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Like all but the most 1)indefatigable, 2)Blue Steel, eye-of-the-tiger 3)bibliophiles, I possess a pile of books, increasing 4)stealthily year on year, which in my personal library should be shelved under Dusty Reproach—the mighty 5)canonical works I’ve gradually given up hope of conquering. In the 6)teetering DR tower sits War and Peace (in three different translations), Finnegans Wake (ain’t never gonna happen) and Moby Dick (I tried everything, even 7)banishing all other books from the 8)loo 9)cistern. I repeatedly read the 10)Harpic 11)blurb instead). These 12)omissions cause me shame, but I’m old and 13)knackered now and wear mum jeans. I have more pressing matters to blush for.
I have another shelf of failures, though, which might be labeled Cowardice 14)Reproved, and these do cause me considerable 15)disquiet. The books in it also tend to the canonical and “must-read,” often full of language in which I take 16)inordinate pleasure. But I find them simply too painful to read in their entirety. They’re like decades-old plasters, so 17)grimed and woven with skin and tiny hairs that I just can’t bring myself to rip them loose.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles is the CR title 18)par excellence. I have a love-hate relationship with Hardy, often getting very cross with his selfdestructive characters but remaining 19)pruriently fascinated by the 20)macabre and surreal turns of his novels—pigs’ 21)penises, exploding hearts, wife-selling, sheep-22)bloating and other charming rural pastimes. But I have never managed to read Tess of the D’Urbervilles to the end. Mostly, I get as far as Tess’s rape before hurling my copy across the room. On two occasions I’ve 23)gritted my teeth past her bearing and burying a child named Sorrow, to be 24)lulled into disastrous optimism by the appearance of 25)sanctimonious, butter-wouldn’t-melt Angel Clare. The whole 26)diabolical business of the unread note and the wedding night, and the awful shredding sense of everything going horribly, irreparably wrong as he 27)repudiates Tess—unlucky, unlucky Tess!—is just too much for my 28)snivelling soul to deal with. And I know how 29)horrendously it ends, although I’ve only ever read summaries. I sincerely hope my daughter never has to read Tess for any kind of coursework in the future, as the conflict between the need to 30)proffer 31)sharp-elbowed“helpful” discussion and my total inability to read the book will cause me to rip myself in half like 32)Rumpelstiltskin.
I can live without Tess, since I’ve managed to read some Hardy novels 33)to the bitter end. But a more serious presence on the cowardly 34)custard shelf is To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee’s Pulitzer-winning only chick and child. In 2006, British librarians voted Mockingbird ahead of the Bible as their top “must-read before you die.” Willfully refusing the counsel of librarians is painful to me, especially as I love the book—Scout is one of the most winning narrators I’ve ever encountered—but I still can’t finish it. As with what happens to Tess, the 35)inexorable tragic outcome awaiting Tom Robinson is JUST TOO UNFAIR for my overemotional inner child, 36)wigging out in the playground because no one’s letting her join in the games.
In short, I have a prohibitively low unfairness threshold, which prevents my reading(and certainly rereading) many classic novels. Tragic outcomes are all well and good(ish) if they’ve been set in motion by crime, 37)hubris or 38)overweening something-or-other—pride, passion, obsessive coveting of 39)Maltesers—but sorrow, terror and death visited upon the gentle and undeserving are right out. It may not surprise you that the author best represented on my Cowardice Reproved shelf is Steinbeck. Utterly 40)traumatized at primary school by the ending of The Pearl, and reduced to 41)abject 42)jelly by being made to study Of Mice and Men, I have taken a no-further-Steinbeck vow. No Grapes of Wrath, no East of Eden—no more.
Does anyone else share my quivering inability to stop 43)empathizing with invented characters? Or do you have any tips to help 44)surmount the 45)hump of unfairness that 46)consigns so many amazing books to the shameful shelf?
像所有不知疲倦、目光狠准、虎视眈眈的藏书家一样，我也拥有成堆的书籍，其数量随着年月悄然递增，这些书在我的个人图书馆里应该被搁置到“封尘之耻”那个架子上——我逐渐放弃了要征服这些权威名著的期望。在摇摇欲坠的“封尘之耻”书堆上端放着《战争与和平》（三种译本）、《芬尼根守灵夜》（永远不可能读完）和《白鲸记》（我用尽了所有方法，甚至把厕所水箱上所有其他的书籍都拿走。但老是转而拿起瑕辟牌马桶清洁剂看上面的商品信息）。这些疏忽让我觉得丢脸，但是我现在已经年老色衰而且还穿着大妈牛仔裤。我有更多迫切的事情让我感到羞愧。
尽管如此，我还有另外一个放满没读完的书的架子，它被标记为“怯懦之责”，这确实让我感到相当不安。架子上的书籍同样也倾向于权威和“必读”这一类，其遣词造句常常令我感到其乐无穷。但是我发觉要把它们整本读完会非常痛苦。它们就像贴了数十年的膏药，积满尘垢，已经同皮肤和细小的毛发交织在一起，我真是不忍将它们撕下。
《德伯家的苔丝》是“怯懦之责”分类下的佼佼者。我对哈代既爱又恨，常常因他所描写的自我毁灭的人物角色而生气，但依然为其小说中令人毛骨悚然的、超现实主义的转折所着迷——猪的生殖器、爆炸心脏、卖妻、羊胀肚以及其他有趣的乡村消遣。但是我一直无法读完《德伯家的苔丝》。通常，我读到苔丝被奸污的情节时就想把书扔到房间另一头。还有两次，读到苔丝被道貌岸然的安吉尔·克莱用其伪善的外表诱骗而盲目乐观地怀上又埋葬了自己名叫“悲痛”的孩子，看着这毁灭性的情节时，我不由得咬牙切齿。这整个恼人的新婚之夜还有那未读的纸条，看着一切越演越可怕，我心如刀割，克莱对苔丝的背弃已是无可挽回——不幸的、不幸的苔丝啊！——这都是我啜泣的灵魂所不能承受之重。我也知道结局是多么可悲，虽然我只读了故事梗概。我由衷地希望我女儿将来永远不用因为某种课业要求而去阅读《德伯家的苔丝》，因为一方面我得提供犀利洞见，跟女儿作“建设性”讨论，但另一方面我却无法读完全书，这矛盾会让我想像侏儒怪一样把自己撕成两半。
我无需读完《德伯家的苔丝》，因为我已经拼了老命读过哈代的其他一些小说。但是“怯懦之责”这个架子上更严重的是《杀死一只知更鸟》——哈珀·李获普利策奖的唯一一部长篇小说。2006年，《杀死一只知更鸟》票数领先《圣经》，被英国图书馆员投票为他们首选的“死前必读之书”。执拗地拒绝图书馆员的建议对我来说很痛苦，尤其是在我喜爱这本书的情况下——斯各特是我遇到过的最迷人的叙述者之一——但是我仍然无法读完它。正如苔丝所遭遇的一切，汤姆·鲁滨逊所面临的无情而悲剧的结局，这对我那心潮激荡的小心灵来说，实在是太不公平了，就像在操场上因为没人肯让她加入游戏而抓狂的小孩一般。
简而言之，我对“不公平现象”的承受门槛非常低，这阻碍我阅读（更别说重读）许多经典小说。悲剧的结局当然是好的，如果那因由是罪恶暴行、傲慢自负什么的——像骄傲、激情、对麦提莎过分垂涎——但要是悲伤、恐怖和死亡发生在善良、无辜的人身上则令我侧目厌弃。你可能不会惊讶“怯懦之责”架子上最具有代表性的作者是斯坦贝克。在小学时候受到《珍珠》结局的彻底创伤，被迫学习《人鼠之间》之后更是彻底绝望无力，我已经发誓不再阅读斯坦贝克的作品，不读《愤怒的葡萄》，不读《伊甸园之东》——再也不读了。
是否有人和我一样，总是满腔激愤，一刻不能停止对虚构人物的同情？我这“看不得世情不公”的毛病让多少精彩书籍束之高阁，沦落尘耻。诸位有什么建议可以帮助我跨过这道坎吗？
I have another shelf of failures, though, which might be labeled Cowardice 14)Reproved, and these do cause me considerable 15)disquiet. The books in it also tend to the canonical and “must-read,” often full of language in which I take 16)inordinate pleasure. But I find them simply too painful to read in their entirety. They’re like decades-old plasters, so 17)grimed and woven with skin and tiny hairs that I just can’t bring myself to rip them loose.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles is the CR title 18)par excellence. I have a love-hate relationship with Hardy, often getting very cross with his selfdestructive characters but remaining 19)pruriently fascinated by the 20)macabre and surreal turns of his novels—pigs’ 21)penises, exploding hearts, wife-selling, sheep-22)bloating and other charming rural pastimes. But I have never managed to read Tess of the D’Urbervilles to the end. Mostly, I get as far as Tess’s rape before hurling my copy across the room. On two occasions I’ve 23)gritted my teeth past her bearing and burying a child named Sorrow, to be 24)lulled into disastrous optimism by the appearance of 25)sanctimonious, butter-wouldn’t-melt Angel Clare. The whole 26)diabolical business of the unread note and the wedding night, and the awful shredding sense of everything going horribly, irreparably wrong as he 27)repudiates Tess—unlucky, unlucky Tess!—is just too much for my 28)snivelling soul to deal with. And I know how 29)horrendously it ends, although I’ve only ever read summaries. I sincerely hope my daughter never has to read Tess for any kind of coursework in the future, as the conflict between the need to 30)proffer 31)sharp-elbowed“helpful” discussion and my total inability to read the book will cause me to rip myself in half like 32)Rumpelstiltskin.
I can live without Tess, since I’ve managed to read some Hardy novels 33)to the bitter end. But a more serious presence on the cowardly 34)custard shelf is To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee’s Pulitzer-winning only chick and child. In 2006, British librarians voted Mockingbird ahead of the Bible as their top “must-read before you die.” Willfully refusing the counsel of librarians is painful to me, especially as I love the book—Scout is one of the most winning narrators I’ve ever encountered—but I still can’t finish it. As with what happens to Tess, the 35)inexorable tragic outcome awaiting Tom Robinson is JUST TOO UNFAIR for my overemotional inner child, 36)wigging out in the playground because no one’s letting her join in the games.
In short, I have a prohibitively low unfairness threshold, which prevents my reading(and certainly rereading) many classic novels. Tragic outcomes are all well and good(ish) if they’ve been set in motion by crime, 37)hubris or 38)overweening something-or-other—pride, passion, obsessive coveting of 39)Maltesers—but sorrow, terror and death visited upon the gentle and undeserving are right out. It may not surprise you that the author best represented on my Cowardice Reproved shelf is Steinbeck. Utterly 40)traumatized at primary school by the ending of The Pearl, and reduced to 41)abject 42)jelly by being made to study Of Mice and Men, I have taken a no-further-Steinbeck vow. No Grapes of Wrath, no East of Eden—no more.
Does anyone else share my quivering inability to stop 43)empathizing with invented characters? Or do you have any tips to help 44)surmount the 45)hump of unfairness that 46)consigns so many amazing books to the shameful shelf?
像所有不知疲倦、目光狠准、虎视眈眈的藏书家一样，我也拥有成堆的书籍，其数量随着年月悄然递增，这些书在我的个人图书馆里应该被搁置到“封尘之耻”那个架子上——我逐渐放弃了要征服这些权威名著的期望。在摇摇欲坠的“封尘之耻”书堆上端放着《战争与和平》（三种译本）、《芬尼根守灵夜》（永远不可能读完）和《白鲸记》（我用尽了所有方法，甚至把厕所水箱上所有其他的书籍都拿走。但老是转而拿起瑕辟牌马桶清洁剂看上面的商品信息）。这些疏忽让我觉得丢脸，但是我现在已经年老色衰而且还穿着大妈牛仔裤。我有更多迫切的事情让我感到羞愧。
尽管如此，我还有另外一个放满没读完的书的架子，它被标记为“怯懦之责”，这确实让我感到相当不安。架子上的书籍同样也倾向于权威和“必读”这一类，其遣词造句常常令我感到其乐无穷。但是我发觉要把它们整本读完会非常痛苦。它们就像贴了数十年的膏药，积满尘垢，已经同皮肤和细小的毛发交织在一起，我真是不忍将它们撕下。
《德伯家的苔丝》是“怯懦之责”分类下的佼佼者。我对哈代既爱又恨，常常因他所描写的自我毁灭的人物角色而生气，但依然为其小说中令人毛骨悚然的、超现实主义的转折所着迷——猪的生殖器、爆炸心脏、卖妻、羊胀肚以及其他有趣的乡村消遣。但是我一直无法读完《德伯家的苔丝》。通常，我读到苔丝被奸污的情节时就想把书扔到房间另一头。还有两次，读到苔丝被道貌岸然的安吉尔·克莱用其伪善的外表诱骗而盲目乐观地怀上又埋葬了自己名叫“悲痛”的孩子，看着这毁灭性的情节时，我不由得咬牙切齿。这整个恼人的新婚之夜还有那未读的纸条，看着一切越演越可怕，我心如刀割，克莱对苔丝的背弃已是无可挽回——不幸的、不幸的苔丝啊！——这都是我啜泣的灵魂所不能承受之重。我也知道结局是多么可悲，虽然我只读了故事梗概。我由衷地希望我女儿将来永远不用因为某种课业要求而去阅读《德伯家的苔丝》，因为一方面我得提供犀利洞见，跟女儿作“建设性”讨论，但另一方面我却无法读完全书，这矛盾会让我想像侏儒怪一样把自己撕成两半。
我无需读完《德伯家的苔丝》，因为我已经拼了老命读过哈代的其他一些小说。但是“怯懦之责”这个架子上更严重的是《杀死一只知更鸟》——哈珀·李获普利策奖的唯一一部长篇小说。2006年，《杀死一只知更鸟》票数领先《圣经》，被英国图书馆员投票为他们首选的“死前必读之书”。执拗地拒绝图书馆员的建议对我来说很痛苦，尤其是在我喜爱这本书的情况下——斯各特是我遇到过的最迷人的叙述者之一——但是我仍然无法读完它。正如苔丝所遭遇的一切，汤姆·鲁滨逊所面临的无情而悲剧的结局，这对我那心潮激荡的小心灵来说，实在是太不公平了，就像在操场上因为没人肯让她加入游戏而抓狂的小孩一般。
简而言之，我对“不公平现象”的承受门槛非常低，这阻碍我阅读（更别说重读）许多经典小说。悲剧的结局当然是好的，如果那因由是罪恶暴行、傲慢自负什么的——像骄傲、激情、对麦提莎过分垂涎——但要是悲伤、恐怖和死亡发生在善良、无辜的人身上则令我侧目厌弃。你可能不会惊讶“怯懦之责”架子上最具有代表性的作者是斯坦贝克。在小学时候受到《珍珠》结局的彻底创伤，被迫学习《人鼠之间》之后更是彻底绝望无力，我已经发誓不再阅读斯坦贝克的作品，不读《愤怒的葡萄》，不读《伊甸园之东》——再也不读了。
是否有人和我一样，总是满腔激愤，一刻不能停止对虚构人物的同情？我这“看不得世情不公”的毛病让多少精彩书籍束之高阁，沦落尘耻。诸位有什么建议可以帮助我跨过这道坎吗？