论文部分内容阅读
I believe in buying books you can’t really afford. I’m not advocating 1)fiscal irresponsibility, but if you’re going to make a big purchase, why not make it a book? Good books age with you; they bend and 2)flex with your life experiences. This books-at-allcosts buying philosophy may explain why I still have a 3)console television from the 1970s complete with simulated wood grain. But I’m happy. I have my books.
When I was 23 years old, I left a secure high school teaching job to go to graduate school—again. In one of my first classes, I studied the poetry and prose of 4)T.S. Eliot, that master of 5)arcane vocabulary. I 6)despaired when my high school Webster’s Dictionary turned mute each time I tried to look up“estaminet” or “juvescence.” I needed a new book: the Oxford English Dictionary. Its retail price in those days was $300.
Under cover of a blue-cold autumn night, my husband and I set out for the bookstore in Atlanta. I breathlessly asked the clerk for my book (it was kept behind the counter), paid quickly so that I would have no time to reconsider the madness of my purchase, and rushed back to our truck, carrying the great weight of my Oxford English Dictionary. Under the streetlights, I opened the gold-stamped, navy blue 7)tome and 8)squinted at the tiny print. Now I could know all of T. S. Eliot’s vocabulary. Now I could die happy, holding all these heavy words in my arms.
Don’t get me wrong: I never turn down a trip to the library, but I know that there is something mysterious and spiritual in owning your own good books, in spending your 9)earthly money for a piece of heavenly art to pass down to future generations to say: This is what I loved. And I wonder if you will love it too.
I have been the recipient of many of these passed-down books. My father was a book buyer. He never made the 10)extravagant purchases I did, but I remember him going to the Aspen Used Book Store on Memorial Drive in Atlanta on the weekends. He would take hundreds of 11)battered paperbacks and trade them for magnificent, neglected sets of classics. Daddy would go in with how-to books about fixing plumbing leaks and come out with dusty, 12)gilt-edged editions of 13)The Iliad and The Odyssey. He would neatly arrange these books in our basement where I, at nine or ten years of age, would spend all summer in the cool, damp air spinning around and around in a 14)cast-off, black vinyl office chair reading Greek and Roman myths.
One day, I’ll have to leave my library, but I’m pleased to know that my children will have all my books about Southern literature and modern poetry. They might say, “Look, Mama sure loved 15)Flannery O’Connor,” or “I wonder why she had three copies of Eliot’s Collected Poems?”
I think we can die happily if we live happily amongst our books. And I’m counting on heaven having a well-stocked library.
我相信我们应该购买那些即便是我们负担不起的书籍。我并非推崇不负责任地乱花钱，但如果你要搞一次大采购，为什么不买书呢？好书会跟着你一起历经岁月的洗礼；它们会随着你人生的经历而卷起弧度。这样一个“不惜代价买书”的理论或许能够解释为什么现在我还拥有一台20世纪70年代产的模拟木纹的落地式电视机。但我很幸福，因为我拥有书。
23岁那年，我辞退了一份安稳的高中教职工作，转而攻读研究生——这已经是第二次了。在最初的一门课上，我学习了诗歌以及托马斯·艾略特的散文，这位大师善于使用晦涩难懂的词汇。每次我试着用我高中时的那本《韦伯斯特字典》查找譬如“小酒馆”或是“青春期”之类的词时，结果总是令人失望透顶。我需要一本新书——《牛津英语字典》。当时它的零售价是300美元。
一个幽冷的秋夜，我和我丈夫动身去了亚特兰大的书店。我屏住呼吸，向售货员购买我想要的书（它当时就摆在柜台的后面），我没给自己任何时间去重新考虑这次疯狂的采购，迅速付了钱，然后抱着我的沉甸甸的《牛津英语字典》跑回我们的车上。在路灯的映照下，我翻开了印着烫金字的海军蓝封皮，眯着眼睛细细品味着那些袖珍的印刷字体。现在，我可以知道所有托马斯·艾略特用的词汇了；现在我可以怀抱着所有这些沉甸甸的一字一词，满足地死去了。
可别误解了我的意思：我从不拒绝任何一次可以去图书馆的机会，然而能够拥有自己的好书，把用尘世金钱换回的一纸神圣的艺术传递给下一代，告诉他们：这是我热爱的东西，我在想你会否也热爱它——这一切，我知道，是有着神秘且崇高的意味。
我接受了许多这样传承下来的书。我爸爸喜欢买书，但他从不像我买书时这样铺张浪费。在我的记忆中，爸爸总在周末的时候去逛位于亚特兰大纪念路上的阿斯彭旧书店，他会带着几百本磨损的平装书去换取那些精美的但鲜有人注意的经典名作系列。爸爸会带着教你如何修理漏水水管之类的操作指南书走进书店，而出来时却换到了落满灰尘，但却镶着金边的《伊利亚特》与《奥德赛》。他会将这些书整齐地摆放在我们的地下室。那时我大概9岁或是10岁的样子，整个夏天都会泡在地下室那凉爽、潮湿的空气里，坐在一张废弃的黑色塑料办公椅上，一边读着希腊和罗马的神话故事，一边转啊转啊。
有一天，我不得不离开我的“图书馆”，但我仍觉得欣慰，因为我的孩子会拥有我所有关于南方文学以及现代诗歌的书。他们或许会这样说：“看哪，妈妈真的喜欢弗兰纳里·奥康纳”，或者是“我搞不懂她为什么会有三个版本的《艾略特诗集》？”
我想如果我们在书中找到了生活的快乐，那么我们就可以心满意足地离开人世。而且，我还期待着天堂会有一个藏书丰富的图书馆呢。
栏目翻译：小寒
When I was 23 years old, I left a secure high school teaching job to go to graduate school—again. In one of my first classes, I studied the poetry and prose of 4)T.S. Eliot, that master of 5)arcane vocabulary. I 6)despaired when my high school Webster’s Dictionary turned mute each time I tried to look up“estaminet” or “juvescence.” I needed a new book: the Oxford English Dictionary. Its retail price in those days was $300.
Under cover of a blue-cold autumn night, my husband and I set out for the bookstore in Atlanta. I breathlessly asked the clerk for my book (it was kept behind the counter), paid quickly so that I would have no time to reconsider the madness of my purchase, and rushed back to our truck, carrying the great weight of my Oxford English Dictionary. Under the streetlights, I opened the gold-stamped, navy blue 7)tome and 8)squinted at the tiny print. Now I could know all of T. S. Eliot’s vocabulary. Now I could die happy, holding all these heavy words in my arms.
Don’t get me wrong: I never turn down a trip to the library, but I know that there is something mysterious and spiritual in owning your own good books, in spending your 9)earthly money for a piece of heavenly art to pass down to future generations to say: This is what I loved. And I wonder if you will love it too.
I have been the recipient of many of these passed-down books. My father was a book buyer. He never made the 10)extravagant purchases I did, but I remember him going to the Aspen Used Book Store on Memorial Drive in Atlanta on the weekends. He would take hundreds of 11)battered paperbacks and trade them for magnificent, neglected sets of classics. Daddy would go in with how-to books about fixing plumbing leaks and come out with dusty, 12)gilt-edged editions of 13)The Iliad and The Odyssey. He would neatly arrange these books in our basement where I, at nine or ten years of age, would spend all summer in the cool, damp air spinning around and around in a 14)cast-off, black vinyl office chair reading Greek and Roman myths.
One day, I’ll have to leave my library, but I’m pleased to know that my children will have all my books about Southern literature and modern poetry. They might say, “Look, Mama sure loved 15)Flannery O’Connor,” or “I wonder why she had three copies of Eliot’s Collected Poems?”
I think we can die happily if we live happily amongst our books. And I’m counting on heaven having a well-stocked library.
我相信我们应该购买那些即便是我们负担不起的书籍。我并非推崇不负责任地乱花钱，但如果你要搞一次大采购，为什么不买书呢？好书会跟着你一起历经岁月的洗礼；它们会随着你人生的经历而卷起弧度。这样一个“不惜代价买书”的理论或许能够解释为什么现在我还拥有一台20世纪70年代产的模拟木纹的落地式电视机。但我很幸福，因为我拥有书。
23岁那年，我辞退了一份安稳的高中教职工作，转而攻读研究生——这已经是第二次了。在最初的一门课上，我学习了诗歌以及托马斯·艾略特的散文，这位大师善于使用晦涩难懂的词汇。每次我试着用我高中时的那本《韦伯斯特字典》查找譬如“小酒馆”或是“青春期”之类的词时，结果总是令人失望透顶。我需要一本新书——《牛津英语字典》。当时它的零售价是300美元。
一个幽冷的秋夜，我和我丈夫动身去了亚特兰大的书店。我屏住呼吸，向售货员购买我想要的书（它当时就摆在柜台的后面），我没给自己任何时间去重新考虑这次疯狂的采购，迅速付了钱，然后抱着我的沉甸甸的《牛津英语字典》跑回我们的车上。在路灯的映照下，我翻开了印着烫金字的海军蓝封皮，眯着眼睛细细品味着那些袖珍的印刷字体。现在，我可以知道所有托马斯·艾略特用的词汇了；现在我可以怀抱着所有这些沉甸甸的一字一词，满足地死去了。
可别误解了我的意思：我从不拒绝任何一次可以去图书馆的机会，然而能够拥有自己的好书，把用尘世金钱换回的一纸神圣的艺术传递给下一代，告诉他们：这是我热爱的东西，我在想你会否也热爱它——这一切，我知道，是有着神秘且崇高的意味。
我接受了许多这样传承下来的书。我爸爸喜欢买书，但他从不像我买书时这样铺张浪费。在我的记忆中，爸爸总在周末的时候去逛位于亚特兰大纪念路上的阿斯彭旧书店，他会带着几百本磨损的平装书去换取那些精美的但鲜有人注意的经典名作系列。爸爸会带着教你如何修理漏水水管之类的操作指南书走进书店，而出来时却换到了落满灰尘，但却镶着金边的《伊利亚特》与《奥德赛》。他会将这些书整齐地摆放在我们的地下室。那时我大概9岁或是10岁的样子，整个夏天都会泡在地下室那凉爽、潮湿的空气里，坐在一张废弃的黑色塑料办公椅上，一边读着希腊和罗马的神话故事，一边转啊转啊。
有一天，我不得不离开我的“图书馆”，但我仍觉得欣慰，因为我的孩子会拥有我所有关于南方文学以及现代诗歌的书。他们或许会这样说：“看哪，妈妈真的喜欢弗兰纳里·奥康纳”，或者是“我搞不懂她为什么会有三个版本的《艾略特诗集》？”
我想如果我们在书中找到了生活的快乐，那么我们就可以心满意足地离开人世。而且，我还期待着天堂会有一个藏书丰富的图书馆呢。
栏目翻译：小寒