔，一位从城市调职而来的气象学家。西拉斯受雇于一家政府机构，任务是监测该地区日益不稳定的气候模式。他性格严谨、逻辑清晰，最初将伊芙琳视为一个需要被理解的“异常数据点”。然而，随着他对当地社区的深入接触，特别是那些世代居住在此、信仰着古老海洋传说的人们，他开始怀疑，有些真相是无法通过科学模型来测量的。 故事的另一条线索围绕着奥克利角当地的纺织工坊——“潮汐之线”。工坊的继承人玛莎·布莱克，一个坚韧而务实的女性，她承载着整个社区的经济命脉和历史记忆。她与伊芙琳之间建立了一种复杂的关系：既有对陌生人的警惕，也有对相似灵魂的无声理解。 核心冲突在于：个体记忆的脆弱性与集体历史的顽固性之间的张力。伊芙琳试图拼凑她的过去，而奥克利角的居民们，出于保护或恐惧，似乎都在共同守护着某个不愿被唤醒的秘密。 场景的塑造与氛围营造 小说的大部分场景设定在奥克利角的物理环境中，这些环境本身就是叙事的一部分。 灯塔之心： 这座摇摇欲坠的建筑不仅是伊芙琳的住所，也是一个象征——高耸、孤独，致力于发出光芒，却又时刻被黑暗包围。伊芙琳将她的画室设在顶层，那里只有海风、盐雾和无尽的远方。 雾锁码头： 每天清晨，浓雾会如同实体般降临，吞噬掉声音和形状。在雾中，西拉斯发现当地的声呐记录总是出现无法解释的低频嗡鸣，这让他对伊芙琳的“失忆”产生了新的猜想——也许她听到的，就是这些声音。 被遗忘的隧道： 废弃的矿道和走私者的秘密通道散布在海岸线之下，它们象征着被压抑的真相。伊芙琳在她的画作中无意识地描绘了这些地下结构，引导着西拉斯去寻找那些被时间掩埋的线索。 作者对感官体验的捕捉极为细致入微：海水的冰冷、风干木材的干燥气味、油彩在画布上堆叠的厚重质感，以及海鸟在岩石上撕裂空气的尖锐叫声。这种对细节的执着，使得读者仿佛亲身站在那片被遗弃的沙滩上。 主题的深度挖掘 1. 遗忘的代价： 小说探讨了遗忘究竟是一种保护机制，还是一种缓慢的自我谋杀。伊芙琳的失忆是她痛苦的来源，但也让她得以在没有过去包袱的情况下，以一种近乎纯粹的状态去感知现在。然而，当真相开始浮现时，她必须面对，重建一个破碎的自我是否比维持一个虚假的宁静更加痛苦。 2. 艺术与记录： 艺术在此书中扮演了“非语言的历史记录者”的角色。伊芙琳无法用言语诉说她的经历，但她的每一笔触都保存了情感的能量。西拉斯，一个依赖数据和逻辑的人，最终必须学会阅读这些“情感数据”，才能理解伊芙琳的内心世界。 3. 沉默的社区： 奥克利角的居民们并非邪恶，他们是生存主义者。他们深知，有些创伤对一个小社区来说是致命的。他们的沉默是一种集体防御，保护了社群的结构，但也牺牲了个体的自由。玛莎·布莱克代表了这种集体责任感与个人良知之间的永恒拉锯。 叙事结构与节奏 《寂静的海岸》采用了一种回旋镖式的叙事结构。开篇，伊芙琳的世界是静止的，被一层厚厚的迷雾包裹。随着西拉斯的到来，叙事节奏开始加速，通过一系列闪回片段（并非直接的记忆回忆，而是伊芙琳画作中隐晦的符号或西拉斯发现的旧档案），真相被一点点“凿”出来。 小说的节奏是缓慢而深沉的，如同潮汐的涨落，每一次的推进都伴随着情感上的强烈回落。高潮并非一次爆炸性的揭示，而是一个缓慢的聚合——当伊芙琳终于在她的最新一幅巨幅画作中，用光线和阴影精确地重现了导致她失忆的那个决定性时刻时，故事达到了情感上的饱和点。 结尾的留白 小说的结局拒绝提供传统意义上的“圆满”。伊芙琳恢复了记忆，但痛苦并未消失，只是转化成了清晰的认知。她选择留在奥克利角，不是因为她被治愈了，而是因为她学会了与自己的伤疤共存。她开始用新的视角作画，海浪依然存在，但其中多了一份接纳。西拉斯最终完成了他的报告，但他的报告内容与他所学到的真相相去甚远。他离开时，带走了无用的数据，留下了对生活更深层次的困惑。 《寂静的海岸》是一部献给那些在边缘生活、在沉默中寻找意义的人的颂歌。它要求读者慢下来，倾听风声，凝视深渊，最终理解，真正的锚点，往往不是你所寻找的地方，而是你决定停留的勇气。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

角色塑造是这部作品的另一大亮点，那些登场的人物仿佛不是被“写”出来的，而是真实地从某个光怪陆离的角落“走”出来的活生生个体。他们的动机并非标签化的善恶对立，而是建立在一系列灰色地带的复杂人性之上。我尤其被其中几位配角吸引，他们尽管出场不多，但每一次出现都像一颗精准投下的石子，在主角平静的湖面上激起持久的涟漪。他们的对话充满了潜台词，每一次看似随意的交谈背后，都隐藏着深刻的社会观察或者对个体困境的无奈挣扎。这种多维度的刻画，避免了人物脸谱化的问题，使得读者在阅读过程中不断地去审视和反思：如果是我，会做出怎样的选择？主角内心的挣扎与成长，也写得极其真实可信，那种在理想与现实的夹缝中求生存的疲惫感，扑面而来，让人感同身受，甚至在合上书本之后，还能感觉到那股挥之不去的情绪余温。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

作品的主题挖掘深度令人印象深刻，它远远超越了表面上的类型文学标签，深入探讨了现代社会中个体存在的价值与疏离感。作者似乎对“记忆的不可靠性”以及“身份的流动性”抱持着一种近乎哲学的探究。在故事的底层逻辑中，充斥着对时间流逝的隐喻，以及对某些永恒追求的徒劳感的描摹。我反复思考了书中一些关键的意象，它们并非简单的象征，而是反复出现、不断被赋予新义的母题，每一次重读都会带来新的理解。这种层次丰富的文本结构，意味着它不是那种读完就丢的作品，而是值得反复咀嚼和品味的佳作。它成功地将宏大的哲学命题，巧妙地融入到角色微小的日常行为和决策之中，使得理论不再空泛，而是有了血肉的温度，这才是真正优秀文学作品的魅力所在。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

这本书的封面设计简直是一场视觉的盛宴，那种深邃的蓝与微醺的红交织出的光影效果，仿佛能直接将人拉入某种迷离又充满张力的场景之中。我通常对小说的封面不太在意，但这次完全被吸引住了，它暗示了一种都市的疏离感，又带着一丝古老的神秘气息，让人不禁猜测故事的内核会是怎样一番光怪陆离的景象。装帧的质感也十分出色，平装的纸张厚实而又不失柔韧，握在手中有一种恰到好处的沉甸感，这在使用频率极高的阅读过程中是相当重要的考量。仅仅是摩挲着封面上的纹路，我已经能感觉到作者试图构建的世界观的复杂性与精致度了。我特别喜欢那种在细节处透露出匠心的排版，字体的选择既保证了易读性，又在整体风格上与书名所营造的氛围保持了高度的一致性。初次拿到手时，那种“哇，我要开始一段奇妙旅程了”的兴奋感，很大程度上就源自于这精心打磨的外在包装。它成功地搭建起了一道无形的门槛，只有跨过去，才能真正触及到故事的灵魂深处，而这扇门的门面，做得实在是太漂亮了。

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从文学语言本身来看，作者的文字功底堪称一流，其用词考究，句法结构变化多端，极富音乐性和画面感。读起来有一种老派的优雅与新潮的锐利完美融合的奇特体验。比如，他描绘某种情绪的句子，常常使用一些非常规的组合，却能一击即中地击中读者的神经末梢，让人不得不停下来，回味那措辞的精妙之处。我发现自己经常会不自觉地放慢语速，生怕错过任何一个精心挑选的形容词或动词。这种对语言的敬畏和极致的打磨，使得这本书的阅读体验提升到了近乎于艺术欣赏的层面。它不只是在讲述一个故事，更是在展示“如何用文字构建一个世界”的范本。对于那些对文学性有较高要求的读者来说，这本书无疑是一场语言的盛宴，让人在沉浸故事的同时，也为作者那炉火纯青的文字技巧而深深折服。

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这本书的叙事节奏把握得如同一个经验老到的指挥家在掌控一场复杂的交响乐。开篇部分，它并不急于抛出所有的线索和人物，而是像一位耐心的讲述者，用极其克制且富有韵律感的笔触，缓慢地搭建起了一个错综复杂的情感迷宫。我尤其欣赏作者在环境描写上的功力，那种对特定场景光线、气味乃至空气中粒子流动的捕捉，细致到让人几乎能透过文字闻到那种特有的潮湿与尘埃混合的味道。这种细腻的铺垫，使得后续情节的突然爆发更具震撼力，每一次转折都显得水到渠成，而不是生硬的为了制造冲突而强行扭曲逻辑。读到中段时，情节的密度陡然增加，多条故事线索像蜘蛛网一样交织在一起，但作者高超的控场能力确保了读者不会感到迷失，每一次收束都清晰地指向了核心的主题。这种张弛有度的叙事，让阅读变成了一种享受，而不是负担，让人甘愿沉溺于作者构建的时空之中，去体会每一次心跳加速的瞬间。

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比其他地方看到的版本要便宜很多，不过，一分钱一分货

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不错不错

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我显然是冲着GRRM的名字才找到这本书的，虽然是其早期作品之一，但是反响很不错，受Twilight的影响，平时很少看吸血鬼小说，不过据说这本书的内容比较有创新性，价格也不贵，所以买来看看

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沟通中达成共识。

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我显然是冲着GRRM的名字才找到这本书的，虽然是其早期作品之一，但是反响很不错，受Twilight的影响，平时很少看吸血鬼小说，不过据说这本书的内容比较有创新性，价格也不贵，所以买来看看

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速度比较快！速度比较快！

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还没看，不过质量不错，送货也快，送货员态度也还行，基本满意。

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①多向互动，形式多样.互动的课堂，一定的活动的课堂，生活的课堂。互动的条件：平等、自由、宽松、和谐。互动的类型师生互动、生生互动、小组互动、文本互动、习题互动、评价互动。互动的形式：问

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提高效益，亦可谓“教学相长”。