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《Find Me》读后感精选

2019-12-27 12:15:02 写回复

《Find Me》是一本由André Aciman著作,Farrar, Straus and Giroux出版的Hardcover图书,本书定价:USD 26.00,页数:224,特精心从网络上整理的一些读者的读后感,希望对大家能有帮助。

《Find Me》读后感(一):Michel撑起了我给的4颗星

Call me by your name终究是昙花一现了 Find me四个故事然而每个故事本身的时间跨越都不大,都是在描写几天以内的事情,过多的心理描写和对话是否意味着作者对于故事的本身其实没有太长远的计划 故事第一部分完全可以独立成为一本书,除了强行把男子的儿子写为Elio外,其他和之前没有任何关系,可能如果不强行和Elio联系在一起作者能有更大的发展空间 故事第二部分在CMBYN15年后,出现了Michel,既生Michel,何生Oliver, Michel够好了,但是故事却没有交代去向 故事第三部分发生在CMBYN20年后,还提及了CMBYN末尾Elio去大学看Oliver一起吃晚饭的情节,可是Oliver这个心态转变太快了吧,20年都坚持过来了就因为搬家之前一首钢琴曲就下定决心?20年的陪伴真的比不上20年前的一个夏天?渣了自己老婆作者还要强行洗白,什么每个Elio生日都会想起之类的云云。

故事第四部分简短的HE,看起像爽文但细节太缺失。而且搞不懂作者的事,明明都HE了为什么Elio母亲要痴呆父亲要去世(这个虽然第一部有提到但第一部也有提到20年后Oliver回到意大利和Elio散步Elio想让他叫他Oliver呀)?

个人认为书的第一部分第二部分可以再加打磨单独成书,Michel的故事我还想再看看,Leon呢?

《Find Me》读后感(二):大概每个作家都写过令他自己汗颜的作品

因为喜欢根据安德烈.艾席蒙的小说改编的电影《以你的名字呼唤我》,几天前开始读他的新作“Find Me”。读《找我》主要是为了工作之余调节大脑,而且这是《以你的名字…》的续集,也想知道艾利欧和奥利弗后来怎么样了。但是…….

.....这本书太cheesy了。我正在修改一本非常沉静有力量的爱尔兰/英国小说,这个时候读轻浮的《找我》,看每一页我都忍不住在心里说,cheesy, cheesy。艾席蒙不是伟大的作家,这他自己应该都知道,但他毕竟写过一本很好的,得了奖的自传《出埃及》。他的其他小说不算上乘但也有可圈可点之处,尤其是大段的心理描写,能让读者认同。而《找我》应该是一本十年后回过头,让他自己汗颜的作品。Goodreads上居然给这本小说3.4 (5星制),估计都是因为艾利欧的原因。但也有很多人给了他一星,大多数的抱怨是,书过了一半,艾利欧还没出现。

我的抱怨是这本书的做作。这本书用了一半的篇幅写艾利欧的老爸。他的做教授的老爸,在火车上认识了一个比他小一半的女孩,两人不断调情试探着对方,最终在一起。他们俩的每一段对话,表情,行为,都让我感觉不自然,好像他们身后有一群人把他们推上火车,逼着他们开始一段关系,一切都是制作出来的。其实很有可能,电影出来后,影迷一致要求续集。艾席蒙一开始说没有什么可写的,他要说的都说完了。后来禁不住诱惑,开始写续集,就是这本Find Me。

作家真的不能去取悦读者和观众。如果卢卡.瓜达尼诺真的拍续集,不知道他怎么拍,把重点从艾利欧转移到他老爸?谁care他老爸?

目前我读到了171页,奥利弗还没出现。艾利欧在巴黎,和一个他老爸那个年纪的老头 Michel拉拉扯扯。据说艾利欧和奥利弗的篇幅只有11页。难怪读者不满意。这就是讨好读者的下场:首先故事很可能过于牵强,此外你写的不称读者的心还挨骂。艾席蒙有没有后悔没写这个续集?He should.

我不推荐你浪费时间读这本书。我也问自己,好几本好书在等我读,干嘛还在这本书上浪费时间?此时我有点明白那些被家暴几年都走不出烂婚姻的妇女,她们总是幻想着也许明天她的老公会变好。我想毕竟是艾席蒙,也许下一页一切都会不一样了。

Don’t hold your breath. 我对自己说。

《Find Me》读后感(三):杂想

第一章 Tempo

中年男教授与青年女艺术家的一场艳遇,或是一场春梦。非常非常非常的cheesy。途中有太多情节让人想咆哮我特么这到底是看了啥。其实前半段如果写的再收敛一点,还可以全是一篇有趣的文。然而中间猝不及防的突然开车实在是让人有点难以承受。老教授,您可悠着点儿。另外结尾处强行联系Call me by your name的主线也有点突兀。不过中间有一些零碎的细节,比如对于论文的讨论,对于过去的自己的怀念的片段,其实还是挺有趣味的。

如果这是一篇网文,作为一篇番外我觉得倒是可以一读,但是收在正统续作里而且占了将近一半的篇幅,确实是有点说不过去。

第二章 Cadenza

Michel真是太暖了,谁不想遇见这样一位绅士呢。这一章其实很好看,虽然前三分之一进展得有些过快,但是找回了cmbyn的那种美好的感觉。后半段寻找Leon的情节虽然有些突兀,但是本身还是挺吸引人的。读的时候觉得其实最大的问题在于三周的爱情,到底会不会进展的这么快,可仔细想想其实cmbyn也不过是一个夏天的事,但是cmbyn的故事好在剧情高潮的位置,用了半本书的篇幅来铺垫暧昧,在快结束的时候才点破玄机,那种积蓄很久之后的激情的情感爆发的渲染力当然是要远胜于fm这里恨不得初相见就爱的你死我活的快节奏推进。不知道应该如何评价这里,是应该说三十岁的Elio还保留着15岁的激情,还是应该说30岁的Elio多了更多的勇气。

然而Elio心中还是放不下Oliver吧,最后几页真心虐。我情愿送我离开的人是你,你心里却早把那个位置给了别人…说好可能一辈子都不再联系,突然就又决定去和老情人相见…但是这些我都不在意,“the one thing I want in this life is for you to find happiness, the rest..." Michel啊Michel…真让人心疼…

另外一个困惑我的点是,Michel年纪多大?前半程提到Elio和Oliver分开之后过了15年,那么此时他应该30岁。然后年纪Michel是差不多Elio两倍的样子,也就是60多?中段也写到Michel在Elio这么大的年纪带情人去老房子的时候Elio应该还没出生,这也坐实了这点,说明Michel应该是已经超过60岁…60岁了还能连续三四天每天都make love,嗯Michel老先生您身体真好…

第三章 Capriccio

感想就是,作者你疯了吧,你知道自己在写什么么?!Oliver年度渣男定了。

第四章 Da Capo

就…一种像吃了苍蝇一样的恶心的感觉…如果没有前两章,我还会说这是一篇短小又俗套,但是仍然甜的结局。但是这一章放在这里,在前两章特别是第二章之后,真的就只有恶心。何必呢?这样的强行HE真的有必要么?

让我心痛的是Michel呢?5年间Elio和Michel之间又发生了什么呢?读的心里空落落的。不过又讲真如果作者你要继续写Michel的故事,我宁可你把他写死在Oliver回来之前,我也不想看到Elio为了Oliver抛下Michel,就像Oliver抛下了妻儿一样。这不是真爱,这真的就是恶心好么。

絮语

总体感受就是读第一章的时候觉得这个故事完全没必要放在这本书里啊,但是读完三四章就感觉第一章还挺可爱有趣的,因为最后两章才真的是恶心并且没必要。狗尾续貂,大抵就是这么个感觉了吧。

在CMBYN的故事里,我们看到的是两个年轻人之间最纯真的激情与爱恋。FM的前两章,我也算是读出了虽然一点都不现实并且爽文套路的成年人的一见钟情和直爽痛快。而最后两章我只能看到我们曾爱过的两个年轻人成了国产家庭伦理剧的狗血渣男。真的是打心里恶心。

总结

第一章可以打3星,第二章4星,第三章1星,最后一章简直是想打负数…

《Find Me》读后感(四):Find半生终得你

首先,恭喜安德烈喜提写作生涯的作品最低分。

从目前的评分来看,Find me无疑将成为他历来作品的垫底作不得不说,作为CMBYN的“正牌续篇”,Find me显得甚是“敷衍”,也怪不得读者不买单,最为读者诟病的是:整本书总共260页,E&O两个人同框的篇幅只有11页!你好意思叫续篇?!

另外有几个点,也撕碎了读者曾经的幻想

1、Elio的父亲Samuel不是gay

2、Elio的父母并不恩爱

3、Elio父子都搞“老幼恋”

4、Elio并未“守身如玉”

5、Oliver疑似“三人行”

6、Oliver竟然“抛妻弃子”

如果以上这些点并没有打消你阅读这本书的念头,那么就来听听我读完find me的感想吧。 本书共分为四个章节:TEMPO节奏—CADENZA华彩乐段—CAPRICCIO狂想曲—DA CAPO返始,每个章节都可以作为一个独立的故事来阅读,作者选择演奏中的四个词汇作为标题,让人一头雾水,且有种装B的嫌疑,但是如果作为E&O两个人感情发展的进度,我认为是恰当的,分别对应:一见钟情—干柴烈火—饱受煎熬—终成眷属。

这本小说并不应该被看成是一本同志小说,它是一本爱情小说,在爱情和欲望面前,不分性别、年龄、国别、种族、宗教,接受这个前提和事实,那么相信我,你会爱上它,会发现这本书没有传说中的那么差。就像安德烈艾席蒙曾经在Enigmavariations中提到的“爱情贯穿人的一生,在不同阶段、不同人的身上不断开出美丽的花来。从一个人到另一个人,从一个性别到另一个性别,只要在不断变迁的欲望里面你依然能清晰的看到它的存在,就够了。”

Find me确实有点像是作者因为CMBYN的大火,为了迎合市场而赶出来的作品,故事的编排和措辞都远远不及CMBYN,很遗憾,少年时的奋不顾身,在这本书里变成了中老年时的屈服求全,call me by your name中字里行间充满着的意淫般的“lust”,在find me里都消失不见,变成“fate”似的萍水相逢、随波逐流。但是说实话,我又是很沉迷得读完了Find me这本小说,最大的驱动力想必跟大家都一样,那就是想知道Elio和Oliver这些年过得还好吗?在壁炉前泣不成声的Elio有没有得到他想要的爱情?

四个都是很美丽的故事,但我读着却觉得异常悲伤,我相信,即使在现实世界中,这些故事也是真实存在的,但总觉得这些故事不应该发生在Elio和Oliver以及他们的家人身上,后来的他们变成这样,我很难接受,但如果不是这样,会是什么样子?有没有更好的可能和结局,无人知晓。

整体来看,Find me整篇都在讲“Find”,分别多年,TA们都在寻找什么,找到了什么。

TEMPO

Find her,Find brave

这个故事发生在E&O分别10年后,地点罗马,核心人物是Samuel(Elio的父亲)和Miranda,简称“SM”组合,讲述的是S找到年龄比自己小一半的M,find相爱的Brave并结婚生子的一段故事。整本书260页,这一个故事占了117页,而你的小可爱Elio在107页才露面。

11月份的某一个下午,Samuel坐火车从佛罗伦萨前往罗马去见27岁的Elio,在火车上他偶然碰到了一个30岁的气质美女Miranda坐到这自己对面,二人在火车上开始聊人生,发现彼此之间有着特别的吸引力,所以想一直聊一直聊(是不是有种爱在黎明破晓前的感觉),在火车上Elio一个电话告诉Samuel当天无法见他,只能第二天上午见,SM听到这个消息都很开心,下车后Miranda直接拉着Sami去见了她的父亲(她父亲病的不轻,并且当天过生日,看到这里我曾经怀疑M是想气死她爸,不过她爸并不介意),M是一个黑白风格摄影师,很爱她的父亲很有主见且特立独行,饭后,M送S回酒店,然后遛弯聊天,两人聊自己的过去,交互各自心理深处不为人知的秘密,当然少不了层层试探,从轻微的肢体接触到裸体、滚床单,滚完出门遛弯喝咖啡,“真”SM,第二天早上继续滚床单……

不得不承认,这个故事的“信息量”有点大!在Elio出现之前,全都在讲SM两个人如何如何情投意合,如何如何Enjoy。在看SM谈情说爱的过程中,我一直按捺着自己撕书的冲动,内心一阵阵狂喊“卧槽卧槽!这也行!不要啊!我的心灵!我的眼睛!”

这个故事交待了很多信息(郑重提示:少儿不宜,切勿模仿),以致于我无法找到本章表达的重点是什么。Elio的爸妈离婚,她妈跟一个老相好(同时也是他爸的朋友)在一起了,她们三个后来依然是朋友关系。

表面上看着那么完美的家庭,父慈母爱,原来事实上却已经支离破碎,不过我们相信Elio是在父母的爱中长大的,这就足够了。

amuel年轻的时候在罗马教书,和很多女学生有段关系,并且在和某女恋爱期间和另一个恋爱中的女性冲破“枷锁”飞到巴黎one night,那次***让他毕生难忘。

Miranda在13岁的时候,和她哥的同学以及她哥……(这个我不想写,想知道自己去看吧)

每个人心中都有很多不能对外人说的小秘密吧?你有吗?这个秘密,或许需要你用一生去隐瞒,你独自承受着它给你带来的痛苦和不堪,如果有一天遇到那个你愿意分享这个秘密的人,那么,是多么幸运。我无法站在道德高地去指点别人的生活,但我很开心,看到Samuel和Miranda成为可以分享那个秘密的彼此。

看着SM在酒店房间的大阳台上风流,我就在想,这不正是Elio和Oliver来罗马住的那个房间吗!我还记得早晨阳光洒满阳台的模样……

在本书的107页Elio小天使终于出现了,看到父亲和M,面对突然出现的“准后妈”,他从诧异、不适到接受,我想他的想法也是祝福多于其他吧。喝完咖啡和小酒,Elio带着SM拐了几个弯,来到一面墙前,一个煤油灯镶嵌在墙里。是的,10年前的那个深夜,那两个17岁和24岁的快乐少年,醉酒呕吐后,就是在那面墙上,他旁若无人的kiss让他的人生就此沉迷……

一句“Look for me,find me”,已让我泪流不止。

The more we know someone, the more we shut the doors between us--not he other way around.

I'm my beloved's, and my beloved is mine.

I envy the two of you. Please don't ruin it.

Love is easy,It's the courage to love and to trust that matters, and not all of us have both.

CADENZA

Find him,Find fate

15年后,32岁的Elio在巴黎的某个教堂,遇见了60岁左右的Michel。这个故事共94页,时长三周。讲述的是Elio和Michel因为“fate”的羁绊,find了彼此。

经受完上一个故事的“暴击”,我非常老实的承认:我对后面几个故事的心理承受能力明显增强。但是!!30岁的年龄差是什么回事?!作者你想表达什么,maybe是因为欧洲老龄化严重,为老年人创造机会吗?!并没有任何年龄歧视,我很支持任何年龄都去追求爱情、自由和梦想,但这个30岁年龄差的设定期待作者给一个说法。抛开这个问题不谈,这个故事其实是一个有点温暖的故事呢。

Michel在教堂的音乐演奏会后遇见Elio,聊了两句话,两人就看上眼了,嗯,或许就是“我可以”的那种同类相吸感觉吧。晚上两人去一个小酒吧吃了晚饭,闲聊了一下,通过肢体接触进行了试探,约定下周末教堂演奏会再见,就分开了。但是呢,在分别的时候,Elio其实想的是“挽留我抱我吻我睡我占有我”,可能Michel当时也是一样的想法。因为年龄的问题吧,两人当晚并没有进一步发展。对同性恋来说,性远远比爱来得更快,更容易,如果见面第一晚没有zuo爱,那么可能就是没机会,或者想发展一段稳定的关系吧。

再分开后的第三天,Michel找到了Elio任教的音乐学校,因为,他等不到周末了,他害怕如果不去find,再也见不到他,顺利成章,聊天吃饭滚床单。Elio在M的身上,找到了自己做为一个孩子的感觉,找到了温暖,找到了性爱以外的其他爱意(当然,也有性,一天三次就问你可不可?!)。

周末的时候Michel带Elio去了自己的老宅,并将一个特别珍贵的父亲遗物交给Elio:一份8页的“musicalscore”,“fromLeontoAdrien,January18,1944”,他们开始find这几页纸的秘密,寻找Leon和Michel父亲Adrien之间的关系-会不会也跟他们两个一样,寻找像谜一样无人知晓的Leon,像是完成Michel多年的一个执念和心愿。

这个感觉很温暖故事却让我异常悲凉,异常伤心。

一方面,它交待了Elio在这15年间的感情生活:23岁的时候谈过一段不到两年的最长关系,和一些男男女女有过一些短暂的关系,通过yue炮来满足需求、并且习惯了完事儿就穿衣服走人的生活。他的心里只有Oliver,但那位“the marriage canard”却似乎永远失去了。同时,我希望读者不要苛责Elio,心里装着一个人,还有力量去爱别人吗,“follow my drift”如果你能跟得上我的漂泊,那么或许你会懂我。

一方面,Michel对Elio的情感是爱情吗,我觉得不像,只是爱,Elio只是Michel的父亲以及儿子的影射罢了。Michel在见面的第一次就问了一个问题“你相信命运吗”,他们两个的相遇,不就是一种命运吗。Elio和M的父亲一样,都是钢琴家,M对逝去父亲的思念只能通过重复原来的路来实现,Elio和M的儿子差不多大,因为M出柜离婚而和儿子决裂,Michel在Elio身上找到了那两种父子情。

一方面,这个故事中提到了二战期间犹太人的遭遇,20世纪三四十年代—八九十年代的几代人对犹太人的看法,以及犹太人在几个任务的家庭中扮演的角色,这也让我想到Oliver的家庭及宗教信仰对他的束缚。

这些都是命运吗?和Michel在一起,Elio是被爱的,是快乐的。然而,这段关系从一开始就是不对等的,像极了两只受伤的鸟儿相互依偎取暖,却注定无法一起飞翔。

Elio因为工作登上了前往美国的飞机,终于,15年后,他鼓足了勇气去New Hampshire寻找Oliver。没错,他们见面的故事在call me by your name中已经讲到,本书没有提到那次见面还发生了什么,Nothing。

What good is the map if the end's already konwn?

What good is landfall if the boat stalls?

What good is a key if the door's wide open?

CAPRICCIO

Fine them,Find bond

20年后,故事发生在纽约,EricaandPaul两位年轻人来到44岁的Oliver的告别晚会上,晚会来宾为Elio以及妻子Micol的朋友。本故事32页,除了自己的妻儿,Oliver还找到了他们,也找到了他和Elio之间永远割不断的纽带。

Oliver在校园宿舍认识了男孩Paul,在瑜伽馆认识了女孩Erica,是一种肉体和感情的驱使让Oliver觉得想要和他们建立一种关联,即使在几天后就会分开,或者此生再也没有机会遇见,但是很想认识他们,于是他邀请了Paul和Erica,在晚会上Paul带来了男朋友,Erica带来了老公,但是,这也没有妨碍三人在晚会上勾肩搭背互相“暧昧”,用眼神告诉彼此“我可以”,Micol频频投来的眼神也阻止不了他们“浅尝辄止的偷欢”。

酒到嗨处,Paul用钢琴弹起了一首Bach's Arioso,是的,那个夏天,Elio为Oliver弹奏的正是这一首,如果这首曲子让你的人生发生了改变,那么就让它发生吧。

看到Oliver搞3P的部分,我!把!书!合上!很久!我!无!法!接受!

还好,只是一场梦。

当Micol问起,Oliver会说:他们都只是Kid,Elio、Erica、Paul。是的,在他的心里搅动无数波澜的Kid。

在这一章里,我又重新看到了一丁点lust,Oliver是压抑的,在情欲面前,理性让他在床上“抱紧”了自己的妻子Micol。

Oliver半睡半醒的生活,像极了Maurice中的Cliff。“要是你丢下我的话,我将半睡半醒地度过余生,”所幸,44岁的他,重新决定追随内心最真实的情感。

We're still the same, we haven't drifted

DA CAPO

Find me,Find you

20年后,故事,发生在故事开始的地方。Callmebyyourname小说的结局中提到20年后的夏天Oliver重新回到了Elio的家,一句“Iremembereverthing”足以让读者千回百转,大家都高喊:在一起在一起在一起!Findme中作者给出了答案:Oliver是回去和Elio再续情缘,并且说不再离开。终于,20年后,他们又躺在一张床上,时间是不是改变了一切?“拥抱我”“看看会发生什么”,相拥而眠的他们仿佛仍然是当初的少年。

看到两个人终于又重新在一起了,我却五味杂陈、怅然若失,太突然,他们的爱情故事就这样草草收尾了吗?戛然而止的HappyEnding。

I'm not leaving. Stop thinking like that.

I feared I was starting to forget your face, your voice, your smell

——————

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欢迎同样喜欢读影视原著的书友们一起来交流、投稿~

以书为媒,在这里遇见TA

《Find Me》读后感(五):鼠尾續貂

#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

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