The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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Henry James（亨利·詹姆斯） 著

圖書標籤:

• 小說
• 經典文學
• 美國文學
• 女性文學
• 心理小說
• 亨利·詹姆斯
• 19世紀文學
• 人物傳記
• 愛情
• 社會小說

齣版社： Penguin US

ISBN：9780451530523

版次：1

商品編碼：19043427

包裝：平裝

叢書名： Signet Classics

齣版時間：2007-07-03

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：640

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：10.92x2.79x17.27cm

編輯推薦

《貴婦的畫像》是亨利·詹姆斯的早期代錶作，被西方批評傢看成是美國現代小說的一個發端。

內容簡介

When Isabel Archer, a beautiful, spirited American, is brought to Europe by her wealthy Aunt Touchett, it is expected that she will soon marry. But Isabel, resolved to determine her own fate, does not hesitate to turn down two eligible suitors. She then finds herself irresistibly drawn to Gilbert Osmond, who, beneath his veneer of charm and cultivation, is cruelty itself. A story of intense poignancy, Isabel's tale of love and betrayal still resonates with modern audiences.
女主人公伊莎貝爾·阿切爾是一位年輕貌美的美國少女，父母雙亡後，被她富有的姨母帶齣美國一個小城，到她夢魂縈繞的古老歐洲去見識大韆世界。她在倫敦郊外的“花園山莊”裏暫住，先後拒絕瞭英國貴族沃伯頓和美國富商戈德伍德的求婚。她的錶兄拉爾夫也暗暗愛上她，但他知道自己患不治之癥無法結婚，隻是說服病危的父親把一筆巨額遺産留給錶妹。伊莎貝爾又結識瞭高雅華貴、纔藝超群的梅爾夫人，對這位已徹底歐洲化瞭的美國女人十分傾倒。姨父故世後，伊莎貝爾得到遺産去意大利遊曆。她在陶醉於佛羅倫薩和羅馬的曆史遺跡的同時，也漸漸進入梅爾夫人精心布下的圈套之中。梅爾夫人介紹她認識瞭一位長期僑居意大利的美國“半吊子藝術傢”奧斯濛德，此人看來儒雅斯文，富有教養。伊莎貝爾為之動心；還有他那位楚楚動人的女兒帕茜，也引起她的愛憐。她不顧周圍親戚和朋友的一再警告和反對，自作主張地下嫁於他。婚後她漸漸發現自己受瞭騙，奧斯濛德確實是一條自私僞善的花叢中的毒蛇。她還發現梅爾夫人早就是奧斯濛德的情婦，帕茜便是他們的私生女。在萬分痛苦之時，她強作歡顔，對外人隱瞞瞭婚姻不幸的實情。錶兄拉爾夫在英國病危，伊莎貝爾不顧丈夫的反對趕去看他。拉爾夫死後，伊莎貝爾齣乎眾人的預料，又迴到羅馬。

作者簡介

Henry James (1843-1916), born in New York City, was the son of noted religious philosopher Henry James, Sr., and brother of eminent psychologist and philosopher William James. He spent his early life in America and studied in Geneva, London and Paris during his adolescence to gain the worldly experience so prized by his father. He lived in Newport, went briefly to Harvard Law School, and in 1864 began to contribute both criticism and tales to magazines. In 1869, and then in 1872-74, he paid visits to Europe and began his first novel, Roderick Hudson. Late in 1875 he settled in Paris, where he met Turgenev, Flaubert, and Zola, and wrote The American (1877). In December 1876 he moved to London, where two years later he achieved international fame with Daisy Miller. Other famous works include Washington Square (1880), The Portrait of a Lady (1881), The Princess Casamassima (1886), The Aspern Papers (1888), The Turn of the Screw (1898), and three large novels of the new century, The Wings of the Dove (1902), The Ambassadors (1903) and The Golden Bowl (1904). In 1905 he revisited the United States and wrote The American Scene (1907). During his career, he also wrote many works of criticism and travel. Although old and ailing, he threw himself into war work in 1914, and in 1915, a few months before his death, he became a British subject. In 1916 King George V conferred the Order of Merit on him. He died in London in February 1916.

亨利·詹姆斯(Henry James, 1843年4月15日- 1916年2月28日、享年73歲)，英國-美國作傢，齣身於紐約的上層知識分子傢庭，父親老亨利·詹姆斯是著名學者，兄長威廉·詹姆斯是知名的哲學傢和心理學傢。詹姆斯本人長期旅居歐洲，對19世紀末美國和歐洲的上層生活有細緻入微的觀察。詹姆斯是同性戀者。他與同時代的美國女作傢伊迪絲·華頓保持著長期的友誼。

精彩書摘

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not—some people of course never do,—the situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shad- ows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o’clock to eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure. The persons concerned in it were taking their pleasure quietly, and they were not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the ceremony I have mentioned. The shadows on the perfect lawn were straight and angular; they were the shadows of an old man sitting in a deep wicker-chair near the low table on which the tea had been served, and of two younger men strolling to and fro, in desultory talk, in front of him. The old man had his cup in his hand; it was an unusually large cup, of a different pattern from the rest of the set and painted in brilliant colours. He disposed of its contents with much circumspection, holding it for a long time close to his chin, with his face turned to the house. His companions had either finished their tea or were indifferent to their privilege; they smoked cigarettes as they continued to stroll. One of them, from time to time, as he passed, looked with a certain attention at the elder man, who, unconscious of observation, rested his eyes upon the rich red front of his dwelling. The house that rose beyond the lawn was a structure to repay such consideration and was the most characteristic object in the peculiarly English picture I have attempted to sketch. It stood upon a low hill, above the river—the river being the Thames at some forty miles from London. A long gabled front of red brick, with the complexion of which time and the weather had played all sorts of pictorial tricks, only, however, to improve and refine it, presented to the lawn its patches of ivy, its clustered chimneys, its windows smothered in creepers. The house had a name and a history; the old gentleman taking his tea would have been delighted to tell you these things: how it had been built under Edward the Sixth, had offered a night’s hospitality to the great Elizabeth (whose august person had extended itself upon a huge, magnificent and terribly angular bed which still formed the principal honour of the sleeping apartments), had been a good deal bruised and defaced in Cromwell’s wars, and then, under the Restoration, repaired and much enlarged; and how, finally, after having been remodelled and disfigured in the eighteenth century, it had passed into the careful keeping of a shrewd American banker, who had bought it originally because (owing to circumstances too complicated to set forth) it was offered at a great bargain: bought it with much grumbling at its ugliness, its antiquity, its incommodity, and who now, at the end of twenty years, had become conscious of a real ?sthetic passion for it, so that he knew all its points and would tell you just where to stand to see them in combination and just the hour when the shadows of its various protuberances—which fell so softly upon the warm, weary brickwork—were of the right measure. Besides this, as I have said, he could have counted off most of the successive owners and occupants, several of whom were known to general fame; doing so, however, with an undemonstrative conviction that the latest phase of its destiny was not the least honourable. The front of the house overlooking that portion of the lawn with which we are concerned was not the entrance-front; this was in quite another quarter. Privacy here reigned supreme, and the wide carpet of turf that covered the level hill-top seemed but the extension of a luxurious interior. The great still oaks and beeches flung down a shade as dense as that of velvet curtains; and the place was furnished, like a room, with cushioned seats, with rich-coloured rugs, with the books and papers that lay upon the grass. The river was at some distance; where the ground began to slope the lawn, properly speaking, ceased. But it was none the less a charming walk down to the water. The old gentleman at the tea-table, who had come from America thirty years before, had brought with him, at the top of his baggage, his American physiognomy; and he had not only brought it with him, but he had kept it in the best order, so that, if necessary, he might have taken it back to his own country with perfect confidence. At present, obviously, nevertheless, he was not likely to displace himself; his journeys were over and he was taking the rest that precedes the great rest. He had a narrow, clean-shaven face, with features evenly distributed and an expression of placid acuteness. It was evidently a face in which the range of representation was not large, so that the air of contented shrewdness was all the more of a merit. It seemed to tell that he had been successful in life, yet it seemed to tell also that his success had not been exclusive and invidious, but had had much of the inoffensiveness of failure. He had certainly had a great experience of men, but there was an almost rustic simplicity in the faint smile that played upon his lean, spacious cheek and lighted up his humorous eye as he at last slowly and carefully deposited his big tea-cup upon the table. He was neatly dressed, in well-brushed black; but a shawl was folded upon his knees, and his feet were encased in thick, embroidered slippers. A beautiful collie dog lay upon the grass near his chair, watching the master’s face almost as tenderly as the master took in the still more magisterial physiognomy of the house; and a little bristling, bustling terrier bestowed a desultory attendance upon the other gentlemen. One of these was a remarkably well-made man of five-and-thirty, with a face as English as that of the old gentleman I have just sketched was something else; a noticeably handsome face, fresh-coloured, fair and frank, with firm, straight features, a lively grey eye and the rich adornment of a chestnut beard. This person had a certain fortunate, brilliant exceptional look—the air of a happy temperament fertilised by a high civilisation—which would have made almost any observer envy him at a venture. He was booted and spurred, as if he had dismounted from a long ride; he wore a white hat, which looked too large for him; he held his two hands behind him, and in one of them—a large, white, well-shaped fist—was crumpled a pair of soiled dog-skin gloves. His companion, measuring the length of the lawn beside him, was a person of quite a different pattern, who, although he might have excited grave curiosity, would not, like the other, have provoked you to wish yourself, almost blindly, in his place. Tall, lean, loosely and feebly put together, he had an ugly, sickly, witty, charming face, furnished, but by no means decorated, with a straggling moustache and whisker. He looked clever and ill—a combination by no means felicitous; and he wore a brown velvet jacket. He carried his hands in his pockets, and there was something in the way he did it that showed the habit was inveterate. His gait had a shambling, wandering quality; he was not very firm on his legs. As I have said, whenever he passed the old man in the chair he rested his eyes upon him; and at this moment, with their faces brought into relation, you would easily have seen they were father and son. The father caught his son’s eye at last and gave him a mild, responsive smile. “I’m getting on very well,” he said. “Have you drunk your tea?” asked the son. “Yes, and enjoyed it.” “Shall I give you some more?” The old man considered, placidly. “Well, I guess I’ll wait and see.” He had, in speaking, the American tone. “Are you cold?” the son enquired. The father slowly rubbed his legs. “Well, I don’t know. I can’t tell till I feel.” “Perhaps some one might feel for you,” said the younger man, laughing. “Oh, I hope some one will always feel for me! Don’t you feel for me, Lord Warburton?” “Oh yes, immensely,” said the gentleman addressed as Lord Warburton, promptly. “I’m bound to say you look wonderfully comfortable.” “Well, I suppose I am, in most respects.” And the old man looked down at his green shawl and smoothed it over his knees. “The fact is I’ve been comfortable so many years that I suppose I’ve got so used to it I don’t know it.” “Yes, that’s the bore of comfort,” said Lord Warburton. “We only know when we’re uncomfortable.” “It strikes me we’re rather particular,” his companion remarked. “Oh yes, there’s no doubt we’re particular,” Lord Warburton murmured. And then the three men remained silent a while; the two younger ones standing looking down at the other, who presently asked for more tea. “I should think you would be very unhappy with that shawl,” Lord Warburton resumed while his companion filled the old man’s cup again. “Oh no, he must have the shawl!” cried the gentleman in the velvet coat. “Don’t put such ideas as that into his head.” “It belongs to my wife,” said the old man simply. “Oh, if it’s for sentimental reasons—” And Lord Warburton made a gesture of apology. “I suppose I must give it to her when she comes,” the old man went on. “You’ll please to do nothing of the kind. You’ll keep it to cover your poor old legs.” “Well, you mustn’t abuse my legs,” said the old man. “I guess they are as good as yours.” “Oh, you’re perfectly free to abuse mine,” his son replied, giving him his tea. “Well, we’re two lame ducks; I don’t think there’s much difference.” “I’m much obliged to you for calling me a duck. How’s your tea?” “Well, it’s rather hot.” “That’s intended to be a merit.” “Ah, there’s a great deal of merit,” murmured the old man, kindly. “He’s a very good nurse, Lord Warburton.” “Isn’t he a bit clumsy?” asked his lordship. “Oh no, he’s not clumsy—considering that he’s an invalid himself. He’s a very good nurse—for a sick-nurse. I call him my sick-nurse because he’s sick himself.” “Oh, come, daddy!” the ugly young man exclaimed. “Well, you are; I wish you weren’t. But I suppose you can’t help it.” “I might try: that’s an idea,” said the young man. “Were you ever sick, Lord Warburton?” his father asked. Lord Warburton considered a moment. “Yes, sir, once, in the Persian Gulf.” “He’s making light of you, daddy,” said the other young man. “That’s a sort of joke.” “Well, there seem to be so many sorts now,” daddy replied, serenely. “You don’t look as if you had been sick, any way, Lord Warburton.” “He’s sick of life; he was just telling me so; going on fearfully about it,” said Lord Warburton’s friend. “Is that true, sir?” asked the old man gravely. “If it is, your son gave me no consolation. He’s a wretched fel- low to talk to—a regular cynic. He doesn’t seem to believe in anything.” “That’s another sort of joke,” said the person accused of cynicism. “It’s because his health is so poor,” his father explained to Lord Warburton. “It affects his mind and colours his way of looking at things; he seems to feel as if he had never had a chance. But it’s almost entirely theoretical, you know; it doesn’t seem to affect his spirits. I’ve hardly ever seen him when he wasn’t cheerful—about as he is at present. He often cheers me up.” The young man so described looked at Lord Warburton and laughed. “Is it a glowing eulogy or an accusation of levity? Should you like me to carry out my theories, daddy?” “By Jove, we should see some queer things!” cried Lord Warburton. “I hope you haven’t taken up that sort of tone,” said the old man. “Warburton’s tone is worse than mine; he pretends to be bored. I’m not in the least bored; I find life only too interesting.” “Ah, too interesting; you shouldn’t allow it to be that, you know!” “I’m never bored when I come here,” said Lord Warburton. “One gets such uncommonly good talk.” “Is that another sort of joke?” asked the old man. “You’ve no excuse for being bored anywhere. When I was your age I had never heard of such a thing.” “You must have developed very late.” “No, I developed very quick; that was just the reason. When I was twenty years old I was very highly developed indeed. I was working tooth and nail. You wouldn’t be bored if you had something to do; but all you young men are too idle. You think too much of your pleasure. You’re too fastidious, and too indolent, and too rich.” “Oh, I say,” cried Lord Warburton, “you’re hardly the person to accuse a fellow-creature of being too rich!” “Do you mean because I’m a banker?” asked the old man. “Because of that, if you like; and because you have—haven’t you?—such unlimited means.” “He isn’t very rich,” the other young man mercifully pleaded. “He has given away an immense deal of money.” “Well, I suppose it was his own,” said Lord Warburton; “and in that case could there be a better proof of wealth? Let not a public benefactor talk of one’s being too fond of pleasure.”

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前言/序言

《玫瑰與匕首：維多利亞時代晚期的社會圖景與女性命運》 一部深入剖析十九世紀末英格蘭上流社會復雜人際關係、道德睏境與女性自我覺醒的宏大敘事。 內容提要： 本書以詳實的史料和細膩的筆觸，構建瞭一幅十九世紀維多利亞時代晚期英國貴族與中産階級交織的社會全景圖。故事圍繞著一樁看似完美的婚姻破裂及其引發的連鎖反應展開，聚焦於身處財富、地位與個人自由之間的微妙平衡點上的幾位核心人物。我們跟隨主角——一位擁有新式教育、渴望獨立思考的年輕女性伊莎貝拉·福剋斯，觀察她如何在新舊觀念的碰撞中掙紮求存；同時，深入探索一個看似光鮮亮麗的傢族——坎貝爾傢族，他們光輝的錶麵下隱藏著關於財産繼承、傢族責任以及難以啓齒的秘密。 本書不僅僅是關於愛情與婚姻的敘事，更是對當時社會結構、法律體係（尤其針對女性的財産繼承權和婚姻中的法律地位）以及新興道德觀念的一次深刻反思。通過對沙龍、舞會、鄉間莊園和倫敦社交圈的細緻描繪，讀者得以窺見那個時代特有的禮儀、潛規則以及權力運作的微妙機製。 核心主題與章節概述： 第一部分：華美的囚籠——身份與期望的重壓 本部分著力刻畫伊莎貝拉·福剋斯的成長背景。她齣生於一個崇尚自由思想的傢庭，卻被捲入瞭與老牌貴族傢族的聯姻漩渦。伊莎貝拉的教育讓她對外部世界充滿好奇，渴望超越傳統女性的“傢庭天使”角色。我們詳細描繪瞭當時的教育體係如何塑造（或壓抑）女性的誌嚮。重點在於描述她與未婚夫——一位典型的英國紳士，阿奇博爾德·布萊剋伍德——之間，在價值觀上的第一次裂痕。阿奇博爾德代錶著根深蒂固的父權觀念和對女性行為的嚴格規範，而伊莎貝拉則在暗中閱讀那些挑戰傳統觀念的哲學著作。 章節聚焦： 倫敦社交季的浮華與虛僞；對“得體行為”的社會契約分析；早期女權思潮在私密信件中的隱秘傳播。 第二部分：遺産的陰影——金錢、法律與父權結構 隨著故事的深入，焦點轉嚮坎貝爾傢族對巨額遺産的爭奪。這部分內容是對當時英國繼承法，特彆是針對女性繼承權的詳細剖析。我們引入瞭律師托馬斯·格蘭特先生的角色，他代錶著法律的冷峻與理性。通過一係列復雜的法律文書和傢族密會的場景，揭示瞭財富如何在男性繼承人之間流動，以及女性在婚姻中對自身財産的控製力是何等微弱。伊莎貝拉發現，她的“嫁妝”實際上是她未來丈夫控製力的象徵。這一部分的敘事節奏加快，充滿瞭懸念，關於一份被隱藏的遺囑和一段被刻意遺忘的往事逐漸浮齣水麵。 章節聚焦： 維多利亞時代遺囑的法律效力；“夫權對妻權的吸收”在法律實踐中的體現；鄉村莊園的經濟運營與傢族責任的捆綁。 第三部分：道德的十字路口——誘惑、審判與選擇 伊莎貝拉在社交場中遇到瞭富有魅力的異鄉人——一位來自歐洲大陸的藝術傢，儒利安·德·馬爾薩剋。儒利安以其對藝術和個性的狂熱追求，深深吸引瞭渴望掙脫束縛的伊莎貝拉。這段關係並非簡單的浪漫齣逃，而是一場關乎個體自由意誌與社會責任的嚴肅辯論。當這段關係因流言蜚語而暴露時，伊莎貝拉麵臨著社會輿論近乎殘酷的審判。本書細緻描繪瞭當時“體麵社會”如何利用流言蜚語作為一種無形的武器來維護其既有秩序。伊莎貝拉必須在屈從於傢族期望、保全“名聲”與堅持內心對真實情感的追求之間做齣選擇。 章節聚焦： 維多利亞時代的雙重道德標準（針對男女的差異）；流言蜚語在信息不發達時代的力量；“體麵”的社會成本分析。 第四部分：黃昏的覺醒——迴歸與重塑 故事的後半部分著重於對先前選擇的後果進行處理。伊莎貝拉最終決定不以犧牲自我完整性的方式去“修復”她的社會地位。她與阿奇博爾德的婚姻走嚮終結，但這次分離並非傳統意義上的“失敗”。通過與格蘭特先生（律師）之間關於法律與人性的探討，伊莎貝拉開始探索如何在既有的社會框架內，為自己和與她有類似境遇的女性開闢新的道路。她最終將目光投嚮瞭教育事業，利用自己繼承的、但現在由自己完全掌控的小筆財産，投身於為那些沒有良好傢庭背景的女性提供職業培訓。 章節聚焦： 離婚在當時社會中的汙名化及其法律限製；女性在失去婚姻庇護後的經濟生存策略；從社交名媛到社會改革者的身份轉型。 文學風格與特色： 本書的敘事語言力求典雅、精準，繼承瞭十九世紀現實主義小說的傳統，注重環境細節的描摹和人物內心活動的深度挖掘。作者擅長運用對比手法，將鄉村的寜靜與倫敦的喧囂、舊道德的束縛與新思想的萌芽並置，形成強烈的張力。書中大量引用瞭當時的信件、日記片段以及當時的報紙評論，使得曆史背景的再現具有極強的真實感和沉浸感。人物對話機智且充滿潛颱詞，充分展現瞭那個時代社交場閤下語言的藝術性與策略性。 本書價值： 《玫瑰與匕首》不僅為讀者提供瞭對維多利亞時代晚期社會風貌的詳盡記錄，更通過伊莎貝拉的命運，探討瞭跨越時代的議題：個體自由與社會責任的界限，女性在父權結構下的生存智慧，以及真正的獨立和自我價值的實現，究竟意味著什麼。它是一部關於忍耐、抗爭、最終自我確立的女性史詩。

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拿到這本《The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝]》時，我腦海裏首先浮現的是詹姆斯·麥剋尼爾·惠特尼筆下那些神秘而優雅的肖像畫。我總覺得，一本以“畫像”命名的書籍，必定會在人物的塑造上投入巨大的心力，力求將筆下的人物描繪得栩栩如生，仿佛躍然紙上。我期待作者能夠運用細膩的筆觸，去刻畫那位“貴婦”的音容笑貌，她的眼神中流露齣的喜怒哀樂，她的舉手投足間所展現齣的修養與氣質。我更期待的，是透過這幅“畫像”，能夠看到她內心世界的波瀾起伏，她所經曆的掙紮與抉擇，她對於生活、對於愛情、對於自由的理解與追求。在這個信息爆炸的時代，我們往往習慣瞭快餐式的閱讀，但有時，一本能夠讓你沉浸其中，細細品味的文學作品，反而更能觸動人心。平裝的格式，或許也暗示著一種樸素的力量，不需要華麗的外衣，內容本身就足以打動讀者。我希望這本書能夠帶給我一次深刻的閱讀體驗，讓我能夠與書中的人物産生共鳴，甚至在某個瞬間，感受到自己也成為瞭故事的一部分。

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我對於《The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝]》這本書的興趣，很大程度上源於其標題所蘊含的象徵意義。在我看來，“畫像”不僅僅是對一個人外在形象的描摹，更是對其內心世界、精神狀態的一種解讀和呈現。而“貴婦”這一身份，則自帶瞭一種階級、財富、地位以及與之相伴隨的某種規範和期望。我好奇的是，當這二者結閤時，作者究竟想要揭示一個怎樣的圖景？是一位身處優渥生活中的女性，如何在這個由社會規則構築的框架內，尋找自我，實現價值？還是說，這幅“畫像”本身，就是一種對社會身份的審視，是對傳統女性角色的挑戰？平裝的齣版形式，讓我覺得這本書可能並沒有試圖以一種高高在上的姿態去呈現，而是更傾嚮於與讀者進行一種平等、親切的交流。我期待在閱讀的過程中，能夠跟隨作者的筆觸，深入到那個“貴婦”的靈魂深處，去理解她的孤獨，她的渴望，她的堅韌，或者她可能擁有的，不為人知的另一麵。這不僅僅是對一個人物的瞭解，更是對一個時代，一種生活方式的窺探。

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我是在一個朋友的書單裏看到瞭《The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝]》。朋友的品味我一嚮很信賴，而且這個書名本身就有一種莫名的吸引力，仿佛是一個古老的故事，在等待著被講述。我尤其喜歡那些能夠描繪齣特定時代背景下，人物情感細膩變化的文學作品。我對於“貴婦”這個詞，有著復雜的情感。一方麵，它代錶著優雅、精緻和物質上的富足；但另一方麵，我也知道，在很多情況下，這種身份也伴隨著束縛、責任和不為人道的犧牲。因此，我非常好奇，作者會如何去呈現這位“貴婦”的形象？她的生活是否真的如外界所見的那麼光鮮亮麗？她內心深處，又有著怎樣的波瀾？平裝的版本，讓我覺得這本書可能更適閤在閑暇時光，泡一杯茶，靜靜地翻閱，讓思緒隨著文字慢慢舒展開來。我期待這本書能夠帶給我一種沉浸式的閱讀體驗，讓我仿佛置身於那個時代，親眼目睹這位“貴婦”的人生故事，去感受她的喜怒哀樂，去思考她所麵臨的選擇與命運。

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第一次注意到《The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝]》這本書，是在一傢書店裏。那簡潔而富有質感的封麵設計，以及“貴婦的畫像”這個書名，立刻吸引瞭我的目光。我一直對那些能夠深入刻畫人物內心世界的作品情有獨鍾，而“畫像”這個詞，在我看來，本身就蘊含著一種對細節的極緻追求。我猜想，這本書一定會在人物的塑造上下足功夫，通過細膩的筆觸，將那位“貴婦”的形象，無論是外在的神韻，還是內在的情感，都描繪得淋灕盡緻。我很好奇，在這幅“畫像”之下，究竟隱藏著怎樣的故事？是關於愛情的甜蜜與苦澀，是關於夢想的追求與幻滅，還是關於個體在社會洪流中的掙紮與抉擇？平裝的書籍，往往有一種親切感，仿佛它不是高高在上的藝術品，而是可以和你促膝長談的朋友。我期待這本書能夠帶給我一次意想不到的閱讀驚喜，讓我能夠沉浸在其中，與書中的人物一同經曆人生的起伏，去感受那個時代的獨特魅力。

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我是在一個偶然的機會，翻開這本《The Portrait of a Lady 貴婦的畫像 [平裝]》的。我一直以來都對19世紀末期的歐洲社會有著濃厚的興趣，尤其是那些生活在那段繁華又暗流湧動的時代背景下的女性命運。這本書的書名本身就充滿瞭古典的韻味，"貴婦的畫像"這幾個字，在我腦海中勾勒齣一幅幅精緻的畫麵，讓我忍不住想要一探究竟，這幅畫像究竟描繪瞭怎樣的靈魂，又隱藏瞭怎樣的故事。我尤其好奇，在這個以男性為主導的時代，一位“貴婦”的畫像，是否意味著我們可以窺見女性在那個時代有限的空間裏，所展現齣的獨特的光輝，或是無聲的反抗？書的裝幀選擇瞭平裝，這倒是齣乎我的意料，我原以為會是一本厚重的精裝本，充滿瞭曆史的沉澱感。然而，平裝的設定反而讓它顯得更加觸手可及，仿佛是一本可以隨時帶在身邊，在某個午後陽光正好，或者某個安靜的夜晚，慢慢品讀的書籍。我期待它能夠帶領我穿越時空，去感受那個時代的氛圍，去理解那些復雜的人性，去體會一段屬於“貴婦”的，或許不為人知的，生命軌跡。這本書在我書架上已經靜靜地躺瞭一段時間，每次看到它，都有一種莫名的期待感，感覺它蘊含著一個等待我去發現的寶藏。

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Henry James的風格一貫如此

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不錯，封麵很漂亮~~~~~~~~~~~

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小巧，有些厚，可以慢慢看

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書總給我一種輕便自然的感覺。非常喜歡。

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“書籍是人類進步的階梯”；書籍是人類智慧的結晶；

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美國印刷，字體較密，看上去有些纍

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印刷清晰，專業外國語言文學書籍

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並善於從書中汲取營養。從閱讀中養成愛好讀書的習慣，體會讀書的樂趣，

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拿到書超級喜歡，為瞭寫論文買的，老師推薦