【商品详情】
书名：All Quiet on the Western Front 西线无战事
难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数830L
作者：Erich Maria Remarque埃里希·玛利亚·雷马克
出版社名称：Ballantine Books
出版时间：1987
语种：英文
ISBN：9780449213940
商品尺寸：10.7 x 2 x 17.5 cm
包装：简装
页数：304
All Quiet on the Western Front《西线无战事》是德国作家埃里希·玛利亚·雷马克创作的代表作。讲述的是第1次世界大战期间，主人公保罗和他的三个同学受“保卫祖国、保卫人民”的欺骗宣传上了战场。在战争中他们目睹战争的残酷性和毁灭性，眼看着一个个战友相继死亡，他们的英雄主义幻想破产了，内心发生了变化，开始对战争怀疑、厌恶甚至憎恨。
这部小说是一战时期被毁灭的德国青年一代的控诉书，作品的成功之处在于它以异乎寻常的真实、毫不留情地揭开了这场所谓神圣的、美丽的战争的面纱，表现了极为鲜明的反战主题。
雷马克因《西线无战事》被提名诺贝尔和平奖；根据小说改编的同名电影《西线无战事》获得第3届奥斯卡两项大奖。
推荐理由：
1.奥斯卡金像奖电影《西线无战事》原著小说；
2. 二十世纪杰出小说家雷马克代表作
3.茨威格、君特 格拉斯推崇的大师，林语堂、巴金鼎力推荐。
精彩书评：
“不需劝诱，你就会被他（雷马克）的作品征服；无需夸张，他就能震撼你的心灵。”——斯蒂芬·茨威格
“Remarque给我们看的不是英雄，只是与你我相同的丘八，恐怖，恐怖，永远在恐怖及神经错乱如醉如狂的状态中自卫与杀人，而且杀人是所以自卫，自卫不得不杀人。这才是战争的真相，是英雄的本色。”——林语堂
“雷马克是伟大的作家。毫无疑问，他有一流的文笔，能自如地驾驭语言。不管是写人还是写物，他的笔触都敏锐、稳重、坚定。”——《纽约时报》
“雷马克对现代战争残酷性的刻画，其威力在任何时代都不会有丝毫减弱。”——《泰晤士报》
Paul Baumer enlisted with his classmates in the German army of World War I. Youthful, enthusiastic, they become soldiers. But despite what they have learned, they break into pieces under the first bombardment in the trenches. And as horrible war plods on year after year, Paul holds fast to a single vow: to fight against the principles of hate that meaninglessly pits young men of the same generation but different uniforms against each other—if only he can come out of the war alive.
Review
“The world has a great writer in Erich Maria Remarque. He is a craftsman of unquestionably first trank, a man who can bend language to his will. Whether he writes of men or of inanimate nature, his touch is sensitive, firm, and sure.” —The New York Times Book Review
第1次世界大战期间，十九岁的保罗·博伊默尔受到“爱国主义”的激励，跟同学们一起志愿参军，但战争与军队生活的残酷完全超出想象。在新兵训练营里，他们被迫抛弃从前对知识和自由的信仰，接受彻底的改造。短暂的训练后，新兵们被派往前线作战，所见所闻尽是残酷：战壕内都是老鼠、虱子；烈性传染病威胁着每个士兵的生命；战友们一个个阵亡，或受伤被送到野战医院；野战医院设备简陋，药品缺乏，伤患的死亡率极高。
保罗休假回家，发现德国国内仍沉浸在对于战争的英雄主义幻想中，普通人无法想象士兵们在前线所受的灾难，他和从前的生活已完全脱节，他的感受无人能懂。保罗重回前线，此时战争愈发惨烈，未来一片迷茫……
埃里希·玛丽亚·雷马克（Erich Maria Remarque，1898 ~ 1970），德裔美籍小说家。出生于德国一个工人家庭，18岁时志愿参加第1次世界大战，在前线负伤，战后做过教师、记者、编辑等多种工作。1929年，小说《西线无战事》出版，引起轰动，迅速被翻译成二十多种语言，使他成为蜚声世界的作家。因为他的反战立场，纳粹上台后，将他与托马斯·曼等人的作品公开焚毁。1938年，他被剥夺德国国籍，后流亡美国。1947年，他加入美国国籍，次年返回欧洲并定居瑞士。1970年9月25日，雷马克在瑞士逝世。1991年，雷马克的家乡奥斯纳布吕克设立埃里希·玛丽亚·雷马克和平奖。
雷马克的著作大多带有自传色彩，用词精练，抒情的书写中却透出客观、冷峻的气质，被比作德国的海明威。他一生共著有十五部小说、三部剧本和两部文集，其中，《西线无战事》《凯旋门》《三个伙伴》《爱与死的年代》等多部作品被改编为电影。
Erich Maria Remarque, who was born in Germany, was drafted into the German army during World War I. Through the hazardous years following the war he worked at many occupations: schoolteacher, small-town drama critic, race-car driver, editor of a sports magazine. His first novel,All Quiet on the Western Front, was published in Germany in 1928. A brilliant success, selling more than a million copies, it was the first of many literary triumphs. When the Nazis came to power, Remarque left Germany for Switzerland. He rejected all attempts to persuade him to return, and as a result he lost his German citizenship, his books were burned, and his films banned. He went to the United States in 1938 and became a citizen in 1947. He later lived in Switzerland with his second wife, the actress Paulette Goddard. He died in September 1970.
We are at rest five miles behind the front. Yesterday we were relieved, and now our bellies are full of beef and haricot beans. We are satisfied and at peace. Each man has another mess-tin full for the evening; and, what is more, there is a double ration of sausage and bread. That puts a man in fine trim. We have not had such luck as this for a long time. The cook with his carroty head is begging us to eat; he beckons with his ladle to every one that passes, and spoons him out a great dollop. He does not see how he can empty his stew-pot in time for coffee. Tjaden and Müller have produced two washbasins and had them filled up to the brim as a reserve. In Tjaden this is voracity, in Müller it is foresight. Where Tjaden puts it all is a mystery, for he is and always will be as thin as a rake. What’s more important still is the issue of a double ration of smokes. Ten cigars, twenty cigarettes, and two quids of chew per man; now that is decent. I have exchanged my chewing tobacco with Katczinsky for his cigarettes, which means I have forty altogether. That’s enough for a day.
It is true we have no right to this windfall. The Prussian is not so generous. We have only a miscalculation to thank for it.
Fourteen days ago we had to go up and relieve the front line. It was fairly quiet on our sector, so the quartermaster who remained in the rear had requisitioned the usual quantity of rations and provided for the full company of one hundred and fifty men. But on the last day an astonishing number of English heavies opened up on us with high-explosive, drumming ceaselessly on our position, so that we suffered severely and came back only eighty strong.
Last night we moved back and settled down to get a good sleep for once: Katczinsky is right when he says it would not be such a bad war if only one could get a little more sleep. In the line we have had next to none, and fourteen days is a long time at one stretch.
It was noon before the first of us crawled out of our quarters. Half an hour later every man had his mess-tin and we gathered at the cookhouse, which smelt greasy and nourishing. At the head of the queue of course were the hungriest—little Albert Kropp, the clearest thinker among us and therefore only a lance-corporal; Müller, who still carries his school textbooks with him, dreams of examinations, and during a bombardment mutters propositions in physics; Leer, who wears a full beard and has a preference for the girls from officers’ brothels. He swears that they are obliged by an army order to wear silk chemises and to bathe before entertaining guests of the rank of captain and upwards. And as the fourth, myself, Paul Bäumer. And four are nineteen years of age, and all four joined up from the same class as volunteers for the war.
Close behind us were our friends: Tjaden, a skinny locksmith of our own age, the biggest eater of the company. He sits down to eat as thin as a grasshopper and gets up as big as a bug in the family way; Haie Westhus, of the same age, a peat-digger, who can easily hold a ration-loaf in his hand and say: Guess what I’ve got in my fist; then Detering, a peasant, who thinks of nothing but his farm-yard and his wife; and finally Stanislaus Katczinsky, the leader of our group, shrewd, cunning, and hard-bitten, forty years of age, with a face of the soil, blue eyes, bent shoulders, and a remarkable nose for dirty weather, good food, and soft jobs.
Our gang formed the head of the queue before the cook-house. We were growing impatient, for the cook paid no attention to us.
