编辑推荐
《中华人文（2018第1辑）》是一本译介中国当代作家作品兼顾中国当代艺术的全英文图书。本书以兼容并蓄的精神择选稿件，旨在向英语世界译介中华人文，特别是中国当代文学创作的优秀成果，弘扬中华人文精神，促进中华文化交流。
作者简介
主编：杨昊成 江苏宜兴人，1963年生。博士，教授，江苏省外国文学学会会员，江苏省外国语言学会会员，南京市翻译家协会会员，南京师范大学外国语学院美国文明研究所所长，全英文期刊Chinese Arts and Letters（《中华人文》）主编。
目录
Editor’s Note
by Yang Haocheng （杨昊成）
Featured Author: Ye Mi （叶弥）
Bright Moon Temple （《明月寺》）
Snowflake Meditation （《雪花禅》）
Mount Xianglu （《香炉山》）
Critique
The Enlightened Way of Fiction by Zhang Xuexin （张学昕）
Interview
An Interview with Ye Mi by Jin Ying （金莹）
Culture & Heritage
The Essentials of Chinese Calligraphy by Yang Haocheng （杨昊成）
Echoes of Classics
Introduction to Laozi and His Daodejing by Bill Porter
Selections from Daodejing
Short Stories
Wealth, Blessings and Longevity （《福禄寿》） by Pang Yu
（庞羽）
Prose
Bluestone Alleys （《青石小街》） by Fei Zhenzhong （费振钟）
Rain in the Old Village （《古村的雨》） by Fei Zhenzhong
（费振钟）
Poems
Poems by Hu Xian （胡弦）
Art
Coffee Pot or Water Jug? by Shen Li （沈黎）
序言
To be frank, I started reading Ye Mi (叶弥) only a little over three years ago when she was recommended to me by both Su Tong (苏童) and Fan Xiaoqing (范小青), who said that she was a writer of real narrative power with a unique style of her own. The first story I read of hers and then published in CAL is“Family,” one that is vastly different from others in that it smacks of a strong flavor of the ambiance prevalent in the writings of the Republican period of China. Her mind seems to me to be totally engrossed in a serene world far away from the madding crowd of today. Mountains and flowers, temples and monasteries, the bright moon and a sprinkling of lonely, leisurely souls—all these seem to have made up the entire world of her literary landscape. She is instinctively attached to these things and people and seems to have little interest in what is going on in this world of mundane existence. I’ve always been wondering what could possibly be the reason behind this literary preference of hers. Then I was reminded of her retreat from the city to the countryside a few years ago, where she preferred a self-contained, rustic life with her patches of vegetables and fruit trees and flocks of fowls and pets. Ye Mi is my age and not that old to retire to the country like China’s reputed recluses of the olden days when they had either suffered enough setbacks in the realistic world, or when they were tired of the schemes and struggles of the outside world and dreamed of withdrawing to the mountains and waters for an unperturbed life. Ye Mi seems to fit into neither category. But then who knows! What I do know is that the female author is very happy with what she has and what she is. She is at present the proud master of her own house at the side of the Taihu Lake, now working in the fields, now walking with her cherished pets, but most of the time peacefully working away at her letters.
Starting this issue, CAL has a new column added to it:“Echoes of Classics.” We’ll pick and choose those cultural and literary gems throughout the history of Chinese civilization from Laozi’s Daodejing, Confucius’ Analects, the pre-Qin prose, the works of the Pléiade of the Bamboo Grove, Tang and Song poetry, Yuan drama, Ming and Qing fiction, all the way down to the May 4th literary masterpieces. For Daodejing, which is the first on our long list and is known to have been the most translated Chinese classic with one hundred versions or so in English alone, we hesitated a lot as to which of these renditions to choose. James Legge? Frederic Henry Balfour? Witter Bynner? Arthur Waley? Lin Yutang (林语堂)? Or D.C. Lau (刘殿爵)? All towering figures in sinology or literary translation, but finally we came down to Bill Porter, a.k.a. Red Pine, a name with some Zen implication in it which Porter adopted for himself after more than a dozen years of life and work in Taiwan and Hong Kong. His rendition of Daodejing, using simple enough English to capture the austere and sometimes elusive meaning of the original text, impresses me as having the advantage of better fluidity in reading and easier accessibility to the modern reader. What is more noteworthy is his eclectic selection from the ocean of literary commentaries and exegeses on Daodejing throughout Chinese literary history which is yet another sure evidence of Porter’s extensive reading and rigorous scholarship. Dadejing, like The Analects, with its colloquial style, is relatively a simple text, but translating it is by no means easy. That’s why the Canadian sinologist W.A.C.H. Dobson, whose translation of Mencius won him world-wide accolade, said that it was time for a sinologist to retire when he announced that he was working on a new version of Daodejing. We don’t know exactly what is behind Dobson’s words, but we are moved by Porter’s courage to take up the challenge of translating this Daoist classic at an age when most people would prefer a cozy, retired life with their family and yet he decided to follow the dictates of his heart and set his mind on burning the long, solitary midnight oil.
One of the problems prior to translating Daodejing is that the translator will come across different versions of the text, including different punctuations, for throughout the ages, the text of Daodijing underwent numerous recensions and each would claim itself to be authentic. This alone will result in different enough interpretations and accordingly, divergent renditions. I take this to be quite normal with most ancient texts. Porter claims to have compared several dozen
versions of the original and we respect his final choice of the version to base his translation on.
The whole text of Daodejing, which is made up of the Scriptures of Dao (Way) and the Scriptures of De (Virture), has 81 chapters in all and approximately 5, words. It is impossible
to have the entire text and its English equivalent printed here in CAL. Besides, some sayings are more or less redundant semantically. We’ve picked those most well-known sayings, 16 chapters in all, for our readers. For those who care to do further comparative research on the classic, we’ve put the original Chinese alongside its English translation. And to make the Chinese look more like a bona fide original text, we’ve arranged it in the traditional rather than the simplified script and on a vertical setting of types. This arrangement will remain unchanged with all the other Chinese texts in“Echoes of Classics” that are to follow. Porter’s illuminating Introduction to Laozi, Daodejing and his translation of the work in Mercury House in 1996 is also printed here for those who might be first readers of this Daoist classic.
And a bit of change to one of CAL’s regular columns“Articles.” Renamed “Culture and Heritage,” this column, self-evidently more revealing by the sheer name of it, will include anything written, or translated, about Chinese culture at large, regardless of genre, style, time period, or subject matter. “The Essentials of Chinese Calligraphy,” my piece based on my two Dartmouth lectures during my one-year stint as a post-doc at Harvard twelve years ago, is printed here for the scrutinizing eye of both the professionals and common lovers of Chinese calligraphy. Comprised of three parts, viz., Evolution, Aesthetic, and Technique, the article is meant not as a pure academic research into one of the most abstract forms of traditional Chinese art, but as a primary on a brief history of calligraphy, on how calligraphy is usually appreciated, and how calligraphy is normally practiced. Each and every word is spoken from my thirty-odd years of experience of daily practice and I hope I’m not blowing my own trumpet.
The short story in this issue is Pang Yu’ (庞羽) “Wealth, lessings and Longevity.” As a young writer of the post-90s generation, Pang is a rising star in contemporary Chinese literary arena, and her style is easily recognizable for its raciness and saltatory way of thinking and word manipulation. Not easy to translate though, and that’s why we’ve asked Denis Mair, one of our most adept and exact translators, to do the job, and even he acknowledged to have to “wrestle with the picturesqueness of the language” in order to best preserve its“folksy charm.”
One needs a pair of poetic eyes to see the extraordinary through the ordinary, and that’s the case with Hu Xian (胡弦), the featured poet of this issue of CAL. There really is nothing remarkably stunning about the things he writes about, pebbles, trees, clouds, roads, spiders, circus troupes, fish on a chopping board, etc., but our poet has unusually keen antennae for the nature of these insignificant things or their facets easily ignored by us commoners. Even the decadent is transformed into the magical, as “Insects in Amber” well manifests, and that’s what poetry is all about, I guess.
After a whole three years of reticence, Shen Li (沈黎) resurfaces with her short piece on Lin Fengmian (林风眠), one of the most successful Sinicizers of western painting tradition of 20th century China. Lin was a very lonely man throughout most of his career； he was active in the artistic circles only in his early and later life, but other than that, he was rejected and marginalized, even maltreated in his prime years largely due to the ignorance of his contemporaries. Paradoxically, however, the misfortune turned out to be an actual blessing. Pushed to the limbo, away from all the hustle and bustle in the mainstream, Lin was able to settle down to the ontological study and practice of painting. And faced with seemingly endless days and months to kill, he produced one after another the most dazzling works of art ranging from fishing villages, birds and trees, old-day maids to Peking opera figures, female nudes and still life of all kinds. Not until his octogenarian years though did he enjoy a triumphant comeback and a universal recognition as one of the few genuine masters of 20th century Chinese art history.
Lin’s works are particular about conveying verve and technique, stressing a lot the unity of truthfulness and ornamentation. With his dense composition and oftentimes heavy ink and bright colors, his works would shine with tenderness out of strong contrast, richness out of simplicity. Shen Li’s article “Coffee Pot or Water Jug?” on Lin’s still life, catches but a tip of the iceberg, a drop in the ocean of the artist’s prodigious repertoire, but the glassware with its “glistening transparency” to which the artist is drawn seems to be equally intriguing to the author. With her expert eye for art and her brilliant writing to express her views on art, Shen shows us the possibility of a fine example of art criticism. And, indeed, an English scholar with an acute artistic sensibility like her is definitely hard to come by.
Ye Mi, whose original name was Zhou Jie, was born in Suzhou in 1964. She started writing novels in 1994. A member of the Plenary Committee of Chinese Writers’ association, she also serves as Vice Chairperson of Jiangsu Writers’ Association. Her works, which won her various prizes, including the Sixth Lu Xun Literature Prize, have been introduced into other nations such as UK, USA, France, Japan, Russia, Germany and South Korea. Now Ye Mi lives by the Taihu Lake in Suzhou.
文摘
Bright Moon Temple
Ye Mi /叶 弥
Translated by Ella Schwalb
In springtime, when the sunshine was goading all kinds of flowers to struggle into bloom, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and left home. I wanted to go see
the blossoms. The season was sure to lose its pristine sparkle in two weeks’ time—many flowers would start to wilt on their branches, and petals would fall to the dust in droves. So I wanted to take it all in before the spring turned dull and dirty, to see how the flowers blossomed. Once this moment passed, would there be anything left blooming for me to see?
My aim was simple. I squinted in the sun as it shone down on my face, and then I leisurely set out, heading south.
I got to some mountains after a while. Peach blossoms stretched as far as the eye could see, and the earth and sky were all flooded with sun as the sweet wind drifted by above the flowering trees. In the soft, warm chuckle of that all-pervasive
sunshine, I ceased to exist, my steps light and buoyant as though I were the sun’s own two feet.
I was walking along when someone behind me said,“Hey there, where are you headed?”
I turned around and saw a swarthy old villager with a stick-straight back walking behind me.
“I’m taking a springtime walk,” I said.
I hung back a bit, and the old man caught up to me.
“You’ve come from the city,” he concluded confidently. Then he continued, as though talking to himself, “I’m just coming back from the city myself. I went yesterday on a transport ship that belongs to a relative, so I got a free ride. I started back first thing this morning, and caught a little town bus, but they wanted to charge me twelve yuan. I got mad, and got off halfway without paying them even one cent. That’s how I managed to save twelve yuan on my way there, and then six more on my way back.”
I laughed to myself. He peered at my face, then said earnestly, “Nobody comes by these parts, as there are no touristic sites here. It has been an obscure locale from time immemorial.” I couldn’t help but let out a great belly laugh when I heard the old man putting on airs like this. But he didn’t pay me any mind, and just went on talking, “Erlang Mountain is the only good thing to see. Bright Moon Temple is up there, and there are lots of flowering plants and bamboo. There are pheasants too, and to the south and east of the mountain there’s a lake with wild ducks in it. People say that if the pheasants mate with the ducks, they make a phoenix... yes, this mountain is well worth seeing, so you might as well go up and take a look around. You can stay in the temple for twenty yuan a night, three meals included. The only people up there are the couple who run the temple. They used to be regular folk—from the city, like you. They came in the spring of 1970, but nobody knows why. It’s been almost thirty years now, and they’ve never had any family come to visit... The man is named Master Luo, and the woman Master Bo, and even though they run the temple, they still dress like commoners and live together as husband and wife, sleeping in the same room and everything. Isn’t that strange?”
《中华人文（2018第1辑）》是一本译介中国当代作家作品兼顾中国当代艺术的全英文图书。本书以兼容并蓄的精神择选稿件，旨在向英语世界译介中华人文，特别是中国当代文学创作的优秀成果，弘扬中华人文精神，促进中华文化交流。
作者简介
主编：杨昊成 江苏宜兴人，1963年生。博士，教授，江苏省外国文学学会会员，江苏省外国语言学会会员，南京市翻译家协会会员，南京师范大学外国语学院美国文明研究所所长，全英文期刊Chinese Arts and Letters（《中华人文》）主编。
目录
Editor’s Note
by Yang Haocheng （杨昊成）
Featured Author: Ye Mi （叶弥）
Bright Moon Temple （《明月寺》）
Snowflake Meditation （《雪花禅》）
Mount Xianglu （《香炉山》）
Critique
The Enlightened Way of Fiction by Zhang Xuexin （张学昕）
Interview
An Interview with Ye Mi by Jin Ying （金莹）
Culture & Heritage
The Essentials of Chinese Calligraphy by Yang Haocheng （杨昊成）
Echoes of Classics
Introduction to Laozi and His Daodejing by Bill Porter
Selections from Daodejing
Short Stories
Wealth, Blessings and Longevity （《福禄寿》） by Pang Yu
（庞羽）
Prose
Bluestone Alleys （《青石小街》） by Fei Zhenzhong （费振钟）
Rain in the Old Village （《古村的雨》） by Fei Zhenzhong
（费振钟）
Poems
Poems by Hu Xian （胡弦）
Art
Coffee Pot or Water Jug? by Shen Li （沈黎）
序言
To be frank, I started reading Ye Mi (叶弥) only a little over three years ago when she was recommended to me by both Su Tong (苏童) and Fan Xiaoqing (范小青), who said that she was a writer of real narrative power with a unique style of her own. The first story I read of hers and then published in CAL is“Family,” one that is vastly different from others in that it smacks of a strong flavor of the ambiance prevalent in the writings of the Republican period of China. Her mind seems to me to be totally engrossed in a serene world far away from the madding crowd of today. Mountains and flowers, temples and monasteries, the bright moon and a sprinkling of lonely, leisurely souls—all these seem to have made up the entire world of her literary landscape. She is instinctively attached to these things and people and seems to have little interest in what is going on in this world of mundane existence. I’ve always been wondering what could possibly be the reason behind this literary preference of hers. Then I was reminded of her retreat from the city to the countryside a few years ago, where she preferred a self-contained, rustic life with her patches of vegetables and fruit trees and flocks of fowls and pets. Ye Mi is my age and not that old to retire to the country like China’s reputed recluses of the olden days when they had either suffered enough setbacks in the realistic world, or when they were tired of the schemes and struggles of the outside world and dreamed of withdrawing to the mountains and waters for an unperturbed life. Ye Mi seems to fit into neither category. But then who knows! What I do know is that the female author is very happy with what she has and what she is. She is at present the proud master of her own house at the side of the Taihu Lake, now working in the fields, now walking with her cherished pets, but most of the time peacefully working away at her letters.
Starting this issue, CAL has a new column added to it:“Echoes of Classics.” We’ll pick and choose those cultural and literary gems throughout the history of Chinese civilization from Laozi’s Daodejing, Confucius’ Analects, the pre-Qin prose, the works of the Pléiade of the Bamboo Grove, Tang and Song poetry, Yuan drama, Ming and Qing fiction, all the way down to the May 4th literary masterpieces. For Daodejing, which is the first on our long list and is known to have been the most translated Chinese classic with one hundred versions or so in English alone, we hesitated a lot as to which of these renditions to choose. James Legge? Frederic Henry Balfour? Witter Bynner? Arthur Waley? Lin Yutang (林语堂)? Or D.C. Lau (刘殿爵)? All towering figures in sinology or literary translation, but finally we came down to Bill Porter, a.k.a. Red Pine, a name with some Zen implication in it which Porter adopted for himself after more than a dozen years of life and work in Taiwan and Hong Kong. His rendition of Daodejing, using simple enough English to capture the austere and sometimes elusive meaning of the original text, impresses me as having the advantage of better fluidity in reading and easier accessibility to the modern reader. What is more noteworthy is his eclectic selection from the ocean of literary commentaries and exegeses on Daodejing throughout Chinese literary history which is yet another sure evidence of Porter’s extensive reading and rigorous scholarship. Dadejing, like The Analects, with its colloquial style, is relatively a simple text, but translating it is by no means easy. That’s why the Canadian sinologist W.A.C.H. Dobson, whose translation of Mencius won him world-wide accolade, said that it was time for a sinologist to retire when he announced that he was working on a new version of Daodejing. We don’t know exactly what is behind Dobson’s words, but we are moved by Porter’s courage to take up the challenge of translating this Daoist classic at an age when most people would prefer a cozy, retired life with their family and yet he decided to follow the dictates of his heart and set his mind on burning the long, solitary midnight oil.
One of the problems prior to translating Daodejing is that the translator will come across different versions of the text, including different punctuations, for throughout the ages, the text of Daodijing underwent numerous recensions and each would claim itself to be authentic. This alone will result in different enough interpretations and accordingly, divergent renditions. I take this to be quite normal with most ancient texts. Porter claims to have compared several dozen
versions of the original and we respect his final choice of the version to base his translation on.
The whole text of Daodejing, which is made up of the Scriptures of Dao (Way) and the Scriptures of De (Virture), has 81 chapters in all and approximately 5, words. It is impossible
to have the entire text and its English equivalent printed here in CAL. Besides, some sayings are more or less redundant semantically. We’ve picked those most well-known sayings, 16 chapters in all, for our readers. For those who care to do further comparative research on the classic, we’ve put the original Chinese alongside its English translation. And to make the Chinese look more like a bona fide original text, we’ve arranged it in the traditional rather than the simplified script and on a vertical setting of types. This arrangement will remain unchanged with all the other Chinese texts in“Echoes of Classics” that are to follow. Porter’s illuminating Introduction to Laozi, Daodejing and his translation of the work in Mercury House in 1996 is also printed here for those who might be first readers of this Daoist classic.
And a bit of change to one of CAL’s regular columns“Articles.” Renamed “Culture and Heritage,” this column, self-evidently more revealing by the sheer name of it, will include anything written, or translated, about Chinese culture at large, regardless of genre, style, time period, or subject matter. “The Essentials of Chinese Calligraphy,” my piece based on my two Dartmouth lectures during my one-year stint as a post-doc at Harvard twelve years ago, is printed here for the scrutinizing eye of both the professionals and common lovers of Chinese calligraphy. Comprised of three parts, viz., Evolution, Aesthetic, and Technique, the article is meant not as a pure academic research into one of the most abstract forms of traditional Chinese art, but as a primary on a brief history of calligraphy, on how calligraphy is usually appreciated, and how calligraphy is normally practiced. Each and every word is spoken from my thirty-odd years of experience of daily practice and I hope I’m not blowing my own trumpet.
The short story in this issue is Pang Yu’ (庞羽) “Wealth, lessings and Longevity.” As a young writer of the post-90s generation, Pang is a rising star in contemporary Chinese literary arena, and her style is easily recognizable for its raciness and saltatory way of thinking and word manipulation. Not easy to translate though, and that’s why we’ve asked Denis Mair, one of our most adept and exact translators, to do the job, and even he acknowledged to have to “wrestle with the picturesqueness of the language” in order to best preserve its“folksy charm.”
One needs a pair of poetic eyes to see the extraordinary through the ordinary, and that’s the case with Hu Xian (胡弦), the featured poet of this issue of CAL. There really is nothing remarkably stunning about the things he writes about, pebbles, trees, clouds, roads, spiders, circus troupes, fish on a chopping board, etc., but our poet has unusually keen antennae for the nature of these insignificant things or their facets easily ignored by us commoners. Even the decadent is transformed into the magical, as “Insects in Amber” well manifests, and that’s what poetry is all about, I guess.
After a whole three years of reticence, Shen Li (沈黎) resurfaces with her short piece on Lin Fengmian (林风眠), one of the most successful Sinicizers of western painting tradition of 20th century China. Lin was a very lonely man throughout most of his career； he was active in the artistic circles only in his early and later life, but other than that, he was rejected and marginalized, even maltreated in his prime years largely due to the ignorance of his contemporaries. Paradoxically, however, the misfortune turned out to be an actual blessing. Pushed to the limbo, away from all the hustle and bustle in the mainstream, Lin was able to settle down to the ontological study and practice of painting. And faced with seemingly endless days and months to kill, he produced one after another the most dazzling works of art ranging from fishing villages, birds and trees, old-day maids to Peking opera figures, female nudes and still life of all kinds. Not until his octogenarian years though did he enjoy a triumphant comeback and a universal recognition as one of the few genuine masters of 20th century Chinese art history.
Lin’s works are particular about conveying verve and technique, stressing a lot the unity of truthfulness and ornamentation. With his dense composition and oftentimes heavy ink and bright colors, his works would shine with tenderness out of strong contrast, richness out of simplicity. Shen Li’s article “Coffee Pot or Water Jug?” on Lin’s still life, catches but a tip of the iceberg, a drop in the ocean of the artist’s prodigious repertoire, but the glassware with its “glistening transparency” to which the artist is drawn seems to be equally intriguing to the author. With her expert eye for art and her brilliant writing to express her views on art, Shen shows us the possibility of a fine example of art criticism. And, indeed, an English scholar with an acute artistic sensibility like her is definitely hard to come by.
Ye Mi, whose original name was Zhou Jie, was born in Suzhou in 1964. She started writing novels in 1994. A member of the Plenary Committee of Chinese Writers’ association, she also serves as Vice Chairperson of Jiangsu Writers’ Association. Her works, which won her various prizes, including the Sixth Lu Xun Literature Prize, have been introduced into other nations such as UK, USA, France, Japan, Russia, Germany and South Korea. Now Ye Mi lives by the Taihu Lake in Suzhou.
文摘
Bright Moon Temple
Ye Mi /叶 弥
Translated by Ella Schwalb
In springtime, when the sunshine was goading all kinds of flowers to struggle into bloom, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and left home. I wanted to go see
the blossoms. The season was sure to lose its pristine sparkle in two weeks’ time—many flowers would start to wilt on their branches, and petals would fall to the dust in droves. So I wanted to take it all in before the spring turned dull and dirty, to see how the flowers blossomed. Once this moment passed, would there be anything left blooming for me to see?
My aim was simple. I squinted in the sun as it shone down on my face, and then I leisurely set out, heading south.
I got to some mountains after a while. Peach blossoms stretched as far as the eye could see, and the earth and sky were all flooded with sun as the sweet wind drifted by above the flowering trees. In the soft, warm chuckle of that all-pervasive
sunshine, I ceased to exist, my steps light and buoyant as though I were the sun’s own two feet.
I was walking along when someone behind me said,“Hey there, where are you headed?”
I turned around and saw a swarthy old villager with a stick-straight back walking behind me.
“I’m taking a springtime walk,” I said.
I hung back a bit, and the old man caught up to me.
“You’ve come from the city,” he concluded confidently. Then he continued, as though talking to himself, “I’m just coming back from the city myself. I went yesterday on a transport ship that belongs to a relative, so I got a free ride. I started back first thing this morning, and caught a little town bus, but they wanted to charge me twelve yuan. I got mad, and got off halfway without paying them even one cent. That’s how I managed to save twelve yuan on my way there, and then six more on my way back.”
I laughed to myself. He peered at my face, then said earnestly, “Nobody comes by these parts, as there are no touristic sites here. It has been an obscure locale from time immemorial.” I couldn’t help but let out a great belly laugh when I heard the old man putting on airs like this. But he didn’t pay me any mind, and just went on talking, “Erlang Mountain is the only good thing to see. Bright Moon Temple is up there, and there are lots of flowering plants and bamboo. There are pheasants too, and to the south and east of the mountain there’s a lake with wild ducks in it. People say that if the pheasants mate with the ducks, they make a phoenix... yes, this mountain is well worth seeing, so you might as well go up and take a look around. You can stay in the temple for twenty yuan a night, three meals included. The only people up there are the couple who run the temple. They used to be regular folk—from the city, like you. They came in the spring of 1970, but nobody knows why. It’s been almost thirty years now, and they’ve never had any family come to visit... The man is named Master Luo, and the woman Master Bo, and even though they run the temple, they still dress like commoners and live together as husband and wife, sleeping in the same room and everything. Isn’t that strange?”
| ISBN | 7544773418,9787544773416 |
|---|---|
| 出版社 | 译林出版社 |
| 作者 | 杨昊成 |
| 尺寸 | 16 |