编辑推荐
《纸牌屋》是年度热播美剧。
《纸牌屋》被两次改编成电视剧,1990年英国BBC将《纸牌屋》改编成电视剧后广受好评,被评为英国史上最伟大的政治剧之一。美剧一季于2013年2月开播以来,迅速风靡全球,奥巴马即将客串!他和白宫、国会山多位政要均是剧集的铁杆粉丝!第二季将于2014年2月14日开播,更有奥斯卡影后朱迪·福斯特加盟。
亲历官场的畅销作家,著书杰作一时风靡:
作者迈克尔·道布斯是英国政治家,他1975年步入政坛,开始为保守党议员撰写演讲稿,很快崭露头角,被称为“威斯敏斯特的娃娃脸杀手”,后任政府特别顾问和撒切尔政府幕僚长,最终于保守党副主席的职位上退休,2010年被英王室册封为男爵。1989年,他写的英国官场小说《纸牌屋》大获好评,迅速成为畅销书作家。
国家领导人王岐山、美国总统奥巴马多次向属下推荐《纸牌屋》:
国家领导人王岐山多次向下属推荐《纸牌屋》并表示关注主角命运,奥巴马也多次表示他最喜欢的美剧是《纸牌屋》。
真实可感的政界博弈,激烈精彩的权力游戏:
作者用娓娓道来的笔触讲述了一个心狠手辣的政治老手如何凭一己之力将首相扳倒的精彩故事。作者曾是撒切尔夫人的幕僚长,还曾是保守党副主席,所以他写的官场小说真实可感,精彩异常。
《纸牌屋》的戏剧化诞生
二十五年前发生的一桩错误完完全全改变了我的一生。当时我身处一座叫做戈佐的小岛上,心情很是苦闷。我开始抱怨身边的一切——太阳、大海,特别是全新的畅销书。很快我的人生伴侣就受不了了。“别他妈这么自大了,”她说,“要是你觉得你能写得更好,那看在上帝的份儿上,赶紧动笔吧。我是来度假的,可不是来听你拿那本破书发牢骚的!”
在她的“鼓励”和鞭策下,我开始沉下心来。我一手握着笔,一手握着酒瓶。三瓶过后,我想我找到了自己的主人公——他的名字缩写是“FU”,同时也想出了一个大概的情节,于是乎,弗朗西斯·厄克特和《纸牌屋》就这样诞生了。
——迈克尔·道布斯
内容简介
The acclaimed political thriller that first introduced the unforgettable Francis Urquhart MP and launched Michael Dobbs' No 1 bestselling career - now reissued in a new cover. Michael Dobbs' entertaining tale of skulduggery and intrigue within the Palace of Westminster has been a huge hit with the public. Its scheming hero, Chief Whip Francis Urquhart, who uses fair means and foul to become Prime Minister, is one of the best-known characters of the last decade - the politician we all love to hate. Acclaimed for its authenticity and insights into a secret world - the result of many years working behind the scenes for the Conservative Party - it became a highly popular, award-winning BBC TV series, with Francis Urquhart memorably portrayed by Ian Richardson, and was followed by two further sequels, 'To Play the King' and 'The Final Cut', which also became top-rating TV series.
作者简介
Michael Dobbs has carved out a unique niche as the country's leading political thriller writer, with a reputation for always being at the right hand of political controversy. In 1979 he was at Mrs Thatcher's side as she took her first step into Downing Street as Prime Minister, and in 1994 John Major appointed him Deputy Chairman of the Conservative Party. One newspaper described him as 'Westminster's baby-faced hitman'.
精彩书评
This blood-and-thunder tale, lifelike and thoroughly cynical, certainly carries the ring of authenticity ... a great triumph.' - Independent
'The exciting thriller that has Westminster buzzing. Here is a political thriller writer with a marvellous inside track knowledge of government.' - Daily Express
'It has pace, a beguiling authenticity and a cast of Achilles heels.' - Daily Telegraph
'What a brilliant creation F.U. is.' - Sunday Telegraph
近期王岐山曾向纪检干部们推荐了美国政治剧《纸牌屋》。《纸牌屋》改编自英国同名小说,描述议院和首相的权力角逐。消息称,王岐山在提及这部作品时,非常重视剧中“党鞭”这一政治角色。“党鞭”一词源于英国,指议会内的代表其政党的领袖人物,负责督导同党议员,并维持议会党团纪律,多为党内专业人士。《纸牌屋》讲述了英国保守党党鞭长弗朗西斯·厄克特起起伏伏的政治生涯。——摘自《凤凰周刊》2013年第34期刊出文章《王岐山脸谱》
“这是个无比刺激的故事,生动真实,引人入胜,充满了对这个世界的冷嘲热讽,同时也让人有身临其境之感……这本书真是大获全胜。”——《独立报》
“这个令人兴奋的惊悚故事充满了威斯敏斯特的‘风情’。这个政治悬疑故事作家曾经是政府的圈内人,对这些事情有着深刻的了解。《纸牌屋》结构紧凑,发人深省,精彩万分。”——《每日快报》
精彩书摘
One
Thursday, June 10
It seemed scarcely a moment since she had made it back home, stumbling up the last step in exhaustion, yet already the morning sun was sticking thumbs in her eyes as it crept around the curtain and began to nestle on her pillow. She turned over irritably. Her head was thick, her feet sore, and the bed beside her empty. Helping finish off that second bottle of Liebfraumilch had been a lousy idea. She'd let down her defenses, got herself stuck in a corner with some creep from the Sun who was all acne and innuendo. She'd had to spill the last of the wine down his shirt before he'd backed off. She took a quick peek under the duvet, just to make sure she hadn't screwed up completely and he wasn't lurking there. She sighed; she hadn't even got round to taking off her socks.e
Mattie Storin beat her pillow into submission and lay back once again. She deserved a few extra moments in bed; she knew she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. Election night. Day of Damnation. Voters' Vengeance. The past few weeks had been ferocious for Mattie, under siege from her editor, stretched too tightly between deadlines, tossed between excitement and exhaustion. Maybe after this evening she could take a few days off, sort her life out, find a better quality of both wine and man to spend her evening with. She pulled the duvet more closely around her. Even in the glare of the early summer sun she felt a chill.
It had been like that ever since she had left Yorkshire almost a year before. She'd hoped she could leave all the accusations and the anger behind her, but they still cast a cold shadow that followed her everywhere, particularly into her bed. She shivered, buried her face in the lumpy pillow.
She tried to be philosophical. After all, she no longer had any emotional distractions, nothing to get in the way of discovering whether she really had what it took to become the best political correspondent in a fiercely masculine world. Only herself to bother about, not even a cat. But it was difficult to be philosophical when your feet were freezing. And when you didn't have any clean laundry. She threw back the duvet and clambered out of bed, only to discover that her underwear drawer was bare. She'd miscalculated, forgotten, too much to do and so little time to do any of it, least of all the bloody washing. She searched other drawers, every corner, made a mess but found nothing. Damn, she was glad no man had to watch her do this. She dived into her laundry basket, ferreted around and came up with a pair of knickers a week old but only a day worn. She turned them inside out, stepped into them. Ready for battle. With a sigh Mattie Storin threw open the bathroom door and got on with her day.
* * *
As dusk began to settle across the June skies, four sets of HMI mercury oxide television lamps clicked on with a dull thud, painting the front of the building with high intensity power. The brilliant light pierced deep behind the mock Georgian fa?ade of the Party's headquarters. A curtain fluttered at a third floor window as someone took a quick glance at the scene outside.
The moth also saw the lamps. It was waiting for the approaching night, resting in a crevice of one of the nearby towers of St. John, the graceful church built by Wren in the middle of Smith Square. The church had long been deconsecrated, St. John dismissed, but its four limestone towers still dominated this now godless square in the heart of Westminster. They stared down, frowning in disapproval. But not the moth. It began to tingle with excitement. It stretched its wings, drawn by ten thousand watts and a million years of instinct.
The moth strained in the early evening air, forcing its body along the river of light. It flew above the heads of the growing crowd, beyond the bustle and gathering pace of preparations. Nearer and nearer it flew, eager, passionate, erratic, ambitious, heedless of everything other than the power it was being drawn to, power beyond dreams, beyond resistance. It had no choice.
There was a bright flash as the moth's body hit the lens a millisecond before its wings wrapped around the searing glass and vaporized. Its charred and blackened carcass gave off little vapors of despair as it tumbled toward the ground. The night had gained its first victim.
* * *
Another of the night's early victims was propping up the varnished bar at the Marquis of Granby, just around the corner from the growing commotion. The original Marquis of Granby had been a popular military figure more than two hundred years earlier and had more pubs named after him than any other figure in the land, but the marquis had succumbed to politics, lost his way, and died in debt and distress. Much the same fate lay in store for Charles Collingridge, according to his many tolerant friends. Not that Charlie Collingridge had ever been elected, but neither had the marquis, it wasn't the done thing in those early days. Collingridge was in his midfifties, looked older, worn, and hadn't had a particularly glorious military career, two years of national service that had left him with little more than a sense of his own inadequacy in the order of life. Charlie had always tried to do the decent thing but he was accident prone. It happens when you have a drinking habit.
His day had started early with a shave and a tie, but now the stubble was beginning to show and the tie was hanging at half-mast. The eyes told the barman that the large vodka he had served two glasses ago hadn't been the first of the day. But Charlie was a genial drunk, always ready with a smile and a generous word. He pushed his empty glass back across the counter.
"Anot
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