Early Autumn
Early_Autumn 早秋
Early AutumnWhen Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn't speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women. Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years."Bill Walker," she said.He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old."Mary! Where did you come from?"Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it."I live in New York now," she said."Oh" -- smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes."Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.""I'm a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown[1].""Married yet?""Sure. Two kids.”"Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold."And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia[2].”“You’re looking very…” (he wanted to say old) “…well,” he said.She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young."We live on Central Park West[3]," she said. "Come and see us sometime."“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick."We'd love it," she answered."You ought to see my kids." He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue[4], chains of misty brilliance in the blue air."There's my bus," she said.He held out his hand. "Good-bye.""When..." she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn't know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his -- or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.Notes1. way downtown: 在市中心2. Columbia: Columbia University3. Central Park West: 中央公园西部，纽约住宅区。
Early Autumn (早秋)
简介EarlyAutumn早秋是美国著名文学家诗文短篇小说家兰斯顿·休斯（Langston Hughes）的著名短篇小说，故事以一对昔日的恋人若干年后不期而遇为题材，通过两人极为普通的日常对话，辅以一定的情景衬托，生动而细腻地显现了两种截然不同的心态，尤其是女主人公玛丽那起伏跌宕的感情波澜，充分表现了她的怀旧心态。
作者以朴素而高超的写作手法，以近乎“无动于衷”的纯记述口吻，通过短短的445个词，一气呵成，展示了一幅平静而又波澜壮阔的感情画面，读来回味无穷，心情久久不得平静。
Early Autumn----By Langston HughesWhen Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t s peak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.“Bill Walker,” she said.He stopped. At first he did not recognize her; to him she looked so old.“Mary! Where did you come from?”Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.“I live in New York now,” she said.“Oh.” —Smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”“Married yet?”“Sure. Two kids.”“Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.“And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office(大学财务处) at Columbia.”“You are looking very…” (he wanted to say old) “…well,” he said.She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to haveyou.”The leaves fell slowly from the tree in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.“We’d love it,” she answered.“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.“There’s my bus,” she said.He held out his hand. “Goodbye.”“When…”, she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked ver y loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his—or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.赏析：1.冲动是魔鬼。
EarlyAutumn英文讲义
1 Selected Readings of English LiteratureWhat Is Literature?The Random House Dictionary d efinition of the word “definition of the word “literature ”:•writing regarded as having permanent worth through its intrinsic excellence; •the entire body of writing of a specific language, period, people etc.; •writing dealing with a particular subject; Comment on the following statementsIsrael Zangwill: In Literature, everything is true except names and places; in history nothing is true except names and places. Ezra Pound: Lite Literature is “news that stays news.”rature is “news that stays news.”Picasso: Art Art is is is not not not truth. truth. truth. Art Art Art is is is a a a lie lie lie that that that makes makes makes us us us realize realize realize truth…The truth…The truth…The artist artist artist must must must know know know the the the manner manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies. Robert Frost: Literature is “a performance of words.”Franz Kafka: Literature “must be an ice -axe to break the sea frozen inside us.”Jack London: (Good literature) transcends the limits of particularity to reach universality. Thomas Gray: Literature is “thoughts that breathe and words that burn.”Robert Scholes: The sources of pleasure in literary discourse(叙述) can be defined as matters of communicative capacity. capacity. Literary Literary Literary works works works offer offer offer readers readers readers a a a chance chance chance to to to use use use a a a fuller fuller fuller range range range of of of their their their interpretive(interpretive(解释的) abilities than do non-literary texts. Brainstorming activity•What is behind your choice of the elective, Selective Readings of English Literature ? •What do you think of literature reading? Or why are you fond of reading literature? Forms of LiteratureIn the the more more specialized specialized sense sense of of the the word, word, literature literature is the the art art that that uses uses language as as a a medium. Literature contains fiction and non-fiction. Under fiction there are four genres ---- novels, short stories, plays, and poems. 2 Purpose and Means of the Four Genreswith the Use of Words l words are used to create imaginary persons or events in stories or plays. l words are used to show ideas and feelings in essays or poems. lwords are addressed directly to the reader in stories and essays. l words are overheard by the reader in plays or poems. The ways literary forms are communicated to the reader•A story, basically a narration through the report of a storyteller to the reader •An essay, persuasion A poem, meditation •A play, creation of action through the dialogue of imaginary persons What do we read for in western literature?(the first level) •The most primitive approach to western literature, especially novels, is to read them for emotional satisfaction. Students at this level look for what’s going on and what’s happened to the characters they can identify with. All they care about is the “story.” To these readers, novels are recreational at least and therapeutic(有益健康的有益健康的) at most. (the second level)•The The second second second level level level on on on which which which literature literature literature exists exists exists is is is what what what can can can be be be called called called the the the didactic didactic didactic one. one. one. Literature Literature Literature is is regarded regarded as as as a a a depositor depositor depositor of of of human human human experience experience experience of of of considerable considerable considerable variety variety variety and and and scope. scope. scope. It It It gains gains gains access access access to to questions of moral moral philosophy philosophy philosophy ---- ---- ---- questions questions of of value value value and and and of of normative(规范的) ) judgment. judgment. judgment. In In such belief, readers try to read as many meanings as they can into literary pieces. Literature is read for its hermeneutic(诠释的) function. (the third level)•Advanced readers of literature have a distinctive concern over matters beyond didacticism. They are not satisfied with “what is going on,” or “what is said.” They look for “how it is said.” Readers at this level are also aware of artistic weaknesses. They even read texts closely as texts and not to move into the general context of human experience or history. How to approach literature?•One must be both inside and outside of the work. One must allow himself be carried away by the work, and at the same time, on reading again and again think about the way the end is connected to the beginning. Eliot says that one has to give himself up, and then recover himself, and the third moment is having something to say, before one has wholly forgotten both surrender and recovery. And the self recovered is never the same as the self before it was given. Short story•People tell stories to entertain or to instruct. •Maupassant and Chekhov are two great writers of the later nineteenth century who can be taken as 3 representatives of the two kinds of literature respectively ---- one of resolution, the other revelation. •Much of the best short fiction from Chekhov onward is less concerned with what happens than with how character feels about the happenings. The emphasis is not on external action but in inner action, feeling. Reading I Early Autumnby Langston HughesLangston Hughes African-American Writer, Poet, (February 1, 1902 ---May 22, 1967) About the writerLangston Langston Hughes Hughes Hughes (1902-1967): (1902-1967): (1902-1967): a a a poet, poet, poet, playwright, playwright, playwright, novelist, novelist, novelist, songwriter, songwriter, songwriter, biographer, biographer, biographer, editor, editor, newspaper columnist, translator and lecturer. Born in Joplin, Missouri, on February 1, 1902, Langston Hughes lived the first twelve years of his his life life life in in in Kansas, Kansas, Kansas, Colorado, Colorado, Colorado, Indiana, Indiana, Indiana, and and and New New New Y ork Y ork State. State. State. He He He graduated graduated graduated from from from high high high school school school in in Cleveland, Cleveland, Ohio, Ohio, Ohio, where where where in in in his his his senior senior senior year year year he he he was was was elected elected elected class class class poet poet poet and and and editor editor editor of of of the the the yearbook. yearbook. Hughes’ Hughes’ other other other travels travels travels included included included trips trips trips to to to Europe Europe Europe and and and Africa, Africa, Africa, and and and the the the character character character of of of his his his adventurous, adventurous, wandering life was reflected in such works as his novel, Not Without Laughter (1930), his short stories, and his autobiography. By 1925, Hughes, together with other Negro writers, had formed a group in the Harlem section of New York City for the purpose of exchanging ideas, encouraging one another, and, eventually, sharing in the triumph created by the sudden popularity of their work. As spokesman for the group, Hughes published published an an an article, article, article, “The “The “The Negro Negro Negro Artist Artist Artist and and and The The The Racial Racial Racial Mountain,” Mountain,” Mountain,” which which which amounted amounted amounted to to to a a a public public declaration of the intent of Hughes and his contemporaries to break from their literary heritage and to initiate a new trend in Negro literature. For new black writers, Harlem and its people were to provide the inspiration for much of their artistic work. In In later later later ye ye years, ars, ars, Hughes Hughes Hughes became became became known known known as as as the the the “O. “O. “O. Henry Henry Henry of of of Harlem” Harlem” Harlem” and and and wrote wrote wrote countless countless countless short short stories, stories, a a a number number number of of of volumes volumes volumes of of of poetry, poetry, poetry, seven seven seven novels, novels, novels, and and and six six six plays. plays. plays. In In In his his his poetry, poetry, poetry, he he he successfully successfully caught and projected scenes of urban Negro life, and his sketches in verse with their undertones of bitterness, humor, and pathos became also a form of social protest. Questions for discussion 1. In the first paragraph, it reads “Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak…” which finally led to their separation from each other. How do you think of both of their attitudes to this matter? 2. Can you discern any pair of contrast in the way the two protagonists treat with each other in their unexpected encounter? 3. Why did Mary not give an answer to Bill’s question “And your husband?” and instead said, “We have three children …”?4. Why did Mary desperately reach back into the past? 5. e W e know know that that Mary Mary Mary impulsively impulsively impulsively married married a a man man man she she thought thought she she loved. Then why is it it that that that we we know the name of Bill ’s wife, Lucille, but that of Mary’s husband has never been revealed? 6. How do you look at the description of the falling leaves in Washington Square? 7. How did it come that the lights of the Fifth Avenue turned out to be chains of misty brilliance? And later, how it came that “the lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred”?8. Note that soon after Mary gave her answer to what Bill said about his family, that he had two kids, the narrative following is, “A great many people went past them thro ugh the park. People they didn’t know.” And how do you feel about the scene that Mary saw from her leaving bus, “People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people.” 9. What effects does the conclusive sentence achieve? 4 10. 10. What What What personal personal personal traits traits traits can can can be be be seen seen seen in in in both both both of of of the the the protagonists protagonists protagonists to to to which, which, which, to to to some some some extent, extent, extent, their their different destinies can be attributed? 11. If you had been one of the two parties in the short story, would you do the same as them, or would your demeanor be different? 12. Titles of works often offer focus. How do you look at the title of this work, Early Autumn ? Recreation•Tell the story to each other, in the same way it is told or in a different version, from the perspective of Mary, of Bill, or of any other person. Role play•the chance meeting in Washington Square •Act out what will be going on after the encounter. Writing•Choose a part in the story that is most appealing to you, and make your comment on it. •If If you you you were were were supposed supposed supposed to to to end end end the the the story, story, story, how how how would would would you you you conclude conclude conclude it? it? it? Give Give Give to to to the the the story story story an an an ending ending different from the original one. DreamsHold fast to dreams a For if dreams die b Life is a broken-winged bird c That cannot fly. b Hold fast to dreams a For when dreams go d Life is a barren field e Frozen with snow. d end-rhyme scheme: abcb aded iamb dimeter (抑扬格二步诗) The Negro Speaks of RiversI’ve known rivers;I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I’ve known rivers:Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. 5 •This is a lyric(抒情的) poem in free verse (non-metrical poetry). 无韵诗无韵诗 •The speaker is a particular voice, an “I”, but also a general one, “the negro”.•The paratactic style (并列排比式) in which things are listed •The The relationship relationship relationship between between between the the the particular particular particular and and and general, general, general, between between between the the the individual individual individual and and and a a a type, type, type, about about about a a universal from a particular point of view •A poem about knowledge, about identity, and about history •The flowing of rivers is like the flowing of blood. And to know them is to know what is under or inside particular racial experience at the deepest level •Or the title can be changed to “The Negro Speaks of Human Life and History as the Negro Knows it” Reading II War by Luige Pirandello•Luigi Pirandello, 28 June 1867 28 June 1867 – 10 December 1936) was an Italian dramatist , novelist , and short story writer awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1934, for his "bold and brilliant renovation of the drama and the stage." Pirandello's works include novels, hundreds of short stories, and about 40 plays. Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart. ------ Luige Pirandello Luige Luige Pirandellow Pirandellow Pirandellow ranks ranks ranks as as as the the the most most most important important important and and and innovative innovative innovative Italian Italian Italian dramatist dramatist dramatist of of of the the the early early twentieth century. He was born in Sicily and moved to Rome to pursue a writing career. Novels and short stories flowed from his pen. Winner of the 1934 Nobel Prize in literature, Pirandello expresses the confusion and suffering of the human condition in disturbing yet humorous ways. His works focus primarily on the inherent instability of human existence, specifically the conflict of reason and instinct within the human mind. Pirandello’s focus on the social masks that people wear has been a major influence on modern fiction, as well as on modern drama. Pirandello was fascinated by the contrast between appearance and reality in human behavior. He viewed life as a series of illusions, each concerning a surprising core: comedy in tragedy, sanity in madness, grief in happiness. He saw people as suffering from the necessity of leading insincere public lives, and he watched with with compassion compassion compassion as as as they they they clung clung clung to to to their their their delusions. delusions. delusions. He He He created created created literature literature literature that that that he he he hoped hoped hoped would would would force force people to examine their convictions, acknowledge their inner-selves, and lead more authentic lives. Questions for discussion1. What What is is is the the the importance importance importance of of of the the the physical physical physical actions actions actions in in in the the the story? story? story? How How How do do do they they they offer offer offer clues clues clues to to to the the feelings and attitudes of the characters? 2. If we believe believe that that the the contrast contrast in in the the behavior behavior of of of the the the fat fat fat old old old man man man (whether (whether or or not not not covering covering covering his his mouth with his hand) before and after the revelation of the death of his child is meaningful, then, with the exposed missing teeth, what was it that the man would really want to hide from others? 3. What is the significance of the words we have italicized in the following sentence? “The old man, too, turned to look at her, fixing his great, bulging, horribly watery light gray eyes, deep in her face.” 4. What/When is the climax of this story? How can you tell it is the climax? 5. Is there there any any hint hint to to to the sorrow the sorrow of of the the old old man man man over over his loss of son before the story reaches reaches its its climax? 6. Imagine another version of this story. Suppose that the old man, whose son is merely at the front, argues with the other people in the compartment, and persuades them, as in the present version of the story; at a station, he receives a telegram saying that his son has been killed, whereupon he bursts into “heart “heart--breaking, breaking, uncontrollable uncontrollable uncontrollable sobs” sobs” sobs” while while while they they they stare stare stare at at at him him him in in in amazement. amazement. amazement. Why Why Why would would would such such such a a 6 version be inferior to the story as Pirandello tells it? 7. In the short story War , the author, Luigi Pirandello, does not give any of the characters’ names. Why not? What effect does that have on the story and the readers? 8. Why does the woman ask the fat man if his son really died? 9. How does Pirandello use the technique Reversal ? 10. What is the central Irony of the story? 11. The characters in War all make arguments why they believe their experience is better or worse than the others’ experiences, who has suffered the greatest loss, etc. If you had to choose one, w ith whom do you agree the most? Do you think it is possible to compare their situations? Can one person understand another person’s pain or loss and their personal, emotional response to that situation? Why or why not? 12. How do you look at the title, War ? Reading IIIMy Father’s SonBy Bill HeavyQuestions for discussion 1. Who did the son like better when he was a boy, his mother or his father? Why? 2. Why was the father so strict with his son when the latter was young? 3. Why did the son dislike his father when he was young? 4. How did the son show his dislike for his father? 5. What, according to the story, helped improve the father-and-son relationship? 6. Why did the son consider the failed installation a satisfying experience? 7. When did the son reveal fully his love for his father? 8. The father and son talked about the scattering of the father’s ashes. How do you look at the attitude of the son who “concerned only with practical things” at the time? 9. What is the significance of the installation of the garbage disposal in this story? 。
关于秋天的英语作文气候与衣物搭配(中英文翻译)
关于秋天的英语作文气候与衣物搭配（中英文翻译）秋天是一年中最美丽的季节之一，天空湛蓝，气温适宜，叶子变成了各种各样的色彩，给人们带来了无限的美好心情。
在秋天，我们需要根据秋季的气候来选择适合的衣物搭配。
下面我将为大家介绍一些秋天的气候特点及相应的衣物搭配。
In autumn, the weather becomes cooler compared to summer, but it isstill relatively warm. The average temperature ranges from 10 to 25 degrees Celsius. However, the mornings and evenings can be cooler, so it is important to dress in layers to adapt to the changing temperatures.在秋季，与夏季相比，天气变得更加凉爽，但仍然相对温暖。
平均气温在摄氏10到25度之间变化。
然而，早晨和傍晚的温度可能较低，因此穿搭多层次的衣服以适应温度的变化是很重要的。
1. Early Autumn（初秋）In early autumn, the weather is still warm during the day, but it can get cooler in the evenings. It is a good idea to wear lightweight clothing during the day, such as T-shirts, blouses, or light sweaters. Pair them with trousers, jeans, or skirts for a comfortable and stylish look. In the evenings, when the temperature drops, you can add a light jacket or cardigan to keep warm.初秋时节，白天天气仍然温暖，但傍晚会变得较凉。
early autumn by Langston Hughes 早秋兰斯顿休斯原文及作者简介
Early AutumnWhen Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn't speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years."Bill Walker," she said.He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old."Mary! Where did you come from?"Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it."I live in New York now," she said."Oh" -- smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes."Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.""I'm a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown[1].""Married yet?""Sure. Two kids.”"Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park. People theydidn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold."And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia[2].”“You’re looking very…” (he wanted to say old) “…well,” he said. She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young."We live on Central Park West[3]," she said. "Come and see us sometime."“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick."We'd love it," she answered."You ought to see my kids." He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue[4], chains of misty brilliance in the blue air."There's my bus," she said.He held out his hand. "Good-bye.""When..." she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn't know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his -- or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.Notes________________________________________1. way downtown: 在市中心2. Columbia: Columbia University3. Central Park West: 中央公园西部，纽约住宅区。
Early Autumn
Early Autumn (Langston Hughes)When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak.Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.“Bill Walker,” she said.He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.“Mary! Where did you come from?”Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.“I live in New York now,” she said.“Oh” — smiling politely. Then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”“Married yet?”“Sure. Two kids.”“Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.“And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”“You’re looking very . . .” (he wanted to say old) “. . . well,” he said.She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.“We’d love it,” she answered.“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.“There’s my bus,” she said.He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”“When . . .” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked very loudly. “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address — or to ask him for his — or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill too.The Story of an Hour (Kate Chopin) Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and hadhastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said itover and over under the breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door.""Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills.Indian Camp (Ernest Hemingway)At the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up. The two Indians stood waiting.Nick and his father got in the stern of the boat and the Indians shoved it off and one of them got in to row. Uncle George sat in the stern of the camp rowboat. The young Indian shoved the camp boat off and got in to row Uncle George.The two boats started off in the dark. Nick heard the oarlocks of the other boat quite a way ahead of them in the mist. The Indians rowed with quick choppy strokes. Nick lay back with his f ather’s arm around him. It was cold on the water. The Indian who was rowing them was working very hard, but the other boat moved farther ahead in the mist all the time.“Where are we going, Dad?” Nick asked.“Over to the Indian camp. There is an Indian lady very sick.”“Oh,” said Nick.Across the bay they found the other boat beached. Uncle George was smoking a cigar in the dark. The young Indian pulled the boat way up the beach. Uncle George gave both the Indians cigars.They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried a lantern. Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led to the logging road that ran back into the hills. It was much lighter on the logging road as the timber was cut away on both sides. The young Indian stopped and blew out his lantern and they all walked on along the road.They came around a bend and a dog came out barking. Ahead were the lights of the shanties where the Indian barkpeelers lived. More dogs rushed out at them. The two Indians sent them back to the shanties. In the shanty nearest the road there was a light in the window. An old woman stood in the doorway holding a lamp.Inside on a wooden bunk lay a young Indian woman. She had been trying to have her baby for two days. All the old women in the camp had been helping her. The men had moved off up the road to sit in the dark and smoke out of range of the noise she made. She screamed just as Nick and the two Indians followed his father and Uncle George into the shanty. She lay in the lower bunk, very big under a quilt. Her head was turned to one side. In the upper bunk was her husband. He had cut his foot very badly with an ax three days before. He was smoking a pipe. The room smelled very bad.Nick’s father ordered some water to be put on the stove, and while it was heating he spoke to Nick.“This lady is going to have a baby, Nick,” he said.“I know,” said Nick.“You don’t know,” said his father. “Listen to me. What she is going through is called being in labor. The baby wants to be born and she wants it to be born. All her muscles are trying to get the baby born. That is what is happening when she screams.”“I see,” Nick said.Just then the woman cried out.“Oh Daddy, can’t you give her something to make her stop screaming?” asked Nick.“No. I haven’t any anesthetic,” his father said. “But her screams are not important. I don’t hear them because they are not important.”The husband in the upper bunk rolled over against the wall.The woman in the kitchen motioned to the doctor that the water was hot. Nick’s father went into the kitchen and poured about half of the water out of the big kettle into a basin. Into the water left in the kettle he put several things he unwrapped from a handkerchief.“Those must boil,” he said, and began to scrub his hands in the basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had brought from the camp. Nick watched his father’s hands scrubbing each other with the soap. While his father washed his hands very carefully and thoroughly, he talked.“You see, Nick, babies are supposed to be born head first but sometimes they’re not. When they’re not they make a lot of trouble for everybody. Maybe I’ll have to operate on this l ady. We’ll know in a little while.”When he was satisfied with his hands he went in and went to work.“Pull back that quilt, will you, George?” he said. “I’d rather not touch it.”Later when he started to operate Uncle George and three Indian men held the woman still. She bit Uncle George on the arm and Uncle George said, “Damn squaw bitch!” and the young Indian who had rowed Uncle George over laughed at him. Nick held the basin for his father. It all took a long time.His father picked the baby up and slapped it to make it breathe and handed it to the old woman.“See, it’s a boy, Nick,” he said. “How do you like being an intern?”Nick said, “All right.” He was looking away so as not to see what his father was doing.“There. That gets it,” said h is father and put something into the basin.Nick didn’t look at it.“Now,” his father said, “there’s some stitches to put in. You can watch this or not, Nick, just as you like. I’m going to sew up the incision I made.”Nick did not watch. His curiosity had been gone for a long time.His father finished and stood up. Uncle George and the three Indian men stood up. Nick put the basin out in the kitchen.Uncle George looked at his arm. The young Indian smiled reminiscently.“I’ll put some peroxide on that, George,” the doctor said.He bent over the Indian woman. She was quiet now and her eyes were closed. She looked very pale. She did not know what had become of the baby or anything.“I’ll be back in the morning,” the doctor said, standing up. “The nurse should be here from St. Ignace by noon and she’ll bring everything we need.”He was feeling exalted and talkative as football players are in the dressing room after a game.“That’s one for the medical journal, George,” he said. “D oing a Caesarian with a jackknife and sewing it up with nine-foot, tapered gut leaders.”Uncle George was standing against the wall, looking at his arm.“Oh, you’re a great man, all right,” he said.“Ought to have a look at the proud father. They’r e usually the worst sufferers in these little affairs,” the doctor said. “I must say he took it all pretty quietly.”He pulled back the blanket from the Indian’s head. His hand came away wet. He mounted on the edge of the lower bunk with the lamp in one hand and looked in. The Indian lay with his face toward the wall. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. The blood had flowed down into a pool where his body sagged the bunk. His head rested on his left arm. The open razor lay, edge up, in the blankets.“Take Nick out of the shanty, George,” the doctor said.There was no need of that. Nick standing in the door of the kitchen, had a good view of the upper bunk when his father, the lamp in one hand, tipped the Indian’s head back.It was just beginning to be daylight when they walked along the logging road back toward the lake.“I’m terribly sorry I brought you along, Nickie,” said his father, all his postoperative exhilaration gone. “It was an awful mess to put you through.”“Do ladies always have such a hard time having babies?” Nick asked.“No, that was very, very exceptional.”“Why did he kill himself, Daddy?”“I don’t know, Nick. He couldn’t stand things, I guess.”“Do many men kill themselves, Daddy?”“Not very many, Nick.”“Do many women?”“Hardly ever.”“Don’t they ever?”“Oh, yes. They do sometimes.”“Daddy?”“Yes.”“Where did Uncle George go?”“He’ll turn up all right.”“Is dying hard, Daddy?”“No, I think it’s pretty easy,Nick. It all depends.”They were seated in the boat, Nick in the stern, his father rowing. The sun was coming up over the hills. A bass jumped, making a circle in the water. Nick trailed his hand in the water. It felt warm in the sharp chill of the morning.In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die.。
浙江省富阳市场口中学高三英语复习练习：Early Autumn1
Bill treated her as if they had not been lovers.
Career:
1. Mary work in the bursar’s office at
Columbia (University). Detailed
2. Bill was a lawyer in a nice firm, way
Among his short stories, Early Autumn is very famous.
In the story, Bill and Mary were in love at first. But later they broke up.
Why did they break up? Something not very important had come
Attitude to their husband or wife 1.“And your husband?”he asked her.
“we have 3 children. I work in ....”
2. Lucille and I’d love to have you.
Mary was unwilling to talk about her husband. Bill was very glad to mention his wife.
attitude to each other
career
family willing to mention their husband
or wife? how they felt
First reaction 1. Mary recognized him as soon as she saw him. 2. Billd_i_d_n_’_t_r_e_c_o_g_n_iz_e___ her. Why?
Early Autumn读书笔记
Summary（可附页）（英文）
Vladimir Nabokov once said:"It's all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stronger it is."
Nostalgia is a kind of disease. There's something captivating about the past, keeping our hearts warm, as we keep it warm in our hearts. It's perhaps the closest one cloud get to "absolute freedom". Adulthood with its problems----will never let you dream of it. Perhaps because maturity requires a certain amount of cynicism, even if the memory of Mary's first love is something no one can take away, it just gone like the vanished woods of childhood.
当爱已成往事，何必再有所期许？——读《Early?Autumn》有感_烛花剪梦
当爱已成往事，何必再有所期许？——读《Early Autumn》有感_烛花剪梦当爱已成往事，何必再有所期许？------- 读《Early Autumn》有感《初秋》(EarlyAutumn)是美国黑人作家兰斯顿·休斯一篇脍炙人口的短篇小说。
作者以朴素而高超的写作手法，通过短短的445个词，一气呵成，向我们展示了一幅平静而又波澜壮阔的感情画面，读来回味无穷，心情久久不得平静，作家有意采用明白通俗、朴素无华的日常语言，堆积起大量琐碎的细节，从而准确地再现社会生活的面貌、特征，乃至时代气息，而在这种记实性的外观之下，则潜伏着一股浓厚的悲观情绪。
在自然主义作家的小说中，生活画面是悲惨的，令人沮丧的。
人物总是漫无目的地四处漂荡，总是失败，或陷于受压迫的苦境而不能自拔。
《初秋》呈现的就是这样一种听凭命运摆布的哀怨情景。
故事以一对昔日的恋人若干年后不期而遇这一生活琐事为题材，通过两人极为普通的日常对话，辅以一定的情景衬托，生动而细腻地显现了两种截然不同的心态，尤其是女主人公Mary那起伏跌宕的感情波澜。
短短的文章内字句落满深秋的味道。
昔日的恋人，再见面时的路人，兰斯顿·休斯生动的诠释了女人的感性及男人的理性。
趟过时间的河，我们中的任何一方再也没有机会回头重新选择。
当他们坠入爱河之时，比尔还年轻。
那时他们在一起散步，聊天，度过了无数夜晚。
后来，一些似乎并不是很重要的东西隔在了他们中间，使两人行同陌路。
她，冲动地，嫁给了一个她以为爱的男人。
比尔则怀着对女人的哀怨，离去。
我想当时Bill一定很怨恨Mary，两个相爱的人不应该因为一点小事而冲动的分手，冲动是魔鬼。
玛丽的冲动导致了她不幸的婚姻。
首先从“她太老了”可以看出来，她的生活并不幸福。
尽管她有一份不错的工作和收入（从“我在哥伦比亚的一家财务办公室工作。
”可以看出来。
）其次，她和比尔的分手源于一件微不足道的小事，年轻人爱赌气，但是千万不可随便赌上一生的幸福啊！爱走了，关心也走了。
Early Autumn英文讲义教学文案
E a r l y A u t u m n英文讲义Selected Readings of English LiteratureWhat Is Literature?The Random House Dictionary definition of the word “literature”:•writing regarded as having permanent worth through its intrinsic excellence; •the entire body of writing of a specific language, period, people etc.;•writing dealing with a particular subject;Comment on the following statementsIsrael Zangwill:In Literature, everything is true except names and places; in history nothing is true except names and places.Ezra Pound:Literature is “news that stays news.”Picasso:Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth…The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.Robert Frost:Literature is “a performance of words.”Franz Kafka:Literature “must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us.”Jack London:(Good literature) transcends the limits of particularity to reach universality. Thomas Gray:Literature is “thoughts that breathe and words that burn.”Robert Scholes:The sources of pleasure in literary discourse(叙述) can be defined as matters of communicative capacity. Literary works offer readers a chance to use a fuller range of their interpretive(解释的) abilities than do non-literary texts.Brainstorming activity•What is behind your choice of the elective, Selective Readings of English Literature? •What do you think of literature reading? Or why are you fond of reading literature?Forms of LiteratureIn the more specialized sense of the word, literature is the art that uses language as a medium. Literature contains fiction and non-fiction. Under fiction there are four genres ---- novels, short stories, plays, and poems.Purpose and Means of the Four Genreswith the Use of Words● words are used to create imaginary persons or events in stories or plays.● words are used to show ideas and feelings in essays or poems.● words are addressed directly to the reader in stories and essays.● words are overheard by the reader in plays or poems.The ways literary forms are communicated to the reader•A story, basically a narration through the report of a storyteller to the reader•An essay, persuasion•A poem, meditation•A play, creation of action through the dialogue of imaginary personsWhat do we read for in western literature?(the first level)•The most primitive approach to western literature, especially novels, is to read them for emotional satisfaction. Students at this level look for what’s going on and what’s happened to th e characters they can identify with. All they care about is the “story.” To these readers, novels are recreational at least and therapeutic(有益健康的) at most. (the second level)•The second level on which literature exists is what can be called the didactic one. Literature is regarded as a depositor of human experience of considerable variety and scope. It gains access to questions of moral philosophy ---- questions of value and of normative(规范的) judgment. In such belief, readers try to read as many meanings as they can into literary pieces. Literature is read for its hermeneutic(诠释的) function. (the third level)•Advanced readers of literature have a distinctive concern over matters beyond didacticism. They are not satisfied with “what is going on,” or “what is said.” They look for “how it is said.” Readers at this level are also aware of artistic weaknesses. They even read texts closely as texts and not to move into the general context of human experience or history.How to approach literature?•One must be both inside and outside of the work. One must allow himself be carried away by the work, and at the same time, on reading again and again think about the way the end is connected to the beginning. Eliot says that one has to give himself up, and then recover himself, and the third moment is having something to say, before one has wholly forgotten both surrender and recovery. And the self recovered is never the same as the self before it was given.Short story•People tell stories to entertain or to instruct.•Maupassant and Chekhov are two great writers of the later nineteenth century who can be taken as representatives of the two kinds of literature respectively ---- one of resolution, the other revelation.•Much of the best short fiction from Chekhov onward is less concerned with what happens than with how character feels about the happenings. The emphasis is not on external action but in inner action, feeling.Reading IEarly Autumnby Langston HughesLangston Hughes African-American Writer, Poet, (February 1, 1902 ---May 22, 1967)About the writerLangston Hughes (1902-1967): a poet, playwright, novelist, songwriter, biographer, editor, newspaper columnist, translator and lecturer.Born in Joplin, Missouri, on February 1, 1902, Langston Hughes lived the first twelve years of his life in Kansas, Colorado, Indiana, and New York State. He graduated from high school in Cleveland, Ohio, where in his senior year he was elected class poet and edi tor of the yearbook. Hughes’ other travels included trips to Europe and Africa, and the character of his adventurous, wandering life was reflected in such works as his novel, Not Without Laughter (1930), his short stories, and his autobiography.By 1925, Hughes, together with other Negro writers, had formed a group in the Harlem section of New York City for the purpose of exchanging ideas, encouraging one another, and, eventually, sharing in the triumph created by the sudden popularity of their work. As spokesman for the group, Hughes published an article, “The Negro Artist and The Racial Mountain,” which amounted to a public declaration of the intent of Hughes and his contemporaries to break from their literary heritage and to initiate a new trend in Negro literature. For new black writers, Harlem and its people were to provide the inspiration for much of their artistic work.In later years, Hughes became known as the “O. Henry of Harlem” and wrote countless short stories, a number of volumes of poetry, seven novels, and six plays. In his poetry,he successfully caught and projected scenes of urban Negro life, and his sketches in verse with their undertones of bitterness, humor, and pathos became also a form of social protest.Questions for discussion1. In the first paragraph, it reads “Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak…” which finally led to their separation from each other. How do you think of both of their attitudes to this matter?2. Can you discern any pair of contrast in the way the two protagonists treat with each other in their unexpected encounter?3. Why did Mary not give an answer to Bill’s question “And your husband?” and instead said, “We have three children …”?4. Why did Mary desperately reach back into the past?5. We know that Mary impulsively married a man she thought she loved. Then why is it that we know the name of Bill’s wife, Lucille, but that of Mary’s husband has never been revealed?6. How do you look at the description of the falling leaves in Washington Square?7. How did it come that the lights of the Fifth Avenue turned out to be chains of misty brilliance? And later, how it came that “the lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred”?8. Note that soon after Mary gave her answer to what Bill said about his family, that he had two kids, the narrative following is, “A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know.” And how do you feel about the scene that Mary saw from her leaving bus, “Peo ple came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people.”9. What effects does the conclusive sentence achieve?10. What personal traits can be seen in both of the protagonists to which, to some extent, their different destinies can be attributed?11. If you had been one of the two parties in the short story, would you do the same as them, or would your demeanor be different?12. Titles of works often offer focus. How do you look at the title of this work, Early Autumn?Recreation•Tell the story to each other, in the same way it is told or in a different version, from the perspective of Mary, of Bill, or of any other person.Role play•the chance meeting in Washington Square•Act out what will be going on after the encounter.Writing•Choose a part in the story that is most appealing to you, and make your comment on it. •If you were supposed to end the story, how would you conclude it? Give to the story an ending different from the original one.DreamsHold fast to dreams aFor if dreams die bLife is a broken-winged bird cThat cannot fly. bHold fast to dreams aFor when dreams go dLife is a barren field eFrozen with snow. dend-rhyme scheme: abcb adediamb dimeter (抑扬格二步诗)The Negro Speaks of RiversI’ve known rivers;I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincolnwent down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddybosom turn all golden in the sunset.I’ve known rivers:Ancient, dusky rivers.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.•This is a lyric(抒情的) poem in free verse (non-metrical poetry). 无韵诗•The speaker is a particular voice, an “I”, but also a general one, “the negro”.•The paratactic style (并列排比式) in which things are listed•The relationship between the particular and general, between the individual and a type, about a universal from a particular point of view•A poem about knowledge, about identity, and about history•The flowing of rivers is like the flowing of blood. And to know them is to know what is under or inside particular racial experience at the deepest level•Or the title can be changed to “The Negro Speaks of Human Life and History as th e Negro Knows it”Reading IIWarby Luige Pirandello•Luigi Pirandello, 28 June 1867 – 10 December 1936) was an Italian dramatist, novelist, and short story writer awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1934, for his "bold and brilliant renovation of the drama and the stage." Pirandello's works include novels, hundreds of short stories, and about 40 plays.Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart.------ Luige Pirandello Luige Pirandellow ranks as the most important and innovative Italian dramatist of the early twentieth century. He was born in Sicily and moved to Rome to pursue a writing career. Novels and short stories flowed from his pen. Winner of the 1934 Nobel Prize in literature, Pirandello expresses the confusion and suffering of the human condition in disturbing yet humorous ways. His works focus primarily on the inherent instability of human existence, specifically the conflict of reason and instinct within the human mind.Pirandello’s focus on the social masks that people wear has been a major influence on modern fiction, as well as on modern drama. Pirandello was fascinated by the contrast between appearance and reality in human behavior. He viewed life as a series of illusions, each concerning a surprising core: comedy in tragedy, sanity in madness, grief in happiness.He saw people as suffering from the necessity of leading insincere public lives, and he watched with compassion as they clung to their delusions. He created literature that he hoped would force people to examine their convictions, acknowledge their inner-selves, and lead more authentic lives.Questions for discussion1.What is the importance of the physical actions in the story? How do they offer cluesto the feelings and attitudes of the characters?2. If we believe that the contrast in the behavior of the fat old man (whether or not covering his mouth with his hand) before and after the revelation of the death of his child is meaningful, then, with the exposed missing teeth, what was it that the man would really want to hide from others?3. What is the significance of the words we have italicized in the following sentence? “The old man, too, turned to look at her, fixing his great, bulging, horribly watery light gray eyes, deep in her face.”4. What/When is the climax of this story? How can you tell it is the climax?5. Is there any hint to the sorrow of the old man over his loss of son before the story reaches its climax?6. Imagine another version of this story. Suppose that the old man, whose son is merely at the front, argues with the other people in the compartment, and persuades them, as in the present version of the story; at a station, he receives a telegram saying that his son has been killed, whereupon he bursts into “heart-breaking, uncontro llable sobs” while theystare at him in amazement. Why would such a version be inferior to the story as Pirandello tells it?7. In the short story War, the author, Luigi Pirandello, does not give any of the characters’ names. Why not? What effect does th at have on the story and the readers?8. Why does the woman ask the fat man if his son really died?9. How does Pirandello use the technique Reversal?10. What is the central Irony of the story?11. The characters in War all make arguments why they believe their experience is better or worse than the others’ experiences, who has suffered the greatest loss, etc. If you had to choose one, with whom do you agree the most? Do you think it is possible to compare their situations? Can one person understand a nother person’s pain or loss and their personal, emotional response to that situation? Why or why not?12. How do you look at the title, War?Reading IIIMy Father’s SonBy Bill HeavyQuestions for discussion1. Who did the son like better when he was a boy, his mother or his father? Why?2. Why was the father so strict with his son when the latter was young?3. Why did the son dislike his father when he was young?4. How did the son show his dislike for his father?5. What, according to the story, helped improve the father-and-son relationship?6. Why did the son consider the failed installation a satisfying experience?7. When did the son reveal fully his love for his father?8. T he father and son talked about the scattering of the father’s ashes. How do you look at the attitude of the son who “concerned only with practical things” at the time?9. What is the significance of the installation of the garbage disposal in this story?。
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Early Autumn
作者: Langston Hughes | 发布日期: 2009-8-29 22:52:38 | 分享到：
When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t spe ak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.
Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.
“Bill Walker,” she said.
He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.
“Mary! Where did you come from?”
Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.
“I live in New York now,” she said.
“Oh” — smiling politely. Then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.
“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”
“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”
“Married yet?”
“Sure. Two kids.”
“Oh,” she said.
A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.
“And your husband?” he asked her.
“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”
“You’re looking very . . .” (he wanted to say old) “. . . well,” he said.
She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.
“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”
“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”
The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.
“We’d love it,” she answered.
“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.
Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.
“There’s my bus,” she said.
He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”
“When . . .” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.
Suddenly she shrieked very loudly. “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.
The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address — or to ask him for his — or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill too.。