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从古典笔记小说里汲取了七则妖物的故事，加上一则现代传奇，构成了这本本奇特的短篇小说集。

少女猪爱上了创作不出作品的音乐家；女螺走进的是一个妻子离开、父子关系紧绷的家庭；马男的爱付给了一个亲人不在身边的女生；狐妖爱上了那个和自。己一样找不到自己的男生

当这些人遇到了这些妖物，他们如陷入流沙，只能沉溺于这些妖物所给予他们的拯救中。他们在与这些妖物的交往中，或许并不是沉迷于妖物所给予的情欲，他们是在把这些妖物当成唯一与这个世界攀上关系的纽带，在已经岌岌可危的绳索面前，他们唯有相信这些妖物，相信这些用身体来带他们体味“真实”的妖物们。

尽管最后，一些人仍旧得面对现实的残酷。

但至少，他们可以确认，自己是那么寂寞。

而阅读的我们，也在读完故事被感动后，发现原来自己也是这么寂寞。

也许错身未知，也许缄封也秘；也许你不愿承认，妖物活在你心底。从《海水正蓝》开始，最会说故事的短篇小说天后，创最畅销的短篇小说纪录！华语世界最绮丽动人的妖魅小说，照见都市里一颗颗寂寞的心。

尽管我们曾经那么悲伤、寂寞、无奈，也曾有秘密与传奇，但我们依然这么单纯，这么简单地生活。

缠缔悱恻是琼瑶，飘逸空灵是亦舒，颓唐冷郁是安妮，甜甜腻腻禺尔有点小淘气的是小娴。那都不是张曼娟。在她的爱情流域里，是疼痛或喜悦的秘密心事；是多愁善感的青春情怀；是轻快忧悒的语调空间；是“清水烧”那般铭心的痛楚；是“秋日地铁”那份淡然与释怀。

我只是一个恋者

爱情，在一切物质中存在

忧郁，袅袅飞起

伞，海角天边

通往天堂的指纹

濡湿以后

梦的入口

永恒的倾诉

棉花糖的保存秘术

男人的瓶中信

丢失的拖鞋

甜蜜如浆，烤番薯

剥开我，你只会流泪

相爱若是短暂，相思才能久长

穿越

探望

我等过

翅膀的痕迹

如果

深深凝视

蝶恋花

长相思

练唱

问候

月光笺

原野

承诺

黄玫瑰

如诗，如传奇，古老又崭新

　关睢宫

　他们不过桥

　执迷于爱，至死不悔

　杰奎琳和她的密友

　从今以后

　爱的猎杀

遇见你，才找到遗失的那块灵魂拼图

等待，一九九七

一颗眼泪

寄给你的明信片

你握不住的爱情

你过得好不好

爱，是一种道德

早点睡吧，宝宝

比地震更决裂

静静相守的时刻

别离的寓言

一堵墙

我已经久候的，你的微笑

那一年，雪掩覆了我的靴

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散佚的童话

　　张曼娟，她是爱情的思考者和诠释者，迷恋爱情中的微笑和眼泪，明白爱别离的惆怅，却无所畏惧。

　　自觉是一个“因为爱，所以存在”的爱情动物，拥有一半占有一半放手的爱情灵魂。

　　她的深情语录倾倒众生，仿佛就是一则爱情寓言，这本爱情散文集，纪念一切与爱相关

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爱情，在一切物质中存在

　忧郁，袅袅飞起

　　我和多年前相恋然后又分手的男人约在一家咖啡店碰面，栽满绿色植物，充满普罗旺斯情调的店家，在一条蜿蜒曲折的巷弄里。因为怕我迷路，男人体贴地走到巷口来等。我到早了，远远地便见到黄昏里倚着墙正在抽烟的那男人，看见我，他迅速地扔下烟，踩熄，迎上前来，对我微笑招呼。

那一刻，我恍然以为一切都回到了往昔，他总是心慌意乱地熄烟，因为他每次都告诉我，他要为我戒烟，并且，他已经戒掉烟了。我对烟味相当敏感，绝大多数的时候，他与我见面总能清除掉身上所有的烟味，清新得像一株新生的芦荟。他的衣裳与头发，手指和皮肤，完全嗅不到烟味，我几乎就要相信，他确实成功戒烟了。为了我，为了他自己的健康，他真的做到了。可是，临别之际，他靠近来亲吻的时候，我在他的鼻管里，嗅到了烟草的气味。我于是气恼了，恼得与他闹别扭，好几天不理他，不肯接他的电话，等到我的气消了，他便宣布，在我狠心不见他的时候，他难忍痛苦的情绪，于是，又开始抽烟了。

像是一种吊诡的循环，戒烟、抽烟，戒烟、抽烟，终，他还是戒不了。但，我发现自己再不能那样严苛地看待他和他的烟了。我想象着那时候，他为了让我相信他确实戒烟成功，其实花费了许多的努力。他必须计算着与我见面的时间，在那之前就先杜绝抽烟的念头；他必须努力地刷洗自己身体的每个部位，去除残余的烟味。他确实付出过，确实努力过，这是不应该被抹灭的。许多女人可能都和我一样，用了太多气力去对抗男人抽烟的“坏习惯”，耗损的心力比防堵外遇更巨大。

“一个男人如果太容易戒烟，必然是无情的。”我的朋友瑞瑞对于男人与烟有如此精辟的见解。她以为男人对于香烟的感情是很特殊的，他们把烟当成一种寄托、一种抒发的管道，苦闷的时候、忧郁的时候，烟雾吞吐之间，达到一种升华。

她记得年少时节，在补习班遇见一个男孩子，两个人很谈得来，常常约着爬上宿舍顶楼的水塔，在月光下聊天。男孩不敢在女朋友面前抽烟，却总是在瑞瑞身边抽烟，瑞瑞向他讨烟抽，两个人仿佛分享着某种秘密，也就滋生了某种暖昧的幽微情愫。后来呢？瑞瑞顾左右而言他：“后来我看见自己抽烟的样子，吓坏了，就戒掉了。”据瑞瑞说，很多台湾女人抽烟的姿态都太男性化，眯起眼，挑起眉，凹陷脸颊的形象，翻版自我们的父亲或兄弟，并不优雅妩媚。这倒是真的，我去西班牙旅行，一路上男女老幼，人手一支烟，薰得我鼻涕眼泪一起来，可是，那里的女人抽烟的姿态确实很美，袅娜撩人。或许因为在那里，女人抽烟的历史够长够久了。

许多男人尽管自己抽烟，却不许女人抽烟，表面的理由是对身体不好，真正的理由是女人抽烟不好看。我认识许多女人都不在别人面前抽烟，她们被性别所禁制了。在西班牙的洗衣店里我看见这样的告示牌：“可以任意吸烟，这里不是美国”。我很想送给只敢躲起来抽烟的我的女性朋友，这样的告示牌：“可以任意吸烟，虽然你是女人。”

　伞，海角天边

　　我喜欢伞，因为伞骨总亲昵地靠在一起，撑开来又有着那样美丽的圆弧形状。小时候穿着雨衣的我，为了有一天可以撑伞，期待长大。念中学开始，我摆脱了湿淋淋气味酸腐的雨衣，书包里放着一把折叠伞，很有些沾沾自喜。几年之后，渐渐不耐烦带伞出门了，有一次和一群同学从视听教室出来，准备搭公车回家，豆大的雨点落下来，将廊檐敲得叮当响，我们都没带伞，挤在檐下避雨。忽然一位学长说：“你们这些女生怎么搞的？竟然一把伞也没带？”其他的男生一起附和，身边的女同学很不好意思地解释，说是出门时没想到会下雨嘛……沉默的我有着小小的困惑与不平：谁说带伞是女人的责任？

如果下雨时，有个男人体贴地为我撑伞，我想，我一定会爱上他。

这想法很快就面临挑战了，大学里有个男生常常会在我上课的教室附近晃荡，有时候托人送来一颗苹果，或者是一包蜜饯，当然，也送来他的诗，那些诗有时候还会登在校刊上。当我在台上排戏的时候，他坐在台下发呆似的盯着我看，那晚排完戏，下起大雨来，我照例没有带伞，他撑一把黑伞，在礼堂门口等着送我去搭车，我不肯和他一起走，他不肯我淋雨，僵持之中他忽然将伞塞进我的手中，很快地跑开，消失在黑夜里。我托同学将伞还给他，并且请他不要再等我了。过了一段时间，校刊上他的诗这样写着：“为你撑伞／却当我是有毒的蘑菇。”从那时候我就明白，并不是一把伞，就能让我爱上一个男人。事情绝不会那么简单。

伞，也让我学会比较坦然地面对失去——人的一生到底得丢几把伞昵——我们丢掉伞又捡到伞，许多伞在不同的手中流转。“管它是谁的？能遮雨就好。”我的朋友瑞瑞很少淋雨。我不捡别人的伞，甚至在下雨时还会想念我曾经拥有过的那些伞。某个阶段我特别喜欢折叠式的小伞，轻便好携带，不下雨的时候也不会显得多余。我偏爱一把质材很轻，内里与外表的花色完全不同的折伞，我撑着它去上课，将它放在讲台旁晾干，学生常常会歆羡地赞叹，好漂亮的伞。那把伞有一次被我遗忘在教室里，就此遗失，学生们都有种歉疚感，仿佛未善尽督护之责。

我还有过一把金黄色的欧风长柄伞，手把处像一个花苞，镶嵌着一颗红宝石似的琉璃，像一柄宝剑，当我带着它总会吸引不少目光。从此我爱上长柄伞，不仅是装饰，还可以防身，这伞跟了我很多年，终还是遗失了，令我好生惆怅。然而，惆怅何止于此，我曾经和一个男人进行着一场秘密的爱恋，我们到异地旅行，遇雨，我挑了一把伞，他付了钱。他希望我带伞回家，而我坚持不肯，他不明白一个女人在爱情里怎会有这么多的忌讳？我不明白为什么我们那么小心翼翼还是散了？那柄伞依旧在他的办公室，我们却各自流转到不同的爱情里了。

走过海角天边，遇过许多带伞不带伞的人，如今，身边有个优雅的男人，下雨的时候总会为我撑伞，他不觉得带伞是女人的责任，他总有许多细心体贴的举动，但我并没有心动，我知道他是一个gay，而我喜欢与他共撑一把伞，那种相依相伴的感觉。

　通往天堂的指纹

和我的朋友瑞瑞在购物中心闲逛，靠着二楼的栏杆往下看，一个色彩缤纷的摊子前，聚拢着一群人。我拉住瑞瑞说：“看！那是卖‘蜡手’的。”瑞瑞一边被我拖着往楼下凑热闹，一边狐疑地问：“真是什么都有得卖，还有卖‘辣手’的？卖不卖‘摧花’啊？”

这是已经流行了一阵子的新玩意，玩来玩去好玩的还是自己，用温热的蜡铸出一只自己的手，再染上不同的颜色，可以做成相片架或是手机台，又或者是送给情人当成纪念。许多蜡手陈列在台子上，有竖起大拇指的；比出V字形胜利手势的，当然也有昂起中指的睥睨表情。

我想到的却是那些在我的生命中经过的手，和我自己的手所经过的那些人。

我是从什么时候开始觉得手是人体中有趣的部分的呢？一定不是当我坐在钢琴前面，怎么努力也弹不好的时候。我的手指比一般人都要柔软许多，我在握笔和弹琴的时候总比其他小朋友吃力些，老师于是说，我老是心不在焉，并没有察觉到我的异样。后来，有些朋友握住我的手，眼中闪动着惊奇，啊，你的手好软，我才知道自己的手确实与其他人不同。也是从那时候开始，我有意识地注意着别人的手：我悄悄打量那个男人骨节粗大的手，我注意着那个女人秃秃的指甲，我惊讶地发现那男孩的手比女人还秀气。

我体验到很多生命里敏锐的感觉，是透过手传递而来的。爱着一个人的时候，我的知觉全被他摄了去，每次呼吸都有高危险的相思浓度，却还不够，仍企求更多，更多濒临崩溃的快乐和痛楚，永不餍足。直到在漆黑的暗巷里，在人声鼎沸的街道上，在电影播放着煽情的片段，忽然，握住他的手。两只手的相遇，让灵魂安定。我的另一个忧虑同时缓缓升起，被这样牵着手的我，往往失去自己的主意，只想跟着这个人走到海角天边。

世界上每个人的指纹都不一样，我想象着每个时刻，自己在不同的地方留下了同样的指纹。我的杯子和台灯；我的电脑和档案夹；我的风衣和情人，都是我的指纹，虽然看不见，却存在着。

瑞瑞说过，她年轻时与挚爱的情人不得不分离，那一夜他们裸身相拥，沉沉睡去。男人的手掌犹为霸气地握住一只她的乳房，天明后他们醒来，男人的掌与她的胸已紧密贴合，仿佛皮肉在一夜之间交互滋生，男人的手掌抽离时，她痛得落下泪来。男人离去之后，她总觉得乳上犹存着男人的掌痕，时时发烫，还能感觉到脉搏的跳动，曾经她以为，这痕迹将永不褪除，已经成为身体的一部分。

于是我也想到我的身上遗留下来的那些指纹，那些爱过我的温柔抚触，深深浅浅，使我喜悦或令我疼痛的，肉眼看不见却可能是永恒存在的指纹。当我死去之后，仍布满着我的身躯。我不知道究竟怎样的人才能上天堂？人皆自私，人皆软弱，人皆恐惧，但，爱与被爱的时刻，情人的手轻轻碰触，我忽然觉得勇敢，变得坚强而慷慨。烙印着这些爱人与被爱的指纹，天堂之门，是否将为我开启？

　濡湿以后

躺在沐发椅上，我瞥见邻座年轻女孩乌亮的长发，在热水冲洗之下，化成一条条黑色的蛇，蛇身旋转着，落入池中。同时，我嗅到洗发精的气味，从我濡湿的发根漫延开来，于是，我闭上了眼睛。我闭上眼睛的刹那，记忆张开了眼，小小的我头上全是肥皂泡，母亲正用药皂抹在我的头上，一边揉搓着，让泡泡生出来。有时候肥皂泡流进眼睛，我便扭着身子哭叫起来，好痛好痛……母亲总是机会教育，告诉我，用肥皂洗头已经很幸福了，当她像我这种年龄，都是用碱洗头的。我只知道碱可以做成棕子，蒸馒头也需要碱，却不知道碱也能洗头。

然后，一包包的洗发粉出现了，我喜欢耐斯的气味，国中时代，许多不快乐的晨昏里，撕开耐斯的瞬间，都能带给我难以述说的愉悦。到国中剪短头发之后，才学着自己洗头的我，起无法将洗发粉溶解开来，有时候洗完了还有颗粒留在发问，母亲教我必须先将头发完全濡湿，再一遍遍地揉了再揉，粉末才能渐渐溶成泡沫。我将头发浸在温热的水中，让每根发丝都濡湿之后，慢慢地揉了再揉，我的耐心就这样被训练完成，明白很多事都要靠时间成就。

那种叫做“绿野香波”的洗发精，彻底改变了洗发这件事。绿色的透明液体装在瓶子里，散发着绿野草花的香味，尽管是那么人工，但是，在“可丽柔，绿野香波”的歌声中，看着金发模特儿穿着飘逸的白色洋装，在花藤编成的秋千上荡啊荡的，这样的浪漫情怀，还是让人忍不住向往。那时候很多年轻女孩，都留着林青霞式的中分长发，一阵风过，飘起的都是绿野香波的气味。这长发这香味，当然也包括我自己。

接着，各种品牌的洗发精愈来愈多，“566”、“333”、“洗发精”，不仅要能洗干净，还要能滋养，使秀发闪闪发亮。当红女星几乎都被选为洗发精的代言人，从陈莎莉、崔苔菁、欧阳菲菲到王菲、张曼玉、章子怡，我们看见日新月异的洗发精不断推陈出新，也看见一代新人换旧人。

每个女人都会有一种特殊的记忆，是关于洗发精的。我的朋友阿命说，她记忆中有一种奇异的洗发精的气味，是在北海道大雪纷飞的旅邸中。那天，她和恋人吵了一架，谁也不肯低头，他们各自盘据在小小的房间的一角，她到洗手间去洗头，浸湿了头发才想到自己入冬就会龟裂的手指，医生几度警告不可以碰洗发精和肥皂的。她咬咬牙还是挤出洗发精，忽然，一双温暖的手，伸进了她的发间。恋人一句话也没说，安静地为她洗头，冲洗干净，替她用毛巾擦干，她忍不住拥抱住恋人。那个旅邸中的洗发精成为一种记忆，多年来她一直在找相同的品牌与气味，哪怕他们已经分手了，她还在寻找。

在《红玫瑰与白玫瑰》中，张爱玲把洗发这件事写得如此感官，刚刚洗过头的娇蕊与振保初次见面：“这女人把右手从头发里抽出来，待要与客人握手，看看手上有肥皂，不便伸过来，单只笑着点了个头，把手指在浴衣上揩了一揩，溅了点肥皂沫子到振保手背上。他不肯擦掉它，由它自己干了，那一块皮肤上便有一种紧缩的感觉，像有张嘴轻轻吸着它似的。”洗发精确实是感官的，因为它的泡沫，因为它的气味，而它的一切美与想象，都在濡湿以后。

　梦的入口

我的头靠在枕上，从颈子开始松弛，然后是肩臂，睡意像一只貂，轻巧地爬过我的腰，然后是脚，就要睡去了，在深深的夜里。在一个枕头的倚托下，我把自己交给睡眠，也交给不能预测的梦境。

我曾经收到过一个枕头，作为生日礼物，那时我正陷在自己的轻忧郁之中，总是睡不好。捧着枕头的我的朋友说：“换一个枕头，也许能睡得好一些。”我在她的好意之中颔首，并且开始换枕头。我脱下枕头套，赫然看见用了一段时间的枕头里布上，黄褐色的斑斑点点的痕迹，这些都是我淌流过的眼泪啊。在睡前，那段空白的时间，很多因为爱而生出的委屈和痛楚缓缓包围住我，于是，我的脸贴着枕头，我的泪顺着眼角倾流而出，枕头沉默地吸去了我的泪，却留下这些触目惊心的创痕。我用一种前所未有的微妙复杂的心情，环抱住那个即将被丢弃的枕头。

唐传奇小说里的崔莺莺在婢女红娘的陪伴下，到西厢房与张生私会时，红娘先将莺莺的枕头送去，唤醒正在睡梦中的张生，使张生又惊又疑，看着那个枕头，还以为自己在做梦。偷情的女人，连枕头都要自己带着，可见这是多么私密的个人用品啊。

　　……

在线阅读地址：#N/A在线阅读

在线听书地址：#N/A在线收听

在线购买地址：#N/A在线购买

暂无原文赏析，正在全力查找中！

编辑推荐

　　华语世界*能敲动人心灵的爱情散文，献给所有恋者二十年来*经典的“情书”。

　　从爱情出发，精选、呈现于所有恋人眼前，再次勾动你深深的思念。

　　缠绵悱恻是琼瑶，飘逸空灵是亦舒，颓唐冷郁是安妮，甜甜腻腻偶尔有点小淘气的是小娴。那都不是张曼娟。在她的爱情流域里，是疼痛或喜悦的秘密心事；是多愁善感的青春情怀；是轻快忧悒的语调空间；是“清水烧”那般铭心的痛楚；是“秋日地铁”那份淡然与释怀……

书摘插图

媒体评论

　　当我们决定爱一个人时，便已经是一个恋者了。

　　恋者是有创造力的人，有时候甚至能创造神迹。

　　恋者说，有光，于是，一颗颗黑暗的心灵就被照亮了；恋者说，有水，于是，那已经干涸的眼瞳又重新蓄积了生命之泉。

　　距离本散文集《缘起不灭》，已经有二十

书籍介绍

从古典笔记小说里汲取了七则妖物的故事，加上一则现代传奇，构成了这本本奇特的短篇小说集。

少女猪爱上了创作不出作品的音乐家；女螺走进的是一个妻子离开、父子关系紧绷的家庭；马男的爱付给了一个亲人不在身边的女生；狐妖爱上了那个和自。己一样找不到自己的男生

当这些人遇到了这些妖物，他们如陷入流沙，只能沉溺于这些妖物所给予他们的拯救中。他们在与这些妖物的交往中，或许并不是沉迷于妖物所给予的情欲，他们是在把这些妖物当成唯一与这个世界攀上关系的纽带，在已经岌岌可危的绳索面前，他们唯有相信这些妖物，相信这些用身体来带他们体味“真实”的妖物们。

尽管最后，一些人仍旧得面对现实的残酷。

但至少，他们可以确认，自己是那么寂寞。

而阅读的我们，也在读完故事被感动后，发现原来自己也是这么寂寞。

也许错身未知，也许缄封也秘；也许你不愿承认，妖物活在你心底。从《海水正蓝》开始，最会说故事的短篇小说天后，创最畅销的短篇小说纪录！华语世界最绮丽动人的妖魅小说，照见都市里一颗颗寂寞的心。

尽管我们曾经那么悲伤、寂寞、无奈，也曾有秘密与传奇，但我们依然这么单纯，这么简单地生活。

缠缔悱恻是琼瑶，飘逸空灵是亦舒，颓唐冷郁是安妮，甜甜腻腻禺尔有点小淘气的是小娴。那都不是张曼娟。在她的爱情流域里，是疼痛或喜悦的秘密心事；是多愁善感的青春情怀；是轻快忧悒的语调空间；是“清水烧”那般铭心的痛楚；是“秋日地铁”那份淡然与释怀。

• 作者：翁小样 发布时间：2010-09-05 10:47:27

  中心馆借（《你是我生命的缺口》 http://book.douban.com/review/3210073/） 8号线上看完；卢图借（《海水正蓝》 http://book.douban.com/review/3644644/ 《张曼娟妖物志》 http://book.douban.com/review/3644661/）外公家沙发上看完

• 作者：潘萌SoPhia 发布时间：2009-01-31 12:40:37

  浅显,胜在清新舒朗.感觉作者人好好的样子.

• 作者：书庭 发布时间：2009-04-28 18:14:45

  09.7.1.海水正蓝

• 作者：爛棉花 发布时间：2009-12-16 19:19:11

  孰人孰妖？

• 作者：善柔 发布时间：2013-11-07 18:12:01

  亚当斯密评价十八世纪的中国：贫富差距太大，有钱有势的人得到过分的保护，穷人则毫无保护，这样的社会走不远。 薛涌的立意好，文章好，可读性强。

  另：薛老师提到，要多读英文书，少读中文。哎- -可惜了我这程度还远远达不到。

• 作者：盈盈美黛子 发布时间：2010-03-15 16:33:54

  看《永恒的羽翼》时，眼泪禁不住花花地流~

• 鼠尾續貂

  作者：wavyfly 发布时间：2019-11-25 11:15:48

  #

  書

  # 2019《Find Me》3/10

  作者：André Aciman

  出版社：Farrar, Straus and Giroux

  出版時間：2019-10-29

  頁數：224

  精簡版：單獨讀書筆記

  到底是什麼支撐我讀完這兩百多頁的贗品的？是憤怒！除此以外我想不到任何理由！

  已經做好了是狗尾續貂的心理準備，但還是心存僥倖：來個老套王子和王子從此幸福地柴米油鹽happily ever after也是可以接受的嘛。

  沒想到……沒想到！

  Aciman絕對是被《Call Me By Your Name》的成功沖昏了頭腦，根本沒有思考好這本書到底要講什麼，頭重腳輕，結尾江郎才盡，只能戈然而止——假如以作品是否引發情緒作為判斷標準的話，這本書絕對超越上一本——讀得一肚子火，不知道是生氣作者硬生生打碎一個夢，還是痛恨自己為什麼手賤忍不住非要讀！

  閱讀目錄時候，還在佩服Aciman的想法，四個章節命名Tempo，Cadenza，Capriccio和Da Capo看上去像是又一首精彩的樂曲，但閱讀過程腦裡響著的是廉價馬戲團配樂——喜怒哀樂刻意為之，故事轉換依靠著kitsch的"Find Me"硬生生串起來，連超市收銀台前的愛情小說都比它來的合理耐讀。

  《Tempo》

  如果這本書不是擦著《Call Me By Your Name》的邊，這一章勉強可以擠進中年危機男YY書籍列表：中年大學教授火車上偶遇年輕女攝影師，一兩句話就已經認為對方是人生難得知己，故作姿態互相試探，失而復得後攤開心扉，血腥情話加上激情床戰，最後走上婚姻殿堂……

  他們兩個一步步心意全開，在跨越的邊緣來回踱步，男龜毛又賊心，還好女追男隔層紗，羅馬夜空下又多了對癡男怨女——Aciman擅長的人物心理描寫，嘮嘮叨叨把這一切刻畫得如同油畫般細膩厚實。故事的確老套，但消遣讀讀還是可以的。

  I looked at her once again, still uncertain what all this added up to. Just don’t make me hope, Miranda, don’t. I didn’t even want to raise the subject with her because that would be hoping too.

  And always, as ever, the clock is ticking. In the end, I stopped waiting, because I stopped believing that you’d stray into my life because I no longer trusted you existed. Everything else happened in my life—Miss Margutta, my marriage, Italy, my son, my career, my books—but you didn’t. I stopped waiting and learned to live without you. “What was it that you so desperately wanted in those years?” “Someone who knew me inside out, who was me in you, basically.”

  土味情話和血腥情話的混合，讓人有點跳tone，可基本符合人物性格和情節推進，就不挑刺了。

  Some people may be brokenhearted not because they’ve been hurt but because they’ve never found someone who mattered enough to hurt them.

  But she looked upset and I thought there were tears welling in her eyes. “Everything I have is yours. Not much, I know,” she said. I let a palm rub the tears down from the side of her face. “Everything you have I’ve never had. What more is there to want?”

  “You do make me love who I am.”

  “If I could open your body and slip into it and sew you back from the inside, I would do it, so I could cradle your quiet dreams and let you dream mine. I’d be the rib that hasn’t become me yet, happy to hang on and, as you said, see the world with your eyes, not mine, and hear you echo my thoughts and think they’re yours.”

  關於"living and time are not aligned and have entirely different itineraries."是本書僅有的亮點，新瓶老酒，但酒味依然濃厚醇香，細品一下頗有感觸。

  Some of us never jumped to the next level. We lost track of where we were headed and as a result stayed where we started.”

  “Perhaps because I am always trying to retrace my steps back to a spot where I should have jumped on the ferryboat headed to the other bank called life but ended up dawdling on the wrong wharf or, with my luck, took the wrong ferryboat altogether. ”

  “Aren’t those the absolute worst scenarios: the things that might have happened but never did and might still happen though we’ve given up hoping they could.”

  Some lives wait their turn because they haven’t been lived at all, while others die before they’ve lived out their time, and some are waiting to be relived because they haven’t been lived enough. Basically, we don’t know how to think of time, because time doesn’t really understand time the way we do, because time couldn’t care less what we think of time, because time is just a wobbly, unreliable metaphor for how we think about life. Because ultimately it isn’t time that is wrong for us, or we for time. It may be life itself that is wrong.”

  “Everything in my life was merely prologue until now, merely delay, merely pastime, merely waste of time until I came to know you.”

  "I like to come back later in the evening when it grows dark to watch the apartment. Then if a light goes on at my old windows, my heart just bursts.” “Why?” “Because part of me probably hasn’t given up wanting to turn back the clock. Or hasn’t quite accepted that I’ve moved on—if indeed I did move on. Perhaps all I truly want is to reconnect with the person I used to be and lost track of and simply turned my back on once I moved elsewhere. I may never want to be who I was in those days, but I do want to see him again, just for a minute or so to find out who this person is who hasn’t even left the wife he hasn’t met yet, and who is still so far from knowing he’ll be a father someday. The young man upstairs knows nothing of this, and part of me wants to bring him up-to-date and let him know I’m still alive, that I haven’t changed, and that I’m standing outside here right now—”

  所有以上這些好感，或者說不厭惡感，被作者刻意做作的故事設定完全摧毀。有必要讓女主角青年時3P勾引哥哥xx嗎？！是為了推進之後和第一男主角的SM？前面的中老年小清新，是人格分裂，對嘛？！

  The friend did not hesitate, and was right away on top of me. He was done in seconds. But now comes the part I’ll never live down. It seemed such a silly game that I told my brother it was his turn, and even shamed him for hesitating, which was when I realized—and not before—that the whole thing with his friend was simply a ruse on my part, because I wanted my brother, and I wanted him to make love to me, not just fuck me, because it would have been the most natural thing between us, and perhaps this is what lovemaking is. Even his friend urged him on. I’d rather not, she’s my sister—I’ll never forget his words. He stood up, pulled up his jeans, and lay back down on the bed and continued watching TV.

  I aped the gesture and gave her face a soft tap. “Harder, much, much harder, front and backhand.” So I slapped her once, which startled her, but she straightaway turned the other cheek, to indicate that I should slap the other as well, which I did, and she said, “Again.” “I don’t like hurting people,” I said. “Yes, but now we are as close as people who’ve lived three hundred years together, it’s your language too, whether you like it or not. You love the taste, I love it too, now kiss me.” She kissed me and I kissed her.

  寫完這章總結，我覺得不應該再浪費時間，因為全書最拿得出手的這章是如此庸俗老套。下面幾章更是不堪，不得不懷疑作者是為了收割粉絲的錢，比網絡爽文還不如的水平！！

  《Cadenza》

  如果說第一章還能看看，我拒絕接受陳腔濫調的第二章。

  精蟲上腦，心智永遠不成熟的Elio從17歲到30歲毫無成長，這對於粉絲簡直就是核爆級別的摧毀！這人生十幾年白活了？閱人無數，原來只局限在肉慾的宣洩？曾經那個靈性十足的小毛頭，也就是一慾望的黑洞？

  “How many after him?” he asked. “Not many. All short-lived. Men and women.” “Why?” “Maybe because I never really let go or lose myself with others. After an instant of passion, I always fall back to being the autonomous me.”

  “Because you and he are the standard. Now that I think of it, there’s only been the two of you. All the others were occasionals. You have given me days that justify the years I’ve been without him.”

  連標點符號都在無病呻吟，令到其中難得的幾句“真理”都讓人覺得是故作姿態，讀者完全無法進入共振心態。

  Sometimes it’s best to stop things when they’re perfect rather than race on and watch them sour.

  Fate works forward, backward, and crisscrosses sideways and couldn’t care less how we scan its purposes with our rickety little befores and afters.”

  You die and then no one speaks of you, and before you know it, no one asks, no one tells, no one even knows or wants to know. You’re extinct, you never lived, never loved. Time never casts shadows and memory doesn’t drop ashes.

  Life is not so original after all. It has uncanny ways of reminding us that, even without a God, there is a flash of retrospective brilliance in the way fate plays its cards. It doesn’t deal us fifty-two cards; it deals, say, four or five, and they happen to be the same ones our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents played. The cards look pretty frayed and bent. The choice of sequences is limited: at some point the cards will repeat themselves, seldom in the same order, but always in a pattern that seems uncannily familiar. Sometimes the last card is not even played by the one whose life ended. Fate doesn’t always respect what we believe is the end of a life. It will deal your last card to those who come after. Which is why I think all lives are condemned to remain unfinished. This is the deplorable truth we all live with. We reach the end and are by no means done with life, not by a long stretch! There are projects we barely started, matters unresolved and left hanging everywhere. Living means dying with regrets stuck in your craw. As the French poet says, Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard, by the time we learn to live, it’s already too late. And yet there must be some small joy in finding that we are each put in a position to complete the lives of others, to close the ledger they left open and play their last card for them. What could be more gratifying than to know that it will always be up to someone else to complete and round off our life? Someone whom we loved and who loves us enough.

  特別是為了主題Find Me沒頭沒腦的尋找失蹤猶太故人，忍著怒氣看到章節結尾居然尋人就不了了之？愛情不愛情，肉慾不肉慾，偵探不偵探，亂七八糟的大雜燴，Aciman真的知道自己在寫什麼嗎？

  《Capriccio》

  為了Oliver，皺著眉打開第三章：炫技的文字和結構，Aciman嘗試讓Oliver把對Elio的思念投射到兩個年輕人身上，但人物無厘頭的上場和離開，刻意得讓人火遮眼——Aciman你認為這樣隨意擺弄無辜他人的自私，是這段感情最好的註腳？！

  You fool, it takes two of them to make one of me. I can be man and woman, or both, because you’ve been both to me. Find me, Oliver. Find me.

  The only one who doesn’t know is you. But now even you know. You’ve been disloyal. To what, to whom? To yourself.

  Why? Because my life stopped there. Because I never really left. Because the rest of me here has been like the severed tail of a lizard that flays and lashes about, while the body’s stayed behind all the way across the Atlantic in that wonderful house by the sea. I’ve been away for far too long. Are you leaving me? I think so. And the children too? I’ll always be their father. And when is this happening? I don’t know. Soon. I can’t say I’m surprised.

  This was what death was like: you see people but they don’t see you, and worse yet, you’re trapped being who you were in the moment you died—buying corrugated boxes—and you never changed into the one person you could have been and knew you really were, and you never redressed the one mistake that threw your life off course and now you were forever trapped doing the very last stupid thing you were doing, buying corrugated boxes and tape. I was forty-four years old. I was already dead—and yet too young, too young to die.

  《Da Capo》

  浪費了《Da Capo》“返始”如此美麗的一個標題，作者選擇了一個庸俗到讓人發指的大團圓結尾，兩個渣男手牽手走向夕陽。

  也罷也罷，有了結局，讀者夢就該醒了，童話真的是騙人的。

  the lure of bygone days had never left him, that he had forgotten nothing and didn’t want to forget, and that even if he couldn’t write or call to see whether I too had forgotten nothing, still, he knew that though neither of us sought out the other it was only because we had never really parted and that, regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and find me. “And you did.” “And I did,” he said.

  情節勉強，結構混亂，文筆呻吟。如果不是看了Aciman的採訪，根本不敢相信這是他的作品，更不敢相信這是回應全球粉絲對Call Me By Your Name續集的呼喊。

  鼠尾續貂，這本書絕對不應該出現，絕對！

  詳細版：讀書筆記+相關摘錄

  到底是什麼支撐我讀完這兩百多頁的贗品的？是憤怒！除此以外我想不到任何理由！

  已經做好了是狗尾續貂的心理準備，但還是心存僥倖：來個老套王子和王子從此幸福地柴米油鹽happily ever after也是可以接受的嘛。

  沒想到……沒想到！

  Aciman絕對是被《Call Me By Your Name》的成功沖昏了頭腦，根本沒有思考好這本書到底要講什麼，頭重腳輕，結尾江郎才盡，只能戈然而止——假如以作品是否引發情緒作為判斷標準的話，這本書絕對超越上一本——讀得一肚子火，不知道是生氣作者硬生生打碎一個夢，還是痛恨自己為什麼手賤忍不住非要讀！

  閱讀目錄時候，還在佩服Aciman的想法，四個章節命名Tempo，Cadenza，Capriccio和Da Capo看上去像是又一首精彩的樂曲，但閱讀過程腦裡響著的是廉價馬戲團配樂——喜怒哀樂刻意為之，故事轉換依靠著kitsch的"Find Me"硬生生串起來，連超市收銀台前的愛情小說都比它來的合理耐讀。

  《Tempo》

  如果這本書不是擦著《Call Me By Your Name》的邊，這一章勉強可以擠進中年危機男YY書籍列表：中年大學教授火車上偶遇年輕女攝影師，一兩句話就已經認為對方是人生難得知己，故作姿態互相試探，失而復得後攤開心扉，血腥情話加上激情床戰，最後走上婚姻殿堂……

  他們兩個一步步心意全開，在跨越的邊緣來回踱步，男龜毛又賊心，還好女追男隔層紗，羅馬夜空下又多了對癡男怨女——Aciman擅長的人物心理描寫，嘮嘮叨叨把這一切刻畫得如同油畫般細膩厚實。故事的確老套，但消遣讀讀還是可以的。

  I looked at her once again, still uncertain what all this added up to. Just don’t make me hope, Miranda, don’t. I didn’t even want to raise the subject with her because that would be hoping too.

  And always, as ever, the clock is ticking. In the end, I stopped waiting, because I stopped believing that you’d stray into my life because I no longer trusted you existed. Everything else happened in my life—Miss Margutta, my marriage, Italy, my son, my career, my books—but you didn’t. I stopped waiting and learned to live without you. “What was it that you so desperately wanted in those years?” “Someone who knew me inside out, who was me in you, basically.”

  while staring at my open book, I caught myself struggling to come up with something to say, if only to help defuse what had all the bearings of a gathering storm about to erupt in our little corner at the very end of the car. Then I thought twice about it. Better to leave her alone and go on with my reading. But when I caught her looking at me, I couldn’t help myself: “Why so glum?” I asked.

  I loved that what I’d just said had caught her by surprise.

  “Maybe you’re not the kind who opens up to people.” “But I’m speaking with you.” “I’m a stranger, and with strangers opening up is easy.”

  We stared at each other. I liked her warm and trusting smile; it suggested something frail and genuine, perhaps even vulnerable. No wonder the men in her life closed in on her. They knew what they were losing the moment she turned her eyes away. Out went the smile, or the languor when she asked heart-to-heart questions while staring with those piercing green eyes that never let up, out the disquieting need for intimacy that her glance tore out of every man when your eyes happened to lock on her in a public space and you knew there went your life. She was doing it right now. She made intimacy want to happen, made it easy, as if you’d always had it in you to give, and were craving to share it but realized you’d never find it in yourself unless it was with her. I wanted to hold her, touch her hand, let a finger drift along her forehead.

  A side of me thought she’d leaned even more toward me and had thought of standing up to move to the seat next to me and put both hands in mine. Had this crossed her mind and was I seizing on her wish to do so, or was I simply making it up because the wish was in me?

  Miranda put down her fork and lit a cigarette. I watched her shake the match with a decisive hand motion before dropping it into an ashtray. How strong and invulnerable she suddenly seemed. She was showing her other side, the one that sizes people up and makes hasty indictments, then shuts them off and never lets them back in except when she weakens, only to hold it against them that she did. Men were like matches: they caught fire and were shaken off and dropped in the first ashtray that came her way. I watched her take in her first puff. Yes, willful and unbending. Smoking with her face turned away from us made her look so distant and heartless. The type who always gets her way. Not exactly the good girl who doesn’t like to see people hurt.

  “I sense, though, that part of you may not like being told you’re not happy.” I attempted a polite nod that also meant I’m just going along with what you’re saying and won’t argue. “But the good part is—” she added, then caught herself once again. “The good part is?” I asked. “The good part is I don’t think you’ve closed the book or given up looking. For happiness, I mean. I like this about you.” I didn’t answer—perhaps my silence was the answer.

  Without giving it another thought, I found myself holding both her hands on the lapels of my jacket against my chest. I had planned nothing of the sort but simply let myself go and touched her forehead with my palm. I’ve seldom been this impulsive and to show I didn’t mean to cross a line began buttoning my jacket.

  I tried to withdraw but caressed her forehead one last time. Then kissed it. This time I stared at her, she wouldn’t look away. And in a gesture that caught me totally by surprise again and seemed to spring from who knows how many years back, I let my fingertip touch her on the chin, softly, the way a grown-up might hold a child’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to prevent it from crying, sensing all along, as she did herself, that, if she didn’t move, this caress on the chin was probably a prelude to what I did next, when I allowed my finger to travel along her lower lip—back and forth, back and forth. She did not move away but continued to stare at me. Nor could I tell whether I had offended her by touching her forehead this way, or whether, taken aback, she was still mulling over how to react. And still she continued to stare, bold and unbending.

  The words we’d spoken were sufficiently vague for us not to know what the other meant or what we ourselves meant, yet we both immediately sensed, without knowing why, that we’d seized the other’s underlying meaning precisely because it wasn’t spoken.

  “Maybe because you’re not a present-tense kind of person. This, for instance, is the present tense,” she said, reaching over and kissing me on the lips. It was not a full kiss, but it lingered and she let her tongue touch my lips. “And you smell good,” she said. Okay, I am fourteen now, I thought.

  I’d been alone for ever so long, even when I thought I wasn’t alone—and the taste of something as real as blood was far, far better than the taste of just nothing, of wasted and barren years, so many years.

  土味情話和血腥情話的混合，讓人有點跳tone，可基本符合人物性格和情節推進，就不挑刺了。

  Some people may be brokenhearted not because they’ve been hurt but because they’ve never found someone who mattered enough to hurt them.

  But she looked upset and I thought there were tears welling in her eyes. “Everything I have is yours. Not much, I know,” she said. I let a palm rub the tears down from the side of her face. “Everything you have I’ve never had. What more is there to want?”

  “You do make me love who I am.”

  “If I could open your body and slip into it and sew you back from the inside, I would do it, so I could cradle your quiet dreams and let you dream mine. I’d be the rib that hasn’t become me yet, happy to hang on and, as you said, see the world with your eyes, not mine, and hear you echo my thoughts and think they’re yours.”

  關於"living and time are not aligned and have entirely different itineraries."是本書僅有的亮點，新瓶老酒，但酒味依然濃厚醇香，細品一下頗有感觸。

  Some of us never jumped to the next level. We lost track of where we were headed and as a result stayed where we started.”

  “Perhaps because I am always trying to retrace my steps back to a spot where I should have jumped on the ferryboat headed to the other bank called life but ended up dawdling on the wrong wharf or, with my luck, took the wrong ferryboat altogether. ”

  “Aren’t those the absolute worst scenarios: the things that might have happened but never did and might still happen though we’ve given up hoping they could.”

  Some lives wait their turn because they haven’t been lived at all, while others die before they’ve lived out their time, and some are waiting to be relived because they haven’t been lived enough. Basically, we don’t know how to think of time, because time doesn’t really understand time the way we do, because time couldn’t care less what we think of time, because time is just a wobbly, unreliable metaphor for how we think about life. Because ultimately it isn’t time that is wrong for us, or we for time. It may be life itself that is wrong.”

  “Everything in my life was merely prologue until now, merely delay, merely pastime, merely waste of time until I came to know you.”

  "I like to come back later in the evening when it grows dark to watch the apartment. Then if a light goes on at my old windows, my heart just bursts.” “Why?” “Because part of me probably hasn’t given up wanting to turn back the clock. Or hasn’t quite accepted that I’ve moved on—if indeed I did move on. Perhaps all I truly want is to reconnect with the person I used to be and lost track of and simply turned my back on once I moved elsewhere. I may never want to be who I was in those days, but I do want to see him again, just for a minute or so to find out who this person is who hasn’t even left the wife he hasn’t met yet, and who is still so far from knowing he’ll be a father someday. The young man upstairs knows nothing of this, and part of me wants to bring him up-to-date and let him know I’m still alive, that I haven’t changed, and that I’m standing outside here right now—”

  所有以上這些好感，或者說不厭惡感，被作者刻意做作的故事設定完全摧毀。有必要讓女主角青年時3P勾引哥哥xx嗎？！是為了推進之後和第一男主角的SM？前面的中老年小清新，是人格分裂，對嘛？！

  The friend did not hesitate, and was right away on top of me. He was done in seconds. But now comes the part I’ll never live down. It seemed such a silly game that I told my brother it was his turn, and even shamed him for hesitating, which was when I realized—and not before—that the whole thing with his friend was simply a ruse on my part, because I wanted my brother, and I wanted him to make love to me, not just fuck me, because it would have been the most natural thing between us, and perhaps this is what lovemaking is. Even his friend urged him on. I’d rather not, she’s my sister—I’ll never forget his words. He stood up, pulled up his jeans, and lay back down on the bed and continued watching TV.

  I aped the gesture and gave her face a soft tap. “Harder, much, much harder, front and backhand.” So I slapped her once, which startled her, but she straightaway turned the other cheek, to indicate that I should slap the other as well, which I did, and she said, “Again.” “I don’t like hurting people,” I said. “Yes, but now we are as close as people who’ve lived three hundred years together, it’s your language too, whether you like it or not. You love the taste, I love it too, now kiss me.” She kissed me and I kissed her.

  寫完這章總結，我覺得不應該再浪費時間，因為全書最拿得出手的這章是如此庸俗老套。下面幾章更是不堪，不得不懷疑作者是為了收割粉絲的錢，比網絡爽文還不如的水平！！

  《Cadenza》

  如果說第一章還能看看，我拒絕接受陳腔濫調的第二章。

  精蟲上腦，心智永遠不成熟的Elio從17歲到30歲毫無成長，這對於粉絲簡直就是核爆級別的摧毀！這人生十幾年白活了？閱人無數，原來只局限在肉慾的宣洩？曾經那個靈性十足的小毛頭，也就是一慾望的黑洞？

  “How many after him?” he asked. “Not many. All short-lived. Men and women.” “Why?” “Maybe because I never really let go or lose myself with others. After an instant of passion, I always fall back to being the autonomous me.”

  “Because you and he are the standard. Now that I think of it, there’s only been the two of you. All the others were occasionals. You have given me days that justify the years I’ve been without him.”

  So saying he put a wise, gently patronizing arm around my shoulder. I don’t know why, but I reached for the hand that had rested on my shoulder and touched it. It had happened so seamlessly that I looked at him and we both smiled, which allowed his hand, which would most likely have left the spot, to stay just a moment longer. He turned but then looked at me once more, and I felt a sudden urge to hurl myself against him and put my arms around his upper waist right under his jacket. He must have felt something along those lines as well, because in the awkward silence that followed what he’d just said, he kept staring and I was staring back, totally undaunted, until it hit me that perhaps I had read all the signals wrong and I began to want to look away. I liked that his eyes lingered on me still, it made me feel handsome and desirable, something soft, caressing that I wanted to hold in place and didn’t want to escape from except by burrowing into his chest. I liked the promise, in his gaze, of something totally kind and guileless.

  He didn’t say anything; he simply nodded. But his wasn’t a nod of affirmation, meaning yes; it was the pensive, distracted, wistful nod of someone who normally chooses not to believe a word he’s heard.

  he placed a lingering palm on my cheek—a gesture that completely threw me off and left me feeling shaken and overcome with emotion. It had caught me by surprise. I wanted us to kiss. Just kiss me, will you, if only to help me get over being so visibly flustered.

  “Don’t let me go home tonight, Michel,” I said. I know I blushed saying this, and was already scrambling for ways to apologize and take back my words when he came to my rescue. “I was struggling to ask the very same thing but, once again, you beat me to it. The truth is,” he went on, “I don’t do this frequently. Actually, I haven’t done this in a long time.” “This?” I said, with a slight jeer in my voice. “This.”

  He put down his glass, moved over to me, and kissed me lightly on the lips, almost diffidently, while, like the obliging soundtrack to our earlier kiss, I kept hearing behind the faint Brazilian singer playing in our room the sound of the elevator coming down to remind me that kissing to the sound of an old elevator going up and down the stairwell was like kissing under the patter of falling rain on a rooftop in the country, and that I liked the sound and didn’t want it to end because I felt snug, protected, and safe under its spell, because, without intruding on us, it gave a voice to the world outside his living room and reminded me that all this was not just happening in my mind. What he was really asking perhaps was for us to take our time and not hurry, and, if need be, backtrack if things went faster than either of us wanted. This I had never done before. Then he kissed me a second time, also lightly.

  連標點符號都在無病呻吟，令到其中難得的幾句“真理”都讓人覺得是故作姿態，讀者完全無法進入共振心態。

  Sometimes it’s best to stop things when they’re perfect rather than race on and watch them sour.

  Fate works forward, backward, and crisscrosses sideways and couldn’t care less how we scan its purposes with our rickety little befores and afters.”

  You die and then no one speaks of you, and before you know it, no one asks, no one tells, no one even knows or wants to know. You’re extinct, you never lived, never loved. Time never casts shadows and memory doesn’t drop ashes.

  Life is not so original after all. It has uncanny ways of reminding us that, even without a God, there is a flash of retrospective brilliance in the way fate plays its cards. It doesn’t deal us fifty-two cards; it deals, say, four or five, and they happen to be the same ones our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents played. The cards look pretty frayed and bent. The choice of sequences is limited: at some point the cards will repeat themselves, seldom in the same order, but always in a pattern that seems uncannily familiar. Sometimes the last card is not even played by the one whose life ended. Fate doesn’t always respect what we believe is the end of a life. It will deal your last card to those who come after. Which is why I think all lives are condemned to remain unfinished. This is the deplorable truth we all live with. We reach the end and are by no means done with life, not by a long stretch! There are projects we barely started, matters unresolved and left hanging everywhere. Living means dying with regrets stuck in your craw. As the French poet says, Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard, by the time we learn to live, it’s already too late. And yet there must be some small joy in finding that we are each put in a position to complete the lives of others, to close the ledger they left open and play their last card for them. What could be more gratifying than to know that it will always be up to someone else to complete and round off our life? Someone whom we loved and who loves us enough.

  特別是為了主題Find Me沒頭沒腦的尋找失蹤猶太故人，忍著怒氣看到章節結尾居然尋人就不了了之？愛情不愛情，肉慾不肉慾，偵探不偵探，亂七八糟的大雜燴，Aciman真的知道自己在寫什麼嗎？

  《Capriccio》

  為了Oliver，皺著眉打開第三章：炫技的文字和結構，Aciman嘗試讓Oliver把對Elio的思念投射到兩個年輕人身上，但人物無厘頭的上場和離開，刻意得讓人火遮眼——Aciman你認為這樣隨意擺弄無辜他人的自私，是這段感情最好的註腳？！

  You fool, it takes two of them to make one of me. I can be man and woman, or both, because you’ve been both to me. Find me, Oliver. Find me.

  The only one who doesn’t know is you. But now even you know. You’ve been disloyal. To what, to whom? To yourself.

  Why? Because my life stopped there. Because I never really left. Because the rest of me here has been like the severed tail of a lizard that flays and lashes about, while the body’s stayed behind all the way across the Atlantic in that wonderful house by the sea. I’ve been away for far too long. Are you leaving me? I think so. And the children too? I’ll always be their father. And when is this happening? I don’t know. Soon. I can’t say I’m surprised.

  This was what death was like: you see people but they don’t see you, and worse yet, you’re trapped being who you were in the moment you died—buying corrugated boxes—and you never changed into the one person you could have been and knew you really were, and you never redressed the one mistake that threw your life off course and now you were forever trapped doing the very last stupid thing you were doing, buying corrugated boxes and tape. I was forty-four years old. I was already dead—and yet too young, too young to die.

  《Da Capo》

  浪費了《Da Capo》“返始”如此美麗的一個標題，作者選擇了一個庸俗到讓人發指的大團圓結尾，兩個渣男手牽手走向夕陽。

  也罷也罷，有了結局，讀者夢就該醒了，童話真的是騙人的。

  the lure of bygone days had never left him, that he had forgotten nothing and didn’t want to forget, and that even if he couldn’t write or call to see whether I too had forgotten nothing, still, he knew that though neither of us sought out the other it was only because we had never really parted and that, regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and find me. “And you did.” “And I did,” he said.

  情節勉強，結構混亂，文筆呻吟。如果不是看了Aciman的採訪，根本不敢相信這是他的作品，更不敢相信這是回應全球粉絲對Call Me By Your Name續集的呼喊。

  鼠尾續貂，這本書絕對不應該出現，絕對！

  書目錄

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Tempo

  Cadenza

  Capriccio

  Da Capo

  Also by André Aciman

  A Note About the Author

  Copyright

• 一只名叫“苏”的霸王龙：美国著名古生物学家苏的大发现

  作者：李木子 发布时间：2020-07-08 19:35:34

  前不久在重温著名科幻冒险电影《侏罗纪公园》，片中各种恐龙让人看得目不暇接，而我却更关注那位对古植物了如指掌的植物学家——塞特勒博士。

  

  影片开头，塞特勒博士和自己的老搭档——对恐龙有着狂热好奇心的资深考古学家格兰特博士一起，在野外进行考察，野外的条件是很艰苦的，一般人都无法忍受，更别说女性了。

  但现实中却有这样一位女性，热衷于到处探险，并发现了迄今为止仍保持着世界纪录的一具霸王龙整体骨架化石，她就是

  苏·亨德里克森

  ，她发现的这具霸王龙整体骨架化石也以她的名字命名为“苏”。

  那我是怎么知道这个人的呢？这是因为前不久收到了未小读的新书——

  《女性开拓者小传》

  ，这套书一共5本，讲述了5个人文科普领域，5位开创先河的智慧女性的故事。

  

  我看的第一本是《苏和一只名叫“苏”的恐龙》，书中讲述的就是古生物学家苏·亨德里克森的故事。

  

  这本书的作者托妮·巴吉奥是美国的一名儿童图书作家和评论家，绘者黛安娜·苏迪卡则是美国的一位插画家。

  巴吉奥在书中用各种引人入胜的细节，为我们把苏的故事娓娓道来，而苏迪卡则用水粉画般细腻的插图，为这本书增添了一种别样的韵味，画中不少有意思的小细节，也使这本书读起来妙趣横生。

  苏从小就是一个和别人不一样的孩子，别的孩子小时候都喜欢吃东西，苏却喜欢看书，那她平时看的都是些什么书呢？

  植物学、考古学、海洋生物学。

  

  床上的小恐龙以及床边那本书名为恐龙的书，似乎也暗示着什么。

  苏还擅长寻找东西：失踪的小饰品，史前的蝴蝶、沉船，她都能找到。

  看看这幅图，苏在寻找什么？

  

  我的女儿虽然年纪小，才4岁不到，不过也一眼就看出来苏是在找这个瓶子，毕竟在这幅画中，这个blingbling的黄铜香水瓶实在是太显眼啦。

  苏的好奇心也非常强烈，只要是她感兴趣的东西，她都会彻底地探索研究一番。在好奇心的驱使下，苏前去参观了芝加哥的菲尔德自然历史博物馆。

  看看博物馆中的这两副三角龙和鸭嘴龙的化石骨架，此时的苏是不是已经被这巨大的恐龙化石迷住了呢？

  

  17岁的时候，苏开启了自己的探索生涯，她加入了一个团队，潜到水下寻找热带鱼，这之后又开始寻找失踪的船只，失踪的飞机，甚至是失踪的汽车。

  苏在多米尼加的琥珀矿中找到了灭绝的史前蝴蝶，在秘鲁的沙漠里找到了史前鲸鱼的化石，后来又跟着探险队一起来到了野外，挖掘鸭嘴龙化石。

  这个野外的条件可比《侏罗纪公园》中塞特勒博士她们的条件恶劣多了，塞特勒博士她们起码还有房车，车上基本设施一应俱全，还有饮料和酒可以喝。

  

  而苏和探险队的队员们可就过得惨多了，没有可以洗澡的淋浴房，没有可以睡觉的床，甚至没有一块遮蔽处能让她们抵挡正午的烈阳。

  我自己在读大学的时候也去野外实习过，当时那个地儿洗澡没有热水，我们只能用冷水洗澡，并且水质也不好，水里总是有小石头，就这样的条件，我们只实习了短短的一星期，回来后我就得了皮肤病，涂了好多药才好。

  但是苏却在这么恶劣的条件中忍了下来，并坚持了四年。因为这是她所热爱的工作，这是她所向往的生活。

  当挖掘鸭嘴龙化石的工作进行到第4个年头时，某一天，苏突然觉得自己仿佛受到了命运的召唤，来到了离营地不远的一处峭壁脚下。

  随后苏抬头向上看去，她简直不敢相信自己看到了什么——那是三块巨大的脊椎骨！

  

  根据苏的经验，她认为这些化石是属于雷克斯暴龙，也就是我们俗称的霸王龙的。

  苏连忙赶回营地，将这个消息告诉了团队的同伴。随后他们连续挖了5天，终于将这只霸王龙从峭壁上释放了出来，

  这是迄今为止出土最大、最完整的霸王龙骨架，这只霸王龙被命名为苏。

  

  霸王龙“苏”被苏小时候常去的菲尔德自然历史博物馆拍得，书中也配了这具霸王龙骨架的真实照片。

  

  在这本书的最后，作者还贴心地为我们科普了苏的生平生平介绍和相关阅读延伸，方便我们了解关于苏的更多知识。

  从这里我们可以看到，在霸王龙“苏”被发现后，好几派人都认为“苏”属于他们，包括“苏”被发现的那片土地的主人，“苏”所在的那片地域所隶属的政府，以及苏所在的研究所团队的领导，只有苏没有参与这场关于“苏”的主权的争夺战。

  因为苏除了“苏”的发现者这个身份外，同时还是冒险家、探险家、水下考古挖掘潜水员、海洋考古学家、野外古生物学家，以及声誉卓著的琥珀化石专家。

  苏用自己的亲身经历证明，激励着我们更近距离地观察我们周围的世界，永不失去自己的好奇心、勇敢和冒险精神。

  就像苏·亨德里克森在书中说的那样：

  “永远不要失去对宇宙万物的好奇心，它会把你带往你以为绝对不可能到达的地方！”