了不起的蓋茨比

前言

　　通讀了尉老師的書稿后，真感覺文如其人，我從中看到站在我面前的是一位對社會持有深沉責(zé)任意識與使命感、富有思考與批判能力、博學(xué)、篤志、執(zhí)著、令人可畏的青年教師?！　”緯膬?nèi)容結(jié)構(gòu)和編排技巧富有新意，上篇側(cè)重于建筑理論，下篇側(cè)重于建筑歷史。講論則旁征博引、深入淺出，幾乎是將天文地理、哲學(xué)宗教、文化藝術(shù)、社會歷史……凡與建筑相關(guān)的知識全都巧妙地編排了一遍，文筆暢達；說史則環(huán)環(huán)相扣，通過十篇文章將人類建筑文明史作了一番傳奇式的精彩表述，同時又將東西方文化比較、各種增廣賢言及作者自身的價值判斷巧妙地穿插其間，既普及了歷史知識，又普及了現(xiàn)代意識。這對于一位青年教師來說是非常難能可貴的，由此也可知為什么他的授課如此受到學(xué)生們的歡迎?！　∥疫€想說一下作者寫作此書所采用的方式。這本書雖是作者以自己在大學(xué)課堂上的教學(xué)講稿為基礎(chǔ)整理出來的，但卻是以大眾讀物的形式來編撰的。因此，通篇文字深入淺出，“故事”情節(jié)引人入勝，成功地克服了以往學(xué)術(shù)著作“理論玄妙得高不可攀，歷史繁雜得令人生厭”的弊端，將“小眾知識”普及為人所皆知的常識，這是值得我們思考的——我們未來的大學(xué)教科書，是否也應(yīng)該考慮一下可讀性的問題呢？　　此外，作者在書稿中凡引用別人的東西，均不厭其煩，用括注、腳注、尾注等各種不同形式一一注明，恐有疏漏之處更在“后記”中坦率說明，一絲不茍，這是一種嚴(yán)謹(jǐn)、誠實的學(xué)風(fēng)?！　∫驎r間倉促，雖通讀了全書，但尚未能細(xì)細(xì)咀嚼品味，所發(fā)皆是一些粗淺看法，算不上序。

內(nèi)容概要

The Great Gatsby，中文譯名為《了不起的蓋茨比》，它是美國著名作家弗·斯格特·菲茨杰拉德的作品，被譽為二十世紀(jì)最偉大的英文小說之一。小說的主人公蓋茨比出身寒微，一次偶然的機會他認(rèn)識了富家女黛西，兩人一見鐘情，私訂終身，但是黛西背叛了他，嫁給了有錢人湯姆。蓋茨比為了贏得愛情，不擇手段聚積金錢，但是他的理想最終還是破滅了，蓋茨比帶著殘破的夢死去。這個故事一直以來被認(rèn)為是“美國夢”的崛起、旺盛與衰落的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)象征。時至今日，該書依然是美國一部家喻戶曉的經(jīng)典小說。無論作為文學(xué)作品的經(jīng)典讀本，還是作為語言學(xué)習(xí)的課外讀物，對當(dāng)代中國的讀者，特別是大學(xué)生讀者，該書將產(chǎn)生積極的影響。為了使讀者能夠了解每章的主要內(nèi)容，進而提高閱讀速度和閱讀水平，在每個主題的開始部分都增加了中文導(dǎo)讀。

作者簡介

弗·斯格特·菲茨杰拉德（1896-1940），20世紀(jì)與海明威、福克納齊名的美國著名作家。著名詩人兼文藝評論家艾略特對《了不起的蓋茨比》進行了高度評價，稱之為“美國小說自亨利·詹姆斯以來邁出的第一步”。海明成在回憶菲茨杰拉德時寫道：“既然他能夠?qū)懗鲆槐鞠瘛读瞬黄鸬纳w

書籍目錄

第一章/Chapter 1 1第二章/Chapter 2 20第三章/Chapter 3 34第四章/Chapter 4 53第五章/Chapter 5 71第六章/Chapter 6 86第七章/Chapter 7 99第八章/Chapter 8 130第九章/Chapter 9 144

章節(jié)摘錄

　　第　一　章　　Chapter 1　　尼克年輕的時候，父親曾告訴他，并不是世上所有的人都擁有他這樣的優(yōu)越條件。為此，他習(xí)慣于對人保留判斷和傾聽別人的訴說，所以，大學(xué)期間人們指責(zé)他為小政客。尼克認(rèn)為人在道德觀念上的分配是不均的，如果所有人在道德上像軍人站立正姿勢那樣一致就好了，但有一個人例外——那就是蓋茨比，他有一種對人生希望高度敏感的天賦和富于浪漫的敏捷?！　∧峥说男帐峡_威在當(dāng)?shù)匾菜闶莻€名門望族，據(jù)說還是布婁奇公爵的后裔。尼克祖父的哥哥于一八五一年來到那里買了個替身參加南北戰(zhàn)爭，然后自己做起了五金批發(fā)生意，這買賣現(xiàn)在由尼克的父親經(jīng)營。尼克一九一五年從紐黑文畢業(yè)，后來到東部學(xué)債券生意。父親答應(yīng)為他提供一年的費用，于是，一九二一年他到了東部大城市紐約。尼克準(zhǔn)備和同事在近郊合租一套房子，但后來同事調(diào)到華盛頓去了，他只好一個人搬到了郊外。In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.　　“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”　　He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Res- erving judgements is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.　　And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

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