乞力马扎罗的雪名句

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乞力马扎罗的雪名句篇一
《乞力马扎罗的雪_英文版原文》

THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO Kilimanjaro is a snow covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and it is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called the Masai "Ngàje Ngài," the House of God. Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude. "The marvellous thing is that it's painless," he said. "That's how you know when it starts." "Is it really?" "Absolutely. I'm awfully sorry about the odor though. That must bother you." "Don't! Please don't." "Look at them," he said. "Now is it sight or is it scent that brings them like that?" The cot the man lay on was in the wide shade of a mimosa tree and as he looked out past the shade onto the glare of the plain there were three of the big birds squatted obscenely, while in the sky a dozen more sailed, making quick-moving shadows as they passed. "They've been there since the day the truck broke down," he said. "Today's the first time any have lit on the ground. I watched the way they sailed very carefully at first in case I ever wanted to use them in a story. That's funny now." "I wish you wouldn't," she said. "I'm only talking," he said. "It's much easier if I talk. But I don't want to bother you." "You know it doesn't bother me," she said. "It's that I've gotten so very nervous not being able to do anything. I think we might make it as easy as we can until the plane comes." "Or until the plane doesn't come." "Please tell me what I can do. There must be something I can do." "You can take the leg off and that might stop it, though I doubt it. Or you can shoot me. You're a good shot now. I taught you to shoot didn't I?" "Please don't talk that way. Couldn't I read to you?" "Read what?" "Anything in the book bag that we haven't read." "I can't listen to it," he said. "Talking is the easiest. We quarrel and that makes the time pass." "I don't quarrel. I never want to quarrel. Let's not quarrel any more. No matter how nervous we get. Maybe they will be back with another truck today. Maybe the plane will come." "I don't want to move," the man said. "There is no sense in moving now except to make it easier for you." "That's cowardly." "Can't you let a man die as comfortably as he can without calling him names? What's the use of slanging me?" "You're not going to die." "Don't be silly. I'm dying now. Ask those bastards." He looked over to where the huge, filthy birds sat, their naked heads sunk in the hunched feathers. A fourth planed down, to run quick-legged and then waddle slowly toward the others. "They are around every camp. You never notice them. You can't die if you don't give up." "Where did you read that? You're such a bloody fool." "You might think about some one else." "For Christ's sake," he said, "That's been my trade." He lay then and was quiet for a while and looked across the heat shimmer of the

plain to the edge of the bush. There were a few Tommies that showed minute and white against the yellow and, far off, he saw a herd of zebra, white against the green of the bush. This was a pleasant camp under big trees against a hill, with good water, and close by, a nearly dry water hole where sand grouse flighted in the mornings. 2008-6-18 19:29 回复 116.21.56.* 2楼"Wouldn't you like me to read?" she asked. She was sitting on a canvas chair beside his cot. "There's a breeze coming up." "No thanks." "Maybe the truck will come." "I don't give a damn about the truck." "I do." "You give a damn about so many things that I don't." "Not so many, Harry." "What about a drink?" "It's supposed to be bad for you. It said in Black's to avoid all alcohol. You shouldn't drink." "Molo!" he shouted. "Yes Bwana." "Bring whiskey-soda." "Yes Bwana." "You shouldn't," she said. "That's what I mean by giving up. It says it's bad for you. I know it's bad for you." "No," he said. "It's good for me." So now it was all over, he thought. So now he would never have a chance to finish it. So this was the way it ended in a bickering over a drink. Since the gangrene started in his right leg he had no pain and with the pain the horror had gone and all he felt now was a great tiredness and anger that this was the end of it. For this, that now was coming, he had very little curiosity. For years it had obsessed him; but now it meant nothing in itself. It was strange how easy being tired enough made it. Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well he would never know, now. "I wish we'd never come," the woman said. She was looking at him holding the glass and biting her lip. "You never would have gotten anything like this in Paris. You always said you loved Paris. We could have stayed in Paris or gone anywhere. I'd have gone anywhere. I said I'd go anywhere you wanted. If you wanted to shoot we could have gone shooting in Hungary and been comfortable." "Your bloody money," he said. "That's not fair," she said. "It was always yours as much as mine. I left everything and I went wherever you wanted to go and I've done what you wanted to do. But I wish we'd never come here." "You said you loved it." "I did when you were all right. But now I hate it. I don't see why that had to happen to your leg. What have we done to have that happen to us?" "I suppose what I did was to forget to put iodine on it when I first scratched it. Then I didn't pay any attention to it because I never infect. Then, later, when it got bad, it was probably using that weak carbolic solution when the other antiseptics ran out that paralyzed the minute blood vessels and started the gangrene." He looked at her, "Wh

at else?" "I don't mean that." "If we would have hired a good mechanic instead of a half baked kikuyu driver, he would have checked the oil and never burned out that bearing in the truck." "I don't mean that." "If you hadn't left your own people, your goddamned Old West-bury, Saratoga, Palm Beach people to take me on--" "Why, I loved you. That's not fair. I love you now. I'll always love you. Don't you love me?" "No," said the man. "I don't think so. I never have." "Harry, what are you saying? You're out of your head." 2008-6-18 19:29 回复 116.21.56.* 3楼"No. I haven't any head to go out of." "Don't drink that," she said. "Darling, please don't drink that. We have to do everything we can." "You do it," he said. "I'm tired." * * * Now in his mind he saw a railway station at Karagatch and he was standing with his pack and that was the headlight of the Simplon-Orient cutting the dark now and he was leaving Thrace then after the retreat. That was one of the things he had saved to write, with, in the morning at breakfast, looking out the window and seeing snow on the mountains in Bulgaria and Nansen's Secretary asking the old man if it were snow and the old man looking at it and saying, No, that's not snow. It's too early for snow. And the Secretary repeating to the other girls, No, you see. It's not snow and them all saying, It's not snow we were mistaken. But it was the snow all right and he sent them on into it when he evolved exchange of populations. And it was snow they tramped along in until they died that winter. It was snow too that fell all Christmas week that year up in the Gauertal, that year they lived in the woodcutter's house with the big square porcelain stove that filled half the room, and they slept on mattresses filled with beech leaves, the time the deserter came with his feet bloody in the snow. He said the police were right behind him and they gave him woolen socks and held the gendarmes talking until the tracks had drifted over. In Schrunz, on Christmas day, the snow was so bright it hurt your eyes when you looked out from the weinstube and saw every one coming home from church. That was where they walked up the sleigh-smoothed urine-yellowed road along the river with the steep pine hills, skis heavy on the shoulder, and where they ran that great run down the glacier above the Madlener-haus, the snow as smooth to see as cake frosting and as light as powder and he remembered the noiseless rush the speed made as you dropped down like a bird. They were snow-bound a week in the Madlener-haus that time in the blizzard playing cards in the smoke by the lantern light and the stakes were higher all the time as Herr Lent lost more. Finally he lost it all. Everything, the skischule money and all the season's profit and then his capital. He could see him with his long nose, picking up the cards and then opening, "Sans Voir." There was always gambling then. When there was no snow yo

u gambled and when there was too much you gambled. He thought of all the time in his life he had spent gambling. But he had never written a line of that, nor of that cold, bright Christmas day with the mountains showing across the plain that Barker had flown across the lines to bomb the Austrian officers' leave train, machine-gunning them as they scattered and ran. He remembered Barker afterwards coming into the mess and starting to tell about it. And how quiet it got and then somebody saying, "You bloody murderous bastard." Those were the same Austrians they killed then that he skied with later. No not the same. Hans, that he skied with all that year, had been in the Kaiser-J?gers and when they went hunting hares together up the little valley above the saw-mill they had talked of the fighting on Pasubio and of the attack on Pertica and Asalone and he had never written a word of that. Nor of Monte Corno, nor the Siete Commum, nor of Arsiedo. 2008-6-18 19:29 回复 116.21.56.* 4楼How many winters had he lived in the Voralberg and the Arlberg? It was four and then he remembered the man who had the fox to sell when they had walked into Bludenz, that time to buy presents, and the cherry-pit taste of good kirsch, the fast-slipping rush of running powder-snow on crust, singing "Hi! Ho! said Rolly!" as you ran down the last stretch to the steep drop, taking it straight, then running the orchard in three turns and out across the ditch and onto the icy road behind the inn. Knocking your bindings loose, kicking the skis free and leaning them up against the wooden wall of the inn, the lamplight coming from the window, where inside, in the smoky, new-wine smelling warmth, they were playing the accordion. * * * "Where did we stay in Paris?" he asked the woman who was sitting by him in a canvas chair, now, in Africa. "At the Crillon. You know that." "Why do I know that?" "That's where we always stayed." "No. Not always." "There and at the Pavillion Henri-Quatre in St. Germain. You said you loved it there." "Love is a dunghill," said Harry. "And I'm the cock that gets on it to crow." "If you have to go away," she said, "is it absolutely necessary to kill off everything you leave behind? I mean do you have to take away everything? Do you have to kill your horse, and your wife and burn your saddle and your armour?" "Yes," he said. "Your damned money was my armour. My Swift and my Armour." "Don't." "All right. I'll stop that. I don't want to hurt you." "It's a little bit late now." "All right then. I'll go on hurting you. It's more amusing. The only thing I ever really liked to do with you I can't do now." "No, that's not true. You liked to do many things and everything you wanted to do I did." "Oh, for Christ sake stop bragging, will you?" He looked at her and saw her crying. "Listen," he said. "Do you think that it is fun to do this? I don't know why I'm doing it. It's trying to kill to

keep yourself alive, I imagine. I was all right when we started talking. I didn't mean to start this, and now I'm crazy as a coot and being as cruel to you as I can be. Don't pay any attention, darling, to what I say. I love you, really. You know I love you. I've never loved any one else the way I love you." He slipped into the familiar lie he made his bread and butter by. "You're sweet to me." "You bitch," he said. "You rich bitch. That's poetry. I'm full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry." "Stop it. Harry, why do you have to turn into a devil now?" "I don't like to leave anything," the man said. "I don't like to leave things behind." * * * It was evening now and he had been asleep. The sun was gone behind the hill and there was a shadow all across the plain and the small animals were feeding close to camp; quick dropping heads and switching tails, he watched them keeping well out away from the bush now. The birds no longer waited on the ground. They were all perched heavily in a tree. There were many more of them. His personal boy was sitting by the bed. "Memsahib's gone to shoot," the boy said. "Does Bwana want?" 2008-6-18 19:29 回复 116.21.56.* 5楼"Nothing." She had gone to kill a piece of meat and, knowing how he liked to watch the game, she had gone well away so she would not disturb this little pocket of the plain that he could see. She was always thoughtful, he thought. On anything she knew about, or had read, or that she had ever heard. It was not her fault that when he went to her he was already over. How could a woman know that you meant nothing that you said; that you spoke only from habit and to be comfortable? After he no longer meant what he said, his lies were more successful with women than when he had told them the truth. It was not so much that he lied as that there was no truth to tell. He had had his life and it was over and then he went on living it again with different people and more money, with the best of the same places, and some new ones. You kept from thinking and it was all marvellous. You were equipped with good insides so that you did not go to pieces that way, the way most of them had, and you made an attitude that you cared nothing for the work you used to do, now that you could no longer do it. But, in yourself, you said that you would write about these people; about the very rich; that you were really not of them but a spy in their country; that you would leave it and write of it and for once it would be written by some one who knew what he was writing of. But he would never do it, because each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all. The people he knew now were all much more comfortable when he did not work. Africa was where he had been happiest in the good time of his life, so he had come out here to start again. They had made this s

乞力马扎罗的雪名句篇二
《乞力马扎罗的雪》

乞力马扎罗的雪名句篇三
《_乞力马扎罗的雪_主题思想及其表现手法探讨》

第12卷第2期

Vol.12No.2湖　北　工　学　院　学　报　JournalofHubeiPolytechnicUniversity1997年6月Jun.1997《乞力马扎罗的雪》主题思想及其表现手法探讨

彭家海

(基础课部)

摘　要　对海明威小说《乞力马扎罗的雪》的主题思想及其表现手法进行了分析和探讨.已经崭

露头脚的海明威是不是被创作的成功冲昏了头脑而不思进取呢?他曾经如此,但不久就意识到了

这一点.为了提醒自己,他塑造了一个反面形象.为了使之成功,他使用了意识流手法使主人公

沉浸于美好的回忆,而这又被死亡的象征所打扰.他后悔,但为时已晚;他绝望,因死神已逼近.

关键词　主题思想;表现手法;意识流;象征

中图法分类号　H139.4

《乞力马扎罗的雪》(TheSnowsofKilimanjaro)是美国著名作家,诺贝尔文学奖获得者厄尔斯特・海明威(ErnestHemingway,1899～1961)30年代中期的作品.它被有的文学评论家视为海明威最有才华的作品.故事主要讲述一作家去非洲狩猎途中在茫无人烟的地方汽车抛锚,但更糟糕的是,他被刺划破了皮肤并由于未用碘涂抹而感染,后来发展成坏疽,直至最后死去.身为作家,他来非洲狩猎本来可以对以后的创作有所帮助,但没料到就这样离开他曾经热爱的这个世界,而且由于有很多经历他想写但还没有来得及写,因此,死之前悔恨莫及.

初看起来,《乞力马扎罗的雪》是海明威对他在一次非洲狩猎时飞机坠毁而受重伤的反映,因为这次飞机失事之后,虽然他身体的伤治好了,但大脑的伤却一直未好,他绝望了,后来成了偏执狂,最后可能因此自杀.这和他在《乞力马扎罗的雪》中所描述的情况非常相似,也就是说,这个故事反映的也许是他在飞机失事后的想法.但实际上《乞力马扎罗的雪》是1936年的作品,而海明威在非洲失事却是1953年发生的.从时间上来说,相去甚远,可以说两者没有什么联系.那么《乞力马扎罗的雪》到底要告诉读者什么呢?[1]

1　主题思想

1925年,海明威的第1部小说集《在我们的时代里》(InOurTime)出版;1926年,他的第1部长篇小说《太阳照样升起》(TheSunAlsoRises)出版;1927年,他的第2部小说集《没有女人的男人》(MenwithoutWomen)出版;1929年,他的第2部长篇小说《永别了,武器》(AFarewelltoArms)出版.5年里出版了4部作品,且其中的2部长篇小说都很成功,尤其是《太阳照样升起》使他在国际上出名.这无疑是一件了不起的事,牢牢奠定了他在文学界的位置.

收稿日期　1996-11-10

106湖　北　工　学　院　学　报

[2]1997年第2期　事实上,他这一阶段的成功而带来的名气伴随了他一生.后来,他又出版了《胜者无所得》(

WinnerTakeNothing,1933)等作品.他开始频繁地出国,如去法国巴黎居住,去非洲打猎等等,他走到哪里,都引起人们的注意和崇拜.这同时又给他带来了巨大的压力,因为成功和出名对每个人来说也是一种威胁.

在《乞力马扎罗的雪》中,海明威塑造的也是这样一位作家,名叫哈里(Harry).他的成名给他带来了女人,凑巧的是,当他爱上另外一个女人的时候,这个女人总比前一个女人更有钱.最后是海伦(Helen),即故事中的这一个.她最有钱,也非常爱他,因为他是个作家,象个男子汉.她羡慕作家们的生活,以为他们自由自在,想做什么就做什么.她把他当作一个陪伴和一个值得自豪的“占有物”.她爱他的名而他爱她的钱,于是他们走到了一起.她年轻时丈夫就死了,后来她厌倦了两个情人[2].现在,她有了新的生活,而他也出卖了原来辛勤创作的自我,换来了安全舒适的生活.她爱他,宁愿为他购买他想要的一切;他也离不开她,就象离不开别的女人一样.但她更有钱,并能给他带来更大的快乐.事实上,他并不爱她.他自己心里也明白:他说爱她仅仅是个谎言,只是出于习惯才这样说,就象他对别的女人一样.他得出的结论是:当你对女人说的话并不是你真正想要表达的意思时,往往比你对她们表达真心实意的话更管用.他是看不起有钱人的.他原以为“只要是有钱的人就同你和我(这样的人)不

[2]一样”(这是菲茨杰拉德的小说《富家子》中的第一句话,海明威在这个故事里引用了原话),但他后来发现有钱人并不那么富有魔力,只是钱多些.他们喝酒喝得太多,他们太喜欢赌博,等等,到头来总是让人失望.但和他们一起过着不用写作就能享受的生活削弱了他的才能,软化了他的意志,以致于他干脆就不写作了.事实上,他的创作生涯在和海伦结合之前就已经结束了.海伦只不过是在他对创作的热情丧失殆尽的时候闯入了他的生活.即使海伦不来,也会有另外一个女人来给他的文学生涯添上一个句号[2].

是不是和他们在一起就没有什么可写呢?不是的.在他内心里他是这样想的:他和这些人泡在一起是要了解富人们的生活,然后以亲身体验去揭露他们的没落,他并不是他们中的一员而是打入他们内部的一个间谍.事实上,他还有很多其他东西要写,因为他经历的事很多,有许多是他非常想写的,如1922年当土耳其和希腊发生边境冲突时,他曾经去那里;一战期间阿尔卑斯山的滑雪和旅游胜地的生活,他记忆犹新,如一个逃兵的故事,滑雪,赌博的事,轰炸奥地利(一战中德国的同盟国)军官乘坐的火车的事[2],他未写;当他出卖了自己,对写作没有热情时,金钱就变得非常有价值,他意识到了这一点,却没有写,虽然这很值得写[2];又如,在巴黎和他的第一个女人吵了架,来到了伊斯坦布尔后,由于想她,就给她去了信,且由于寂寞,便在街上找了妓女并因此还和一个英国士兵打了架,就在当晚他又去了土耳其的安那托利亚并在那里看到了战争的残酷,以致于他回到巴黎还心有余悸,在这里他见到了达达派的倡导者TritanTzara,然后又回到了他妻子身边,由于他给第一个情妇写的信转寄到了家里,他妻子知道了,他便和妻子又分了手;他本来想写这些女人,但由于他想先写他经历的世态变迁,因此,就未写成;还有他所热爱的巴黎贫民区的人们,即巴黎公社成员们的后裔,他们的生活以及法国印象派诗人PaulVerlaine住过的地方[2].这些他也未写,另外还有在德国黑林钓鱼的事[2],以及痛苦不堪请他(哈里)杀死自己的受伤士兵[2],等等,他都没有写.战争的残酷和无情改变了他的价值观,使他变成了一个只图寻欢作乐,失去往日自我的人.以上有很多都是海明威亲身体验过的.

所有这些,哈里都想写,准备留到以后再写,有些事情他想等自己更成熟后再写,以便写得[1][2][2][2][2]

　第12卷第2期　　　　　　　　彭家海　《乞力马扎罗的雪》主题思想及其表现手法探讨107更好些.并且他来非洲就是要消除他灵魂中的懒惰,以便为写作作准备,因为非洲是一生中给他带来最大的欢乐和刺激的地方,而恰恰是非洲又使他最后悔,在这里他马上就要死去,却还有很多故事未完成[2].他多么想写他经历而又使他感动的事和他认识而又给他带来喜与悲的人,以致于在临死之前还准备写,甚至请海伦听写,他是多么热爱这个世界,舍不得离开它.他想完成他的事业却一再被死神打扰,他是心有余而力不足.最终,他死于这样一个梦境:他坐上飞机,向非洲最高峰乞力马扎罗的山顶飞去[2].但实际上只有他的尸体躺在离山顶很远的地方,向往着它.他最终没有能到达心中的目标.

实际上,死亡的念头已困扰他多年了.在他放弃原来的生活而沉溺于花天酒地的生活时,他已经失去了灵魂而只是过着一种行尸走肉般的生活,以致于最终死亡将至的时候,他已经对它变得厌倦了.那么,是什么毁了他呢?连他自己也清醒地认识到,随着他的成名,他没有选择写作而是别的谋生方式,即寄生虫的生活;他没有用自己的才能,因为他背叛了自己和自己信仰的东西;因为他酒喝得太多以致于对事物的感觉迟钝,甚至在他行将死去,海伦要他喝汤时,他还坚持要喝酒[2];因为懒惰和势利,因为傲慢和偏见[2],等等.总而言之,是他自己毁了自己.

从以上可以清楚地看出,海明威写《乞力马扎罗的雪》就是要表达这样一个主题:不要因成名所带来的金钱和女人而毁了自己的创作才能,要保住自己的天赋.这个主题在很久之后他写的中篇小说《老人与海》(TheOldManandtheSea,1952)中表现了出来.虽然海明威曾沉溺于狂热的崇拜中,但作为一个已经相当成名的作家,他能意识到这一点也是难能可贵的,正因为如此,他后来的几部小说如《丧钟为谁而鸣》(ForWhomtheBellTolls,1940)和《老人与海》等才得以成功并最终获得诺贝尔文学奖.使他到达了文学事业的顶峰并获得了永恒.2　表现手法

就象威廉・福克纳在小说《喧嚣与狂怒》(SoundandFury,1929),《当我垂死的时候》(AsILayDying,1930)和凯瑟林・安・波特在小说《饱经风霜的奶奶》(TheJiltingofGrannyWeatherall,1930)等中一样,为了表现主题,海明威在《乞力马扎罗的雪》中使用了意识流的手法.意识流手法是在现实主义的基础上于本世纪二、三十年代兴起的.在创作上,它打破了由作家出面介绍人物,安排情节,评论人物的心理活动的传统文学手法而以直接表现人物意识活动特别是潜意识过程为其主要特征,以意象和人物内心的态度为表现形式.意识流手法有一个共性,即从现在回到过去,往往是作家们用来叙述心有余而力不足的人,如即将去逝的人、老人、病床上的人等的思想活动,往往以内心独白和自由联想的方式进行.意识流手法的使用能使读者窥见人物的内心深处以了解他们在想什么,他们的隐私和其它秘密,使故事更加真实可信,富有感染力和说服力.并且一般以回忆的形式出现,小说里的人物大体都是对过去的事情的一种思念和回味,表达的是后悔、惋惜等情感,往往回忆不一定是连贯的,也不一定是按事物发生的时间顺序展开的,并且会因周围的人或物的打扰而回到现实中来,有时人物说着话可能就陷入沉思和回忆中,而有时他们又会在回忆中说出话来,犹如说梦话,令身边的人丈二和尚摸不着头脑.

在《乞力马扎罗的雪》中,回忆占去很大的篇幅.如果作者不采用意识流手法,那么这个故事可能很难写.因为故事情节并不复杂,即叙述哈里死之前的下午和晚上所发生的事,主要是[3]

说明哈里有这么多值得写的亲身经历都将被带到坟墓里去是多么可惜,他是多么痛心和悔恨,因为他是个有着敏锐观察力又具有文学才能的人.如果他写这些事的话,他将是一个知道自己在写什么的人,理由很简单,他亲身体验过这些事.现在他想写但不能动笔,因为他躺在那里动弹不得,只能想,一切都得靠几个土著仆人和海伦照顾.作者有意采用意识流和现实描写交替出现的方式,以致主人公多次象从梦中醒来,而面对残酷的现实.通过描写他活跃的思想和无力的身躯之间的反差,从反面来达到深化主题的艺术效果.这样就使他心烦意乱,多次伤害真心爱他的海伦,并因为事情到了这份田地一直埋怨和责备她,虽然他自己心里也清楚,这一切并不能怪她.作者这样刻画哈里是合情合理的,正是这样才能使作家意识到荒废自己的才能是不可取的,是要遗憾终生的.

哈里的回忆不是被他自己从回忆中飞出的问题打断,就是被海伦的话语打断,如当他正在回忆巴黎贫民区的生活时,海伦突然问:“(你不想再喝Wouldn'tyoulikesomemorebroth?”

[2]点汤).并且有时说着话就陷入了沉思,如当海伦劝他不要再喝酒并说他们必须做可能做的一切来救他的时候,他说:“Youdoit.I'mtired”(你做吧,我累了.)[2]接着就想起在土耳其和希腊边境的特蕾丝坐火车的情景.还有几次不知不觉就从回忆中提问.如当他回忆到大牧场的少年杀死恶毒的雇主这件事时,他自己在想有这么多好的故事他都没有写,原因是什么的时候,他突然说“你告诉他们为什么”(Youtellthemwhy),“什么为什么”(Whywhat)海伦吃惊的问道,他却说“Whynothing”(没什么)[2].这表明他已意识到自己的莫明其妙.

另外作者还用象征的手法来表现主题.故事的开头,淫秽的秃鹰象征死亡[1].这种吃死动物肉的鸟围着这个帐蓬,似乎等他死去就来吃他的肉.看到它们靠近,他就想到死亡.自从汽车坏的那天开始,它们就一直在那里,今天是它们第一次从树上落到地上来,他起初仔细地观察着它们,因为也许在哪个故事中要用到它们,但现在他知道这不可能了,因为它们向他靠近了,即死亡就要来了.随着傍晚的来临,鼠狗(hyena)成了死亡的象征.它也是一种淫秽的动物,每天都从帐蓬附近经过,晚上还发出尖叫.它的出现和靠近不断提醒哈里死亡的来临,在他死的当晚,它向他们靠近了一点,然后又在离他们生着的火旁边尖叫了一声,后来就是主人公觉得它把头靠在他的床脚,然后从他的脚向他的腿部移动,最后压在他的胸部,使他喘不过气[2].这和坏疽的扩展是同一方向,死亡已经离他不远了,这使主人公更加后悔莫及.最后,他在它的尖叫声中死去.

雪总是给人以神秘感.标题里的“雪”在正文中并没有提到,只是在回忆中有许多关于雪

[2]的描述.乞力马扎罗的“雪”指的是其西部顶峰,在当地被视为“上帝之所”,象征着“不朽”和

“永生”,是人生和事业的最高境界.在离它不远处,有一只豹的尸体.豹费劲爬到这么高的地方来死也许是为了“不朽”,因为这里终年积雪,尸体不易腐烂.它象征着只有不断进取的艺术

[1]家才能接近“不朽”和“永恒”.而哈里却不能,因为他的艺术生涯是不完整的.虽然他想这

样,并在死之前最后一个梦里还喜出望外地乘上飞机向着乞力马扎罗的西部顶峰飞去,但飞机缺乏燃料.最终,他在这个梦境中死去.

参　考　文　献

1　WanPeide.AnAnthologyofTwentiethCenturyAmericanFiction.Vol.1.Shanghai:EastChinaNormalUniversityPress.1981.250～252

2　Baym.NinaTheNortonAnthologyofAmericanLiterature.Vol.2.NewYork・LondonW・W:Norton&Company.1985.1540～1559

3　孙家富,张广明.文学词典.武汉:湖北人民出版社,1983.436(下转第112页)　　

写形而写形,而是为了传神;“形”与“神”是统一的,传神靠的是“形”,离开“形”,“神”就无从表现.我们提出“传神”的要求,正是为了写好“形”.这也就是说,我们这里所要求的肖像描写,不仅要形似,而且要神似,要确实做到以形传神.如通讯《人生能有几次博》中“深秋的傍晚,香港的闹市街头急步走着一个衣衫褴褛,骨瘦如柴的男孩子,他那少年老成的大眼睛,饱含着悲愤的泪水.”这几句有关容国团13岁时的外形描写,就有助于读者理解人物的思想形成.

人物报道中的人物肖像描写,可以有几种方式:一是记者以第一人称,对人物肖像作直接的介绍和描写;二是记者运用第三人称,对报道中的人物作肖像描写;三是以一个人的眼光,去看另一个人物的外形特征;四是让记者笔下的人物作自我外形描写.

只要我们在写作中能按上述方法去把握好人物的情感和描写好人物肖像,我们报道的人物形象就会有血有肉、丰满生动.

PortraitDescriptioninWritingNewsStoriesaboutPeople

FuWangui

Abstract　Whenwritingaboutpeople,weshouldproperlydescribethecharacters

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