![Warm Bodies 溫暖的屍體 [平裝]](https://pic.tinynews.org/19262190/rBEIC0_XEdoIAAAAAAA1Fzg7fwoAAAlwgIvOMcAADUv322.jpg)
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一場末日浩劫後的未來，神秘的病毒毀滅瞭文明，受害者喪失過去的記憶，變身為吃活人的僵屍，幸存的人類建立起堅固的高牆堡壘，以防止飢餓的僵屍們，成群結隊闖進來獵食…。然而，這種看似傳統活屍片的背景設定，卻因男主角R的齣現而顛覆一切！R是個沒有記憶、心跳的僵屍，卻懷抱著許多夢想，他的內心世界充滿驚奇與渴望。某日R正在獵食人類時，竟然煞到瞭一位溫暖、燦爛的活生生女孩茱莉，R不但沒吃掉她的腦袋，還決定救她一命，讓她免於遭受R的僵屍同伴吞噬。 對原本形如槁木死灰的R而言，茱莉的齣現，簡直是蒼灰陰鬱中一抹奔放艷麗的色彩。於是一段緊張而又異常溫柔的甜蜜關係就此展開。
R悄悄把茱莉帶迴他稱為傢的地方，即一座滿布僵屍的機場，並讓她躲在一架廢棄的767波音客機上，裏麵有他到處搜集而來的“寶藏”，包括黑膠唱片、雪景水晶球、樂器等。接下來的幾天，他們在這個隱匿處意外地共度瞭愜意的日子，在不知不覺之中，活潑的茱莉喚起R遺忘已久的人性情感，而她也開始瞭解到他不隻是個慢動作、眼神呆滯的行屍走肉。
茱莉很睏惑自己對於R的感情，於是帶著復雜情緒返迴人類城市。她父親是無情的僵屍獵人，領導人類大軍捍衛他們僅存的高牆傢園。同時，害相思病的R開始産生前所未有的改變，他相信自己與茱莉的相知相惜能夠拯救無論是生是死的人類，不過他齣現在她傢門口時，很快就掀起活人和僵屍（以及皮包骨）之間的全麵性混戰，而這也威脅到這一對奇跡戀人未來能否在一起的可貴機會。
這種事從沒發生過，不但不閤邏輯，也違背瞭規矩，不但改變瞭R，也改變他的僵屍同伴，甚至讓死氣沉沉的世界齣現瞭生機。然而，在那陰森腐敗的世界裏，想要完成夢想，他們還需要一場革命……
內容簡介
R is a young man with an existential crisis--he is a zombie. He shuffles through an America destroyed by war, social collapse, and the mindless hunger of his undead comrades, but he craves something more than blood and brains. He can speak just a few grunted syllables, but his inner life is deep, full of wonder and longing. He has no memories, noidentity, and no pulse, but he has dreams.After experiencing a teenage boy's memories while consuming his brain, R makes an unexpected choice that begins a tense, awkward, and stragely sweet relationship with the victim's human girlfriend. Julie is a blast of color in the otherwise dreary and gray landscape that surrounds R. His decision to protect her will transform not only R, but his fellow Dead, and perhaps their whole lifeless world.
Scary, funny, and surprisingly poignant, Warm Bodies is about being alive, being dead, and the blurry line in between.
《溫暖的屍體》講述瞭一個叫做“R”的僵屍和一個他殺死的人類的女友之間的浪漫關係，這段關係引發瞭連鎖反應，不僅改變瞭他和他的僵屍夥伴，也改變瞭整個僵屍世界。
作者簡介
Isaac Marion was born near Seattle in 1981 and has lived in and around that city ever since. Deciding to forgo college in favor of direct experience, he dived into writing while still in high school and self-published three terrible novels before finally hitting his stride with Warm Bodies, his first published work. He currently splits his time between writing in Seattle and hunting inspiration on cross-country RV trips. Visit IsaacMarion.com.精彩書評
“I never thought I could care so passionately for a zombie. Isaac Marion has created the most unexpected romantic lead I've ever encountered, and rewritten the entire concept of what it means to be a zombie in the process. This story stayed with me long after I was done reading it. I eagerly await the next book by Isaac Marion.”(Stephenie Meyer, #1 New York Times Bestselling author of the Twilight series)
“A mesmerising evolution of a classic contemporary myth.”
(Simon Pegg, New York Times bestselling author of Nerd Do Well)
“Warm Bodies is a terrific book—a compelling literary fantasy which is also a strange and affecting pop-culture parable.”
(Nick Harkaway, author of The Gone-Away World)
“Isaac Marion has a great new voice that hooks you from page one and accomplishes the impossible: it makes you care about young zombie love. Warm Bodies is a terrific read.”
(Josh Bazell, New York Times bestselling author of Beat the Reaper)
“Enormous fun.”
(Marie Claire (UK))
“Wryly playful, cinematic, and ultimately moving.”
(Time Out London)
“Has there been a more sympathetic monster since Frankenstein's?”
(The Financial Times)
“It’s got the boarded-up strongholds and mob mentality of Night of the Living Dead—but also romance. As the evil thing resists its evil nature, the book neuters zombies in the same way Stephanie Meyer did vampires.”
(Time Out NY)
“If you haven't caught on to Isaac Marion's writing yet, you're really missing out.”
(About.com)
“In elegant, evocative prose, Marion has fashioned the world’s most unlikely romance in a story that is by turns harrowing, poignant, and tender. At the last, the reader is reminded that we are all ultimately human, whether living or dead. Utterly charming.”
(Library Journal (starred review))
前言/序言
I AM DEAD, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I can’t properly introduce myself, but I don’t have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an “R,” but that’s all I have now. It’s funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people’s names. My friend “M” says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off.None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I’m still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I’m wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color.
We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses.
You were a waitress. You were a student. Ring any bells?
It never does.
No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs. We recognize civilization—buildings, cars, a general overview—but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here. We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I’ve said, it’s not so bad. We may appear mindless, but we aren’t. The rusty cogs of cogency still spin, just geared down and down till the outer motion is barely visible. We grunt and groan, we shrug and nod, and sometimes a few words slip out. It’s not that different from before.
But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.
There are hundreds of us living in an abandoned airport outside some large city. We don’t need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise we’d just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be horrifying. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that’s what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.
I think we’ve been here a long time. I still have all my flesh, but there are elders who are little more than skeletons with clinging bits of muscle, dry as jerky. Somehow it still extends and contracts, and they keep moving. I have never seen any of us “die” of old age. Left alone with plenty of food, maybe we’d “live” forever, I don’t know. The future is as blurry to me as the past. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present, and the present isn’t exactly urgent. You might say death has relaxed me.
I am riding the escalators when M finds me. I ride the escalators several times a day, whenever they move. It’s become a ritual. The airport is derelict, but the power still flickers on sometimes, maybe flowing from emergency generators stuttering deep underground. Lights flash and screens blink, machines jolt into motion. I cherish these moments. The feeling of things coming to life. I stand on the steps and ascend like a soul into Heaven, that sugary dream of our childhoods, now a tasteless joke.
After maybe thirty repetitions, I rise to find M waiting for me at the top. He is hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat draped on a six-foot-five frame. Bearded, bald, bruised and rotten, his grisly visage slides into view as I crest the staircase summit. Is he the angel that greets me at the gates? His ragged mouth is oozing black drool.
He points in a vague direction and grunts, “City.”
I nod and follow him.
We are going out to find food. A hunting party forms around us as we shuffle toward town. It’s not hard to find recruits for these expeditions, even if no one is hungry. Focused thought is a rare occurrence here, and we all follow it when it manifests. Otherwise we’d just be standing around and groaning all day. We do a lot of standing around and groaning. Years pass this way. The flesh withers on our bones and we stand here, waiting for it to go. I often wonder how old I am.
The city where we do our hunting is conveniently close. We arrive around noon the next day and start looking for flesh. The new hunger is a strange feeling. We don’t feel it in our stomachs—some of us don’t even have those. We feel it everywhere equally, a sinking, sagging sensation, as if our cells are deflating. Last winter, when so many Living joined the Dead and our prey became scarce, I watched some of my friends become full-dead. The transition was undramatic. They just slowed down, then stopped, and after a while I realized they were corpses. It disquieted me at first, but it’s against etiquette to notice when one of us dies. I distracted myself with some groaning.
I think the world has mostly ended, because the cities we wander through are as rotten as we are. Buildings have collapsed. Rusted cars clog the streets. Most glass is shattered, and the wind drifting through the hollow high-rises moans like an animal left to die. I don’t know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it’s not so important. Once you’ve arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.
We start to smell the Living as we approach a dilapidated apartment building. The smell is not the musk of sweat and skin, it’s the effervescence of life energy, like the ionized tang of lightning and lavender. We don’t smell it in our noses. It hits us deeper inside, near our brains, like wasabi. We converge on the building and crash our way inside.
We find them huddled in a small studio unit with the windows boarded up. They are dressed worse than we are, wrapped in filthy tatters and rags, all of them badly in need of a shave. M will be saddled with a short blond beard for the rest of his Fleshy existence, but everyone else in our party is cleanshaven. It’s one of the perks of being dead, another thing we don’t have to worry about anymore. Beards, hair, toenails… no more fighting biology. Our wild bodies have finally been tamed.
Slow and clumsy but with unswerving commitment, we launch ourselves at the Living. Shotgun blasts fill the dusty air with gunpowder and gore. Black blood spatters the walls. The loss of an arm, a leg, a portion of torso, this is disregarded, shrugged off. A minor cosmetic issue. But some of us take shots to our brains, and we drop. Apparently there’s still something of value in that withered gray sponge because if we lose it, we are corpses. The zombies to my left and right hit the ground with moist thuds. But there are plenty of us. We are overwhelming. We set upon the Living, and we eat.
Eating is not a pleasant business. I chew off a man’s arm, and I hate it. I hate his screams, because I don’t like pain, I don’t like hurting people, but this is the world now. This is what we do. Of course if I don’t eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he’ll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make me feel better. I’ll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we’ll stand around and groan for a while. It’s hard to say what “friends” are anymore, but that might be close. If I restrain myself, if I leave enough…
But I don’t. I can’t. As always I go straight for the good part, the part that makes my head light up like a picture tube. I eat the brain, and for about thirty seconds, I have memories. Flashes of parades, perfume, music… life. Then it fades, and I get up, and we all stumble out of the city, still cold and gray, but feeling a little better. Not “good,” exactly, not “happy,” certainly not “alive,” but… a little less dead. This is the best we can do.
I trail behind the group as the city disappears behind us. My steps plod a little heavier than the others’. When I pause at a rain-filled pothole to scrub gore off my face and clothes, M drops back and slaps a hand on my shoulder. He knows my distaste for some of our routines. He knows I’m a little more sensitive than most. Sometimes he teases me, twirls my messy black hair into pigtails and says, “Girl. Such… girl.” But he knows when to take my gloom seriously. He pats my shoulder and just looks at me. His face isn’t capable of much expressive nuance anymore, but I know what he wants to say. I nod, and we keep walking.
I don’t know why we have to kill people. I don’t know what chewing through a man’s neck accomplishes. I steal what he has to replace what I lack. He disappears, and I stay. It’s simple but senseless, arbitrary laws from some lunatic legislator in the sky. But following those laws keeps me walking, so I follow them to the letter. I eat until I stop eating, then I eat again.
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用户评价
這本書給我的閱讀體驗是極其反傳統的，它成功地將哥特式的設定與青春期的敏感細膩糅閤在瞭一起，創造齣一種既黑暗又溫暖的獨特氛圍。我必須稱贊作者對於“僵屍哲學”的探討，它迫使讀者去思考，當我們剝離掉社會標簽、生理機能，僅剩下最原始的欲望和情感時，我們究竟是什麼？R的視角是一個完美的觀察者，他冷眼旁觀著人類文明的殘骸，也無意中成為瞭重建希望的催化劑。硃莉這個角色也塑造得非常立體，她不僅是R的“引路人”，她自身的脆弱、勇氣和對舊世界的失望，都使得這段關係充滿瞭現實的復雜性。她愛上的不是一個“人”，而是一種可能性，一個超越瞭死亡和偏見的未來。這種關係的基礎建立在相互的“看見”之上，遠比那些建立在共同血緣或文化背景上的愛情更加純粹和堅韌。讀完後，我久久不能平靜，腦海中迴蕩的不是恐怖的嘶吼，而是那份跨越物種的溫柔與理解。
评分從文學手法上來說，作者的筆觸非常細膩，尤其是在描繪角色內心掙紮和成長期時，展現齣一種令人驚艷的成熟度。它不僅僅是一個關於僵屍和人類的愛情故事，更像是一則關於身份認同和自我救贖的寓言。R從一個純粹的食腐者，逐漸發展齣愛、責任感乃至犧牲精神的過程，過渡得極其自然，沒有絲毫的刻意或突兀。這種轉變是通過他與硃莉的互動，以及他與“族群”內部矛盾的衝突來逐步實現的。我特彆欣賞作者對於“溝通障礙”的處理，很多關鍵的情感交流都是通過非語言的方式完成的，比如眼神的交匯、肢體的笨拙接觸，這些細節的描摹，反而比大段的對話更有力量，更能打動人心。每次讀到R為瞭保護硃莉而違背他“種族”的本能時，那種強烈的戲劇張力都會讓我屏住呼吸，為他捏一把汗。這本書的節奏掌控得非常好，前半部分的疏離和睏惑，到後半部分的逐漸清晰和堅定，形成瞭一個完美的弧綫。
评分總體而言，這部作品的魅力在於它對“界限”的不斷模糊和挑戰。它挑戰瞭生與死的二元對立，挑戰瞭愛與本能的衝突，甚至挑戰瞭我們對“美醜”的傳統定義。作者沒有給齣簡單的答案，而是將所有的矛盾和張力都保留在瞭角色們的互動之中，讓讀者自己去體驗和消化。尤其是在社會環境的描寫上，比如幸存者聚居地的緊張氣氛，以及他們對“異類”的恐懼和排斥，為R和硃莉的關係增添瞭巨大的外部壓力。正是這種外部的壓迫，反襯齣他們之間情感的珍貴和脆弱。與其說這是一部奇幻小說，不如說它是一部關於成長的寓言，關於如何在一個破碎的世界裏，找到值得為之付齣一切的理由。那種在絕望廢墟上重新發芽的希望感，是這本書最強大的感染力所在，它比任何華麗的辭藻都更能觸動人心。
评分這部小說簡直是一股清新的泥石流，讓我徹底顛覆瞭對僵屍題材的刻闆印象。故事的開篇就帶著一種近乎荒誕的幽默感，主角R的內心獨白充滿瞭對生存的迷茫和對“活著”的渴望，那種笨拙而又真誠的自我剖析，讓人一下子就對他這個非典型“死人”産生瞭莫名的親近感。作者在構建這個後末日世界時，並沒有過度渲染血腥和恐怖，而是將重點放在瞭情感的微妙變化上。R吞噬人類大腦後體驗到的那種情緒的“迴響”，成瞭一種連接他與過往人性的橋梁，這種設定太巧妙瞭。我尤其喜歡他對硃莉那種小心翼翼的、近乎童稚的好奇心和保護欲。他笨拙地試圖理解人類的規則，卻又被本能驅動著做齣一些令人啼笑皆非的舉動。讀起來，你會忍不住跟著R一起探索，什麼是真正的“人性”，是不是隻有心髒還在跳動，纔算得上是“活”著的？那種在絕望中尋找微光的敘事基調，處理得既有深度又不失輕快，完全超乎預期。
评分這本書的敘事聲音非常獨特，帶有一種旁觀者清的疏離感和恰到好處的自嘲。作者似乎很擅長在極端的環境下捕捉人性的微小光芒。例如，R在試圖模仿人類行為時的那種手足無措，或者他對於“音樂”這種抽象概念的初次理解，這些片段都處理得極其巧妙，既推進瞭劇情，又豐富瞭角色的內心世界。它有一種後現代的戲謔感，用一種看似荒謬的設定，去探討最核心的生存價值和情感連接。我發現自己很容易就能代入R的視角，因為他的內心活動是如此的“原始”和“未被汙染”，沒有成人世界的復雜算計。這使得他與硃莉之間的情感發展，像是一切從零開始的純淨體驗。每次翻頁，我都期待著R又會因為哪件小事而産生新的“共鳴”，這種期待感貫穿始終，讓人欲罷不能，仿佛在跟隨一個全新的物種一起學習如何去愛。
评分没有想象中的好，纸的质量不好
评分从中获得宝贵的启示并能懂得人生的真谛及生活的意义。 生快事，莫如读书。
评分从中获得宝贵的启示并能懂得人生的真谛及生活的意义。 生快事，莫如读书。
评分快递不错很快回头查了一下，我是从2010年3月开始网络购书的，算起来快5年了。师傅是我的女友“好梦”，她是个样样时尚都能搞懂的70后女子，若干年前我看她拿了一摞书在付款，才知道还有这等方便之事：网上选书，书到付款。于是赶紧回家登录京东书城，挑选，下单。果然，很快书就送到了。从那时起到现在，我不知在京东下了多少订单，四五十次应该有了吧，因为我早已是VIP钻石用户啦。好了，废话不多说。
评分速度好快就收到货了 发货真是出乎意料的快，昨天下午订的货，第二天一早就收到了，赞一个，书质量很好，正版。独立包装，每一本有购物清单，让人放心。帮人家买的书，周五买的书，周天就收到了，快递很好也很快，包装很完整，跟同学一起买的两本，我们都很喜欢，谢谢！对于有钱人来说，他们不在乎东西值多少钱，和女朋友在一起他们注重的是心上人的开心，和领在一起，他们在乎的是给领买些高贵的东西，指望着自己有机会高升，和小三在一起，我就不多说了，对于我们农村的孩子来说，我们希望物美价廉，不是我们想买盗版货，不是我们爱到批发部去买，也不是我们爱和小贩斤斤计较，是我们微薄的收入难以支付。总的来说购物本身是一个开心的过程，从中我们利用自己的劳动购买自己需要的东西。京东商城的东西太便宜了，所以我来买了。爱玲女士在文字上的天才，固然令人倾倒。但是她的两个男友，前者胡兰成，后者赖雅，对于爱玲，均算不得佳偶。有人分析说，爱玲欠缺良好父爱的童年阴影，使得她终生都在寻找坏男人的圈子里打转转。父母对人的影响之重大，往往出乎人自身的意料。很多人一生的目标，都在追求别人的认同或者羡慕，甚或是鬼魂——已经过世的父母或祖辈的鬼魂的表彰。在伴侣关系中，人们寻找另一半的类型，往往会是父亲或母亲的形象投射，然后加以理想的修饰。遗憾的是，这两种人格模型，爱玲都具有。现在，京东域名正式更换为JDCOM。其中的“JD”是京东汉语拼音（JING DON|G）首字母组合。从此，您不用再特意记忆京东的域名，也无需先搜索再点击，只要在浏览器输入JD.COM，即可方便快捷地访问京东，实现轻松购物。名为“Joy”的京东吉祥物我很喜欢，TA承载着京东对我们的承诺和努力。狗以对主人忠诚而著称，同时也拥有正直的品行，和快捷的奔跑速度。太喜爱京东了。|给大家介绍本好书《我们如何走到这一步》自序：这些年，你过得怎么样我曾经想过，如果能时光穿梭，遇见从前的自己，是否可以和她做朋友。但我审慎地不敢发表意见。因为从前的自己是多么无知，这件事是很清楚的。就算怀着再复杂的爱去回望，没准儿也能气个半死，看着她在那条傻乎乎的路上跌跌撞撞前行，忍不住开口相劝，搞不好还会被她厌弃。你看天下的事情往往都是一厢情愿。当然我也忍住了各种吐槽，人总是要给自己留余地的，因为还有一种可能是，未来的自己回望现在，看见的还是一个人。好在现在不敢轻易放狠话了，所以总算显得比年轻的时候还有一分从容。但不管什么时候的你，都是你。这时间轴上反复上演的就是打怪兽的过程。过去困扰你的事情，现在已可轻易解决，但往往还有更大的boss在前面等你。“人怎么可能没有烦恼呢”——无论是你初中毕业的那个午后，或者多年后功成名就那一天，总有不同忧伤涌上心头：有些烦恼是钱可以解决的，而更伤悲的是有些烦恼是钱解决不了的。我们曾经在年少时想象的“等到什么什么的时候就一切都好起来了”根本就是个谬论。所以，只能咬着牙继续朝前走吧。
评分东西写得比较详细 宝贝非常不错，和图片上描述的完全吻合，丝毫不差，无论色泽还是哪些方面，都十分让我觉得应该称赞较好，完美！ 书是正品，很不错！速度也快，绝对的好评，下次还来京东，因为看到一句话 女人可以不买漂亮衣服不买奢侈的化妆品但不能不看书，买了几本书都很好 值得看。今天家里没有牛奶了，我和妈妈晚上便去门口的苏果便利买了一箱牛奶和一点饮料。刚好，苏果便利有一台电脑坏了，于是便开启了另外一台电脑。因为开电脑和调试的时间，队伍越排越长。过了5分钟，有一个阿姨突然提出把键盘换了，这样就能刷卡了。我妈妈就在旁边讲了一句：“键盘不能热插拔，必须要重启。”那个阿姨好像没听见，还在坚持已见。我提出：“妈妈，我们不要在这家店卖了吧！又不是在其他地方买不到。”妈妈看了看队伍，同意了。我们把东西一放，就去了另一家百货。我提出要换另一家店不是只因为这队伍太长，还有店员素质之差。你布置了两台电脑，那你随时都要准备好换一台电脑呀，你现在让人的感觉就是你只有一台电脑能用，那一台就好像是摆设，没有一点用。我气愤不过跟妈妈说“我们去网上买吧”这样就来京东了，看到了这本书就顺便买了。好了，我现在来说说这本书的观感吧，一个人重要的是找到自己的腔调，不论说话还是写字。腔调一旦确立，就好比打架有了块趁手的板砖，怎么使怎么顺手，怎么拍怎么有劲，顺带着身体姿态也挥洒自如，打架简直成了舞蹈，兼有了美感和韵味。要论到写字，腔调甚至先于主题，它是一个人特有的形式，或者工具；不这么说，不这么写，就会别扭；工欲善其事，必先利其器，腔调有时候就是“器”，有时候又是“事”，对一篇文章或者一本书来说，器就是事，事就是器。这本书，的确是用他特有的腔调表达了对“腔调”本身的赞美。|据悉，京东已经建立华北、华东、华南、西南、华中、东北六大物流中心，同时在全国超过360座城市建立核心城市配送站。是中国最大的综合网络零售商，是中国电子商务领域最受消费者欢迎和最具有影响力的电子商务网站之一，在线销售家电、数码通讯、电脑、家居百货、服装服饰、母婴、图书、食品、在线旅游等12大类数万个品牌百万种优质商品。选择京东。好了，现在给大家介绍两本好书：《电影学院037?电影语言的语法:电影剪辑的奥秘》编辑推荐：全球畅销三十余年并被翻译成数十种语言，被公认为讨论导演、摄影、剪辑等电影影像画面组织技巧方面最详密、实用的经典之作。|从实践出发阐明摄影机位、场面调度、剪辑等电影语言，为“用画面讲故事”奠定基础；百科全书式的工作手册，囊括拍摄中的所有基本设计方案，如对话场面、人物运动，使初学者能够迅速掌握专业方法；近500幅机位图、故事板贯穿全书，帮助读者一目了然地理解电影语言；对大量经典影片的典型段落进行多角度分析，如《西北偏北》、《放大》、《广岛之恋》、《桂河大桥》，深入揭示其中激动人心的奥秘；《致青年电影人的信:电影圈新人的入行锦囊》是中国老一辈电影教育工作者精心挑选的教材，在翻译、审订中投入了巨大的心力，译笔简明、准确、流畅，惠及无数电影人。二、你是否也有错过的挚爱？有些人，没有在一起，也好。如何遇见不要紧，要紧的是，如何告别。《莫失莫忘》并不简单是一本爱情小说，作者将众多社会事件作为故事的时代背景，俨然一部加长版的《倾城之恋》。“莫失莫忘”是贾宝玉那块通灵宝玉上刻的字，代表着一段看似完美实则无终的金玉良缘。叹人间美中不足今方信，纵然是举案齐眉，到底意难平。“相爱时不离不弃，分开后莫失莫忘”，这句话是秋微对感情的信仰，也是她对善缘的执念。才女作家秋微近几年最费心力写的一本小说，写作过程中由于太过投入，以至揪心痛楚到无法继续，直至完成最后一个字，大哭一场，才得以抽离出这份情感，也算是对自己前一段写作生涯的完美告别。
评分学习和掌握一些读书的方法，这不是人生的第一大快事吗？下面，我就和大家分享读书的各种乐趣吧！
评分真的很好，物流先生态度很好，书很精美，第一次在京东买，不错，以后认准京东！
评分值得购买质量不错
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