Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] epub pdf mobi txt 电子书 下载 2024

Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] epub pdf mobi txt 电子书 下载 2024

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Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] epub pdf mobi txt 电子书 下载 2024

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　　《简·爱》是夏洛蒂·勃朗特的成名作及代表作，也是集经典性与流行性于一体的世界文学经典名著的典型代表。小说女主人公简·爱是英语文学中最早在社会生活中争取独立自主，并积极进取的女性形象之一；男主人公罗切斯特则是继《失乐园》中的撒旦之后，颇为典型的“黑色英雄”之一。

内容简介

Featuring an Introduction by Erica Jong, this book stars one of the most unforgettable heroines of all time. Jane Eyre is a first-person narrative of the title character. The novel goes through five distinct stages: Jane's childhood at Gateshead, where she is emotionally and physically abused by her aunt and cousins; her education at Lowood School, where she acquires friends and role models but also suffers privations and oppression; her time as the governess of Thornfield Hall, where she falls in love with her Byronic employer, Edward Rochester; her time with the Rivers family during which her earnest but cold clergyman-cousin St John Rivers proposes to her; and the finale with her reunion with and marriage to her beloved Rochester.

　　《简·爱》创作于英国谢菲尔德，是一部带有自传色彩的长篇小说，它阐释了这样一个主题：人的价值=尊严+爱。《简·爱》中的简爱人生追求有两个基本旋律：富有激情、幻想、反抗和坚持不懈的精神；对人间自由幸福的渴望和对更高精神境界的追求。这本小说的主题是通过对孤女坎坷不平的人生经历，成功地塑造了一个不安于现状、不甘受辱、敢于抗争的女性形象，反映一个平凡心灵的坦诚倾诉的呼号和责难，一个小写的人成为一个大写的人的渴望。 　　《简·爱》是一部反响巨大的书。出版商在1847年10月就出版了这部作品。萨克雷称赞它是“一位伟大天才的杰作”。次年印行第三版时，《评论季刊》上提到“《简·爱》与《名利场》受到同样广泛的欢迎。乔治·艾略特则深深地被《简·爱》陶醉了”。

作者简介

Charlotte Bront and her sisters Anne and Emily are acclaimed English novelists and poets. Charlotte is best know for her masterpiece Jane Eyre, and is also the author of Shirley and Villette.

　　夏洛蒂·勃朗特（1816～1855）英国女小说家。艾米莉·勃朗特之姐。出生于英国北部约克郡的豪渥斯。夏洛蒂·勃朗特排行第三，有两个姐姐、两个妹妹和一个弟弟。两个妹妹，即艾米莉·勃朗特和安恩·勃朗特，也是著名作家，因而在英国文学史上常有“勃朗特三姐妹”之称。夏洛蒂创作了《简爱》、《雪莉》、《教师》、《维莱蒂》四部小说和一些诗歌。另有一部没有完成的小说《爱玛》：只写了两章。”《简·爱》是她的处女作，也是代表作，至今仍受到广大读者的欢迎。

精彩书评

"So we open Jane Eyre....The writer has usby the hand, forces us along her road, makes us see what she sees, never leaves us for a moment or allows us to forget her. At the end we are steeped through and through with the genius, the vehemence, the indignation of Charlotte Bronte....It is the red and fitful glow of the heart's fire which illuminates her page."
--Virginia Woolf

精彩书摘

Chapter One

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question.

I was glad of it; I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mamma in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group, saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner--something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy little children."

"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.

"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."

A small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase; I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat crosslegged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves in my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near, a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.

I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of "the solitary rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape--

Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,

Boils round the naked, melancholy isles

Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge

Pours in among the stormy Hebrides.

Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space--that reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.

I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly risen crescent, attesting the hour of eventide.

The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.

The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over quickly: it was an object of terror.

So was the black, horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows.

Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought her ironing-table to the nursery-hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap borders, fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure taken from old fairy tales and older ballads; or (as at a later period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland.

With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way. I feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-room door was opened.

"Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: he found the room apparently empty.

"Where the dickens is she?" he continued. "Lizzy! Georgy! (calling to his sisters) Jane is not here: tell mamma she is run out into the rain--bad animal!"

"It is well I drew the curtain," thought I, and I wished fervently he might not discover my hiding-place: nor would John Reed have found it out himself; he was not quick either of vision or conception; but Eliza just put her head in at the door, and said at once: "She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack."

And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being dragged forth by the said Jack.

"What do you want?" I asked with awkward diffidence.

"Say, 'what do you want, Master Reed,' " was the answer. "I want you to come here"; and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a gesture that I was to approach and stand before him.

John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I, for I was but ten; large and stout for his age, with a dingy and unwholesome skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and large extremities. He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him bilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye with flabby cheeks. He ought now to have been at school; but his mamma had taken him home for a month or two, "on account of his delicate health." Mr.

Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] epub pdf mobi txt 电子书 下载 2024

Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] 下载 epub mobi pdf txt 电子书 2024

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补习文化

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京东包装和一号店差距不小，书太小字太小页边距太小，阅读体验太差，已经申请退货了

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经典，纸质很差的口袋书，不过买之前就考虑到了，符合预期，

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活动时候入的 经典文学读读无妨

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很满意的一次购物

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还可以 书很轻 比较满意

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质量不错 冲着宋兆霖的译本买的

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非常喜欢，特别给力的活动，赞哦喜欢

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