![Warm Bodies 温暖的尸体 [平装]](https://pic.qciss.net/19262190/rBEIC0_XEdoIAAAAAAA1Fzg7fwoAAAlwgIvOMcAADUv322.jpg)
具体描述
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一场末日浩劫后的未来，神秘的病毒毁灭了文明，受害者丧失过去的记忆，变身为吃活人的僵尸，幸存的人类建立起坚固的高墙堡垒，以防止饥饿的僵尸们，成群结队闯进来猎食…。然而，这种看似传统活尸片的背景设定，却因男主角R的出现而颠覆一切！R是个没有记忆、心跳的僵尸，却怀抱着许多梦想，他的内心世界充满惊奇与渴望。某日R正在猎食人类时，竟然煞到了一位温暖、灿烂的活生生女孩茱莉，R不但没吃掉她的脑袋，还决定救她一命，让她免于遭受R的僵尸同伴吞噬。 对原本形如槁木死灰的R而言，茱莉的出现，简直是苍灰阴郁中一抹奔放艳丽的色彩。于是一段紧张而又异常温柔的甜蜜关系就此展开。
R悄悄把茱莉带回他称为家的地方，即一座满布僵尸的机场，并让她躲在一架废弃的767波音客机上，里面有他到处搜集而来的“宝藏”，包括黑胶唱片、雪景水晶球、乐器等。接下来的几天，他们在这个隐匿处意外地共度了惬意的日子，在不知不觉之中，活泼的茱莉唤起R遗忘已久的人性情感，而她也开始了解到他不只是个慢动作、眼神呆滞的行尸走肉。
茱莉很困惑自己对于R的感情，于是带着复杂情绪返回人类城市。她父亲是无情的僵尸猎人，领导人类大军捍卫他们仅存的高墙家园。同时，害相思病的R开始产生前所未有的改变，他相信自己与茱莉的相知相惜能够拯救无论是生是死的人类，不过他出现在她家门口时，很快就掀起活人和僵尸（以及皮包骨）之间的全面性混战，而这也威胁到这一对奇迹恋人未来能否在一起的可贵机会。
这种事从没发生过，不但不合逻辑，也违背了规矩，不但改变了R，也改变他的僵尸同伴，甚至让死气沉沉的世界出现了生机。然而，在那阴森腐败的世界里，想要完成梦想，他们还需要一场革命……
内容简介
R is a young man with an existential crisis--he is a zombie. He shuffles through an America destroyed by war, social collapse, and the mindless hunger of his undead comrades, but he craves something more than blood and brains. He can speak just a few grunted syllables, but his inner life is deep, full of wonder and longing. He has no memories, noidentity, and no pulse, but he has dreams.After experiencing a teenage boy's memories while consuming his brain, R makes an unexpected choice that begins a tense, awkward, and stragely sweet relationship with the victim's human girlfriend. Julie is a blast of color in the otherwise dreary and gray landscape that surrounds R. His decision to protect her will transform not only R, but his fellow Dead, and perhaps their whole lifeless world.
Scary, funny, and surprisingly poignant, Warm Bodies is about being alive, being dead, and the blurry line in between.
《温暖的尸体》讲述了一个叫做“R”的僵尸和一个他杀死的人类的女友之间的浪漫关系，这段关系引发了连锁反应，不仅改变了他和他的僵尸伙伴，也改变了整个僵尸世界。
作者简介
Isaac Marion was born near Seattle in 1981 and has lived in and around that city ever since. Deciding to forgo college in favor of direct experience, he dived into writing while still in high school and self-published three terrible novels before finally hitting his stride with Warm Bodies, his first published work. He currently splits his time between writing in Seattle and hunting inspiration on cross-country RV trips. Visit IsaacMarion.com.精彩书评
“I never thought I could care so passionately for a zombie. Isaac Marion has created the most unexpected romantic lead I've ever encountered, and rewritten the entire concept of what it means to be a zombie in the process. This story stayed with me long after I was done reading it. I eagerly await the next book by Isaac Marion.”(Stephenie Meyer, #1 New York Times Bestselling author of the Twilight series)
“A mesmerising evolution of a classic contemporary myth.”
(Simon Pegg, New York Times bestselling author of Nerd Do Well)
“Warm Bodies is a terrific book—a compelling literary fantasy which is also a strange and affecting pop-culture parable.”
(Nick Harkaway, author of The Gone-Away World)
“Isaac Marion has a great new voice that hooks you from page one and accomplishes the impossible: it makes you care about young zombie love. Warm Bodies is a terrific read.”
(Josh Bazell, New York Times bestselling author of Beat the Reaper)
“Enormous fun.”
(Marie Claire (UK))
“Wryly playful, cinematic, and ultimately moving.”
(Time Out London)
“Has there been a more sympathetic monster since Frankenstein's?”
(The Financial Times)
“It’s got the boarded-up strongholds and mob mentality of Night of the Living Dead—but also romance. As the evil thing resists its evil nature, the book neuters zombies in the same way Stephanie Meyer did vampires.”
(Time Out NY)
“If you haven't caught on to Isaac Marion's writing yet, you're really missing out.”
(About.com)
“In elegant, evocative prose, Marion has fashioned the world’s most unlikely romance in a story that is by turns harrowing, poignant, and tender. At the last, the reader is reminded that we are all ultimately human, whether living or dead. Utterly charming.”
(Library Journal (starred review))
前言/序言
I AM DEAD, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I can’t properly introduce myself, but I don’t have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an “R,” but that’s all I have now. It’s funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people’s names. My friend “M” says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off.None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I’m still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I’m wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color.
We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses.
You were a waitress. You were a student. Ring any bells?
It never does.
No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs. We recognize civilization—buildings, cars, a general overview—but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here. We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I’ve said, it’s not so bad. We may appear mindless, but we aren’t. The rusty cogs of cogency still spin, just geared down and down till the outer motion is barely visible. We grunt and groan, we shrug and nod, and sometimes a few words slip out. It’s not that different from before.
But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.
There are hundreds of us living in an abandoned airport outside some large city. We don’t need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise we’d just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be horrifying. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that’s what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.
I think we’ve been here a long time. I still have all my flesh, but there are elders who are little more than skeletons with clinging bits of muscle, dry as jerky. Somehow it still extends and contracts, and they keep moving. I have never seen any of us “die” of old age. Left alone with plenty of food, maybe we’d “live” forever, I don’t know. The future is as blurry to me as the past. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present, and the present isn’t exactly urgent. You might say death has relaxed me.
I am riding the escalators when M finds me. I ride the escalators several times a day, whenever they move. It’s become a ritual. The airport is derelict, but the power still flickers on sometimes, maybe flowing from emergency generators stuttering deep underground. Lights flash and screens blink, machines jolt into motion. I cherish these moments. The feeling of things coming to life. I stand on the steps and ascend like a soul into Heaven, that sugary dream of our childhoods, now a tasteless joke.
After maybe thirty repetitions, I rise to find M waiting for me at the top. He is hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat draped on a six-foot-five frame. Bearded, bald, bruised and rotten, his grisly visage slides into view as I crest the staircase summit. Is he the angel that greets me at the gates? His ragged mouth is oozing black drool.
He points in a vague direction and grunts, “City.”
I nod and follow him.
We are going out to find food. A hunting party forms around us as we shuffle toward town. It’s not hard to find recruits for these expeditions, even if no one is hungry. Focused thought is a rare occurrence here, and we all follow it when it manifests. Otherwise we’d just be standing around and groaning all day. We do a lot of standing around and groaning. Years pass this way. The flesh withers on our bones and we stand here, waiting for it to go. I often wonder how old I am.
The city where we do our hunting is conveniently close. We arrive around noon the next day and start looking for flesh. The new hunger is a strange feeling. We don’t feel it in our stomachs—some of us don’t even have those. We feel it everywhere equally, a sinking, sagging sensation, as if our cells are deflating. Last winter, when so many Living joined the Dead and our prey became scarce, I watched some of my friends become full-dead. The transition was undramatic. They just slowed down, then stopped, and after a while I realized they were corpses. It disquieted me at first, but it’s against etiquette to notice when one of us dies. I distracted myself with some groaning.
I think the world has mostly ended, because the cities we wander through are as rotten as we are. Buildings have collapsed. Rusted cars clog the streets. Most glass is shattered, and the wind drifting through the hollow high-rises moans like an animal left to die. I don’t know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it’s not so important. Once you’ve arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.
We start to smell the Living as we approach a dilapidated apartment building. The smell is not the musk of sweat and skin, it’s the effervescence of life energy, like the ionized tang of lightning and lavender. We don’t smell it in our noses. It hits us deeper inside, near our brains, like wasabi. We converge on the building and crash our way inside.
We find them huddled in a small studio unit with the windows boarded up. They are dressed worse than we are, wrapped in filthy tatters and rags, all of them badly in need of a shave. M will be saddled with a short blond beard for the rest of his Fleshy existence, but everyone else in our party is cleanshaven. It’s one of the perks of being dead, another thing we don’t have to worry about anymore. Beards, hair, toenails… no more fighting biology. Our wild bodies have finally been tamed.
Slow and clumsy but with unswerving commitment, we launch ourselves at the Living. Shotgun blasts fill the dusty air with gunpowder and gore. Black blood spatters the walls. The loss of an arm, a leg, a portion of torso, this is disregarded, shrugged off. A minor cosmetic issue. But some of us take shots to our brains, and we drop. Apparently there’s still something of value in that withered gray sponge because if we lose it, we are corpses. The zombies to my left and right hit the ground with moist thuds. But there are plenty of us. We are overwhelming. We set upon the Living, and we eat.
Eating is not a pleasant business. I chew off a man’s arm, and I hate it. I hate his screams, because I don’t like pain, I don’t like hurting people, but this is the world now. This is what we do. Of course if I don’t eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he’ll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make me feel better. I’ll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we’ll stand around and groan for a while. It’s hard to say what “friends” are anymore, but that might be close. If I restrain myself, if I leave enough…
But I don’t. I can’t. As always I go straight for the good part, the part that makes my head light up like a picture tube. I eat the brain, and for about thirty seconds, I have memories. Flashes of parades, perfume, music… life. Then it fades, and I get up, and we all stumble out of the city, still cold and gray, but feeling a little better. Not “good,” exactly, not “happy,” certainly not “alive,” but… a little less dead. This is the best we can do.
I trail behind the group as the city disappears behind us. My steps plod a little heavier than the others’. When I pause at a rain-filled pothole to scrub gore off my face and clothes, M drops back and slaps a hand on my shoulder. He knows my distaste for some of our routines. He knows I’m a little more sensitive than most. Sometimes he teases me, twirls my messy black hair into pigtails and says, “Girl. Such… girl.” But he knows when to take my gloom seriously. He pats my shoulder and just looks at me. His face isn’t capable of much expressive nuance anymore, but I know what he wants to say. I nod, and we keep walking.
I don’t know why we have to kill people. I don’t know what chewing through a man’s neck accomplishes. I steal what he has to replace what I lack. He disappears, and I stay. It’s simple but senseless, arbitrary laws from some lunatic legislator in the sky. But following those laws keeps me walking, so I follow them to the letter. I eat until I stop eating, then I eat again.
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用户评价
这部小说简直是一股清新的泥石流，让我彻底颠覆了对僵尸题材的刻板印象。故事的开篇就带着一种近乎荒诞的幽默感，主角R的内心独白充满了对生存的迷茫和对“活着”的渴望，那种笨拙而又真诚的自我剖析，让人一下子就对他这个非典型“死人”产生了莫名的亲近感。作者在构建这个后末日世界时，并没有过度渲染血腥和恐怖，而是将重点放在了情感的微妙变化上。R吞噬人类大脑后体验到的那种情绪的“回响”，成了一种连接他与过往人性的桥梁，这种设定太巧妙了。我尤其喜欢他对朱莉那种小心翼翼的、近乎童稚的好奇心和保护欲。他笨拙地试图理解人类的规则，却又被本能驱动着做出一些令人啼笑皆非的举动。读起来，你会忍不住跟着R一起探索，什么是真正的“人性”，是不是只有心脏还在跳动，才算得上是“活”着的？那种在绝望中寻找微光的叙事基调，处理得既有深度又不失轻快，完全超乎预期。
评分从文学手法上来说，作者的笔触非常细腻，尤其是在描绘角色内心挣扎和成长期时，展现出一种令人惊艳的成熟度。它不仅仅是一个关于僵尸和人类的爱情故事，更像是一则关于身份认同和自我救赎的寓言。R从一个纯粹的食腐者，逐渐发展出爱、责任感乃至牺牲精神的过程，过渡得极其自然，没有丝毫的刻意或突兀。这种转变是通过他与朱莉的互动，以及他与“族群”内部矛盾的冲突来逐步实现的。我特别欣赏作者对于“沟通障碍”的处理，很多关键的情感交流都是通过非语言的方式完成的，比如眼神的交汇、肢体的笨拙接触，这些细节的描摹，反而比大段的对话更有力量，更能打动人心。每次读到R为了保护朱莉而违背他“种族”的本能时，那种强烈的戏剧张力都会让我屏住呼吸，为他捏一把汗。这本书的节奏掌控得非常好，前半部分的疏离和困惑，到后半部分的逐渐清晰和坚定，形成了一个完美的弧线。
评分这本书的叙事声音非常独特，带有一种旁观者清的疏离感和恰到好处的自嘲。作者似乎很擅长在极端的环境下捕捉人性的微小光芒。例如，R在试图模仿人类行为时的那种手足无措，或者他对于“音乐”这种抽象概念的初次理解，这些片段都处理得极其巧妙，既推进了剧情，又丰富了角色的内心世界。它有一种后现代的戏谑感，用一种看似荒谬的设定，去探讨最核心的生存价值和情感连接。我发现自己很容易就能代入R的视角，因为他的内心活动是如此的“原始”和“未被污染”，没有成人世界的复杂算计。这使得他与朱莉之间的情感发展，像是一切从零开始的纯净体验。每次翻页，我都期待着R又会因为哪件小事而产生新的“共鸣”，这种期待感贯穿始终，让人欲罢不能，仿佛在跟随一个全新的物种一起学习如何去爱。
评分这本书给我的阅读体验是极其反传统的，它成功地将哥特式的设定与青春期的敏感细腻糅合在了一起，创造出一种既黑暗又温暖的独特氛围。我必须称赞作者对于“僵尸哲学”的探讨，它迫使读者去思考，当我们剥离掉社会标签、生理机能，仅剩下最原始的欲望和情感时，我们究竟是什么？R的视角是一个完美的观察者，他冷眼旁观着人类文明的残骸，也无意中成为了重建希望的催化剂。朱莉这个角色也塑造得非常立体，她不仅是R的“引路人”，她自身的脆弱、勇气和对旧世界的失望，都使得这段关系充满了现实的复杂性。她爱上的不是一个“人”，而是一种可能性，一个超越了死亡和偏见的未来。这种关系的基础建立在相互的“看见”之上，远比那些建立在共同血缘或文化背景上的爱情更加纯粹和坚韧。读完后，我久久不能平静，脑海中回荡的不是恐怖的嘶吼，而是那份跨越物种的温柔与理解。
评分总体而言，这部作品的魅力在于它对“界限”的不断模糊和挑战。它挑战了生与死的二元对立，挑战了爱与本能的冲突，甚至挑战了我们对“美丑”的传统定义。作者没有给出简单的答案，而是将所有的矛盾和张力都保留在了角色们的互动之中，让读者自己去体验和消化。尤其是在社会环境的描写上，比如幸存者聚居地的紧张气氛，以及他们对“异类”的恐惧和排斥，为R和朱莉的关系增添了巨大的外部压力。正是这种外部的压迫，反衬出他们之间情感的珍贵和脆弱。与其说这是一部奇幻小说，不如说它是一部关于成长的寓言，关于如何在一个破碎的世界里，找到值得为之付出一切的理由。那种在绝望废墟上重新发芽的希望感，是这本书最强大的感染力所在，它比任何华丽的辞藻都更能触动人心。
评分温暖的尸体………………
评分并善于从书中汲取营养。从阅读中养成爱好读书的习惯，体会读书的乐趣，
评分保尔，一个活生生的、有血有肉的热血青年。在战乱的时期，他没有选择逃避，而是选择了最有利的办法——抗战！ 在富人面前，他没有卑躬屈膝，他选择挺起胸膛，让别人知道——穷人不是好欺负的。贫贱不能移！ 在暴力面前，他没有低下他的头，他选择直面强暴，让别人知道——穷人也有尊严。威武不能屈！ 有时，我好羡慕保尔他们两兄弟，无时无刻都是那么的团结，没有一点破绽。即使是与自己的利益相冲突或者是关系到自己的生命。但是，我就每那么幸福了，从小，我就和哥哥“战争”在中度过直到他到外面读书。可能那是增进感情的一种方法吧。 保尔，生在一个温馨的家庭，交到了真挚的友谊，拥有此致不渝的爱情，也算是不枉此生了吧，但，你有没有想过，保尔为什么有这样的“成就”呢？我想，那是因为他的人格魅力，他拥有“钢”一般的意志、精神。 在保尔被瓦西里神甫赶出学校之前，他和神甫的冲突就不断的发生，不是因为上次妈妈求情，保尔一早就被人赶出校门了，自从那次以后，神甫就一直想找个机会赶保尔出去学校，好让自己痛快一翻。而今次正好是机会，谁也不能怪，怪的就怪自己和神甫结怨了吧，大家一起干这件事，谁也没有事除了保尔，这次应该是“公报私仇”吧，不然哪能轮到保尔选中呢，他一向都很倒霉的。就算是他倒霉吧，妈妈也总算帮他找了一份工作，暂时安身吧。谢廖沙也算有点人性，在这时候，还能去安慰一下保尔，也不失为一个死党吧。有了谢廖沙的安慰，保尔也安了心，放心去闯出属于他的世界。 在保尔用心工作的时候，一起工作的阿姨和同年人跟保尔也相处得很好，不过，晴天的日子总是短暂的，就在这时候，一起工作的一些工人就眼红了，觉得保尔是来抢他们饭碗的，就四处刁难保尔，好让保尔知难而退。这时候，力量的象征--阿尔焦姆出现了，他为了维护弟弟的利益，他那沙煲般大的拳头就落在那帮人身上了。最后，保尔的利益被维护了，但，阿尔焦姆却被控告伤人送进了监狱。如果说阿尔焦姆这样做值得吗？为什么？那是简单得不得了事了，就因为保尔是他的弟弟，两兄弟有困难的时候就应该挺出胸膛，告诉他，我们不是好欺负的！ 在保尔被送进监狱的时候，遇到了一个同年人，那是一个很漂亮的姑娘，她的每一处都深深地吸引着保尔。那个姑娘是被迫害送进监狱的，那些无耻的官兵迫害，他们想强暴她。但是，他们失败了，他们受到了姑娘的誓死反抗，最后她被送进来了。姑娘在和保尔交谈的时候，发现保尔是一个正人君子，她知道，如果过了今晚，她就会被那些可恶的官兵强暴，她宁愿把身体交给保尔也不愿被官兵玷污了她的身体。面对诱人的双唇、丰满的双乳保尔失去了力量，那是无法阻挡的诱惑，但是，当她靠近的时候，保尔没有失去理性，而是拒绝了她，保尔想到冬妮亚就无法接受别的一切，包括这诱惑。第二天，姑娘被送走了，她的眼里充满了水晶般的液体，既包含着失望又包含着绝望，那眼神使人难受，但是，保尔更不能背弃对冬妮亚的承诺，因为冬妮亚才是保尔的唯一。坐怀不乱，足以看出保尔对爱情的那种坚贞，这是值得让我们现代人借鉴的
评分还没看，感觉还可以：还没看，感觉还可以：
评分挺好的，跟我想的一样 废话不多说 同时买了三本推拿的书和这本，比认为这本是最好的！而且是最先收到的！好评必须的，书是替别人买的，货刚收到，和网上描述的一样，适合众多人群，快递也较满意。书的质量很好，内容更好！收到后看了约十几页没发现错别字，纸质也不错。应该是正版书籍，谢谢今天家里没有牛奶了，我和妈妈晚上便去门口的苏果便利买了一箱牛奶和一点饮料。刚好，苏果便利有一台电脑坏了，于是便开启了另外一台电脑。因为开电脑和调试的时间，队伍越排越长。过了5分钟，有一个阿姨突然提出把键盘换了，这样就能刷卡了。我妈妈就在旁边讲了一句：“键盘不能热插拔，必须要重启。”那个阿姨好像没听见，还在坚持已见。我提出：“妈妈，我们不要在这家店卖了吧！又不是在其他地方买不到。”妈妈看了看队伍，同意了。我们把东西一放，就去了另一家百货。我提出要换另一家店不是只因为这队伍太长，还有店员素质之差。你布置了两台电脑，那你随时都要准备好换一台电脑呀，你现在让人的感觉就是你只有一台电脑能用，那一台就好像是摆设，没有一点用。我气愤不过跟妈妈说“我们去网上买吧”这样就来京东了，看到了这本书就顺便买了。爱玲女士在文字上的天才，固然令人倾倒。但是她的两个男友，前者胡兰成，后者赖雅，对于爱玲，均算不得佳偶。有人分析说，爱玲欠缺良好父爱的童年阴影，使得她终生都在寻找坏男人的圈子里打转转。父母对人的影响之重大，往往出乎人自身的意料。很多人一生的目标，都在追求别人的认同或者羡慕，甚或是鬼魂——已经过世的父母或祖辈的鬼魂的表彰。在伴侣关系中，人们寻找另一半的类型，往往会是父亲或母亲的形象投射，然后加以理想的修饰。遗憾的是，这两种人格模型，爱玲都具有。就在我胡思乱想时，一页纸从书中掉落出来，竟然是中国青年出版社的公用信笺，上面居然有我用钢笔胡乱翻译的德莱顿的诗歌《爱之永诀》，改得稀里哗啦，还沾了一块墨水，还有几道看来是给钢笔试水的蓝印子，看来是用我那个旧办公桌上的蘸水笔写的。这令我立即感伤难耐起来。那张桌子，是文学室一个受排挤的主任怅然离开后传给我的，特别宽大的旧木头桌，上面遍布划痕，我曾经希望那是文学室当年著名的大作家萧也牧用过的桌子，从五十年代一直传到我这里。好了，现在给大家介绍两本好书：《婚姻是女人一辈子的事》简介：最实用剩女出嫁实战手册、婚女幸福宝典；婚姻不是最终归宿，幸福的婚姻才是真正的目的；内地首席励志作家陆琪 首部情感励志力作；研究男女情感问题数年，陆琪首本情感婚姻励志作品。作者作为怀揣女权主义的男人，毫无保留地剖析男人的弱点，告诉女人应该如何分辨男人的爱情，如何掌控男人，如何获得婚姻的幸福。事实上，男人和女人是两种完全不同的动物，用女人的思考方式，永远也了解不透男人。所以陆琪以男性背叛者的角度，深刻地挖掘男人最深层的情感态度和婚姻方式，让女人能够有的放矢、知己知彼，不再成为情感掌控的弱者。二、《正能量（实践版）》——将“正能量”真正实践应用的第一本书！心理自助全球第一品牌书！销量突破600万册！“世界级的演讲家和激励大师”韦恩·戴尔，为我们带来了这本世界级的心理学巨作！他在韦恩州立大学获得过教育咨询博士学位，曾任纽约圣约翰大学教授，是自我实现领域的国际知名作家和演讲家。他出版过28本畅销书，制作了许多广播节目和电视录像，而且在数千个电视和广播节目中做过嘉宾访谈。本书跻身《纽约时报》畅销书榜数十周之久，在全球取得了极高的赞誉，曾激励数百万人走上追逐幸福之途。《正能量（实践版）》——内容最实用、案例最详实，10周改善你的人生！这本书是作者联合数十位科学家、心理学家，耗费十余年心力的研究结晶。通过一系列行之有效的方法，以帮助所有身处人生低谷、长期焦虑、沮丧、消沉、自我怀疑的人，过上幸福喜乐的生活。每一章都像一次心理咨询，详细论述了各种自我挫败行为，分析我们之所以不愉快、消极应对生活的原因，把人们日常生活中所暴露的性格缺陷（如自暴自弃、崇拜、依赖）和不良情绪（如悔恨、忧虑、抱怨、愤怒）逐条分析，揭开你最想知道的心理学真相，每章结尾都提供了简易的方法，使得你即刻改变恶行，拥抱新生。
评分有时候我也在怀疑孙少平倒底是不是关系一族，毕竟他的工人资格也是靠通过别人介绍的，也有虹霞的全力帮助，但是仔细一起，其实不是，这全是他自己争取来的，如果他没有那么好的人品，如果他没有那么朴实那么善良的心灵，曹书记会记得他吗？会想把女作暗许于他吗？会在有招工机会的时候急急地通知他吗？这一切都是他自己赢来的，所以不管在哪人品永远第一，一个不会做人的人同样也不能漂亮的完成工作的。这也体现了人脉的力量。) 是的.他是在社会的最底层挣扎.为了几个钱而受尽折磨.但他已不仅仅将此看作是谋生活命——职业的高贵与低贱.不能说明一个人生活的价值.恰恰相反.他现在倒很”热爱”自己的苦难.通过一段血火般的洗礼.他相信.自己历尽千辛万苦而酿造出的生活之蜜,肯定比轻而易举拿来的更有滋味——他自嘲地把自己的这种认识叫做”关于苦难的学说….. 有文化.但没有幸运地进入大学或参加工作.因此似乎没有充分的条件直接参与到目前社会发展的主潮之中.而另一方面,他们又不甘心把自己局限在狭小的生活天地里.因此他们往往带着一种悲壮的激情.在一条最为艰难的道路上进行人生的搏斗.
评分我们每个人都想在别人眼中是个好人，所以我们要相信世上还是好人多，以诚待人，必会得到相等的回报。不过关键时候还是得靠自己，亲戚只是血缘关系上的一种描述，并不代表它就会改变你的命运。所以也不要寄希望于别人，亲戚都帮不了你，还能指望谁呢？除了自己。只有靠自己才能赢尊重。
评分还没看，感觉还可以：还没看，感觉还可以：
评分和描述的一样，好评！今天我在网上买的几本书送到了。取书的时候，忽然想起一家小书店，就在我们大院对面的街上，以前我常去，书店的名字毫无记忆，但店里的女老板我很熟，每次需要什么书都先给她打电话说好，晚上散步再去取。我们像朋友一样聊天，她还时常替读者找我签名。可是，自从学会从网上购书后，我再也没去过她那里了，今天忽然想起她，晚上散步到她那里，她要我教她在网上买书，这就是帮她在京东上买了这本书。好了，废话不说。本来我这个地区就没货 所以发货就晚了。但是书真的不错 只要发货就很快就到，应该是正品 至少录音啊 词语没有错，快递很快哦 继续努力，书已经送给门卫签收，不过快递员还打电话通知我，这样的服务态度真的值得其他的快递员学习，东京快递真的不错。好了，我现在来说说这本书的观感吧，网络文学融入主流文学之难，在于文学批评家的缺席，在于衡量标准的混乱，很长一段时间，文学批评家对网络文学集体失语，直到最近一两年来，诸多活跃于文学批评领域的评论家，才开始着手建立网络文学的评价体系，很难得的是，他们迅速掌握了网络文学的魅力内核，并对网络文学给予了高度评价、寄予了很深的厚望。随着网络文学理论体系的建立，以及网络文学在创作水准上的不断提高，网络文学成为主流文学中的主流已是清晰可见的事情，下一届的“五个一工程奖”，我们期待看到更多网络文学作品的入选。据悉，京东已经建立华北、华东、华南、西南、华中、东北六大物流中心，同时在全国超过360座城市建立核心城市配送站。是中国最大的综合网络零售商，是中国电子商务领域最受消费者欢迎和最具有影响力的电子商务网站之一，在线销售家电、数码通讯、电脑、家居百货、服装服饰、母婴、图书、食品、在线旅游等12大类数万个品牌百万种优质商品。选择京东。好了，现在给大家介绍两本好书：《婚姻是女人一辈子的事》简介：最实用剩女出嫁实战手册、婚女幸福宝典；婚姻不是最终归宿，幸福的婚姻才是真正的目的；内地首席励志作家陆琪 首部情感励志力作；研究男女情感问题数年，陆琪首本情感婚姻励志作品。作者作为怀揣女权主义的男人，毫无保留地剖析男人的弱点，告诉女人应该如何分辨男人的爱情，如何掌控男人，如何获得婚姻的幸福。事实上，男人和女人是两种完全不同的动物，用女人的思考方式，永远也了解不透男人。所以陆琪以男性背叛者的角度，深刻地挖掘男人最深层的情感态度和婚姻方式，让女人能够有的放矢、知己知彼，不再成为情感掌控的弱者。二、《正能量（实践版）》——将“正能量”真正实践应用的第一本书！心理自助全球第一品牌书！销量突破600万册！“世界级的演讲家和激励大师”韦恩·戴尔，为我们带来了这本世界级的心理学巨作！他在韦恩州立大学获得过教育咨询博士学位，曾任纽约圣约翰大学教授，是自我实现领域的国际知名作家和演讲家。他出版过28本畅销书，制作了许多广播节目和电视录像，而且在数千个电视和广播节目中做过嘉宾访谈。本书跻身《纽约时报》畅销书榜数十周之久，在全球取得了极高的赞誉，曾激励数百万人走上追逐幸福之途。《正能量（实践版）》——内容最实用、案例最详实，10周改善你的人生！这本书是作者联合数十位科学家、心理学家，耗费十余年心力的研究结晶。通过一系列行之有效的方法，以帮助所有身处人生低谷、长期焦虑、沮丧、消沉、自我怀疑的人，过上幸福喜乐的生活。每一章都像一次心理咨询，详细论述了各种自我挫败行为，分析我们之所以不愉快、消极应对生活的原因，把人们日常生活中所暴露的性格缺陷（如自暴自弃、崇拜、依赖）和不良情绪（如悔恨、忧虑、抱怨、愤怒）逐条分析，揭开你最想知道的心理学真相，每章结尾都提供了简易的方法，使得你即刻改变恶行，拥抱新生。
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