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• 作者：kirin 发布时间：2015-10-01 16:24:32

  有点扯

• 作者：Swear 发布时间：2019-01-17 18:49:56

  周树人铁粉入

• 作者：慕月 发布时间：2019-01-22 01:15:38

  可以和阿图·葛文德的《最好的告别》参照阅读。但个人觉得《最好的告别》更让人思考作为一个普通人（作者面对至亲的绝症，扮演的已经不再是医生的角色，而是一个亲人）在面临衰老和死亡时应该如何应对，这本书则重在展现医生群体在两大终极问题面前的成长历程以及最终应具备的职业素养。作者文笔看得出是受过训练（写作班没白上），知道如何平衡讲故事和讲道理，既拥有换位于患者的细腻感性，也有深入浅出讲解医学知识并对职业不断作出反思的理性精神。但虽各有侧重，两本书给到的最大启发其实并不仅仅在如何通过最后一场考试，而是人在每一阶段的重大选择面前该如何通过评估辨析出自己内心深处最真实的欲望、愿意为之付出的代价以及切实可行的方案。做到这一点，也就真正获得了成长。

• 作者：帕斯特洛 发布时间：2012-09-08 20:02:32

  在北京南站的書報亭等接太空女期間看完的。

• 作者：加比 发布时间：2009-08-03 15:42:52

  作者分饰二个角色的自传体小说

• 作者：Blair Willows 发布时间：2023-10-07 09:40:04

  只看第五章就行。父母的教育同等重要，不如强调早期教育。作者也知道当下母亲的教育是在服母役啊，社会的问题就别从母亲身上找答案了。作者空有的一腔热情确实唤醒了我当年对教育心理学的兴趣，感谢。

• 鼠尾續貂

  作者：wavyfly 发布时间：2019-11-25 11:15:48

  #

  書

  # 2019《Find Me》3/10

  作者：André Aciman

  出版社：Farrar, Straus and Giroux

  出版時間：2019-10-29

  頁數：224

  精簡版：單獨讀書筆記

  到底是什麼支撐我讀完這兩百多頁的贗品的？是憤怒！除此以外我想不到任何理由！

  已經做好了是狗尾續貂的心理準備，但還是心存僥倖：來個老套王子和王子從此幸福地柴米油鹽happily ever after也是可以接受的嘛。

  沒想到……沒想到！

  Aciman絕對是被《Call Me By Your Name》的成功沖昏了頭腦，根本沒有思考好這本書到底要講什麼，頭重腳輕，結尾江郎才盡，只能戈然而止——假如以作品是否引發情緒作為判斷標準的話，這本書絕對超越上一本——讀得一肚子火，不知道是生氣作者硬生生打碎一個夢，還是痛恨自己為什麼手賤忍不住非要讀！

  閱讀目錄時候，還在佩服Aciman的想法，四個章節命名Tempo，Cadenza，Capriccio和Da Capo看上去像是又一首精彩的樂曲，但閱讀過程腦裡響著的是廉價馬戲團配樂——喜怒哀樂刻意為之，故事轉換依靠著kitsch的"Find Me"硬生生串起來，連超市收銀台前的愛情小說都比它來的合理耐讀。

  《Tempo》

  如果這本書不是擦著《Call Me By Your Name》的邊，這一章勉強可以擠進中年危機男YY書籍列表：中年大學教授火車上偶遇年輕女攝影師，一兩句話就已經認為對方是人生難得知己，故作姿態互相試探，失而復得後攤開心扉，血腥情話加上激情床戰，最後走上婚姻殿堂……

  他們兩個一步步心意全開，在跨越的邊緣來回踱步，男龜毛又賊心，還好女追男隔層紗，羅馬夜空下又多了對癡男怨女——Aciman擅長的人物心理描寫，嘮嘮叨叨把這一切刻畫得如同油畫般細膩厚實。故事的確老套，但消遣讀讀還是可以的。

  I looked at her once again, still uncertain what all this added up to. Just don’t make me hope, Miranda, don’t. I didn’t even want to raise the subject with her because that would be hoping too.

  And always, as ever, the clock is ticking. In the end, I stopped waiting, because I stopped believing that you’d stray into my life because I no longer trusted you existed. Everything else happened in my life—Miss Margutta, my marriage, Italy, my son, my career, my books—but you didn’t. I stopped waiting and learned to live without you. “What was it that you so desperately wanted in those years?” “Someone who knew me inside out, who was me in you, basically.”

  土味情話和血腥情話的混合，讓人有點跳tone，可基本符合人物性格和情節推進，就不挑刺了。

  Some people may be brokenhearted not because they’ve been hurt but because they’ve never found someone who mattered enough to hurt them.

  But she looked upset and I thought there were tears welling in her eyes. “Everything I have is yours. Not much, I know,” she said. I let a palm rub the tears down from the side of her face. “Everything you have I’ve never had. What more is there to want?”

  “You do make me love who I am.”

  “If I could open your body and slip into it and sew you back from the inside, I would do it, so I could cradle your quiet dreams and let you dream mine. I’d be the rib that hasn’t become me yet, happy to hang on and, as you said, see the world with your eyes, not mine, and hear you echo my thoughts and think they’re yours.”

  關於"living and time are not aligned and have entirely different itineraries."是本書僅有的亮點，新瓶老酒，但酒味依然濃厚醇香，細品一下頗有感觸。

  Some of us never jumped to the next level. We lost track of where we were headed and as a result stayed where we started.”

  “Perhaps because I am always trying to retrace my steps back to a spot where I should have jumped on the ferryboat headed to the other bank called life but ended up dawdling on the wrong wharf or, with my luck, took the wrong ferryboat altogether. ”

  “Aren’t those the absolute worst scenarios: the things that might have happened but never did and might still happen though we’ve given up hoping they could.”

  Some lives wait their turn because they haven’t been lived at all, while others die before they’ve lived out their time, and some are waiting to be relived because they haven’t been lived enough. Basically, we don’t know how to think of time, because time doesn’t really understand time the way we do, because time couldn’t care less what we think of time, because time is just a wobbly, unreliable metaphor for how we think about life. Because ultimately it isn’t time that is wrong for us, or we for time. It may be life itself that is wrong.”

  “Everything in my life was merely prologue until now, merely delay, merely pastime, merely waste of time until I came to know you.”

  "I like to come back later in the evening when it grows dark to watch the apartment. Then if a light goes on at my old windows, my heart just bursts.” “Why?” “Because part of me probably hasn’t given up wanting to turn back the clock. Or hasn’t quite accepted that I’ve moved on—if indeed I did move on. Perhaps all I truly want is to reconnect with the person I used to be and lost track of and simply turned my back on once I moved elsewhere. I may never want to be who I was in those days, but I do want to see him again, just for a minute or so to find out who this person is who hasn’t even left the wife he hasn’t met yet, and who is still so far from knowing he’ll be a father someday. The young man upstairs knows nothing of this, and part of me wants to bring him up-to-date and let him know I’m still alive, that I haven’t changed, and that I’m standing outside here right now—”

  所有以上這些好感，或者說不厭惡感，被作者刻意做作的故事設定完全摧毀。有必要讓女主角青年時3P勾引哥哥xx嗎？！是為了推進之後和第一男主角的SM？前面的中老年小清新，是人格分裂，對嘛？！

  The friend did not hesitate, and was right away on top of me. He was done in seconds. But now comes the part I’ll never live down. It seemed such a silly game that I told my brother it was his turn, and even shamed him for hesitating, which was when I realized—and not before—that the whole thing with his friend was simply a ruse on my part, because I wanted my brother, and I wanted him to make love to me, not just fuck me, because it would have been the most natural thing between us, and perhaps this is what lovemaking is. Even his friend urged him on. I’d rather not, she’s my sister—I’ll never forget his words. He stood up, pulled up his jeans, and lay back down on the bed and continued watching TV.

  I aped the gesture and gave her face a soft tap. “Harder, much, much harder, front and backhand.” So I slapped her once, which startled her, but she straightaway turned the other cheek, to indicate that I should slap the other as well, which I did, and she said, “Again.” “I don’t like hurting people,” I said. “Yes, but now we are as close as people who’ve lived three hundred years together, it’s your language too, whether you like it or not. You love the taste, I love it too, now kiss me.” She kissed me and I kissed her.

  寫完這章總結，我覺得不應該再浪費時間，因為全書最拿得出手的這章是如此庸俗老套。下面幾章更是不堪，不得不懷疑作者是為了收割粉絲的錢，比網絡爽文還不如的水平！！

  《Cadenza》

  如果說第一章還能看看，我拒絕接受陳腔濫調的第二章。

  精蟲上腦，心智永遠不成熟的Elio從17歲到30歲毫無成長，這對於粉絲簡直就是核爆級別的摧毀！這人生十幾年白活了？閱人無數，原來只局限在肉慾的宣洩？曾經那個靈性十足的小毛頭，也就是一慾望的黑洞？

  “How many after him?” he asked. “Not many. All short-lived. Men and women.” “Why?” “Maybe because I never really let go or lose myself with others. After an instant of passion, I always fall back to being the autonomous me.”

  “Because you and he are the standard. Now that I think of it, there’s only been the two of you. All the others were occasionals. You have given me days that justify the years I’ve been without him.”

  連標點符號都在無病呻吟，令到其中難得的幾句“真理”都讓人覺得是故作姿態，讀者完全無法進入共振心態。

  Sometimes it’s best to stop things when they’re perfect rather than race on and watch them sour.

  Fate works forward, backward, and crisscrosses sideways and couldn’t care less how we scan its purposes with our rickety little befores and afters.”

  You die and then no one speaks of you, and before you know it, no one asks, no one tells, no one even knows or wants to know. You’re extinct, you never lived, never loved. Time never casts shadows and memory doesn’t drop ashes.

  Life is not so original after all. It has uncanny ways of reminding us that, even without a God, there is a flash of retrospective brilliance in the way fate plays its cards. It doesn’t deal us fifty-two cards; it deals, say, four or five, and they happen to be the same ones our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents played. The cards look pretty frayed and bent. The choice of sequences is limited: at some point the cards will repeat themselves, seldom in the same order, but always in a pattern that seems uncannily familiar. Sometimes the last card is not even played by the one whose life ended. Fate doesn’t always respect what we believe is the end of a life. It will deal your last card to those who come after. Which is why I think all lives are condemned to remain unfinished. This is the deplorable truth we all live with. We reach the end and are by no means done with life, not by a long stretch! There are projects we barely started, matters unresolved and left hanging everywhere. Living means dying with regrets stuck in your craw. As the French poet says, Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard, by the time we learn to live, it’s already too late. And yet there must be some small joy in finding that we are each put in a position to complete the lives of others, to close the ledger they left open and play their last card for them. What could be more gratifying than to know that it will always be up to someone else to complete and round off our life? Someone whom we loved and who loves us enough.

  特別是為了主題Find Me沒頭沒腦的尋找失蹤猶太故人，忍著怒氣看到章節結尾居然尋人就不了了之？愛情不愛情，肉慾不肉慾，偵探不偵探，亂七八糟的大雜燴，Aciman真的知道自己在寫什麼嗎？

  《Capriccio》

  為了Oliver，皺著眉打開第三章：炫技的文字和結構，Aciman嘗試讓Oliver把對Elio的思念投射到兩個年輕人身上，但人物無厘頭的上場和離開，刻意得讓人火遮眼——Aciman你認為這樣隨意擺弄無辜他人的自私，是這段感情最好的註腳？！

  You fool, it takes two of them to make one of me. I can be man and woman, or both, because you’ve been both to me. Find me, Oliver. Find me.

  The only one who doesn’t know is you. But now even you know. You’ve been disloyal. To what, to whom? To yourself.

  Why? Because my life stopped there. Because I never really left. Because the rest of me here has been like the severed tail of a lizard that flays and lashes about, while the body’s stayed behind all the way across the Atlantic in that wonderful house by the sea. I’ve been away for far too long. Are you leaving me? I think so. And the children too? I’ll always be their father. And when is this happening? I don’t know. Soon. I can’t say I’m surprised.

  This was what death was like: you see people but they don’t see you, and worse yet, you’re trapped being who you were in the moment you died—buying corrugated boxes—and you never changed into the one person you could have been and knew you really were, and you never redressed the one mistake that threw your life off course and now you were forever trapped doing the very last stupid thing you were doing, buying corrugated boxes and tape. I was forty-four years old. I was already dead—and yet too young, too young to die.

  《Da Capo》

  浪費了《Da Capo》“返始”如此美麗的一個標題，作者選擇了一個庸俗到讓人發指的大團圓結尾，兩個渣男手牽手走向夕陽。

  也罷也罷，有了結局，讀者夢就該醒了，童話真的是騙人的。

  the lure of bygone days had never left him, that he had forgotten nothing and didn’t want to forget, and that even if he couldn’t write or call to see whether I too had forgotten nothing, still, he knew that though neither of us sought out the other it was only because we had never really parted and that, regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and find me. “And you did.” “And I did,” he said.

  情節勉強，結構混亂，文筆呻吟。如果不是看了Aciman的採訪，根本不敢相信這是他的作品，更不敢相信這是回應全球粉絲對Call Me By Your Name續集的呼喊。

  鼠尾續貂，這本書絕對不應該出現，絕對！

  詳細版：讀書筆記+相關摘錄

  到底是什麼支撐我讀完這兩百多頁的贗品的？是憤怒！除此以外我想不到任何理由！

  已經做好了是狗尾續貂的心理準備，但還是心存僥倖：來個老套王子和王子從此幸福地柴米油鹽happily ever after也是可以接受的嘛。

  沒想到……沒想到！

  Aciman絕對是被《Call Me By Your Name》的成功沖昏了頭腦，根本沒有思考好這本書到底要講什麼，頭重腳輕，結尾江郎才盡，只能戈然而止——假如以作品是否引發情緒作為判斷標準的話，這本書絕對超越上一本——讀得一肚子火，不知道是生氣作者硬生生打碎一個夢，還是痛恨自己為什麼手賤忍不住非要讀！

  閱讀目錄時候，還在佩服Aciman的想法，四個章節命名Tempo，Cadenza，Capriccio和Da Capo看上去像是又一首精彩的樂曲，但閱讀過程腦裡響著的是廉價馬戲團配樂——喜怒哀樂刻意為之，故事轉換依靠著kitsch的"Find Me"硬生生串起來，連超市收銀台前的愛情小說都比它來的合理耐讀。

  《Tempo》

  如果這本書不是擦著《Call Me By Your Name》的邊，這一章勉強可以擠進中年危機男YY書籍列表：中年大學教授火車上偶遇年輕女攝影師，一兩句話就已經認為對方是人生難得知己，故作姿態互相試探，失而復得後攤開心扉，血腥情話加上激情床戰，最後走上婚姻殿堂……

  他們兩個一步步心意全開，在跨越的邊緣來回踱步，男龜毛又賊心，還好女追男隔層紗，羅馬夜空下又多了對癡男怨女——Aciman擅長的人物心理描寫，嘮嘮叨叨把這一切刻畫得如同油畫般細膩厚實。故事的確老套，但消遣讀讀還是可以的。

  I looked at her once again, still uncertain what all this added up to. Just don’t make me hope, Miranda, don’t. I didn’t even want to raise the subject with her because that would be hoping too.

  And always, as ever, the clock is ticking. In the end, I stopped waiting, because I stopped believing that you’d stray into my life because I no longer trusted you existed. Everything else happened in my life—Miss Margutta, my marriage, Italy, my son, my career, my books—but you didn’t. I stopped waiting and learned to live without you. “What was it that you so desperately wanted in those years?” “Someone who knew me inside out, who was me in you, basically.”

  while staring at my open book, I caught myself struggling to come up with something to say, if only to help defuse what had all the bearings of a gathering storm about to erupt in our little corner at the very end of the car. Then I thought twice about it. Better to leave her alone and go on with my reading. But when I caught her looking at me, I couldn’t help myself: “Why so glum?” I asked.

  I loved that what I’d just said had caught her by surprise.

  “Maybe you’re not the kind who opens up to people.” “But I’m speaking with you.” “I’m a stranger, and with strangers opening up is easy.”

  We stared at each other. I liked her warm and trusting smile; it suggested something frail and genuine, perhaps even vulnerable. No wonder the men in her life closed in on her. They knew what they were losing the moment she turned her eyes away. Out went the smile, or the languor when she asked heart-to-heart questions while staring with those piercing green eyes that never let up, out the disquieting need for intimacy that her glance tore out of every man when your eyes happened to lock on her in a public space and you knew there went your life. She was doing it right now. She made intimacy want to happen, made it easy, as if you’d always had it in you to give, and were craving to share it but realized you’d never find it in yourself unless it was with her. I wanted to hold her, touch her hand, let a finger drift along her forehead.

  A side of me thought she’d leaned even more toward me and had thought of standing up to move to the seat next to me and put both hands in mine. Had this crossed her mind and was I seizing on her wish to do so, or was I simply making it up because the wish was in me?

  Miranda put down her fork and lit a cigarette. I watched her shake the match with a decisive hand motion before dropping it into an ashtray. How strong and invulnerable she suddenly seemed. She was showing her other side, the one that sizes people up and makes hasty indictments, then shuts them off and never lets them back in except when she weakens, only to hold it against them that she did. Men were like matches: they caught fire and were shaken off and dropped in the first ashtray that came her way. I watched her take in her first puff. Yes, willful and unbending. Smoking with her face turned away from us made her look so distant and heartless. The type who always gets her way. Not exactly the good girl who doesn’t like to see people hurt.

  “I sense, though, that part of you may not like being told you’re not happy.” I attempted a polite nod that also meant I’m just going along with what you’re saying and won’t argue. “But the good part is—” she added, then caught herself once again. “The good part is?” I asked. “The good part is I don’t think you’ve closed the book or given up looking. For happiness, I mean. I like this about you.” I didn’t answer—perhaps my silence was the answer.

  Without giving it another thought, I found myself holding both her hands on the lapels of my jacket against my chest. I had planned nothing of the sort but simply let myself go and touched her forehead with my palm. I’ve seldom been this impulsive and to show I didn’t mean to cross a line began buttoning my jacket.

  I tried to withdraw but caressed her forehead one last time. Then kissed it. This time I stared at her, she wouldn’t look away. And in a gesture that caught me totally by surprise again and seemed to spring from who knows how many years back, I let my fingertip touch her on the chin, softly, the way a grown-up might hold a child’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to prevent it from crying, sensing all along, as she did herself, that, if she didn’t move, this caress on the chin was probably a prelude to what I did next, when I allowed my finger to travel along her lower lip—back and forth, back and forth. She did not move away but continued to stare at me. Nor could I tell whether I had offended her by touching her forehead this way, or whether, taken aback, she was still mulling over how to react. And still she continued to stare, bold and unbending.

  The words we’d spoken were sufficiently vague for us not to know what the other meant or what we ourselves meant, yet we both immediately sensed, without knowing why, that we’d seized the other’s underlying meaning precisely because it wasn’t spoken.

  “Maybe because you’re not a present-tense kind of person. This, for instance, is the present tense,” she said, reaching over and kissing me on the lips. It was not a full kiss, but it lingered and she let her tongue touch my lips. “And you smell good,” she said. Okay, I am fourteen now, I thought.

  I’d been alone for ever so long, even when I thought I wasn’t alone—and the taste of something as real as blood was far, far better than the taste of just nothing, of wasted and barren years, so many years.

  土味情話和血腥情話的混合，讓人有點跳tone，可基本符合人物性格和情節推進，就不挑刺了。

  Some people may be brokenhearted not because they’ve been hurt but because they’ve never found someone who mattered enough to hurt them.

  But she looked upset and I thought there were tears welling in her eyes. “Everything I have is yours. Not much, I know,” she said. I let a palm rub the tears down from the side of her face. “Everything you have I’ve never had. What more is there to want?”

  “You do make me love who I am.”

  “If I could open your body and slip into it and sew you back from the inside, I would do it, so I could cradle your quiet dreams and let you dream mine. I’d be the rib that hasn’t become me yet, happy to hang on and, as you said, see the world with your eyes, not mine, and hear you echo my thoughts and think they’re yours.”

  關於"living and time are not aligned and have entirely different itineraries."是本書僅有的亮點，新瓶老酒，但酒味依然濃厚醇香，細品一下頗有感觸。

  Some of us never jumped to the next level. We lost track of where we were headed and as a result stayed where we started.”

  “Perhaps because I am always trying to retrace my steps back to a spot where I should have jumped on the ferryboat headed to the other bank called life but ended up dawdling on the wrong wharf or, with my luck, took the wrong ferryboat altogether. ”

  “Aren’t those the absolute worst scenarios: the things that might have happened but never did and might still happen though we’ve given up hoping they could.”

  Some lives wait their turn because they haven’t been lived at all, while others die before they’ve lived out their time, and some are waiting to be relived because they haven’t been lived enough. Basically, we don’t know how to think of time, because time doesn’t really understand time the way we do, because time couldn’t care less what we think of time, because time is just a wobbly, unreliable metaphor for how we think about life. Because ultimately it isn’t time that is wrong for us, or we for time. It may be life itself that is wrong.”

  “Everything in my life was merely prologue until now, merely delay, merely pastime, merely waste of time until I came to know you.”

  "I like to come back later in the evening when it grows dark to watch the apartment. Then if a light goes on at my old windows, my heart just bursts.” “Why?” “Because part of me probably hasn’t given up wanting to turn back the clock. Or hasn’t quite accepted that I’ve moved on—if indeed I did move on. Perhaps all I truly want is to reconnect with the person I used to be and lost track of and simply turned my back on once I moved elsewhere. I may never want to be who I was in those days, but I do want to see him again, just for a minute or so to find out who this person is who hasn’t even left the wife he hasn’t met yet, and who is still so far from knowing he’ll be a father someday. The young man upstairs knows nothing of this, and part of me wants to bring him up-to-date and let him know I’m still alive, that I haven’t changed, and that I’m standing outside here right now—”

  所有以上這些好感，或者說不厭惡感，被作者刻意做作的故事設定完全摧毀。有必要讓女主角青年時3P勾引哥哥xx嗎？！是為了推進之後和第一男主角的SM？前面的中老年小清新，是人格分裂，對嘛？！

  The friend did not hesitate, and was right away on top of me. He was done in seconds. But now comes the part I’ll never live down. It seemed such a silly game that I told my brother it was his turn, and even shamed him for hesitating, which was when I realized—and not before—that the whole thing with his friend was simply a ruse on my part, because I wanted my brother, and I wanted him to make love to me, not just fuck me, because it would have been the most natural thing between us, and perhaps this is what lovemaking is. Even his friend urged him on. I’d rather not, she’s my sister—I’ll never forget his words. He stood up, pulled up his jeans, and lay back down on the bed and continued watching TV.

  I aped the gesture and gave her face a soft tap. “Harder, much, much harder, front and backhand.” So I slapped her once, which startled her, but she straightaway turned the other cheek, to indicate that I should slap the other as well, which I did, and she said, “Again.” “I don’t like hurting people,” I said. “Yes, but now we are as close as people who’ve lived three hundred years together, it’s your language too, whether you like it or not. You love the taste, I love it too, now kiss me.” She kissed me and I kissed her.

  寫完這章總結，我覺得不應該再浪費時間，因為全書最拿得出手的這章是如此庸俗老套。下面幾章更是不堪，不得不懷疑作者是為了收割粉絲的錢，比網絡爽文還不如的水平！！

  《Cadenza》

  如果說第一章還能看看，我拒絕接受陳腔濫調的第二章。

  精蟲上腦，心智永遠不成熟的Elio從17歲到30歲毫無成長，這對於粉絲簡直就是核爆級別的摧毀！這人生十幾年白活了？閱人無數，原來只局限在肉慾的宣洩？曾經那個靈性十足的小毛頭，也就是一慾望的黑洞？

  “How many after him?” he asked. “Not many. All short-lived. Men and women.” “Why?” “Maybe because I never really let go or lose myself with others. After an instant of passion, I always fall back to being the autonomous me.”

  “Because you and he are the standard. Now that I think of it, there’s only been the two of you. All the others were occasionals. You have given me days that justify the years I’ve been without him.”

  So saying he put a wise, gently patronizing arm around my shoulder. I don’t know why, but I reached for the hand that had rested on my shoulder and touched it. It had happened so seamlessly that I looked at him and we both smiled, which allowed his hand, which would most likely have left the spot, to stay just a moment longer. He turned but then looked at me once more, and I felt a sudden urge to hurl myself against him and put my arms around his upper waist right under his jacket. He must have felt something along those lines as well, because in the awkward silence that followed what he’d just said, he kept staring and I was staring back, totally undaunted, until it hit me that perhaps I had read all the signals wrong and I began to want to look away. I liked that his eyes lingered on me still, it made me feel handsome and desirable, something soft, caressing that I wanted to hold in place and didn’t want to escape from except by burrowing into his chest. I liked the promise, in his gaze, of something totally kind and guileless.

  He didn’t say anything; he simply nodded. But his wasn’t a nod of affirmation, meaning yes; it was the pensive, distracted, wistful nod of someone who normally chooses not to believe a word he’s heard.

  he placed a lingering palm on my cheek—a gesture that completely threw me off and left me feeling shaken and overcome with emotion. It had caught me by surprise. I wanted us to kiss. Just kiss me, will you, if only to help me get over being so visibly flustered.

  “Don’t let me go home tonight, Michel,” I said. I know I blushed saying this, and was already scrambling for ways to apologize and take back my words when he came to my rescue. “I was struggling to ask the very same thing but, once again, you beat me to it. The truth is,” he went on, “I don’t do this frequently. Actually, I haven’t done this in a long time.” “This?” I said, with a slight jeer in my voice. “This.”

  He put down his glass, moved over to me, and kissed me lightly on the lips, almost diffidently, while, like the obliging soundtrack to our earlier kiss, I kept hearing behind the faint Brazilian singer playing in our room the sound of the elevator coming down to remind me that kissing to the sound of an old elevator going up and down the stairwell was like kissing under the patter of falling rain on a rooftop in the country, and that I liked the sound and didn’t want it to end because I felt snug, protected, and safe under its spell, because, without intruding on us, it gave a voice to the world outside his living room and reminded me that all this was not just happening in my mind. What he was really asking perhaps was for us to take our time and not hurry, and, if need be, backtrack if things went faster than either of us wanted. This I had never done before. Then he kissed me a second time, also lightly.

  連標點符號都在無病呻吟，令到其中難得的幾句“真理”都讓人覺得是故作姿態，讀者完全無法進入共振心態。

  Sometimes it’s best to stop things when they’re perfect rather than race on and watch them sour.

  Fate works forward, backward, and crisscrosses sideways and couldn’t care less how we scan its purposes with our rickety little befores and afters.”

  You die and then no one speaks of you, and before you know it, no one asks, no one tells, no one even knows or wants to know. You’re extinct, you never lived, never loved. Time never casts shadows and memory doesn’t drop ashes.

  Life is not so original after all. It has uncanny ways of reminding us that, even without a God, there is a flash of retrospective brilliance in the way fate plays its cards. It doesn’t deal us fifty-two cards; it deals, say, four or five, and they happen to be the same ones our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents played. The cards look pretty frayed and bent. The choice of sequences is limited: at some point the cards will repeat themselves, seldom in the same order, but always in a pattern that seems uncannily familiar. Sometimes the last card is not even played by the one whose life ended. Fate doesn’t always respect what we believe is the end of a life. It will deal your last card to those who come after. Which is why I think all lives are condemned to remain unfinished. This is the deplorable truth we all live with. We reach the end and are by no means done with life, not by a long stretch! There are projects we barely started, matters unresolved and left hanging everywhere. Living means dying with regrets stuck in your craw. As the French poet says, Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard, by the time we learn to live, it’s already too late. And yet there must be some small joy in finding that we are each put in a position to complete the lives of others, to close the ledger they left open and play their last card for them. What could be more gratifying than to know that it will always be up to someone else to complete and round off our life? Someone whom we loved and who loves us enough.

  特別是為了主題Find Me沒頭沒腦的尋找失蹤猶太故人，忍著怒氣看到章節結尾居然尋人就不了了之？愛情不愛情，肉慾不肉慾，偵探不偵探，亂七八糟的大雜燴，Aciman真的知道自己在寫什麼嗎？

  《Capriccio》

  為了Oliver，皺著眉打開第三章：炫技的文字和結構，Aciman嘗試讓Oliver把對Elio的思念投射到兩個年輕人身上，但人物無厘頭的上場和離開，刻意得讓人火遮眼——Aciman你認為這樣隨意擺弄無辜他人的自私，是這段感情最好的註腳？！

  You fool, it takes two of them to make one of me. I can be man and woman, or both, because you’ve been both to me. Find me, Oliver. Find me.

  The only one who doesn’t know is you. But now even you know. You’ve been disloyal. To what, to whom? To yourself.

  Why? Because my life stopped there. Because I never really left. Because the rest of me here has been like the severed tail of a lizard that flays and lashes about, while the body’s stayed behind all the way across the Atlantic in that wonderful house by the sea. I’ve been away for far too long. Are you leaving me? I think so. And the children too? I’ll always be their father. And when is this happening? I don’t know. Soon. I can’t say I’m surprised.

  This was what death was like: you see people but they don’t see you, and worse yet, you’re trapped being who you were in the moment you died—buying corrugated boxes—and you never changed into the one person you could have been and knew you really were, and you never redressed the one mistake that threw your life off course and now you were forever trapped doing the very last stupid thing you were doing, buying corrugated boxes and tape. I was forty-four years old. I was already dead—and yet too young, too young to die.

  《Da Capo》

  浪費了《Da Capo》“返始”如此美麗的一個標題，作者選擇了一個庸俗到讓人發指的大團圓結尾，兩個渣男手牽手走向夕陽。

  也罷也罷，有了結局，讀者夢就該醒了，童話真的是騙人的。

  the lure of bygone days had never left him, that he had forgotten nothing and didn’t want to forget, and that even if he couldn’t write or call to see whether I too had forgotten nothing, still, he knew that though neither of us sought out the other it was only because we had never really parted and that, regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and find me. “And you did.” “And I did,” he said.

  情節勉強，結構混亂，文筆呻吟。如果不是看了Aciman的採訪，根本不敢相信這是他的作品，更不敢相信這是回應全球粉絲對Call Me By Your Name續集的呼喊。

  鼠尾續貂，這本書絕對不應該出現，絕對！

  書目錄

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Tempo

  Cadenza

  Capriccio

  Da Capo

  Also by André Aciman

  A Note About the Author

  Copyright

• 英语学习者的最佳选择

  作者：徐顺云 发布时间：2019-10-04 21:58:01

  正如后封面所说，当你看完丛书中的最后一本，你已经如蛹化蝶了！也许对大多数人来说，这书显得有点枯燥了，但如果你真正的喜欢英语，想要学好英语，你就更应该坚持阅读，小小的书，浓缩的都是精华，相信自己能学好英语，也祝愿你们把英语学好，能拥有多门语言是一件很骄傲的事！加油，坚持是最重要的，相信自己一定能学好