曹文轩中英双语作品集：火桂花
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作者曹文轩
出版社天天出版社有限责任公司
ISBN9787501611690
出版时间2016-10
装帧平装
开本32开
定价20元
货号24059521
上书时间2024-12-08
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导语摘要
《火桂花》是曹文轩*近创作的一篇优秀小说。小说围绕一棵桂花树和一个奇妙的“摇落桂花”的风俗，讲述了女孩婉灵的故事。婉灵是个不知道父亲是谁的私生女，也正因如此，她受到了人们的轻蔑与排斥，村中*神圣的“摇桂花”的仪式也不让她参加。经过一系列曲折，纯洁善良的婉灵终于被大家接纳了……《火桂花》看似朴实无华，平淡无奇，但其中蕴含的关于爱、友谊和尊严等深意，让人喟然长叹。 《火桂花》的英文译者为Helen Wang（王海伦）。Helen Wang为知名英语译者，在大英博物馆工作，曾翻译曹文轩经典代表作《青铜葵花》，具有较强的翻译能力。在翻译《火桂花》过程中也做到了信、达、雅，不仅准确地翻译出来作品内容，还把故事中附带的美的灵魂和意蕴都传达了出来。
作者简介
曹文轩，中国作家协会全国委员会委员，北京作家协会副主席，北京大学教授、博士生导师。著有长篇小说《草房子》《青铜葵花》《火印》《根鸟》《细米》《山羊不吃天堂草》以及“大王书”系列、“我的儿子皮卡”系列和“丁丁当当”系列等。主要文学作品集有《忧郁的田园》《红葫芦》《追随永恒》《甜橙树》等。主要学术著作有《中国八十年代文学现象研究》《第二世界——对文学艺术的哲学解释》《二十世纪末中国文学现象研究》《小说门》等。多部作品被译为英、法、德、日、韩等文字。获国家图书奖、“五个一工程”优秀作品奖等中国权威奖项四十余次，并获2016年国际安徒生奖。
Helen Wang was born in Yorkshire, in the north of England, and lived there until she was eighteen. She moved to London to study Chinese at the School of Oriental and African Studies. After graduating from SOAS, she translated for the English edition of Today, and started working at the British Museum. She has recently started again, translating short stories, and children’s fiction.
目录
《火桂花》/001
《The Cassia Tree》/065
内容摘要
《火桂花》是曹文轩*近创作的一篇优秀小说。小说围绕一棵桂花树和一个奇妙的“摇落桂花”的风俗，讲述了女孩婉灵的故事。婉灵是个不知道父亲是谁的私生女，也正因如此，她受到了人们的轻蔑与排斥，村中*神圣的“摇桂花”的仪式也不让她参加。经过一系列曲折，纯洁善良的婉灵终于被大家接纳了……《火桂花》看似朴实无华，平淡无奇，但其中蕴含的关于爱、友谊和尊严等深意，让人喟然长叹。 《火桂花》的英文译者为Helen Wang（王海伦）。Helen Wang为知名英语译者，在大英博物馆工作，曾翻译曹文轩经典代表作《青铜葵花》，具有较强的翻译能力。在翻译《火桂花》过程中也做到了信、达、雅，不仅准确地翻译出来作品内容，还把故事中附带的美的灵魂和意蕴都传达了出来。
主编推荐
曹文轩，中国作家协会全国委员会委员，北京作家协会副主席，北京大学教授、博士生导师。著有长篇小说《草房子》《青铜葵花》《火印》《根鸟》《细米》《山羊不吃天堂草》以及“大王书”系列、“我的儿子皮卡”系列和“丁丁当当”系列等。主要文学作品集有《忧郁的田园》《红葫芦》《追随永恒》《甜橙树》等。主要学术著作有《中国八十年代文学现象研究》《第二世界——对文学艺术的哲学解释》《二十世纪末中国文学现象研究》《小说门》等。多部作品被译为英、法、德、日、韩等文字。获国家图书奖、“五个一工程”优秀作品奖等中国权威奖项四十余次，并获2016年国际安徒生奖。
Helen Wang was born in Yorkshire, in the north of England, and lived there until she was eighteen. She moved to London to study Chinese at the School of Oriental and African Studies. After graduating from SOAS, she translated for the English edition of Today, and started working at the British Museum. She has recently started again, translating short stories, and children’s fiction.
精彩内容
火桂花 曹文轩/著
一 雀芹家门前有一棵特别高大的桂花树。 村里的人有时看它一眼，不是在嘴里，就会在心里感叹：“就没有见过这么高大的桂花树！” 听老人们说，这棵桂花树已经活二百多年了，是雀芹家祖上一代一代传下来的。二百年间，这个家族子子孙孙，生生不息，现如今已有多少成员，都不一定能说出一个准数来。他们，有的远走高飞，甚至去了十万八千里的地方，也有在近处东一户西一户住着的。虽四处散落，但这个家族里头，总有一户人家还住在老地方，因为，有这样一棵桂花树。 现在，守护着这棵桂花树的是雀芹家。 风霜二百多年，这棵桂花树早已盘根错节，以一副苍劲的风采矗立在那里。那树干粗硕墩实，枝枝杈杈，粗粗细细，曲曲折折，向四周扩张，枝条或向下，或向上，乍一看，都辨不清那一根根的走向。冬天，枯叶落尽，树干树枝都呈现出黑褐色，天空之下，显出一副铁质的筋骨，依然是道风景。春风一来，一片片小小的叶子悄然长出，弱不禁风的样子，但随着一日暖似一日，那些叶子越长越欢，不几天，就一片繁茂的景象。就这么长着长着，以为它就长这一树的叶子，人们已经看惯了这道风景时，夏天去了，秋天到了，八月，它开花了，小小的，金黄色的，十分稠密，一簇簇，成串成串的，立见一番壮观。路过的人，不分老少，都会被这满枝头的花吸引，停下脚步，仰头观望，久久不能离去。 那几天，这世上独一无二的花香，无形飘散，不仅使全村人闻到，还能飘出数里地去，闻到的人嗅嗅鼻子：这香好似桂花香。看看四周，却又不见一棵桂花树，疑惑不解。到了夜里，花儿受到水汽的浸染，香味越发的浓重，在月光下四处流淌，仿佛大地万物的沉睡，皆是被这扑鼻而来的香气薰醉的。 但这桂花的生命，短得总是让人有点伤感：昨天还是鲜活鲜亮的样子，一夜之间就疲了，就衰了，一阵风来，纷纷飘落，如成千上万的小蝴蝶——但这蝴蝶已失去飞行能力，摇摇摆摆地坠落在地上。不远处是条大河，遇上大风，这成千上万朵金黄色的花，飘落到水面上，不一会儿，河上就漂满了。鸭子们在游动，花向两边分开，但鸭子游过去不久，又很均匀地聚拢到了一起，缓缓地向远处漂去。看着这番情景，总不免让人叹息。 桂花开放的那些日子，雀芹家的人就会时时关注着：花开三成了，花开五成了…… 在雀芹家的人心目中，他们是代这个源远流长的家族，也是代全村人守护这棵桂花树的。不错，桂花树是他们家的，但他们从来也没有将它看成是一棵只属于他们家的桂花树。他们只是家族和村落托付的守护人。 每年，他们把花收集起来，分送给全村各户人家，自家留下的很少，甚至一点也没有留下。得了桂花的人家，或拿它做了桂花糕，或拿它做了桂花茶，或拿它做了桂花酒，或拿它做了桂花卤；还有人家，拿它做了枕头，那枕头叫香枕。 这些桂花，不是那些自然飘落在地的桂花。那些花虽然还叫桂花，但已是一些死花。 这些桂花原本还在枝头，是被人用力摇落下来的，是活花。 八月里，总有一天是摇花的日子。 这个日子，是精心挑选的。那时，一树的桂花都开了，就像一首歌唱到了潮。 雀芹的爸爸仰脸仔细看那一树的花，心里明明已经很有把握了，还是叫来几个人一起帮着看。看来看去好一阵，雀芹的爸爸说：“可以摇花了？”那几个人都点点头：“可以摇花了。” 一年一度的摇花，不算是仪式，但却充满了仪式感。 上午，太阳刚刚升起的时候，一树的花都苏醒了，还带着夜露。一大早，雀芹帮着爸爸妈妈，已在桂花树下铺上十几张干干净净的席子。大人和小孩陆陆续续地向桂花树聚拢了过来。摇花的事，都交由村里天真无邪的孩子们来做，大人们则是站在外围观望，不住地鼓动孩子们用力、加油。 参加摇花的孩子们可不是随随便就可以一脚踏上席子的，必须去河边，在石码头上坐下，用清澈的河水将脚仔细地洗干净——踏上席子的，必须是一双双干干净净的脚。若是有一个孩子对另一个孩子说：“你的脚还没有洗干净呢。”被说的那个孩子，便会抬起脚去检查，发现自己的脚真的不是那么干净，要么就退出摇花，要么就赶紧去河边再仔细地清洗。 The Cassia Tree Translated by Helen Wang
1
In front of Queqin’s house there was a cassia tree of an extraordinary size. When the villagers passed that way and saw the tree, the same words would spring to the tip of their tongue every time: “Have you ever seen anything like it!”The older villagers said the cassia tree had been there for more than two hundred years, and had been in Queqin’s family all this time, handed down from one generation to the next. From children to grandchildren, and from grandchildren to great grandchildren, until there were so many it was impossible to count them all. Some had moved far away, to the other side of the world, it seemed; and others had stayed, more or less next door. But although the family was scattered, there had always been one branch of the family here, and all because of this cassia tree. Queqin and her family were looking after the tree now.Two hundred years of wind and frost had twisted the tree’s roots and gnarled its branches, but the trunk had grown straight and strong. And from that solid, rough trunk grew branches thick and thin that twisted and curled all the way to tips that pointed up or pointed down. They criss-crossed so much that it was impossible at a glance to see where one branch started and another branch finished. In winter, when the leaves had fallen, the dark brown trunk and branches would form an iron-like structure against the sky, creating a wonderfully strong image. Then, at the first breath of spring, timid leaves would peep through, wary of being blown away. Caressed by the sun, they would grow within days into a lushness of green, growing lusher and greener, as though the tree is all about these leaves. People grew accustomed to seeing the tree in its greenery. But summer would pass and autumn arrive, and in the eighth month of the traditional calendar [which we would call September], the flowers would open – those tiny, golden flowers, packed together in panicles, draping gold over the branches. It was a magnificent sight, and passersby of all ages would stop and gaze up, unable to tear themselves away. For a few days, the unique scent of cassia would waft through the village, and for several miles beyond. People would sniff the air, think Ah, cassia!,and look around, wondering where the tree could be. At night, the air would seep the flowers in dew, and the scent would become stronger and heavier, and as the perfumed air spread through the moonlight, it seemed to send every living thing to sleep.But the life of cassia flowers is regrettably short. They can be fresh and bright one day, wilted and withered the next. A gust of wind could send the flowers fluttering through the air like hundreds and thousands of tiny butterflies – butterflies that could no longer fly, only flutter and fall to the ground. There was a river by the village, and if the wind was strong, it could blow the hundreds and thousands of golden flowers on to the river, and cover it in no time at all. The golden flowers would part to let the ducks through, then regroup and float off into the distance. It was such a gorgeous thing to see it took one’s breath away.When the cassia tree was in flower, Queqin’s family examined it frequently: a quarter in flower, a half in flower...In their eyes, they were looking after the cassia tree not only for their own family, but for all the villagers. Although it was their tree, they had never felt that it belonged only to their family. They were simply its guardians, entrusted by the family and the village to look after it.Every year they gathered the flowers and shared them with the villagers. They kept very few for themselves, and sometimes none at all. The villagers used the flowers to make cassia cakes, or cassia tea, or cassia wine, or cassia sauce; and some families made cassia pillows, which they called “perfumed pillows”. They didn’t use cassia flowers that had fallen naturally to the ground, because those were already dead. Instead, they used flowers straight from the tree, which they had to shake from the branches with considerable force. In the eighth month [our September] there was always a special “Tree Shaking” day.The utmost care was taken to select the perfect day for Tree Shaking. And on that day, every single flower would be open, like a song at its climax. Queqin’s father would look up and examine the flowers on the tree. Though he knew in his heart when the time came, he would still call a few people over and confer with them. They would look at the tree very closely, and when Queqin’s father asked, “Is it ready for shaking?” they would nod and say it was time. The annual Tree Shaking was not a ritual, yet it had all the feeling of being one.On Tree Shaking day, the cassia flowers, still heavy with night dew, would begin to stir at dawn. Mid-morning, Queqin would help her parents to spread a dozen or so clean mats on the ground beneath the tree, and the villagers and their children would gather there. The task of tree-shaking was given to the innocent little village children, while the adults stood back and watched, urging the children to push harder, and shake harder. The children couldn’t just go up to the tree and join in. Before they could step on to the mats, they had to go to the river, sit on the stone pier and wash their feet thoroughly in the cold, fresh water. They could not step on t
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