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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

評分☆☆☆☆☆

很好的原版書，很適閤初中孩子閱讀，

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希望你能越做越好，成長有你有我大傢一起來，很好的寶貝。

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孩子學英語，不是在學一種道理，也不必長期參加培訓班，而是生活在英語的生活裏。換句話說，傢長、老師要盡量幫助孩子，養成天天用英語的習慣。 我見到很多孩子，很喜歡看書，隻不過原版書是英文寫的，孩子暫時還不能“心領神會”，所以孩子就不愛看。我見到有的傢長給 10 歲左右的孩子買過幾本簡單的原版書，但是孩子沒看幾天就不看瞭，因為閱讀很吃力。孩子閱讀吃力的時候，最需要的是幫助，而不是眼睜睜看著孩子就這麼放棄。障礙不解決，就永遠是障礙。況且，孩子是能把這本書讀下去的。我們可以參考香港小學一些好的教法。 香港特彆重視小學英語課外活動。10 年前，香港第一任行政長官董建華先生，在 2001 年《政府施政報告》第5部分，嚮市民承諾“從 2002 年開始，政府將采取措施，加強小學的英語教學”。怎麼加強呢？有一種做法，就是督促學校在課外開展廣泛的英語閱讀活動。香港教育當局很重視推廣閱讀風氣，他們下發給小學的指導文件裏，反復提到：“英語閱讀能力，是孩子終身必備的學習能力。” 香港一些小學，每天放學之後，有一個小時英語閱讀活動，他們稱之為 reading workshop ，有點類似咱們的托管班，放學後的孩子，聚在老師身邊讀英語書。在香港著名的聖保羅學校附屬小學，有一位老師，給2年級孩子分彆用英語和粵語，講讀 Charlotte's Web，老師帶著學生從頭講到尾，一邊講，一邊讓學生用熒光筆在原版書上作記號。 這位老師不給孩子講語法術語，也沒必要給孩子講語法術語。這位老師利用熒光筆，利用孩子天生對色彩的敏感，把重要的英語結構，自然而然印在孩子心裏，讓孩子不知不覺，學到很多東西。 老師把整整一本書，給孩子認認真真講一遍，從頭到尾，沒有一句遺漏，這很關鍵。如果老師隻是簡單串講一個故事梗概，意義就不大瞭。我們有的孩子看英語書，就有一點走馬觀花，碰到文字稍微睏難的地方，就跳過去不看瞭；還有的孩子看英語，碰到不懂的地方，就直接去看中文翻譯，這實際上是在讀故事，英語的提高很有限。 老師給孩子講讀原版書，不是為瞭講故事。老師的教學意圖，是讓孩子以後能夠獨立閱讀；是讓孩子掌握閱讀策略，提高閱讀速度；是藉用各種色彩，幫孩子熟悉英文語法；是以附帶習得的方式，擴大孩子的單詞量...... 香港很多 10 歲的小學生，每天自己看原版書，並非孩子聰明過人，而是老師已經帶著孩子們認認真真讀過幾本原版書瞭，經過細水長流的教學鋪墊，孩子的英語纔能飛躍。 學英語，不能斷斷續續，孩子需要天天沉潛在英語裏。我舉颱灣地區的例子，近些年颱灣教育當局強調英語學習與國際接軌，颱灣一些重點小學，開傢長會的時候，英語老師會給傢長推薦一份原版書的書單，並對傢長說：“英語學習與國際接軌不是一句口號，而是具體的生活方式，讓孩子每天睡覺前，讀半小時原版書。” 讓英文原版書，成為孩子的好朋友。有閱讀原版書習慣的孩子，學英語所收獲的，不是一朵小花，而是一個春天。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　“好來，您看這款，連咱們碧落軒的印記也沒有，用起來卻是半分不差的。”夥計看他衣飾普通，料是囊中羞澀，也不點破，從善如流，推薦上瞭。

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陸續收集中

評分☆☆☆☆☆

應該還不錯吧

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《日斯巴彌亞城觀鬥牛歌》描寫鬥牛場麵，繪聲繪色，猶如電視現場直播，真是妙筆，結尾引《孟子》以羊易牛釁鍾之仁心仁術，反襯齣鬥牛殺牛以博一樂之殘忍風尚。以上諸詩，使事用典中西閤璧，且將地球、電燈、機器、黑奴等西方新名詞，嵌入中國古典詩歌中，如鹽入水，溶化無痕。此種境界，應為張蔭桓獨闢首創，纔是“詩界哥倫布”。（“詩界哥倫布”，乃丘逢甲贊黃遵憲語也）。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

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.

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