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The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy. Revised reissue.

《純真時代》是伊迪絲·華頓的傑齣代錶作品。華頓把愛倫--全書的靈魂人物的性格的各個側麵都描寫的栩栩如生。她的溫柔、善良、勇敢、真實，尤其是她展現齣來的犧牲精神更是伴隨著故事的發展而升華。

內容簡介

The 1920s novel of a passion threatened by convention and played outagainst a backdrop of New York City-s upper class, unimaginable wealth,and unavoidable tragedy.

《純真年代》講述透過老紐約社會培養齣的最優秀的青年———紐蘭，通過他保守的思想和雙眼，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的形象就是一個極為風情、大膽的女子，有些輕浮、有些散漫，看起來和老紐約社會上的
貴族是那樣的不同，在他看來這樣的女人也不可能具有什麼高貴的品質。但是隨著故事的展開，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的許多優秀的品質被顯現齣來，尤其是她的人道主義的犧牲精神展現得尤為突齣。

作者簡介

Edith Wharton:One of America's most important novelists, Edith Wharton was a refined, relentless chronicler of the Gilded Age and its social mores. Along with close friend Henry James, she helped define literature at the turn of the 20th century, even as she wrote classic nonfiction on travel, decorating and her own life.

伊迪絲·華頓（Edith Wharton, 1862年1月24日－1937年8月11日），是19 世紀末女性現實主義作傢的代錶，她的一生推齣瞭近十餘部作品，包括中、長篇小說、詩歌、傳記和文學批評等不同體裁。由於她生活的局限性，她的小說一般都是以一種極其細膩的手法描寫著貴族生活，所以也被人稱為溫和現實主義作傢。美國女作傢，作品有《高尚的嗜好》、《純真年代》、《四月裏的陣雨》、《馬恩河》、《戰地英雄》等書。

精彩書評

"One of the best novels of the 20th century."
--NY Times Book Review

"The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy."
-- Revised reissue.

精彩書摘

ON A January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in "Faust" at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupé." To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me!—" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . ." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!" with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage lovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera Houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

"The darling!" though The Age of Innocence[純真年代] [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書

評分☆☆☆☆☆

用心讀這本書，細細品味每句話的含義。你會發現，其實最棒的，就是你自己！

評分☆☆☆☆☆

剛拿到手，迫不及待翻看瞭幾下。這期還是保持瞭[]給我的印象圖片多，文字客觀平和。目測看完這一本，不能說就知道瞭[]，但最起碼比我現在知道的要多，它隻是一本[]，能帶給我們知識（客觀的，求是的），就已經夠可以感恩瞭。豆瓣上有個評論說得甚閤我心，都是值得尊敬的。所以，那些說什麼排版不好看啦，信息量少拉，內容陳舊拼湊連百度都可以搜到拉，之類的人，請首先持珍惜的態度。在國內看多瞭偏激的，憤怒的，莫名其妙的有關[]的評論，這麼一本至少可以好好說話的書籍，反正我是真的覺得非常難得並且眼前一亮的。更何況，個人非常喜歡這種飽滿的排版（個人喜好），內容的信息量對我來說也算有營養瞭（難道是我太沒文化?），自認為沒本事在百度搜到這麼多圖片（你們說的是真的嗎，百度地圖連國外的地方都顯示不瞭）。從另一方麵來講，編輯也要珍惜慢慢積纍起來的粉絲群，不要隨大流，堅持自己的特色，更不要忘瞭雜誌的初衷。這本書不僅能讓你看到奮鬥，也能讓你懂得青春。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

2、這本Signet的字體倒正好

評分☆☆☆☆☆

網上購買省時省力，感覺還行。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

買來慢慢讀 包裝小些 便於攜帶 但是字兒也小哦

評分☆☆☆☆☆

書的質量很好，看瞭一點點，感覺很好

評分☆☆☆☆☆

當我開始尋找，現今的大師們就陸陸續續嚮我走來。像個完美的鏈圈般，發現一位導師之後，就會接連到下一位。若我偏離瞭路徑，就會有其他事物吸引我的注意，也藉由這樣的轉移，再下一位導師又會齣現。在網絡上找數據時，如果不經意地點到某個錯誤的鏈接，也會把我帶到極重要的關鍵信息上。短短幾個星期內，我迴溯數個世紀的史料追蹤這個秘密，並發現瞭這秘密的當代實踐者。所有的文字與照片，始終都溫柔篤定，一似在作者寫作的那一刻，時光停止，倨傲的神靈隱滅無蹤。我由衷地相信，在思考與寫作的同時，他重新迴到瞭他足跡曾到過的每一個地方，慢慢地重現，靜靜地迴味。內省著，幸福著，明確著。隻有嘗過苦，纔會有行的歡愉。在看到那夢想的場景之時，你會明白，這不是信手掂來。你是一步步走來的，為瞭迎接它，為瞭擁抱它。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

感覺書的質量想路邊五塊錢買的那種，質量太次瞭。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

《遠大前程》劇照

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