名著阅读

Easily she stepped into the told story that lay before her eyes on the path she followed away fromthe window. There was only one door to the house and to get to it from the back you had to walkall the way around to the front of 124, past the storeroom, past the cold house, the privy, the shed,on around to the porch. And to get to the part of the story she liked best, she had to start way back:
hear the birds in the thick woods, the crunch of leaves underfoot; see her mother making her wayup into the hills where no houses were likely to be. How Sethe was walking on two feet meant forstanding still. How they were so swollen she could not see her arch or feel her ankles. Her leg shaftended in a loaf of flesh scalloped by five toenails. But she could not, would not, stop, for when shedid the little antelope rammed her with horns and pawed the ground of her womb with impatienthooves. While she was walking, it seemed to graze, quietly — so she walked, on two feet meant, inthis sixth month of pregnancy, for standing still. Still, near a kettle; still, at the churn; still, at thetub and ironing board. Milk, sticky and sour on her dress, attracted every small flying thing fromgnats to grasshoppers. By the time she reached the hill skirt she had long ago stopped waving themoff. The clanging in her head, begun as a churchbell heard from a distance, was by then a tight capof pealing bells around her ears. Shesank and had to look down to see whether she was in a holeor kneeling. Nothing was alive but her nipples and the little antelope. Finally, she was horizontal— or must have been because blades of wild onion were scratching her temple and her cheek.
Concerned as she was for the life of her children's mother, Sethe told Denver, she rememberedthinking:
"Well, at least I don't have to take another step." A dying thought if ever there was one,and she waited for the little antelope to protest, and why she thought of an antelope Sethe could notimagine since she had never seen one. She guessed it must have been an invention held on to frombefore Sweet Home, when she was very young. Of that place where she was born (Carolinamaybe? or was it Louisiana?) she remembered only song and dance. Not even her own mother,who was pointed out to her by the eight-year-old child who watched over the young ones —pointed out as the one among many backs turned away from her, stooping in a watery field.Patiently Sethe waited for this particular back to gain the row's end and stand. What she saw was acloth hat as opposed to a straw one, singularity enough in that world of cooing women each ofwhom was called Ma'am.
轻而易举地，就从窗口所见的情景开始，她走进了躺在她眼前小路上的那个讲了又讲的故事。124号只有一扇门，如果你在后面想进去，就必须一直绕到房子的正面，走过贮藏室，走过冷藏室、厕所、棚屋，一直绕到门廊。同样地，为了进入故事中她最喜爱的那部分，她也必须从头开始：
听密林里的鸟鸣，听脚下草叶树叶的窸窣；看她妈妈匆匆赶路，直走进不像有人家的丘陵地带。塞丝是怎样地用两只本该停下的脚走路啊。它们肿得太厉害了，她甚至看不见足弓，也摸不到脚踝。她的腿杆插在一团呈扇形装饰着五个趾甲的肉里。但是她不能也不愿停下来，因为她一旦停住，小羚羊就用角撞她，用蹄子不耐烦地踢她的子宫壁。她若是老老实实走路，它就好像在吃草，安安静静的———所以她怀着六个月的身孕还在用两只本该停下的脚不停地走。早该停下了，停在水壶旁边；停在搅乳机旁边；停在澡盆和熨衣板旁边。她裙子上的奶水又黏又酸，招来了每一样小飞虫，从蚊子到蚂蚱，什么都有。等她赶到山脚时，她已经好久没有挥开它们了。她脑袋里的铿锵声开始时还好像远处教堂的钟鸣，到这时简直成了一顶箍在耳边、轰隆作响的帽盔。她陷了下去，只好低头看看，才能知道是掉在了坑里，还是自己跪下了。除了她的乳头和肚子里的小羚羊，再没有活的东西了。终于，她平躺下来———想必是平躺着，因为野葱叶子刮到了她的太阳穴和面颊。
塞丝后来告诉丹芙，尽管她对她儿女的母亲的性命那样牵挂，她还是有过这个念头：
“也好，至少我不用再迈一步了。”即使那个想法出现过，也不过是一闪念，然后她就等着小羚羊来抗议；到底为什么想到羚羊，塞丝自己也搞不明白，因为她可从来没见过一只。她猜想，肯定是在来“甜蜜之家”以前，在她还很小的时候就造出的一个说法。关于她出生的地方（也许是卡罗来纳？抑或是路易斯安那？）她只记得歌和舞。甚至不记得她自己的妈妈；还是一个看小孩的八岁孩子指给她的呢———从水田里弯腰干活的许多条脊背中指出来。塞丝耐心地等着这条特别的脊背到达田垄的尽头，站起身来。她看到的是一顶不同于其他草帽的布帽子，这在那个女人们都低声讲话、都叫做太太的世界里已经够个别的了。
背景阅读

本书简介：

《宠儿》是托妮·莫里森最震撼人心、最成熟的代表作，现已经成为当代文学史上不朽的经典，也是美国文学史上最畅销的作品之一。小说完成于1987年，1988年即获得美国普利策小说奖。2006年《纽约时报》召集125位知名作家、评论家、编辑及文坛泰斗等选出自己心目中“25年来最佳美国小说”，《宠儿》得票最高，名列第一。

“你的爱太浓了！”——一个不可能重复的故事！！！
女黑奴塞丝怀着身孕只身从肯塔基的奴隶庄园逃到俄亥俄，奴隶主循踪追至；为了使儿女不再重复自己做奴隶的悲惨命运，她毅然杀死了自己刚刚会爬的幼女宠儿……十八年后宠儿还魂重返人间，和塞丝、塞丝的女儿丹芙以及塞丝的情人保罗•D生活在同一幢房子里。她不但加倍地向母亲索取着爱，甚至纠缠和引诱保罗•D，不择手段地扰乱和摧毁母亲刚刚回暖的生活……全书充满苦涩的诗意和紧张的悬念。

作者简介：

托妮·莫里森，美国当代最重要的女作家之一。1931年生于美国俄亥俄州，曾担任兰登书屋编辑、资深编辑，1989年起任普林斯顿大学教授。主要代表作有《最蓝的眼睛》、《秀拉》、《所罗门之歌》、《宠儿》、《爵士乐》、《天堂》等，曾获美国普利策小说奖、美国图书评论协会奖等多项大奖。1993年获诺贝尔文学奖，是历史上得此殊荣的唯一黑人女作家。