書名：麥田裡的守望者

廣告語： 中英雙語全本，孫仲旭譯本

外文書名：The Catcher in the Rye

ISBN: 9787544773010

作者：（ ）J.D.塞林格

譯者：孫仲旭

代碼：59.00

出版年月：2018.10

裝幀：精裝

開本：32開

頁碼：481

內文用紙：純質紙

——————————————————————————

【編輯】

《麥田裡的守望者》是《時代》雜志的百部文學經典之一，被列入20世紀百本英文小說。這部曾經具挑戰性的禁書，如今是全世界高校、中學的 讀物，成為史上的圖書之一。此雙語版的中譯文經譯者孫仲旭全面修訂。

【名人評價及】

在 ，閱讀《麥田裡的守望者》就像畢業要獲得導師的首肯一樣重要。

——《紐約時報》

《麥田裡的守望者》於我來說是一本非常特別的書。讀《麥田》是一種純粹的享受。作者的責任是要款待讀者，作家塞林格不負眾望，從小說 句開始就讓你無比輕松。

——伍迪?艾倫

十三歲時我 次讀到《麥田裡的守望者》，自那以後，我一直都對人說，那是我的書。

——比爾?蓋茨

這部小說的魅力莫過於主人公從未長大這一點上。不明白的就是不明白，纔是有風格的小說。

——村上春樹

那段時間，我把能覓到的他的所有作品都讀了。我無法解釋我對他的這一份鐘愛，也許是那種青春啟迪和自由舒暢的語感深深地感染了我。我因此把《麥田守望者》作為一種文學精品的模式。

——蘇童

這世上有許多名篇巨著，在文學史上有偉大的地位。但也有些小書，給我們提供的心靈慰藉。每一個少年，在年輕的時候都應該讀一讀《麥田裡的守望者》。

——苗煒

【作者簡介】

 J.D.塞林格（1919—2010），出生於 紐約一個猶太富商家庭，從小聰慧卻對學習沒有什麼興趣，中學輟學後被父母送往軍事學院就讀，後又有幾次大學就讀經歷，都以退學告終。在哥倫比亞大學夜校部就讀期間，其寫作纔華被良師發覺，發表了數篇短篇小說。第二次世界大戰爆發後中斷寫作，應征入伍，參加過諾曼底登陸與猶他海灘戰役，後又從事戰時反間諜工作。
    1948年，遭受多次退稿後，其備受好評的短篇《抓香蕉魚好的日子》在《紐約客》上發表，此後又在該刊上發表多篇作品。1951年，《麥田裡的守望者》出版，大獲成功，成為 文學經典，後又陸續出版了短篇集《九故事》、中短篇故事集《弗蘭妮與祖伊》，以及中篇集《抬高房梁，木匠們；西摩：小傳》，卻日益遠離媒體，在鄉間過著隱居的生活，也鮮有新作問世。2010年，塞林格在新罕布什爾的家中過世，享年91歲。

【內容簡介】

 16歲的中學生霍爾頓出身於紐約一個中產階級家庭。父母、老師要他好好讀書以便將來出人頭地，而學校裡到晚干的，就是談女人、酒和性。他看不慣周圍的，無心學習，因而老是挨罰。第四次被開除時，他沒有回家，隻身在紐約城遊蕩了兩夜……

《麥田裡的守望者》一經問世即在青少年中引起強烈共鳴，一時間，模仿霍爾頓的言行舉止成為一種時尚，風衣和反戴的紅色鴨舌帽成為 的流行街景。小說出版後至今影響不衰，發行量超過六千萬冊，被無數中學和高等院校列為 的課外讀物，其主題也深受社會學者重視。

【書摘】

你要是真的想聽我聊，首先想知道的，大概就是我在哪兒出生，我糟糕的童年是怎麼過來的，我爸媽在我出生前是干嗎的，還有什麼大衛·科波菲爾故事式的屁話，可是說實話，那些我都不想說。首先我嫌煩，其次，如果我提到我爸媽什麼很私人的事，他們準會氣得吐血。他們對這種事總是很敏感，特別是我爸。他們人都挺好的—這個先不提—可又都是敏感得要命；再說，我他媽又不打算口述整個一部自傳還是怎麼樣。我隻跟你說說去年聖誕節前後我經歷的幾件荒唐事吧，在那之後，我整個人就垮掉了，不得不到這兒放松一下。我是說我也是這麼告訴D.B.的，他是我哥，在好萊塢，離這個破地方不太遠，他幾乎每個都來看我。我可能下個月回家，他還會開車送我。他剛買了一輛捷豹牌汽車，是那種能開到時速兩百英裡左右的英國造小型車，花了他將近四千塊。他現在有的是錢，以前可不是。他在家那陣子，還不過是個一般的作家呢。如果你從來沒聽說過他，我可以告訴你他寫過一本特棒的短篇小說集—《秘密金魚》。書裡好的一篇就是《秘密金魚》，寫的是有個小孩兒養的金魚誰也不給看，因為是他自個兒花錢買的，這篇讓我喜歡得要命。他現在去了好萊塢，這個D.B.，當了。要說有什麼讓我討厭，那就得數電影了，你根本別跟我提。

我還是從離開潘西中學那天說起吧。潘西中學在賓夕法尼亞州的埃吉斯鎮，你很可能聽說過，不管怎麼樣，你很可能看到過它的廣告。他們在上千種雜志上做廣告，上面總有個棒小伙子在騎馬跨越障礙，好像在潘西除了打馬球，別的什麼都不干似的，可是我在那兒附近從來一匹馬也沒見過。騎馬小伙的下方，總是印了一行字：“一八八八年以來，我們一直致力於把男孩培育成出類撥萃、善於思考的年輕人。”純屬蒙人，跟別的學校比起來，他們在潘西做的培育工作他媽的強不到哪兒去。我在那兒根本沒見識過一個出類撥萃、善於思考的家伙，可能有兩個吧，就那麼多，不過很可能在他們來潘西之前，就已經是那樣了。

總之，那天是星期六，是跟薩克森豪爾中學比賽橄欖球的日子。在潘西，跟薩克森豪爾的比賽被當作是件天大的事。這是年末的後一場比賽，潘西贏不了的話，大家就該自殺什麼的。我記得當時是下午三點鐘左右，我他媽正高高地站在湯姆遜小山頂上，就在戰爭還是什麼時候留下的一尊破大炮旁邊。從那兒看得到兩支球隊在四下裡死掐。看臺那邊看不太清楚，不過能聽見潘西這邊看臺上一片大呼小叫，喧聲震天，因為學校裡除了我，幾乎全體都在那兒。但是薩克森豪爾那邊看臺上人數寥寥、不成氣候，因為隨客隊來的幾乎一向都沒有多少人。

橄欖球比賽從來沒幾個女孩兒到場，隻有畢業班的學生纔可以帶女孩兒去看。這所學校怎麼看怎麼糟糕透頂。我想待的地方，就是至少在那兒偶爾能看到幾個女孩兒，即便她們隻是一個勁兒搔手臂或者擤鼻子，甚至隻會傻笑還是怎麼樣。塞爾瑪·瑟默這妞兒—她是校長的閨女—倒是很經常去球場上露露臉，但是說起來她算不上那種能讓你想入非非的女孩兒，不過她還算挺不錯。有次在從埃吉斯鎮開出的大巴上，我跟她坐一起，我們多少聊了幾句，我喜歡她。她鼻子長得不小，手指甲全是啃短的，好像還在流血。她戴著那種墊高了的破胸罩，繃得鼓鼓的，你會有點兒同情她。我喜歡她，因為她沒多說她爹如何如何了不起之類的屁話，大概她也知道她爹是個卑鄙虛偽的貨色。

我之所以高高地站在湯姆遜小山頂上，而不是在下邊看比賽，是因為我剛剛跟擊劍隊一塊兒從紐約回來。我是擊劍隊的破領隊，夠牛吧。那天上午我們去紐約跟麥克伯尼中學比賽，隻不過沒賽成，我把劍還有別的裝備什麼的全給忘在破地鐵上了。也不能全怪我，我老是得起身看地圖，好知道在哪兒下車。所以我們兩點半就回到了潘西，而不是在晚飯時候。坐火車回來的一路上，整隊人都不理我，這件事說起來挺滑稽的。

我沒在下邊看比賽還有另外一個原因：我要去跟斯潘塞老先生告別，他是我的歷史老師，得了流感，我琢磨聖誕節放假前很可能見不到他。他給我留了張紙條，說在我回家前想見見我，他知道我不會再回潘西了。

忘了跟你說，我被開除了。過完聖誕節假，我不回來了，因為我有四門課不及格，而且根本沒用功，他們一再警告我得開始用功—特別在期中時，我爸媽來校時跟老瑟默校長見了面—可我還是沒有，所以被開除了。潘西經常開除人，它的教學水平排名很靠前，確實不假。

當時已經是十二月，天氣冷得邪門，特別在那個破山頂上。我隻穿了一件兩面穿的外套，沒戴手套什麼的。一個星期前，有人進我房間偷了我的駱駝毛大衣，我的毛裡子手套就放在大衣口袋裡，也給偷走了。潘西到處有小偷，這兒頗有些家裡很有錢的家伙，但照樣到處有小偷。越是收費高的學校，裡面的小偷就越多—我不是開玩笑。總之，我就一直站在那尊破炮旁邊看下邊的比賽，屁股都快給凍掉了。隻是我沒有很投入地看比賽，那麼閑待著，實際上是想感受一下離別的滋味。我是說，以前我也離開過一些學校還有地方，當時根本沒感覺正在離開那兒，我不喜歡那樣。不管那種離別是傷感的還是糟糕的，但是在離開一個地方時，我希望我明白我正在離開它。如果不明白，我甚至會更加難受。

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that Dd Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them. They’re quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They’re nice and all - I’m not saying that - but they’re also touchy as hell. Besides, I’m not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I’ll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out and take it easy. I mean that’s all I told D.B. about, and he’s my brother and all. He’s in Hollywood. That isn’t too far from this crumby place, and he comes over and visits me practically every week end. He’s going to drive me home when I go home next month maybe. He just got a Jaguar. One of those little English jobs that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He’s got a lot of dough, now. He didn’t use to. He used to be just a regular writer, when he was home. He wrote this terrific book of short stories, The Secret Goldfish, in case you never heard of him. The best one in it was «“The Secret Goldfish.” It was about this little kid that wouldn’t let anybody look at his goldfish because he’d bought it with his own money. It killed me. Now he’s out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the movies. Don’t even mention them to me.

Where I want to start is the day I left Pencey Prep. Pencey Prep is the school that’s in Agerstown, Pennsylvania. You probably heard of it. You’ve probably seen the ads, anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines, always showing some hot-shot guy on a horse jumping over a fence. Like as if all you ever did at Pencey was play polo all the time. I never even once saw a horse anywhere near the place. And underneath the guy on the horse’s picture, it always says: “Since 1888 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking young men”. Strictly for the birds. They don’t do any damn more molding at Pencey than they do at any other school. And I didn’t know anybody there that was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Maybe two guys. If that many. And they probably came to Pencey that way.

Anyway, it was the Saturday of the football game with Saxon Hall. The game with Saxon Hall was supposed to be a very big deal around Pencey. It was the last game of the year, and you were supposed to commit suicide or something if old Pencey didn’t win. I remember around three o’clock that afternoon I was standing way the hell on top of Thomsen Hill, right next to this crazy cannon that was in the Revolutionary War and all. You could see the whole field from there, and you could see the two teams bashing each other all over the place. You couldn’t see the grandstand too hot, but you could hear them all yelling, deep and terrific on the Pencey side, because practically the whole school except me was there, and scrawny and faggy on the Saxon Hall side, because the visiting team hardly ever brought many people with them.

There were never many girls at all at the football games. Only seniors were allowed to bring girls with them. It was a terrible school, no matter how you looked at it. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while, even if they’re only scratching their arms or blowing their noses or even just giggling or something. Old Selma Thurmer--she was the headmaster’s master--showed up at the games quite often, but she wasn’t exactly the type that drove you mad with desire. She was a pretty nice girl, though, I sat next to her once in the bus from Agerstown and we sort of struck up a conversation. I liked her. She had a big nose and her nails were all bitten down and bleedy-looking and she had on those damn falsies that point all over the place, but you felt sort of sorry for her. What I liked about her, she didn’t give you a lot of horse manure about what a great guy her father was. She probably knew what a phony slob h e was.

The reason I was standing way up on Thomsen Hill, instead of down at the game, was because I’d just got back from New York with the fencing team. I was the goddam manager of the fencing team. Very big deal. We’d gone in to New York that morning for this fencing meet with McBurney School. Only, we didn’t have the meet. I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway. It wasn’t all my fault. I had to keep getting up to look at this map, so we’d know where to get off. So we got back to Pencey around two-thirty instead of around dinnertime. The whole team ostracized me the whole way back on the train. It was pretty funny, in a way.

The other reason I wasn’t down at the game was because I was on my way to say good-by to old Spencer, my history teacher. He had the grippe, and I figured I probably wouldn’t see him again till Christmas vacation started. He wrote me this note saying he wanted to see me before I went home. He knew I wasn’t coming back to Pencey.

I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I wasn’t supposed to come back after Christmas vacation, on account of I was flunking four subjects and not applying myself and all. They gave me frequent warning to start applying myself - especially around mid-terms, when my parents came up for a conference with old Thurmer--but I didn’t do it. So I got the ax. They give guys the ax quite frequently at Pencey. It has a very good academic rating, Pencey. It really does.

Anyway, it was December and all, and it was cold as a witch’s teat, especially on top of that stupid hill. I only had on my reversible and no gloves or anything. The week before that, somebody’d stolen my camel’s-hair coat right out of my room, with my fur-lined gloves right in the pocket and all. Pencey was full of crooks. Quite a few guys came from these very wealthy families, but it was full of crooks anyway. The more expensive a school is, the more crooks it has - I’m not kidding. Anyway, I kept standing next to that crazy cannon, looking down at the game and freezing my ass off. Only, I wasn’t watching the game too much. What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leng them. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I live I like to know I’m leng it. If you don’t, you feel even worse.

………………

………………

^_^:1eb4970cdb482d95f12f88f40759a783

^_^:b9cd7dee413a21be3fa62ecf2d5f45fc