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內容簡介

He wanted to be treated like a man, not a child.

Every summer the men of the Chavez family go on a long and difficult sheep drive to the mountains. All the men, that is, except for Miguel. All year long, twelve-year-old Miguel tries to prove that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too, is up to the challenge'that he, too is ready to take the sheep into his beloved Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

When his deeds go unnoticed, he prays to San Ysidro, the saint for farmers everywhere. And his prayer is answered . . . but with devastating consequences.

When you act like an adult but get treated like a child, what else can you do but keep your wishes secret and pray that they'll come true.

This is the story of a twelve-year-old Miguel Chavez, who yearns in his heart to go with the men of his family on a long and hard sheep drive to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains--until his prayer is finally answered, with a disturbing and dangerous exchange.

作者簡介

Joseph Krumgold received the Newbery Medal for ...And Now Miguel. One of the few people to receive the medal twice, he was subsequently awarded it for his novel Onion John,also available in a Harper Trophy edition.

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精彩書評

"A memorable and deeply moving story of a family of New Mexican sheepherders, in which Miguel, neither child nor man, tells of his great longing to accompany men and sheep to summer pasture, and expresses his need to be recognized as a maturing individual."
-- BL.

精彩書摘

CHAPTER ONE
It was love at first sight and I was astonished that it should be happening to me because the first sight had nothing in the least alluring about it. The roads from airports to cities rarely do. I was like a man who bewilders his friends by becoming infatuated with a particularly unprepossessing woman-warts and a squint and a harelip. 'What on earth does he see in her?' I've often wondered myself. What did I see in that dreary road which was taking me to Paris?
This sudden incomprehensible love affair might have been a little less mysterious if I had arrived in France with gooseflesh anticipations of romantic garrets and dangerous liaisons in them, the Latin Quarter and champagne at five francs a bottle, and artists' studios-all the preposterous sentimental paraphernalia from absinthe to midinettes. But I had not included any of these notions in my meagre luggage, I had no preliminary yearnings towards the country. Rather the contrary. In Australia I had spent much of my time with a young woman who had visited France just before the war and had gone down with a bad attack of what someone called 'French flu'. She babbled so fervently and persistently about France and Paris that she infected me with a perverse loathing for both.
The fact nonetheless inexplicably remains. A hundred yards from the airport we passed a café ('Le Looping', with the two o's aerobatically askew to make the point clear) and puppy love overwhelmed me-puppy love from which this old dog has not yet shaken himself free. 'Le Looping' and the handful of unremarkable customers sipping their drinks on the terrace instantaneously bewitched me.
I knew, with no rational justification, that I was in a country which for me was unlike any other country. It was as though some indigenous evangelist had caused me to be 'born again'.
One life abruptly ended and another began. There and then I shed my twenty-five years. To this day, in my own head and heart I am twenty-five years younger than the miserable reality.
The passengers in the airport bus were a drab lot. It was only eighteen months since the war had ended. There had not been much time to spruce up. In my besotted state, they seemed to me as fabulous as troubadours. The houses along the road were dismal little pavilions badly in need of a coat of paint. I gaped at them as if each one were the Chateau de Versailles. And in the distance the Eiffel Tower looked so impossibly like itself as depicted on a thousand postcards and a thousand amateur paintings that the sense of unreality which I had been feeling deepened still further.
What had brought me to Paris was my eagerness to visit a writer I had admired since my school days. He and his wife were to become two of my closest friends. We saw a great deal of each other in the years ahead-in Paris, in the South of France, in the Loire Valley. Of all the countless occasions on which we laughed together, argued, drank wine, loafed on a Mediterranean beach, listened to music, none was as sheerly magical as that first evening in Paris.
Our relationship took shape from the very beginning. We were already friends by the time we left their studio and strolled together down the Boulevard de Montparnasse. For some reason, twilight in Parts, then at least, was not like twilight in any other city. It enveloped you in a wonderful blue and golden luminosity and it had its own special unidentifiable perfume. That one-and-only twilight dreamily descending on us was so unlike anything I had known that I had my first vague glimpse of a mystery which was to become more and more apparent as time went by: Parts was the city of the unexpected. You always felt as though something extraordinary were about to happen. Sometimes it did, sometimes not; but the expectation never diminished. One went on waiting.
Twilight aside, most things were in short supply in 1947. Fortunately, the writer had been familiar with Paris for thirty years or more. He was already on the right sort of terms with the proprietor of an unassuming restaurant in one of the side streets. So we were served with a mixture of raw vegetables, a sorrel omelette (I can still recall the metallic taste of that sorrel) and, thanks to the proprietor's peasant brother, some wild duck. The wine was a muscular red with a powerful rasp to it but (a symptom of French flu?) I thought I had never drunk anything so delicious. It was served in cups as if we were in the prohibition speakeasy era because otherwise less privileged customers would have been clamouring for some and there wasn't any too much to be had.
Afterwards we walked back along the boulevard towards the studio. We stopped midway for a glass of brandy at the D?me. Tourists had not yet ventured to return to Paris. The other customers on the terrace were all French, completely nondescript but fascinating because they were French. There were practically no cars on the roads. Those there were either had great charcoal-burning furnaces fixed to the back or carried dirigible-like bags of gas on their roofs. Every so often a fiacre went clip-clopping past. The air was almost startling pure. The stars were sharply visible in a translucent sky. I turned to the man at the next table and asked him for a light-speaking French for the first time in my life. I managed to make three ludicrous grammatical blunders in the course of that one short sentence. If he was amused by my linguistic ineptitude he was too polite to show it. La politesse francaise-that still existed, too.

前言/序言

...And Now Miguel 牧童曆險記 [平裝] [8歲及以上] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書

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給孩子買的書，順便自己看看，很不錯

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應該還不錯吧

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　　“這個前些日子已買過瞭，給介紹款最普通的。”

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紐伯瑞奬的童書，囤書。有什麼事能像閱讀一樣做起來簡單卻成效顯著呢？　　讀書給孩子聽就像和孩子說話，同樣基於以下的理由：樹立孩子的信心，帶來歡笑，拉近彼此的距離；告訴孩子信息或嚮孩子解釋問題，引發孩子的好奇心，激勵孩子。在朗讀中，我們還可以：　　·在孩子的腦海中，將閱讀與愉悅聯係在一起。　　·創造背景知識。　　·建立詞匯基礎。　　·樹立一個閱讀的典範。　　讓我們看看終身閱讀者是如何培養齣來的。許多教育界人士忽略瞭兩項有關閱讀的基本“人生事實”。少瞭這兩個定律的相互作用，教育改革的成效將微乎其微。　　閱讀定律一：人類是喜歡享樂的。　　閱讀定律二：閱讀是積纍漸進的技能。　　現在我們來研究定律一：人類是喜歡享樂的。對於能給自己帶來快樂的事，人們會自願地反復去做。我們去自己喜歡的餐廳，點自己喜歡的食物，聽自己喜歡的音樂電颱，探望自己喜歡的親戚。反之，對於自己討厭的食物、音樂及親戚，我們則避之唯恐不及。這不僅是一條定律，更是一個心理上的事實。當我們的感官將電子與化學信息發送到大腦中的“有趣區”或“無趣區”時，人就會作齣正麵或負麵的反應。　　美國自然曆史博物館一位傑齣的動物心理學傢，將所有行為分成兩種簡單的反應：接近與迴避。我們接近帶來快樂的事，迴避帶來痛苦或不愉快的事。　　愉快就像膠水一樣，能粘住我們的注意力，但隻朝喜歡的方嚮吸引。當欣賞一部電影時，我們就會沉浸其中；不再喜歡時，這種投入的情緒即告中斷。這種情況幾乎適用於所有我們願意去做的事。每當我們給孩子朗讀時，就會發送一個“愉悅”信息到孩子的腦中，甚至將之稱為“廣告”亦不為過，因為朗讀讓孩子把書本、印刷品與愉悅畫上等號。然而，很多時候，“不愉快”卻和“閱讀”

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1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。 1954年凱迪剋金奬,《難忘牧羊人》紐伯瑞大奬係列的書都很不錯，值得囤，不過估計要囤得比較久呢，等能力夠瞭再看吧。書很輕，紙質泛黃，不傷眼睛，挺好的，就是如果字再大點就好瞭。紐奬係列最近乘著活動收瞭不少。

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　　莫熙丟下兩串錢齣來，掂瞭掂手中的墨，滿意地一笑，雇瞭一輛驢車，往城門去瞭。

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