the last leaf

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全新版大学英语综合教程3 the last leaf文段赏析

全新版大学英语综合教程3 the last leaf文段赏析
20
metaphor(比喻)
• my love's like a red, red rose. 我的爱人像一朵红红的玫瑰花。
• He jumped as if he had been stung. 他像被蜇了似的跳了起来
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personification(拟人)
• 把事物或者概念当作人或者具备人的品质 的写法叫拟人
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18
Writing techniques appreciation
The second part ( paragraph 3—8 )
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19
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Writing techniques appreciation
• metaphor(比喻) • personification(拟人) • euphemism(委婉) • pun(双关) • irony(反语) • oxymoron(矛盾修饰) • zeugma (轭式搭配) • transferred epithet(移位修饰) • alliteration(头韵) • climax(渐进)
• she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
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• A cannonball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms. (arms可指手臂或者武器) 一发炮弹打断了他的腿,所以他缴械投降 了。

Unit 6 The last leaf

Unit 6 The last leaf
society. 把这样的人放在社会上不加管束是不负责任的。
Phrases with loose
❖ at [in] the (very) loose 在最后一刻[瞬间]
❖ break [get] loose 挣脱; 爆发; 逃脱
❖ cast loose 解开(缆绳等); 使脱离羁绊; 使到处飘泊
❖ come loose
Para18
1.look the part
❖ 1.看起来适合这角色 ❖ 2. 看上去很象
❖ to look the part ❖ 仪表得体
❖ look/fit/wear....the part ❖ 穿……得体
2.masterpiece
n. ❖ 杰作,代表作(尤指艺术品) scenic masterpiece 绝景
❖ work loose (螺丝等)松动[掉]
17
1.call······up
朝上方叫喊 ❖ From the bottom of the stairs Mary called up, “Have you seen my
glasses?”
❖ 〈美〉给…打电话 ❖ The radio station had an open line on which listeners could call up to
Unit 6 The last leaf
Paragraph16~20 Group 4
Homage to O.Henry
Para16 ❖
vt.
1.fix
❖ 修理; 校准
❖ 固定, 安装
❖ 安排; 决定, 确定
❖ 准备, 做(饭等)
❖ n. (1)困境, 窘境
❖ He got himself into a bad fix. (2)定位于

最后一片叶子The-Last-Leaf-赏析

最后一片叶子The-Last-Leaf-赏析

最后一片叶子T h e-L a s t-L e a f-赏析(总4页)--本页仅作为文档封面,使用时请直接删除即可----内页可以根据需求调整合适字体及大小--最后一片叶子The Last Leaf 赏析【摘要】美国著名短篇小说家欧·亨利《最后一片叶子》描写了一个已经濒于死亡的贫穷女画家乔安西因为一片永不凋落的常春藤叶而恢复健康的离奇故事,塑造了一个命运不济,但品德高尚的老画家贝尔门的形象,歌颂了他舍己为人的崇高精神,从而唱出了一曲生命与希望的赞歌,歌颂了人性的美与善。

《最后一片叶子》作为欧·亨利的代表作,充分体现了这位“世界短篇小说之王”的创作特色。

文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望The Novel "The Last Leaf" is about a young girl decidesthat she will die when the last leaf drops from a dying vine outside her window, as lingering pneumonia slowly takes her will to live. Her neighbor, Art Carney, is an elderly artist frustrated by his inability to paint what is in his heart. In an attempt to save the young girl, he creates the masterpiece he has been struggling to paint. A beautifully shot and moving story. This excellent short novel is my favorite story. Art Carney does a great job, although his character is French in this version, as opposed to the German character in the book. and just like the book,it truly touched the heart of its reader.【关键词】生命;希望;赞歌;一、希望的使者“当最后一片叶子落下时,生命就都结束了,我也得离开这个世界而去了”,女画家乔安西,患了肺炎濒临大限时,丧失了生的希望,她天天躺在床上望着窗外长春藤上的叶子想:等到最后一片叶子凋零时,我的生命也就走到了尽头。

【英文原版小说】欧·亨利短篇小说-TheLastLeaf最后一片叶子

【英文原版小说】欧·亨利短篇小说-TheLastLeaf最后一片叶子

The Last Leaf最后一片叶子IIn a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'h?te of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers.Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well.Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away.An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy.There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self." "You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.""Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe.He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to itsstem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves. When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left. "Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里,街道都横七竖八地伸展开去,又分裂成一小条一小条的“胡同”。

THE LAST LEAF(最后一片常春藤叶英文改写)

THE LAST LEAF(最后一片常春藤叶英文改写)

THE LAST LEAFI’m Johnsy. Sue, my best friend, and I met at a cafe on Eighth Street. We have the same tastes in art chicory salad and bishop sleeves, so we joint studio.In November, unfortunately, the Pneumonia stalked about the district. When I heart that I was among the victims, everything seemed to lose color. I was too disappointed to live because of the small chances. However, Sue, never losing confidence, was always staying with me and looking after me. Every time when the doctor invited Sue into the hallway, I know my body condition is worse. In order to encourage me, she created cheerful atmosphere.But for me, I was a pessimistic person that I have no optimistic attitude to fight with the illness. I looked out of the window. I noticed an old ivy vine which only has few leaves in the bare, dreary yard. The cold breath of autumn had blown away its leaves. “Twelve, eleven, ten,”I counted the lucky leaves of the tree. “Six,” I said, in almost a whisper. “They’re falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.” I thought my life is similar to the leaves of tree.“Sue. When the last one falls I must go, too. I’ve know that for three days.” I told to her. “Look. That leaves just four. I want to see the last onefall before it gets dark. I’ll go, too.” After hearing that, her face blanched. She let me try to sleep. Then, she called Behrman up to be her model for the old miner.Lying on the sickbed, I thought nothing. I was tired of thinking and waiting. I just wanted to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves. Gradually, I fell asleep. Maybe, tomorrow, I would go another place.The beating rain and fierce wind never stopped all night. When I awoke, I asked Sue to pull the curtain up. What surprised me was that the last leaf on the vine. The day wore away and even through the twilight we could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall.At this moment, I suddenly felt that I was so selfish. The weak leaf could live through the horrible nigh. On the contrary, I just wanted to die.I felt sorry to myself and my best friend. I knew I must build up the confidence. I told to Sue, “You bring me a little soup now, and some milk with a little port in it, and then pack some pillows.” Sue was too happy to say a word.With the care of Sue and doctor, finally, I beat the disease. Because of the last leaf, I restored my confidence. However, indeed, a man, Mr. Behrman, is more important than the last leaf. I will never forget Mr. Behrman. I thank him more than I can say.Mr. Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath us.Perhaps in other’ mind, he was not a great person. He was a failure in art. For forty years he had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but never began it. He drank gin to excess and also had a bad temper. Besides, he was a fierce little old man, who mocked terribly at softness in any one. Indeed, he was a warm and friendly person.Sue invited Behrman to be her model that day. Sue told him of my fancy, painting the Bay of Maples some day, and how she feared I would ,indeed, light and fragile as a leaf ,float away. Although he showed his contempt for such foolish imaginings after hearing that, the tears fell down. In his heart, he was deeply moved.At that night, I could not imagine how he spent such horrible night. He used the lantern to light the way and used the ladder climb up the old ivy vine and hung the painted leaf when the last leaf fell. No one knew that he was ill.It was Mr. Behrman’s masterpiece painting the last leaf. The leaf changed my fate. But, Mr. Behrman left us forever because of the pneumonia.。

The_last_leaf(最后一片叶子中文翻译)

The_last_leaf(最后一片叶子中文翻译)

The last leaf中文译文注:这是欧·亨利小说原文的中文译文,仅供参考。

在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里,街道都横七竖八地伸展开去,又分裂成一小条一小条的“胡同”。

这些“胡同”稀奇古怪地拐着弯子。

一条街有时自己本身就交叉了不止一次。

有一回一个画家发现这条街有一种优越性:要是有个收帐的跑到这条街上,来催要颜料、纸张和画布的钱,他就会突然发现自己两手空空,原路返回,一文钱的帐也没有要到!所以,不久之后不少画家就摸索到这个古色古香的老格林尼治村来,寻求朝北的窗户、18世纪的尖顶山墙、荷兰式的阁楼,以及低廉的房租。

然后,他们又从第六街买来一些蜡酒杯和一两只火锅,这里便成了“艺术区”。

苏和琼西的画室设在一所又宽又矮的三层楼砖房的顶楼上。

“琼西”是琼娜的爱称。

她俩一个来自缅因州,一个是加利福尼亚州人。

她们是在第八街的“台尔蒙尼歌之家”吃份饭时碰到的,她们发现彼此对艺术、生菜色拉和时装的爱好非常一致,便合租了那间画室。

那是5月里的事。

到了11月,一个冷酷的、肉眼看不见的、医生们叫做“肺炎”的不速之客,在艺术区里悄悄地游荡,用他冰冷的手指头这里碰一下那里碰一下。

在广场东头,这个破坏者明目张胆地踏着大步,一下子就击倒几十个受害者,可是在迷宫一样、狭窄而铺满青苔的“胡同”里,他的步伐就慢了下来。

肺炎先生不是一个你们心目中行侠仗义的老的绅士。

一个身子单薄,被加利福尼亚州的西风刮得没有血色的弱女子,本来不应该是这个有着红拳头的、呼吸急促的老家伙打击的对象。

然而,琼西却遭到了打击;她躺在一张油漆过的铁床上,一动也不动,凝望着小小的荷兰式玻璃窗外对面砖房的空墙。

一天早晨,那个忙碌的医生扬了扬他那毛茸茸的灰白色眉毛,把苏叫到外边的走廊上。

“我看,她的病只有十分之一的恢复希望,”他一面把体温表里的水银柱甩下去,一面说,“这一分希望就是她想要活下去的念头。

有些人好像不愿意活下去,喜欢照顾殡仪馆的生意,简直让整个医药界都无能为力。

英汉互译翻译赏析PPT课件

英汉互译翻译赏析PPT课件
第6页/共16页
Analysis
• Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony".(欧.亨利作品选,2002,12)
因• 戴为那译个:小然背区后景构他:造们复从杂第,六鲜大街买来些锡镴 有杯人去子打、扰一,两所只以烘搞锅艺,术组的成 了 一 个 “ 聚 居 人都区不”约。而(同欧地. 亨去利那作里品定居选。, 2 0 0 2 , 1 1 7 )
王译:如果商人去收颜料、纸张和画布的 账款,在这条街上转弯抹角、大兜圈子 的时候,突然碰上一文钱也没收到,空 手而回的他自己,那才有意思呢!(欧. 亨利短篇小说选,2006,258)
评析:这里是通过假设来表明街道小巷错综复杂,进去之后就难找到正确方向
回头路用在这里并不恰当,而碰上空手而回的自己又不太符合汉语用语的习惯, 所以我们觉得用发现自己又绕回了原处更为恰当。
第8页/共16页
Analysis
• After the doctor had gone Sue
went into the workroom and cried
a Japanese napkin to a pulp(欧.亨
利作品选,2002,13)
a soft wet substance that is made by crushing wood, cloth or other material and then used to make paper. 浆状物; 纸浆 牛津高阶英汉双解词典
and to earth were loosed.(欧.亨利
作品选,2002,17)

Thelastleaf最后一片叶子

Thelastleaf最后一片叶子

Thelastleaf最后一片叶子作者:谢飞来源:《中学生英语·学生综合天地》2012年第11期《最后一片叶子》,也译为《最后的常春藤叶》是美国著名批判现实主义作家欧·亨利(O.Henry)的代表作之一。

他是世界三大短篇小说大师之一,他善于挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展现他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。

本故事让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。

1.In a little district west of Washington Square,Sue and Johnsy had their studio at the top of a squatty,three-story brick.在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里,苏和琼西的画室设在一所又宽又矮的三层楼砖房的顶楼上。

2.“Johnsy”was familiar for Joanna.One was from Maine;the otherfrom California.They had met at a Caféin the street in May and found they had a lot in common,so they rented the joint studio.“琼西”是琼娜的昵称。

她俩一个来自缅因州,一个来自加利福尼亚州。

她们五月在街上的咖啡厅相遇,发现彼此有很多相同之处,便合租了那间画室。

3.In November,Pneumonia spread in the district,many people were contracted,and Johnsy was one of the victims.She lay on her bed,scarcely moving,looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.到了11月,肺炎在这个区蔓延,很多人都感染了,琼西也患上了可怕的肺炎。

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The Last LeafThe backgroundAs the progress of Mechanization, urbanization and modernization, America is not quite in the hope of rich and progress. Under the vitality surface of vitality, the polarization ' the money worship, and many other undercurrent flow out to move. America's gilded age was coming as the in the era of the oil industry and the age of the automobile, American also entered a flashy "gilded age". When the rich increasingly pursuit vogue and exquisite savour, the poor struggle for survival all day long. It was the beginning of what Mark Twi n called “the gilded age,”An age of excess and extremes, of decline and progress, of poverty and dazzling wealth ,of gloom and buoyant hope.In the 1870’s, the Renaissance of New England came to the end, romantic literature gradually declined, realism literature marched the center of the stage. Only in the beginning of the twentieth century, the modern socialist movement across Europe and the United States, sweeping the globe, making the realism and naturalistic became another huge molecular components. America's most noteworthy new authors established a literature of realism .They sought to portray American life as it really was, insisting that the ordinary and the local were as suitable for artistic portrayal as the magnificent and the remote.About the authorO. Henry was the pen name of the American writer William Sydney Porter (September 11, 1862 –June 5, 1910). He was one of the three world famous short story masters——O. Henry, maupassant, Chekhov.Formerly known as William Sidney Porter , America's most famous short story writer, has been one of the critics as the Manhattan prose writer and the United States was the father of the modern short story. O. Henry's short stories are well known for their wit, wordplay, warm characterization and clever endings.O. Henry's stories are famous for their surprise endings, to the point that such an ending is often referred to as an "O. Henry ending." The plots are exceedingly clever and interesting; humor abounds, and the end is always surprising. Often there are two endings: first an unexpected ending, then another, which is quiet a different one and a still better surprise. Many of his stories contain a great deal of slang and colloquial expressions that make them hard to be understood by people outside of America. Such forms of speech are used to give what is called local color, to make stories fit in with the characters and scenes described. O. Henry’s own speech, both spoken and written, was always chaste and clear. Most of O. Henry's stories are set in his own time, the early years of the 20th century. Many stories take place in New York City and deal for the most part with ordinary people: clerks, policemen and so on.O. Henry is good at describing the American society of New York, especially the people life. Nearly every story he writes grips the attention and interest from the beggining,and all are wholesome reading. Rrobably his best individual stories are “Retrieved Reformation”,”The Gift of the Magi”,”Phoebe”,”A Municipal Report”,”An Unfinished Story”,”A Lickpenny Lover”,and “The Furnished Room.”Plot summaryJohnsy and Sue are artists who move into Greenwich Village in New York City. As winter approaches and the weather gets colder, Johnsy becomes ill with pneumonia. She gets so sick that she believes that when the last leaf falls from the vine outside her window, she will die. An old artist, named Behrman, who lives in the same building as the girls, braves a storm one night to paint a leaf on the wall — a leaf that will never fall. Cold and wet from painting in the icy rain, he catches pneumonia and dies. This gives Johnsy the hope to survive her illness, and it also creates the masterpiece Behrman had always dreamed of painting.The last piece of ivy leaves remain in ancient out of the window; Jossie also blossom a past smile, become optimistic; The great painter behrman remain forever in people’s hearts.CharactersThroughout the novel, the author reflects the theme for the hero of Bellman's description is not much, mostly using the side of the contrast. But we can still have a strong feeling of enthusiasm and self-sacrificing spirit like elder Berman. And we have enough imagination. We can imagine that the poor old man is staggering to climb the tree to paint a leaf with the yellow and green color at the stormy night. His works never display on public, but now displaying his artistic talents on the wall. Of course, the rehabilitation of Joan Susan is not only the last leaf Bellman painted, but also the strength they need to overcome the disease. Joan Alexandra is in the dying moments because of the pneumonia. And the doctor has sentenced her "death". The doctor is not sure she can be cured. But she can be cured by her yourself. Life or death is between struggle and surrender. Only their confidence and efforts can only make them win. Finally Joan Alexandra's illness really recovered.Everyone will encounter difficulties and setbacks. The key to overcome them is to look at whether you have the confidence to face them or not. Joan Alexandra has into a trough of disappointment, but she lives in the Bellman exchange with the last one, inspired by vine leaves, her perk up, until recovery. She is a brave winner to overcome the difficulties. Looking at the full text of this novel, it can be seen highly ideological without earth-shattering exciting. The words have no more rhetoric, but it is the noble idea of the novel as a whole novel, meaning the pillarof the deep. Maybe this is Henry's success in Europe.“The last leaf” is also translated to“the last of the ivy leaves”.The hero of the novel are Johnsy, Sue, Behrman. In this paper, the author focus on mining and praising the esne’s great personality and moral character, showing their yearning of the humanity and good wishes of the world. The last leaf story let us really nervous for Johnsy’s fate. We are surprised at Sue’s friendship once, and shocked for the charity of Behrman second time.The endingThe saying by O. Henry “Then a spiritual feeling arises spontaneously that life is made of sobs, sniffles, smile of composition, and sniffles account for the vast majority.”。

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