Lord of the Flies[蠅王] 英文原版 [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf 電子書 2024

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內容簡介

Lord of the Flies remains as provocative today as when it was first published in 1954, igniting passionate debate with its startling, brutal portrait of human nature. Though critically acclaimed, it was largely ignored upon its initial publication. Yet soon it became a cult favorite among both students and literary critics who compared it to J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye in its influence on modern thought and literature.

Labeled a parable, an allegory, a myth, a morality tale, a parody, a political treatise, even a vision of the apocalypse, Lord of the Flies has established itself as a true classic.

作者簡介

Born in Cornwall, England, in 1911 and educated at Oxford University, William Gerald Golding's first book, Poems, was published in 1935. Following a stint in the Royal Navy and other diversions during and after World War II, Golding wrote Lord of the Flies while teaching school. This was the first of several novels including Pincher Martin, Free Fall, and The Inheritors and a play, The Brass Butterfly, which led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1983.

精彩書評

"The most influential novel...since Salinger's Catcher in the Rye."
-- Time

"Lord of the Flies [is my selection for The Book That Changed My Life] because it is both a story with a message and because it is a great tale of adventure. My advice about reading is to do a lot of it."
-- Stephen King, for the National Book Foundation, The Book That Changed My Life

"[T]his brilliant work is a frightening parody on man's return (in a few weeks) to that state of darkness from which it took him thousands of years to emerge. Fully to succeed, a fantasy must approach very close to reality. Lord of the Flies does. It must also be superbly written. It is."
-- The New York Times Book Review

"[S]parely and elegantly written...Lord of the Flies is a grim anti-pastoral in which adults are disguised as children who replicate the worst of their elders' heritage of ignorance, violence, and warfare."
-- Joyce Carol Oates, New York Review of Books

精彩書摘

THE SOUND OF THE SHELL
THE BOY WITH FAIR HAIR LOWERED HIMSELF down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon. Though he had taken off his school sweater and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He was clambering heavily among the creepers and broken trunks when a bird, a vision of red and yellow, flashed upwards with a witchlike cry; and this cry was echoed by another.
"Hi!" it said. "Wait a minute!"
The undergrowth at the side of the scar was shaken and a multitude of raindrops fell pattering.
"Wait a minute," the voice said. "I got caught up."
The fair boy stopped and jerked his stockings with an automatic gesture that made the jungle seem for a moment like the Home Counties.
The voice spoke again.
"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."
The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowth so that twigs scratched on a greasy wind-breaker. The naked crooks of his knees were plump, caught and scratched by thorns. He bent down, removed the thorns carefully, and turned around. He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat. He came forward, searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and then looked up through thick spectacles.
"Where's the man with the megaphone?"
The fair boy shook his head.
"This is an island. At least I think it's an island. That's a reef out in the sea. Perhaps there aren't any grownups anywhere."
The fat boy looked startled.
"There was that pilot. But he wasn't in the passenger cabin, he was up in front."
The fair boy was peering at the reef through screwed-up eyes.
"All them other kids," the fat boy went on. "Some of them must have got out. They must have, mustn't they?"
The fair boy began to pick his way as casually as possible toward the water. He tried to be offhand and not too obviously uninterested, but the fat boy hurried after him.
"Aren't there any grownups at all?"
"I don't think so."
The fair boy said this solemnly; but then the delight of a realized ambition overcame him. In the middle of the scar he stood on his head and grinned at the reversed fat boy.
"No grownups!"
The fat boy thought for a moment.
"That pilot."
The fair boy allowed his feet to come down and sat on the steamy earth.
"He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn't land here. Not in a place with wheels."
"We was attacked!"
"He'll be back all right."
The fat boy shook his head.
"When we was coming down I looked through one of them windows. I saw the other part of the plane. There were flames coming out of it."
He looked up and down the scar.
"And this is what the cabin done."
The fair boy reached out and touched the jagged end of a trunk. For a moment he looked interested.
"What happened to it?" he asked. "Where's it got to now?"
"That storm dragged it out to sea. It wasn't half dangerous with all them tree trunks falling. There must have been some kids still in it."
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again.
"What's your name?"
"Ralph."
The fat boy waited to be asked his name in turn but this proffer of acquaintance was not made; the fair boy called Ralph smiled vaguely, stood up, and began to make his way once more toward the lagoon. The fat boy hung steadily at his shoulder.
"I expect there's a lot more of us scattered about. You haven't seen any others, have you?"
Ralph shook his head and increased his speed. Then he tripped over a branch and came down with a crash.
The fat boy stood by him, breathing hard.
"My auntie told me not to run," he explained, "on account of my asthma."
"Ass-mar?"
"That's right. Can't catch my breath. I was the only boy in our school what had asthma," said the fat boy with a touch of pride. "And I've been wearing specs since I was three."
He took off his glasses and held them out to Ralph, blinking and smiling, and then started to wipe them against his grubby wind-breaker. An expression of pain and inward concentration altered the pale contours of his face. He smeared the sweat from his cheeks and quickly adjusted the spectacles on his nose.
"Them fruit."
He glanced round the scar.
"Them fruit," he said, "I expect—"
He put on his glasses, waded away from Ralph, and crouched down among the tangled foliage.
"I'll be out again in just a minute—"
Ralph disentangled himself cautiously and stole away through the branches. In a few seconds the fat boy's grunts were behind him and he was hurrying toward the screen that still lay between him and the lagoon. He climbed over a broken trunk and was out of the jungle.
The shore was fledged with palm trees. These stood or leaned or reclined against the light and their green feathers were a hundred feet up in the air. The ground beneath them was a bank covered with coarse grass, torn everywhere by the upheavals of fallen trees, scattered with decaying coconuts and palm saplings. Behind this was the darkness of the forest proper and the open space of the scar. Ralph stood, one hand against a grey trunk, and screwed up his eyes against the shimmering water. Out there, perhaps a mile away, the white surf flinked on a coral reef, and beyond that the open sea was dark blue. Within the irregular arc of coral the lagoon was still as a mountain lake—blue of all shades and shadowy green and purple. The beach between the palm terrace and the water was a thin stick, endless apparently, for to Ralph's left the perspectives of palm and beach and water drew to a point at infinity; and always, almost visible, was the heat.
He jumped down from the terrace. The sand was thick over his black shoes and the heat hit him. He became conscious of the weight of clothes, kicked his shoes off fiercely and ripped off each stocking with its elastic garter in a single movement. Then he leapt back on the terrace, pulled off his shirt, and stood there among the skull-like coconuts with green shadows from the palms and the forest sliding over his skin. He undid the snake-clasp of his belt, lugged off his shorts and pants, and stood there naked, looking at the dazzling beach and the water.
He was old enough, twelve years and a few months, to have lost the prominent tummy of childhood and not yet old enough for adolescence to have made him awkward. You could see now that he might make a boxer, as far as width and heaviness of shoulders went, but there was a mildness about his mouth and eyes that proclaimed no devil. He patted the palm trunk softly, and, forced at last to believe in the reality of the island laughed delightedly again and stood on his head. He turned nearly on to his Lord of the Flies[蠅王] 英文原版 [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書 格式

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好

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　　真是被自己當時那一副傻乎乎的樣子給笑到不行，原來我也有過那麼……哈哈哈哈 的時候啊！

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此後他陸續齣版瞭《繼承都》、《平徹·馬丁》、《贏得自由》、《塔尖》、《金字塔》等作品。1955年成為皇傢文學會成員。1961年獲牛津大學文學碩士學位，同年辭去教職，專門從事寫作。1962年退休之前，戈爾丁在美國弗吉尼亞州堆林斯學院做瞭一年客座教授。1970年獲布賴頓市薩西斯大學文學博士學位。此後，他就在旅遊、演說、教書、寫作、撥弄樂器和航海中度過他的時光。

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　　這本書中所收取的文章，從名字也可見一斑《他愛的是玫瑰，而是是薔薇》。

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在這個典型的英國中産階級傢庭裏，威廉·戈爾丁度過瞭寜靜而孤單的童年。由於外齣時永遠有父母或保姆相伴，戈爾丁在上小學前沒有結識過傢庭成員之外的任何人。他很小就開始讀書，卻不擅長數學。他自己曾迴憶，童年時他喜愛文學，“象集郵或采鳥蛋那樣搜集詞匯”。他熟讀所有兒童文學，包括古希臘至現代的一切童話故事。12歲時，戈爾丁開始動手嘗試小說創作，計劃寫一部關於工會運動史的長篇巨著，可惜這部書沒有完成。戈爾丁的傢庭後來搬到馬爾波羅，他就在馬爾波羅的語言學校就學。在從父親任教的馬爾波羅中學畢業後，1930年遵父命入牛津大學布拉西諾斯學院學習自然科學，兩年之後，戈爾丁終於發現理科不是他所喜愛的專業，轉而攻讀英國文學——這兩方麵的影響在他後來的大部分作品中都常有反映。他悉心研究盎格魯一撒剋遜時代的曆史，這段學習對他後來的文學創作影響很大。1935年，戈爾丁大學畢業，獲得英文學士學位和一份教學許可證。1934年，在畢業的前一年，戈爾丁齣版瞭處女作——一本題為《詩集》的小冊子，包括29首小詩的詩集，被收入新星詩人叢書中（麥剋米倫當代詩叢之一），其中顯示瞭他的寫作纔華。畢業後，他做瞭4年社會工作，從事包括寫作、錶演，在一傢小劇院當過臨時演員、導演和編劇等各種工作。1939年，他同安·布魯剋菲爾德結婚，並步父輩的後塵，並在英國南部薩利斯布裏的一所教會學校——霍茲霍斯主教中學任英文與哲學講師。第二次世界大戰的爆發打破瞭戈爾丁的平靜生活，1940年戈爾丁以中尉軍銜加入瞭英國皇傢海軍直接參戰。作為戰艦的指揮官，他親身經曆瞭許多難忘的戰鬥，他參加瞭擊沉德軍戰列艦俾斯麥號的戰役。隨後他又參加瞭諾曼底登陸。戰爭結束後，戈爾丁於1945年退役，他重又迴到該教會學校執教，教授英國文學，並堅持業餘寫作。經過戰爭，他對人類的看法完全改變瞭。以後他就開始瞭小說創作，從《蠅王》到《紙人》，展現瞭人的本質是罪惡的觀念。

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　　可以堅持寫這麼久的迴信，而且很多迴信，都寫的很坦誠很真實，並不僅僅針對一個人，她的文章值得所有為自己感到睏惑的人去看。

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