the egg
the eggppt课件
Ⅳ. A basket of small live chickens which on the wagon when we moved symbolize that Father longed of American dream once again.
• In the sixth paragraph For ten years my father and mother struggled to make our chicken farm pay and then they gave up that struggle and began another. They moved into the town of Bidwell, Ohio and embarked in the restaurant business.andIn the eleventh paragraph
this point, Father was induced by Mother to give
up his place as a farmland. Like many other
American people, Fatheng up the chicken farm was to
养鸡场里千奇百怪的畸形的小鸡象 征着父亲心中被扭曲的畸形的美国 梦。
鸡蛋有关的英文作文初中
鸡蛋有关的英文作文初中Title: The Egg: A Versatile Food in Our Daily Lives。
1. (Randomness 1)。
Imagine a humble, round shape, a symbol of life's first creation. It's not just a breakfast staple, but a culinary wonder that transcends breakfast tables. The egg, my dear friend, is a kitchen enigma, ready to surprise and delight in any dish.2. (Randomness 2)。
In the realm of nutrition, the egg is a powerhouse.It's not just a yolk, but a mini universe packed with vitamins and minerals. "Egg, you're the ultimate protein provider, your whites a testament to strength and resilience," we often say in our kitchen conversations.3. (Randomness 3)。
From omelets to quiches, you're the secret ingredient that brings them to life. "Oh, the versatility! You can be scrambled, fried, or poached, each preparation a new adventure," we marvel at your adaptability.4. (Randomness 4)。
The egg
Words
venture vt. 敢于 vi. 冒险；投机 n. 企业；风险；冒险 a Russian-American joint venture. 一个俄美合资的风险项目 Unversed adj. 不精通的；不熟练I'm good at the program design, but unversed personnel management. if you raise me. I will be wasting everybody's time and accomplish nothing. 跟读 我擅长程序设计，但是不精通人事管理，如果你 要提升我。我将耽误大家的时间并且一事无成。 的；无经验的
Words
hop vt. 跳跃；跳过n. 跳跃；舞会；短途旅行vi. 跳跃；单脚跳；作短途旅行 I hopped down three steps. 我单脚跳下3级台阶。 freight vt. 运送；装货；使充满 n. 货运；运费；船货 France derives 16% of revenue from air freight. 法国国家税收的16%来自于航空货运。
Embark on 从事，着手；登上船 But are we, the fans, ready for them to embark on something new? 但是我们这些粉丝准备好他们从事别的事 了吗？
Phrase
Launch into 投入 The GPS IIF team completed a series of acoustic tests that replicate the noi selevels expected during the spacecraft's launch into orbit. GPS IIF团队完成了一系列声音测试，复制 了太空船进入轨道预计将产生的噪音水平。
The Egg英文讲义
Point of viewSymbolismReading: Sherwood Anderson, The EggPoint of View: The Narrative Voice•A story must have a plot, characters, and a setting. It must also have a storyteller: a narrative voice, real or implied, that presents the story to the reader.•point of view is the method of narration that determines the position, or angle of vision, from which the story is told. The nature of the relationship between the narrator and the story, the teller and the tale, is always crucial to the art of fiction.First person point of view•He creates an immediate sense of reality. Because we are listening to the testimony of someone who was present at the events described, we are inclined to trust the narrator and to enter into the experience.•A story told in the first person is necessarily limited to what the narrator has seen, heard, or surmised(臆测).The first person narrative:The “I” personaThis narrator may be :•clear-minded or naïve,•reliable or unreliable,•conscious or unaware•is inside the story as a protagonist, or a participant, or an observer.•detached or concerned•close to or remote from the author’s understandingThe third person narrativeIf the narrator is not introduced as a character, and if everything in the work is described in the third person (that is, he, she, it, they), the author is using the third-person point of view. There are three variants: omniscient, limited omniscient, and objective or dramatic.•The surface understanding: or the narrative understanding•The deep understanding: or the authorial understanding•The epiphany: a sudden realization, a sudden manifestation of truththe surface understandingepiphany the narrative gapthe deep understandingSymbolism: A Key to Extended MeaningA symbol, is “something that stands for something else by rea son of relationship, association, convention, or accidental resemblance … a visible sign of something invisible.”•Through the use of symbols the author can achieve indirection in order to avoid being obvious. The symbol implies but does not develop meanings, and the effect is that of compression. •Symbolism is one of the devices that enrich short fiction and compensate for briefness in space. A symbol is a thing that suggests more than its literal meaning.Types of SymbolsUniversal or Cultural SymbolsThey are the common property of a society or culture and are so widely recognized and accepted that they can be said to be almost universal.Contextual, Authorial, or Private SymbolsThey are those symbols whose associations are neither immediate nor traditional; instead, they derive their meaning, largely if not exclusively, from the context of the work in which they are used.Reading: Sherwood Anderson, The EggSherwood Anderson(September 13, 1876 – March 8, 1941) was an American novelist and short story writer.Sherwood Anderson was born in the countryside of Ohio, in the Middle West, one of seven children of a poor laborer who eventually abandoned his family. When he was still a boy, his father moved the family to an ugly factory town. There young Anderson found emotional and cultural desolation; this laid for his later attitude of severe criticism against the “mechanization” of human beings in an industrial culture.Anderson wrote about lonely, sad people, deformed in their characters by frustrations imposed by their societies and environment. Anderson felt compassion for such emotionally stunted people, who were the victims of modern existence, and he made their strange behavior understandable, and exposed their inner sweetness or bitterness.悲剧将人生有价值的东西毁坏给人看。
theegg全文中英互译翻译
1相信, 爸爸是生来是一个活泼开朗的人. 三十四岁之前, 他一直在俄亥俄州毕兑奥镇的汤巴托农场打短工. 他自己有匹马, 每周六晚上都骑马到镇上和一帮雇农混上个几个钟头. 本海德酒吧那时整晚觥筹交错欢歌笑语, 人满为患得没地落脚, 他只能站着喝两杯啤酒. 一过十点, 他沿一条孤僻乡间小路策马回家, 将坐骑安顿停当, 上床就寝, 对人生心满意足. 当时, 他并没有任何出人头地的念想.2三十五岁的春天, 他娶了当时还是学校教员的妈妈, 第二年春, 我便呱呱坠地. 打那儿起, 他俩起了变化. 他们变得雄心勃勃, 满脑子都是美国式飞黄腾达的远大理想.3对此我妈可能也要付一定责任. 她识文断字, 一定经常读书看报. 我估计她在坐月子的时候, 就读了伽菲和林肯等人怎么从一介草民变成一代伟人--当时我就躺在她边上--兴许她指望我哪天也能呼风唤雨. 她不由分说, 怂恿爸爸辞掉了雇农的工作, 卖了马匹自己做买卖. 她身高体长, 沉默寡言, 鼻梁高耸, 灰色的眼珠常显得忧虑不安. 她对自己无欲无求, 为我们却豪情万丈到无可救药.4他们的第一桩投资就惨不忍睹. 他们在距彼兑奥镇八英里的格利路边租了十英亩贫瘠的石板地, 将养鸡厂投入运营. 我在那里进入了孩提时代, 并获得了对人生的第一印象. 最初的印象充斥着死亡和不幸, 如果说我后来成了一个彻头彻尾的悲观主义者, 都归功于我在养鸡场度过的本应快乐的童年时光.5没有相同的生活经历, 你绝想不到鸡的一生能惨绝人寰到何种程度. 它破壳而生, 像复活节明信片上的小毛球样子活上几周, 然后令人发指地掉毛, 成堆地吃掉你老爹辛勤汗水换来的谷粮, 染上喉舌病, 霍乱等各种鸡瘟, 傻站着两眼朝天, 生病, 然后死翘翘. 多数母鸡和少数公鸡, 为了践行上帝的神秘旨意, 挣扎着撑到成年. 随后母鸡下蛋, 孵出小鸡, 恐怖的生命轮回籍此画上圆圈. 整个过程复杂得匪夷所思. 绝大多数哲学家的童年一定都在养鸡厂度过. 各种期许美轮美奂, 到头来眼睁睁地一一破灭. 初生的小鸡看似聪明伶俐, 实际上蠢得骇人听闻. 倘若能侥幸熬过鸡瘟, 引得你期待满满, 它们便闲庭信步地走向马车轮底, 被轧成肉饼向上帝报道. 寄生虫是他们健康的大敌, 于是大笔的钱被用来购买药粉. 多年之后, 文坛涌现了一种致力于描写靠养鸡发家致富的文学流派. 那是写给全知全能开天眼的神人看的. 此类养鸡文学积极向上, 描绘了人类靠两窝母鸡可以取得的巨大成就. 别上当, 那不是写给你看的. 上阿拉斯加的冻土淘金, 相信政客敢上测谎仪, 坚信人类不会玩完或仁者无敌, 也坚决不要相信任何与母鸡有关的文艺作品. 那不是写给你看的.6怎么回事, 我跑题了. 这个故事其实跟母鸡无关, 确切地说, 是关于鸡蛋. 十年来爹妈累死累活, 让养鸡场扭亏为盈的尝试还是以失败告终. 他们果断地改变投资项目, 前往毕兑奥镇进军餐饮业. 十年来他们第一次可以不用担心孵蛋器不孵蛋, 或者为从半裸雏鸡变成死老母鸡的小毛球--它们确有自己的可爱之处--操心受累. 我们打点家当扔掉鸡舍, 怀揣对新生活的美好憧憬, 沿着格利路启程朝毕兑奥进发.7如果没人硬说我们是逃荒的难民, 往轻了说, 我们也是个个愁云惨淡凄风苦雨. 我和妈妈走路, 全部家当装在向邻居艾格里借来一天的马车里. 椅子腿从车子两旁支棱出来, 床铺桌子厨具后面是一木箱活鸡, 箱子上放着我幼年用过的婴儿车. 我想不通干嘛还留着它--我不太可能有弟弟妹妹, 而且车轱辘早坏了. 穷人总是什么都不舍得扔. 此类种种, 生活如此让人沮丧.8爸爸高坐在马车上. 当时他四十五岁, 谢顶略胖, 常年与妈妈和鸡相伴使他变得习惯性的寡言少语闷闷不乐. 十年间他一直在临近农场打零工, 赚来的钱大都花在了维魔特效霍乱散, 毕教授催蛋剂, 以及各种妈妈在家禽杂志广告上看到的鸡瘟特效药上. 爸爸鬓角有两缕稀疏的头发. 我记得小时候的冬天下午, 我会看着他在壁炉前的椅子里打瞌睡. 那时我已经开始看书认字, 萌生了这么一个想法, 爸爸头顶上的光秃小径, 就像凯撒大帝的大路, 将他的疆土从罗马通向未知世界. 他耳旁的发丛, 则是森林. 在半梦半醒之间, 我看到全家沿着爸爸头顶上的康庄大道, 走向无鸡无蛋的幸福生活.9我们从鸡场到市镇的长途跋涉可以写成一篇纪实文学. 我和妈妈溜溜走了八英里, 她照看车上摇摇欲坠的东西, 我则打量着世上的奇景. 父亲的旁边是他的宝贝, 我接下来就要说.10养鸡场里落生的鸡成千上百, 发生的事情也千奇百怪. 有的人生得歪瓜劣枣, 也有的鸡生来就奇丑无比. 但此类横祸并不常见, 概率约为千分之一. 瞧这只, 就生了四条鸡腿, 两对鸡翅, 两个脑袋. 这些劳什子命薄, 出生不久便要到一时疏忽的造物主手里回炉重造. 对爸爸来讲, 这些小可怜的夭折是彻头彻尾的悲剧. 他说若能将一只五腿母鸡或者双头公鸡成功养大, 带这些神鸡赶集卖票展览走遍美国, 不失为一条生财捷径. 对此, 他一直念念不忘.11每一只怪鸡仔短暂的一生都得到了爸爸的竭力挽救. 它们死后, 爸爸用乙醇对尸首防腐处理, 并分别贮藏在玻璃瓶中. 这些瓶子被妥善保管在一个箱子里, 现在就躺在爸爸的旁边. 他一手驾车, 另一手不离箱子左右. 刚一抵达, 父亲就第一个把箱子小心翼翼地捧下车, 取出瓶子. 我家在俄亥俄州毕兑奥市经营餐馆的期间, 玻璃瓶中的可怖异形始终霸占着柜台正后方的货架. 妈妈不时表示抗议, 但父亲对此立场坚定不可动摇. 据他所言, 瓶中怪鸡乃无价之宝. 人们都爱猎奇, 他言之凿凿.12我说过我家注资俄州毕市餐饮业了吗? 那其实略有点夸张. 小镇位于小丘脚下, 小河之畔. 绕镇而过的一条铁路停于一英里远的泡菜镇. 火车站旁的一家果醋作坊和泡菜厂在我们来前就已经关门大吉. 每天早晚有一趟巴士沿着特纳国道, 从毕兑奥主街上的旅社往车站拉人. 在这个前不着村后不着店的地方开餐馆是妈妈的主意. 念叨了一年之后的某一天, 她突然到火车站对过租下了这个门脸. 这餐馆指定挣钱, 她一口咬定. 进出小镇来此等车的旅人, 都会上门点个馅饼, 喝杯咖啡. 现在我知道她另有所图, 就是让我去上城镇公学, 做城里人. 为了让我出人头地, 她替我摩拳擦掌.13在泡菜镇的时候, 父母像往常一样任劳任怨. 为了让这里看上去像个饭馆, 我们花了一个月进行了基本的修缮. 爸爸造了个放蔬菜罐头的架子, 在招牌上用大红字漆了自己的名字, 底下直奔主题地写了--"来吃"--不过很少有人肯乖乖听话. 新添置的玻璃柜里放满了各式烟草. 妈妈把墙皮地板擦的光可鉴人. 我在镇上上学, 每每为了逃离惨不忍睹的鸡场和鸡仔暗自庆幸. 不过我还不是完全无忧无虑. 晚上放学沿着特纳路走回家, 我想起白天在学校操场看见一群同学在玩耍, 一拨女生边唱边跳. 我照模照样, 在结冰的路上金鸡独立, 庄严肃穆地往前蹦, 大声唱道"蹦蹦跳,上发廊". 不过我马上停住, 狐疑地四下张望, 生怕兴高采烈的样子被人瞧见. 我确定无疑, 对一个在死亡司空见惯的鸡场长大的小孩, 这种举动简直就是灵异现象.14妈妈做主, 饭馆通宵营业. 每晚十点有一趟向北的客车和一节货车车皮先后从门口驶过. 货车列车员在泡菜镇扳完道岔, 就会来饭馆吃点东西. 有时候有人会要一只煎蛋. 清晨他们打北边回来, 又再来吃. 他们渐渐成了常客. 妈妈白天盯着饭馆, 做饭跑堂, 晚上跟爸爸换班. 白天爸爸在同一张床上补觉, 我去毕镇上课. 一到晚上, 老爸准备熟肉冷盘, 等到转天中午包成三明治卖给候车的食客. 这当儿, 扬名立万的美国梦攫住了他, 他变得踌躇满志.15无事可做的漫漫长夜, 爸爸经常陷入沉思, 深刻检讨自己的前半生. 他断定自己之所以不是一个幸福的人, 是由于没有积极乐观地面对生活. 因此他决定从明天起, 面朝大海春暖花开. 第二天早上他上楼在妈妈身边躺下. 妈妈醒来, 他们开始说话. 我躺在一旁, 静静地听.16爸爸希望他俩都给顾客表演助兴. 他大意就是, 要把餐厅变成大众娱乐消遣的去处. 镇民, 特别是年轻人来的时候--虽然这种可能微乎其微--老爸会抖擞精神, 上台作秀. 他要树立一个光彩照人笑容可掬的店主形象. 妈妈肯定也嘀咕了一下, 但没有说丧气话. 爸爸大胆展望, 镇上的年轻人届时会呼朋唤友成群结队载歌载舞地来店里看他们表演. 欢歌笑语欢天喜地, 高朋满座宾客盈门. 别误会, 这些不是他原话. 前面讲过了, 爸爸不太会说话. "他们总得有地方去, 我告诉你, 他们总得有地儿去." 他重复地念叨这句话. 其他的是我演绎了一下.17几周内, 爸爸的提议在家里生根发芽. 我们心照不宣, 但都试着不再郁郁寡欢, 面带微笑. 妈妈对每个客人都笑脸相迎, 我也受到传染, 冲着猫乐. 爸爸成天想着娱乐大众, 变得有点头脑发昏. 毫无疑问, 他体内藏着一个激情四射的演员. 他不愿在来吃夜宵的铁路工人身上浪费弹药, 养精蓄锐只等毕兑奥的姑娘小伙上门. 餐厅柜台上常年放着一篮子鸡蛋, 在他冒出迎宾伴宴的点子那一刻, 这篮鸡蛋想必就在眼前. 可以说, 鸡蛋孕育了他的灵感. 但与此同时, 他新生的激情, 也是被鸡蛋浇灭.18一天深夜, 我被父亲从楼下传来的一声怒吼惊醒. 我和母亲吓得从床上蹦了起来. 她拨亮了床头灯, 双手瑟瑟发抖. 只听楼下的门砰地摔上, 几分钟后, 父亲迈着沉重的脚步走上楼来. 他攥着一只鸡蛋, 打摆子一样抖个不停, 眼神半带疯狂. 他怒目圆睁, 我觉得他随时就要把鸡蛋砸向我俩. 结果他却轻轻地把鸡蛋搁在台灯旁, 跪倒在母亲床边. 他像个小孩似的开始大哭, 我感同身受, 也哭了起来. 在小小的顶阁里, 我们俩号啕恸哭. 荒唐可笑的是, 现在我对此情此景的唯一印象, 就是母亲反复抚摸父亲的秃顶小径. 我记不清母亲如何使父亲说出原委, 也忘了父亲说了什么. 只记得当时我悲恐交加, 父亲双膝跪地, 秃顶在台灯下熠熠发光.19关于楼底下发生了什么. 由于某种没法解释的原因, 我对整个来龙去脉了如指掌--一如同亲眼目睹了父亲的崩溃. 生活中总有一些事无法解释. 那天晚上, 毕兑奥镇的周肯来泡菜镇等车. 他父亲是本地商人, 乘十点钟南来的火车. 当晚火车晚点三个钟头, 他只得晃进我家的店闲坐打发时光. 货车进站, 车组人员来了又去. 店里只剩爸爸和小周.20打一进门, 这个小伙子就被爸爸的举动弄得摸不着头脑. 他注意到爸爸明显神情不悦, 以为自己引起了店主的反感, 准备起身离开. 不巧外面开始下雨, 他不想再回毕兑奥镇打个来回, 只得买了支五分钱的香烟, 要了杯咖啡. 他掏出口袋里的报纸, 开始翻看. "我在等车, 车晚点了." 他满腹愧疚.21半晌, 爸爸一言不发, 直勾勾地凝视他的客人. 他怯场了. 他曾千百次地设想现在的情况,可当登台演出的机会真的出现了, 他又手足无措.22别的不说, 他连手都不知道该往哪搁. 他突兀地伸出手, 和周肯握手. "你好," 他说. 周肯放下报纸, 盯着他看. 爸爸瞥见柜台上的一篮子鸡蛋, 眼前一亮. "那什么", 爸爸没底气地说, "你听说过哥伦布, 是吧?" 他面带愠色. "那个哥伦布是个骗子", 他斩钉截铁地说. "他口口声声说能让鸡蛋站立, 尝试了几次, 然后一下子把鸡蛋敲破了."23从爸爸的客人看起来, 他好像忘了自己本来想干嘛. 他嘟嘟囔囔, 声称宣扬哥伦布的事迹对儿童不利, 因为他在关键时刻使了诈--他谎称能让鸡蛋站立, 一要露馅就使伎俩骗人. 爸爸从篮子里取出一只鸡蛋, 走来走去, 嘴里还在念叨哥伦布. 他把鸡蛋放在手心里来回揉搓. 他讲解到手掌的温度和轻微的旋转能给鸡蛋一个新的重心, 这略微引起了周肯的兴趣. "我经手过成千上万只鸡蛋", 爸爸说, "没人比我更了解鸡蛋了."24他把鸡蛋立在柜台上, 鸡蛋歪向一边. 他不断尝试, 每次都用手掌转动鸡蛋, 把那套有关电力和重力学奇迹的说辞重复一遍. 忙活了半小时鸡蛋终于能站上一会, 结果抬头一看, 他的观众正望向别处. 当他成功地把周肯的注意力转移到他的成果上时, 这枚鸡蛋早已翻身躺倒了.25表演欲高涨又遭出师不利, 爸爸祭出了珍藏怪鸡的瓶瓶罐罐, 展示给他的观众. "瞧这个! 双头七腿.", 爸爸一边说, 一边展示他的终极收藏. 他满脸堆笑, 探出柜台, 试着拍周肯的肩膀, 就像他以前周六到本海德酒吧看见别人做的那样. 目睹了严重畸形的家禽浸泡在酒精里的惨状, 他的客人有点恶心, 起身准备离去. 爸爸从柜台里赶出来, 把他拽回了座位. 他怒从中来, 扭过脸去, 让自己重新带上了笑容. 他把瓶子放回架子上. 他大发慷慨, 强制送给周肯一杯咖啡, 一支香烟. 随后他取出一只平底锅, 从柜台底下拿出一坛子醋倒入, 宣布表演一个新戏法. "我会用醋把这个鸡蛋加热," 他说, "然后把鸡蛋塞进玻璃瓶里, 还不把壳弄破. 过一会蛋壳变硬复原, 我就把这瓶中蛋送给你. 你可以随身携带, 人家准纳闷鸡蛋怎么进去的. 别告诉他们, 让他们猜. 这样才好玩."26爸爸冲他的客人笑了笑眨眨眼. 周肯断定, 面前的这个男人头脑有点不正常, 但没有恶意. 他喝光那杯咖啡, 继续看报纸. 热好鸡蛋, 爸爸用一把勺子盛到柜台前, 回里屋取出一只空瓶. 观众的漠视让爸爸有点恼火, 不过他不为所动, 仍然干劲十足. 他用尽办法想把鸡蛋塞进瓶口, 却以失败告终. 鸡蛋被回炉再次加热, 他伸手去拿, 却被烫了一下. 二次醋浴使蛋壳略有软化, 不过仍不足以通过瓶口. 父亲孤注一掷, 做最后的努力. 就在他认为戏法大功告成之际, 晚点的火车进站, 周肯毫不犹豫地起身离开. 想到事关能否赢得善待来宾这一声誉, 走投无路之下, 父亲向鸡蛋发动最后一击. 他竭力把鸡蛋往瓶子里硬塞. 这次他不再留情. 他骂骂咧咧, 搞得满头大汗. 这时, 鸡蛋一下子被捏碎了. 汁液四溅, 喷了一身, 周肯站在门口一看, 笑了出来.27父亲打嗓子眼里爆发出一声尖利的怒吼. 他捶胸顿足胡言乱语, 嚷出一串难以理解的词句. 接着他从柜台上篮子里抄起一只鸡蛋, 朝周肯的脑袋扔将过去. 那个年轻人闪身躲开, 落荒而逃.28爸爸攥着一只鸡蛋走上楼来. 我不知道他要对我和妈妈干什么. 我估摸着他要当着我们俩的面毁掉这只, 或者全部的鸡蛋. 但一看到妈妈, 他心里面发生了什么. 如我所讲, 他把鸡蛋轻轻放在床头柜上, 跪在床前. 之后他决定打烊, 上楼睡觉. 一阵耳语之后, 他俩熄灯入睡. 我可能也进入了梦乡, 但睡得并不安稳.转天破晓醒来之后, 我盯着桌上的鸡蛋看了很久. 我纳闷为何世上要有蛋, 而蛋生鸡, 鸡又生蛋. 这个问题钻进了我的骨髓, 挥之不去. 我想这是因为, 我是爸爸的儿子. 直到今天, 我仍然百思不得其解. 而这, 不过只是鸡蛋取得的全方面伟大胜利--至少对我家来说--的另一佐证.。
The Egg
The EggBy Sherwood AndersonMY FATHER was, I am sure, intended by nature to be a cheerful, kindly man. Until he was thirty-four years old he worked as a farmhand for a man named Thomas Butterworth whose place lay near the town of Bidwell, Ohio. He had then a horse of his own and on Saturday evenings drove into town to spend a few hours in social intercourse with other farmhands. In town he drank several glasses of beer and stood about in Ben Head's saloon--crowded on Saturday evenings with visiting farmhands. Songs were sung and glasses thumped on the bar. At ten o'clock father drove home along a lonely country road, made his horse comfortable for the night and himself went to bed, quite happy in his position in life. He had at that time no notion of trying to rise in the world.It was in the spring of his thirty-fifth year that father married my mother, then a country schoolteacher, and in the following spring I came wriggling and crying into the world. Something happened to the two people. They became ambitious. The American passion for getting up in the world took possession of them.It may have been that mother was responsible. Being a schoolteacher she had no doubt read books and magazines. She had, I presume, read of how Garfield, Lincoln, and other Americans rose from poverty to fame and greatness and as I lay beside her--in the days of her lying-in--she may have dreamed that I would someday rule men and cities. At any rate she induced father to give up his place as a farmhand, sell his horse and embark on an independent enterprise of his own. She was a tall silent woman with a long nose and troubled grey eyes. For herself she wanted nothing. For father and myself she was incurably ambitious.The first venture into which the two people went turned out badly. They rented ten acres of poor stony land on Griggs's Road, eight miles from Bidwell, and launched into chicken raising. I grew into boyhood on the place and got my first impressions of life there. From the beginning they were impressions of disaster and if, in my turn, I am a gloomy man inclined to see the darker side of life, I attribute it to the fact that what should have been for me the happy joyous days of childhood were spent on a chicken farm.One unversed in such matters can have no notion of the many and tragic things that can happen to a chicken. It is born out of an egg, lives for a few weeks as a tiny fluffy thing such as you will see pictured on Easter cards, then becomes hideously naked, eats quantities of corn and meal bought by the sweat of your father's brow, gets diseases called pip, cholera, and other names, stands looking with stupid eyes at the sun, becomes sick and dies. A few hens and now and then a rooster, intended to serve God's mysterious ends, struggle through to maturity. The hens lay eggs out of which come other chickens and the dreadful cycle is thus made complete. It is all unbelievably complex. Most philosophers must have been raised on chicken farms. One hopes for so much from a chicken and is so dreadfully disillusioned. Small chickens, just setting out on the journey of life, look so bright and alert and they are in fact so dreadfully stupid. They are so much like people they mix one up in one's judgments of life. If disease does not kill them they wait until your expectations are thoroughly aroused and then walk under the wheels of a wagon--to go squashed and dead back to their maker. Vermin infest their youth, and fortunesmust be spent for curative powders. In later life I have seen how a literature has been built up on the subject of fortunes to be made out of the raising of chickens. It is intended to be read by the gods who have just eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It is a hopeful literature and declares that much may be done by simple ambitious people who own a few hens. Do not be led astray by it. It was not written for you. Go hunt for gold on the frozen hills of Alaska, put your faith in the honesty of a politician, believe if you will that the world is daily growing better and that good will triumph over evil, but do not read and believe the literature that is written concerning the hen. It was not written for you.I, however, digress. My tale does not primarily concern itself with the hen. If correctly told it will center on the egg. For ten years my father and mother struggled to make our chicken farm pay and then they gave up that struggle and began another. They moved into the town of Bidwell, Ohio and embarked in the restaurant business. After ten years of worry with incubators that did not hatch, and with tiny--and in their own way lovely--balls of fluff that passed on into semi-naked pullerhood and from that into dead henhood, we threw all aside and packing our belongings on a wagon drove down Griggs's Road toward Bidwell, a tiny caravan of hope looking for a new place from which to start on our upward journey through life.We must have been a sad looking lot, not, I fancy, unlike refugees fleeing from a battlefield. Mother and I walked in the road. The wagon that contained our goods had been borrowed for the day from Mr. Albert Griggs, a neighbor. Out of its sides stuck the legs of cheap chairs and at the back of the pile of beds, tables, and boxes filled with kitchen utensils was a crate of live chickens, and on top of that the baby carriage in which I had been wheeled about in my infancy. Why we stuck to the baby carriage I don't know. It was unlikely other children would be born and the wheels were broken. People who have few possessions cling tightly to those they have. That is one of the facts that make life so discouraging.Father rode on top of the wagon. He was then a bald-headed man of forty-five, a little fat and from long association with mother and the chickens he had become habitually silent and discouraged. All during our ten years on the chicken farm he had worked as a laborer on neighboring farms and most of the money he had earned had been spent for remedies to cure chicken diseases, on Wilmer's White Wonder Cholera Cure or Professor Bidlow's Egg Producer or some other preparations that mother found advertised in the poultry papers. There were two little patches of hair on father's head just above his ears. I remember that as a child I used to sit looking at him when he had gone to sleep in a chair before the stove on Sunday afternoons in the winter. I had at that time already begun to read books and have notions of my own and the bald path that led over the top of his head was, I fancied, something like a broad road, such a road as Caesar might have made on which to lead his legions out of Rome and into the wonders of an unknown world. The tufts of hair that grew above father's ears were, I thought, like forests. I fell into a half-sleeping, half-waking state and dreamed I was a tiny thing going along the road into a far beautiful place where there were no chicken farms and where life was a happy eggless affair. One might write a book concerning our flight from the chicken farm into town. Mother and I walked the entire eight miles--she to be sure that nothing fell from the wagon and I to see the wonders of the world. On the seat of the wagon beside father was his greatest treasure. I will tell you of that.On a chicken farm where hundreds and even thousands of chickens come out of eggs, surprising things sometimes happen. Grotesques are born out of eggs as out of people. The accident does not often occur--perhaps once in a thousand births. A chicken is, you see, born that has four legs, two pairs of wings, two heads or what not. The things do not live. They go quickly back to the hand of their maker that has for a moment trembled. The fact that the poor little things could not live was one of the tragedies of life to father. He had some sort of notion that if he could but bring into henhood or roosterhood a five-legged hen or a two-headed rooster his fortune would be made. He dreamed of taking the wonder about to county fairs and of growing rich by exhibiting it to other farmhands.At any rate he saved all the little monstrous things that had been born on our chicken farm. They were preserved in alcohol and put each in its own glass bottle. These he had carefully put into a box and on our journey into town it was carried on the wagon seat beside him. He drove the horses with one hand and with the other clung to the box. When we got to our destination the box was taken down at once and the bottles removed. All during our days as keepers of a restaurant in the town of Bidwell, Ohio, the grotesques in their little glass bottles sat on a shelf back of the counter. Mother sometimes protested but father was a rock on the subject of his treasure. The grotesques were, he declared, valuable. People, he said, liked to look at strange and wonderful things.Did I say that we embarked in the restaurant business in the town of Bidwell, Ohio? I exaggerated a little. The town itself lay at the foot of a low hill and on the shore of a small river. The railroad did not run through the town and the station was a mile away to the north at a place called Pickleville. There had been a cider mill and pickle factory at the station, but before the time of our coming they had both gone out of business. In the morning and in the evening busses came down to the station along a road called Turner's Pike from the hotel on the main street of Bidwell. Our going to the out-of-the-way place to embark in the restaurant business was mother's idea. She talked of it for a year and then one day went off and rented an empty store building opposite the railroad station. It was her idea that the restaurant would be profitable. Travelling men, she said, would be always waiting around to take trains out of town and town people would come to the station to await incoming trains. They would come to the restaurant to buy pieces of pie and drink coffee. Now that I am older I know that she had another motive in going. She was ambitious for me. She wanted me to rise in the world, to get into a town school and become a man of the towns.At Pickleville father and mother worked hard as they always had done. At first there was the necessity of putting our place into shape to be a restaurant. That took a month. Father built a shelf on which he put tins of vegetables. He painted a sign on which he put his name in large red letters. Below his name was the sharp command--"EAT HERE"--that was so seldom obeyed. A showcase was bought and filled with cigars and tobacco. Mother scrubbed the floor and the walls of the room. I went to school in the town and was glad to be away from the farm and from the presence of the discouraged, sad-looking chickens. Still I was not very joyous. In the evening I walked home from school along Turner's Pike and remembered the children I had seen playing in the town school yard. A troop of little girls had gone hopping about and singing. I tried that. Down along the frozen road I went hopping solemnly on one leg. "Hippity hop to the barber shop," I sang shrilly. Then I stopped and looked doubtfully about. I was afraid of being seen inmy gay mood. It must have seemed to me that I was doing a thing that should not be done by one who, like myself, had been raised on a chicken farm where death was a daily visitor.Mother decided that our restaurant should remain open at night. At ten in the evening a passenger train went north past our door followed by a local freight. The freight crew had switching to do in Pickleville and when the work was done they came to our restaurant for hot coffee and food. Sometimes one of them ordered a fried egg. In the morning at four they returned northbound and again visited us. A little trade began to grow up. Mother slept at night and during the day tended the restaurant and fed our boarders while father slept. He slept in the same bed mother had occupied during the night and I went off to the town of Bidwell and to school. During the long nights, while mother and I slept, father cooked meats that were to go into sandwiches for the lunch baskets of our boarders. Then an idea in regard to getting up in the world came into his head. The American spirit took hold of him. He also became ambitious.In the long nights when there was little to do father had time to think. That was his undoing. He decided that he had in the past been an unsuccessful man because he had not been cheerful enough and that in the future he would adopt a cheerful outlook on life. In the early morning he came upstairs and got into bed with mother. She woke and the two talked. From my bed in the corner I listened.It was father's idea that both he and mother should try to entertain the people who came to eat at our restaurant. I cannot now remember his words, but he gave the impression of one about to become in some obscure way a kind of public entertainer. When people, particularly young people from the town of Bidwell, came into our place, as on very rare occasions they did, bright entertaining conversation was to be made. From father's words I gathered that something of the jolly innkeeper effect was to be sought. Mother must have been doubtful from the first, but she said nothing discouraging. It was father's notion that a passion for the company of himself and mother would spring up in the breasts of the younger people of the town of Bidwell. In the evening bright happy groups would come singing down Turner's Pike. They would troop shouting with joy and laughter into our place. There would be song and festivity. I do not mean to give the impression that father spoke so elaborately of the matter. He was as I have said an uncommunicative man. "They want some place to go. I tell you they want some place to go," he said over and over. That was as far as he got. My own imagination has filled in the blanks.For two or three weeks this notion of father's invaded our house. We did not talk much but in our daily lives tried earnestly to make smiles take the place of glum looks. Mother smiled at the boarders and I, catching the infection, smiled at our cat. Father became a little feverish in his anxiety to please. There was no doubt lurking somewhere in him a touch of the spirit of the showman. He did not waste much of his ammunition on the railroad men he served at night but seemed to be waiting for a young man or woman from Bidwell to come in to show what he could do. On the counter in the restaurant there was a wire basket kept always filled with eggs, and it must have been before his eyes when the idea of being entertaining was born in his brain. There was something pre-natal about the way eggs kept themselves connected with the development of his idea. At any rate an egg ruined his new impulse in life. Late one night I was awakened by a roar of anger coming from father's throat. Both mother and I sat upright in our beds. With trembling hands she lighted a lamp that stood on a table by her head. Downstairs the front doorof our restaurant went shut with a bang and in a few minutes father tramped up the stairs. He held an egg in his hand and his hand trembled as though he were having a chill. There was a half insane light in his eyes. As he stood glaring at us I was sure he intended throwing the egg at either mother or me. Then he laid it gently on the table beside the lamp and dropped on his knees beside mother's bed. He began to cry like a boy and I, carried away by his grief, cried with him. The two of us filled the little upstairs room with our wailing voices. It is ridiculous, but of the picture we made I can remember only the fact that mother's hand continually stroked the bald path that ran across the top of his head. I have forgotten what mother said to him and how she induced him to tell her of what had happened downstairs. His explanation also has gone out of my mind. I remember only my own grief and fright and the shiny path over father's head glowing in the lamplight as he knelt by the bed.As to what happened downstairs. For some unexplainable reason I know the story as well as though I had been a witness to my father's discomfiture. One in time gets to know many unexplainable things. On that evening young Joe Kane, son of a merchant of Bidwell, came to Pickleville to meet his father, who was expected on the ten o'clock evening train from the south. The train was three hours late and Joe came into our place to loaf about and to wait for its arrival. The local freight train came in and the freight crew were fed. Joe was left alone in the restaurant with father.From the moment he came into our place the Bidwell young man must have been puzzled by my father's actions. It was his notion that father was angry at him for hanging around. He noticed that the restaurant keeper was apparently disturbed by his presence and he thought of going out. However, it began to rain and he did not fancy the long walk to town and back. He bought a five-cent cigar and ordered a cup of coffee. He had a newspaper in his pocket and took it out and began to read. "I'm waiting for the evening train. It's late," he said apologetically.For a long time father, whom Joe Kane had never seen before, remained silently gazing at his visitor. He was no doubt suffering from an attack of stage fright. As so often happens in life he had thought so much and so often of the situation that now confronted him that he was somewhat nervous in its presence.For one thing, he did not know what to do with his hands. He thrust one of them nervously over the counter and shook hands with Joe Kane. "How-de-do," he said. Joe Kane put his newspaper down and stared at him. Father's eye lighted on the basket of eggs that sat on the counter and he began to talk. "Well," he began hesitatingly, "well, you have heard of Christopher Columbus, eh?" He seemed to be angry. "That Christopher Columbus was a cheat," he declared emphatically. "He talked of making an egg stand on its end. He talked, he did, and then he went and broke the end of the egg."My father seemed to his visitor to be beside himself at the duplicity of Christopher Columbus. He muttered and swore. He declared it was wrong to teach children that Christopher Columbus was a great man when, after all, he cheated at the critical moment. He had declared he would make an egg stand on end and then when his bluff had been called he had done a trick. Still grumbling at Columbus, father took an egg from the basket on the counter and began to walk up and down. He rolled the egg between the palms of his hands. He smiled genially. He began tomumble words regarding the effect to be produced on an egg by the electricity that comes out of the human body. He declared that without breaking its shell and by virtue of rolling it back and forth in his hands he could stand the egg on its end. He explained that the warmth of his hands and the gentle rolling movement he gave the egg created a new center of gravity, and Joe Kane was mildly interested. "I have handled thousands of eggs," father said. "No one knows more about eggs than I do."He stood the egg on the counter and it fell on its side. He tried the trick again and again, each time rolling the egg between the palms of his hands and saying the words regarding the wonders of electricity and the laws of gravity. When after a half hour's effort he did succeed in making the egg stand for a moment, he looked up to find that his visitor was no longer watching. By the time he had succeeded in calling Joe Kane's attention to the success of his effort, the egg had again rolled over and lay on its side.Afire with the showman's passion and at the same time a good deal disconcerted by the failure of his first effort, father now took the bottles containing the poultry monstrosities down from their place on the shelf and began to show them to his visitor. "How would you like to have seven legs and two heads like this fellow?" he asked, exhibiting the most remarkable of his treasures. A cheerful smile played over his face. He reached over the counter and tried to slap Joe Kane on the shoulder as he had seen men do in Ben Head's saloon when he was a young farmhand and drove to town on Saturday evenings. His visitor was made a little ill by the sight of the body of the terribly deformed bird floating in the alcohol in the bottle and got up to go. Coming from behind the counter, father took hold of the young man's arm and led him back to his seat. He grew a little angry and for a moment had to turn his face away and force himself to smile. Then he put the bottles back on the shelf. In an outburst of generosity he fairly compelled Joe Kane to have a fresh cup of coffee and another cigar at his expense. Then he took a pan and filling it with vinegar, taken from a jug that sat beneath the counter, he declared himself about to do a new trick. "I will heat this egg in this pan of vinegar," he said. "Then I will put it through the neck of a bottle without breaking the shell. When the egg is inside the bottle it will resume its normal shape and the shell will become hard again. Then I will give the bottle with the egg in it to you. You can take it about with you wherever you go. People will want to know how you got the egg in the bottle. Don't tell them. Keep them guessing. That is the way to have fun with this trick."Father grinned and winked at his visitor. Joe Kane decided that the man who confronted him was mildly insane but harmless. He drank the cup of coffee that had been given him and began to read his paper again. When the egg had been heated in vinegar, father carried it on a spoon to the counter and going into a back room got an empty bottle. He was angry because his visitor did not watch him as he began to do his trick, but nevertheless went cheerfully to work. For a long time he struggled, trying to get the egg to go through the neck of the bottle. He put the pan of vinegar back on the stove, intending to reheat the egg, then picked it up and burned his fingers. After a second bath in the hot vinegar, the shell of the egg had been softened a little but not enough for his purpose. He worked and worked and a spirit of desperate determination took possession of him. When he thought that at last the trick was about to be consummated, the delayed train came in at the station and Joe Kane started to go nonchalantly out at the door. Father made a last desperate effort to conquer the egg and make it do the thing that would establish his reputation asone who knew how to entertain guests who came into his restaurant. He worried the egg. He attempted to be somewhat rough with it. He swore and the sweat stood out on his forehead. The egg broke under his hand. When the contents spurted over his clothes, Joe Kane, who had stopped at the door, turned and laughed.A roar of anger rose from my father's throat. He danced and shouted a string of inarticulate words. Grabbing another egg from the basket on the counter, he threw it, just missing the head of the young man as he dodged through the door and escaped.Father came upstairs to mother and me with an egg in his hand. I do not know what he intended to do. I imagine he had some idea of destroying it, of destroying all eggs, and that he intended to let mother and me see him begin. When, however, he got into the presence of mother something happened to him. He laid the egg gently on the table and dropped on his knees by the bed as I have already explained. He later decided to close the restaurant for the night and to come upstairs and get into bed. When he did so he blew out the light and after much muttered conversation both he and mother went to sleep. I suppose I went to sleep also, but my sleep was troubled. I awoke at dawn and for a long time looked at the egg that lay on the table. I wondered why eggs had to be and why from the egg came the hen who again laid the egg. The question got into my blood. It has stayed there, I imagine, because I am the son of my father. At any rate, the problem remains unsolved in my mind. And that, I conclude, is but another evidence of the complete and final triumph of the egg--at least as far as my family is concerned.。
The egg的文章结构
The Egg的文章结构"The egg" was written by Sherwood Anderson, an American writer. He chose aittle boy as the narrator. In my opinion, the author wants to make readers think deeplyand to dig out the theme of story. The tale is talking about struggle of sad history ofacouple. At the beginning, father works as a farmhand. When he was thirty-fifty, hemarried a woman. Aft er their only child bom, "they become ambitious". Motherinduce father to give up his place and embark on an independent enterprise of hisow n."-- -chicken raising. It failed. But they did not give up. They began ano ther."They moved to the town of Bedwill, Ohio, and embarked in the res taurant business"It still failed. In this story, symbolism is obviously impo rtant element. The egg has avariety of meanings. Next, I am going to an alyze symbolism and characters, trying tofigure out the purpose of this short story.This story is told by a boy. On his point of view, he saw a world whic h differentfrom adult had seen. At first, his father, boy said, was a cheerf ul and kindly man bynature. He worked as a farmhand, quite happy in hi s position in life. But his motherwas quite ambitious for his father and hi mself. On the narrator's part, because hiparents were busy charging thei r chicken farm and take less care of him. Then "hebecame a gloomy ma n inclined to seethe darker side of life." The egg here stands for athief. A s far as I am concermed, child should be naïve and puerile when he wasyoung.He should enjoy his careless childhood. Nevertheless, the thief w as just breaking intoboy's life and disturbing his childhood, stealing awa y nature of boy and making himbecome premature. The boy found that "chicken eats quantities of corn and mealbought by the sweat of father' s brow, gets diseases, stands looking with stupid eyes atthe sun, becom e sick and dies." Father did not harvest anything but wasted his moneya nd effort. So the egg not only steals boy' happiness, but also rob father" treasure.Because father was a cheerful, kindly man" before, he was in or der to achieve a betterlife for his child. And he found another job. The si tuation of family, however, was notchange and got worse. The egg has o ther symbolism. It is parasite which just getswhat they need and take ev erything from its owner. The reason is that father devotedhimself to his chicken, such as time, energy and money. The truth is that the egg isalw ays taking but never gives. They wasted father' money, and took away hi s hope.Now he gained nothing but "dreadful cycle". "Thus this family ga ve up struggle andbegan another." During the journey of moving house, child recalled the life of farm,observing his father. Child found his father had become habitually silent anddiscouraged". His father suffered a lot from the egg. He consisted on fighting with theegg. So the egg symboli zes the destiny. People keeps struggling when they alive. Butsometime t he fate watch the stupid people struggle and mock at them. Fatherprote cted his greatest treasure -grotsques throughout a journey. Here, grotesque'ssymboiic reaning to predict bis dresm wouad not bappen snd tell t he render fatherwas xmead. Fzther "s behavior seems defiend our desti nay against iavasion carefully. Theyrented aa eaopty siore building zs a x estanranat opposite the aircad statioa. Mothersected this placeso as to s end her boy into a town and became a man of the townscae-day.' She p in her hopes on him. Father still put expectation on the egg. Hewondere d" if "he adopts "a cheerful outlook on life". And he also dreamed ofent ertaiming theit gusts whethe there is an opportunity. He never abandon s the chanceof controlling the egg as he wants to keep the destiny unde r the control. One day inthe evening, there was rare chance which a gust came to visit. Father wouldn't, ofcourse, let such a perfect opportunity s lip away. Then father exhibited the grotsques.But "his visitor was made a lttle ill by the sight if the body of trribly deformed birdfioating in the al cohol in the bottle and got up to go." Father began to do a trick withan egg and wanted to catch visitor' attention. It failed. Visitor laughed at hi m andthought he was mildly insane and harmless. At last, father lost fac e and reputation.The egg won. Father lost the fate and he sadly admitte d.After I had read the short story, I feel sympathetic for the father and chil d. Theyare made fool of the egg. In addition, the egg stand for America n drean. Because theexperience of the author make him raise aldeeply thought, and to pick up his pen so asto wake up people who are obsesse d with making their American dream coime true. Àiworse, this has lead t o people not thinking for themselves, and simply followingpaublic opini on. But the reality is quite cruel and totally different.。
THe EGG 译文
1相信,爸爸就是生来就是一个活泼开朗的人、三十四岁之前,她一直在俄亥俄州毕兑奥镇的汤巴托农场打短工、她自己有匹马,每周六晚上都骑马到镇上与一帮雇农混上个几个钟头、本海德酒吧那时整晚觥筹交错欢歌笑语,人满为患得没地落脚,她只能站着喝两杯啤酒、一过十点,她沿一条孤僻乡间小路策马回家,将坐骑安顿停当,上床就寝,对人生心满意足、当时,她并没有任何出人头地的念想、2三十五岁的春天, 她娶了当时还就是学校教员的妈妈, 第二年春, 我便呱呱坠地、打那儿起, 她俩起了变化、她们变得雄心勃勃, 满脑子都就是美国式飞黄腾达的远大理想、3对此我妈可能也要付一定责任、她识文断字, 一定经常读书瞧报、我估计她在坐月子的时候, 就读了伽菲与林肯等人怎么从一介草民变成一代伟人--当时我就躺在她边上--兴许她指望我哪天也能呼风唤雨、她不由分说, 怂恿爸爸辞掉了雇农的工作, 卖了马匹自己做买卖、她身高体长, 沉默寡言, 鼻梁高耸, 灰色的眼珠常显得忧虑不安、她对自己无欲无求, 为我们却豪情万丈到无可救药、4她们的第一桩投资就惨不忍睹、她们在距彼兑奥镇八英里的格利路边租了十英亩贫瘠的石板地, 将养鸡厂投入运营、我在那里进入了孩提时代, 并获得了对人生的第一印象、最初的印象充斥着死亡与不幸, 如果说我后来成了一个彻头彻尾的悲观主义者, 都归功于我在养鸡场度过的本应快乐的童年时光、5没有相同的生活经历, 您绝想不到鸡的一生能惨绝人寰到何种程度、它破壳而生, 像复活节明信片上的小毛球样子活上几周, 然后令人发指地掉毛, 成堆地吃掉您老爹辛勤汗水换来的谷粮, 染上喉舌病, 霍乱等各种鸡瘟, 傻站着两眼朝天, 生病, 然后死翘翘、多数母鸡与少数公鸡, 为了践行上帝的神秘旨意, 挣扎着撑到成年、随后母鸡下蛋, 孵出小鸡, 恐怖的生命轮回籍此画上圆圈、整个过程复杂得匪夷所思、绝大多数哲学家的童年一定都在养鸡厂度过、各种期许美轮美奂, 到头来眼睁睁地一一破灭、初生的小鸡瞧似聪明伶俐, 实际上蠢得骇人听闻、倘若能侥幸熬过鸡瘟, 引得您期待满满, 它们便闲庭信步地走向马车轮底, 被轧成肉饼向上帝报道、寄生虫就是她们健康的大敌, 于就是大笔的钱被用来购买药粉、多年之后, 文坛涌现了一种致力于描写靠养鸡发家致富的文学流派、那就是写给全知全能开天眼的神人瞧的、此类养鸡文学积极向上, 描绘了人类靠两窝母鸡可以取得的巨大成就、别上当, 那不就是写给您瞧的、上阿拉斯加的冻土淘金, 相信政客敢上测谎仪, 坚信人类不会玩完或仁者无敌, 也坚决不要相信任何与母鸡有关的文艺作品、那不就是写给您瞧的、6怎么回事, 我跑题了、这个故事其实跟母鸡无关, 确切地说, 就是关于鸡蛋、十年来爹妈累死累活, 让养鸡场扭亏为盈的尝试还就是以失败告终、她们果断地改变投资项目, 前往毕兑奥镇进军餐饮业、十年来她们第一次可以不用担心孵蛋器不孵蛋, 或者为从半裸雏鸡变成死老母鸡的小毛球--它们确有自己的可爱之处--操心受累、我们打点家当扔掉鸡舍, 怀揣对新生活的美好憧憬, 沿着格利路启程朝毕兑奥进发、7如果没人硬说我们就是逃荒的难民, 往轻了说, 我们也就是个个愁云惨淡凄风苦雨、我与妈妈走路, 全部家当装在向邻居艾格里借来一天的马车里、椅子腿从车子两旁支棱出来, 床铺桌子厨具后面就是一木箱活鸡, 箱子上放着我幼年用过的婴儿车、我想不通干嘛还留着它--我不太可能有弟弟妹妹, 而且车轱辘早坏了、穷人总就是什么都不舍得扔、此类种种, 生活如此让人沮丧、8爸爸高坐在马车上、当时她四十五岁, 谢顶略胖, 常年与妈妈与鸡相伴使她变得习惯性的寡言少语闷闷不乐、十年间她一直在临近农场打零工, 赚来的钱大都花在了维魔特效霍乱散, 毕教授催蛋剂, 以及各种妈妈在家禽杂志广告上瞧到的鸡瘟特效药上、爸爸鬓角有两缕稀疏的头发、我记得小时候的冬天下午, 我会瞧着她在壁炉前的椅子里打瞌睡、那时我已经开始瞧书认字, 萌生了这么一个想法, 爸爸头顶上的光秃小径, 就像凯撒大帝的大路, 将她的疆土从罗马通向未知世界、她耳旁的发丛, 则就是森林、在半梦半醒之间, 我瞧到全家沿着爸爸头顶上的康庄大道, 走向无鸡无蛋的幸福生活、9我们从鸡场到市镇的长途跋涉可以写成一篇纪实文学、我与妈妈溜溜走了八英里, 她照瞧车上摇摇欲坠的东西, 我则打量着世上的奇景、父亲的旁边就是她的宝贝, 我接下来就要说、10养鸡场里落生的鸡成千上百, 发生的事情也千奇百怪、有的人生得歪瓜劣枣, 也有的鸡生来就奇丑无比、但此类横祸并不常见, 概率约为千分之一、瞧这只, 就生了四条鸡腿, 两对鸡翅, 两个脑袋、这些劳什子命薄, 出生不久便要到一时疏忽的造物主手里回炉重造、对爸爸来讲, 这些小可怜的夭折就是彻头彻尾的悲剧、她说若能将一只五腿母鸡或者双头公鸡成功养大, 带这些神鸡赶集卖票展览走遍美国, 不失为一条生财捷径、对此, 她一直念念不忘、11每一只怪鸡仔短暂的一生都得到了爸爸的竭力挽救、它们死后, 爸爸用乙醇对尸首防腐处理, 并分别贮藏在玻璃瓶中、这些瓶子被妥善保管在一个箱子里, 现在就躺在爸爸的旁边、她一手驾车, 另一手不离箱子左右、刚一抵达, 父亲就第一个把箱子小心翼翼地捧下车, 取出瓶子、我家在俄亥俄州毕兑奥市经营餐馆的期间, 玻璃瓶中的可怖异形始终霸占着柜台正后方的货架、妈妈不时表示抗议, 但父亲对此立场坚定不可动摇、据她所言, 瓶中怪鸡乃无价之宝、人们都爱猎奇, 她言之凿凿、12我说过我家注资俄州毕市餐饮业了不? 那其实略有点夸张、小镇位于小丘脚下, 小河之畔、绕镇而过的一条铁路停于一英里远的泡菜镇、火车站旁的一家果醋作坊与泡菜厂在我们来前就已经关门大吉、每天早晚有一趟巴士沿着特纳国道, 从毕兑奥主街上的旅社往车站拉人、在这个前不着村后不着店的地方开餐馆就是妈妈的主意、念叨了一年之后的某一天, 她突然到火车站对过租下了这个门脸、这餐馆指定挣钱, 她一口咬定、进出小镇来此等车的旅人, 都会上门点个馅饼, 喝杯咖啡、现在我知道她另有所图, 就就是让我去上城镇公学, 做城里人、为了让我出人头地, 她替我摩拳擦掌、13在泡菜镇的时候, 父母像往常一样任劳任怨、为了让这里瞧上去像个饭馆, 我们花了一个月进行了基本的修缮、爸爸造了个放蔬菜罐头的架子, 在招牌上用大红字漆了自己的名字, 底下直奔主题地写了--"来吃"--不过很少有人肯乖乖听话、新添置的玻璃柜里放满了各式烟草、妈妈把墙皮地板擦的光可鉴人、我在镇上上学, 每每为了逃离惨不忍睹的鸡场与鸡仔暗自庆幸、不过我还不就是完全无忧无虑、晚上放学沿着特纳路走回家, 我想起白天在学校操场瞧见一群同学在玩耍, 一拨女生边唱边跳、我照模照样, 在结冰的路上金鸡独立, 庄严肃穆地往前蹦, 大声唱道"蹦蹦跳,上发廊"、不过我马上停住, 狐疑地四下张望, 生怕兴高采烈的样子被人瞧见、我确定无疑, 对一个在死亡司空见惯的鸡场长大的小孩, 这种举动简直就就是灵异现象、 14妈妈做主, 饭馆通宵营业、每晚十点有一趟向北的客车与一节货车车皮先后从门口驶过、货车列车员在泡菜镇扳完道岔, 就会来饭馆吃点东西、有时候有人会要一只煎蛋、清晨她们打北边回来, 又再来吃、她们渐渐成了常客、妈妈白天盯着饭馆, 做饭跑堂, 晚上跟爸爸换班、白天爸爸在同一张床上补觉, 我去毕镇上课、一到晚上, 老爸准备熟肉冷盘, 等到转天中午包成三明治卖给候车的食客、这当儿, 扬名立万的美国梦攫住了她, 她变得踌躇满志、15无事可做的漫漫长夜, 爸爸经常陷入沉思, 深刻检讨自己的前半生、她断定自己之所以不就是一个幸福的人, 就是由于没有积极乐观地面对生活、因此她决定从明天起, 面朝大海春暖花开、第二天早上她上楼在妈妈身边躺下、妈妈醒来, 她们开始说话、我躺在一旁, 静静地听、16爸爸希望她俩都给顾客表演助兴、她大意就就是, 要把餐厅变成大众娱乐消遣的去处、镇民, 特别就是年轻人来的时候--虽然这种可能微乎其微--老爸会抖擞精神, 上台作秀、她要树立一个光彩照人笑容可掬的店主形象、妈妈肯定也嘀咕了一下, 但没有说丧气话、爸爸大胆展望, 镇上的年轻人届时会呼朋唤友成群结队载歌载舞地来店里瞧她们表演、欢歌笑语欢天喜地, 高朋满座宾客盈门、别误会, 这些不就是她原话、前面讲过了, 爸爸不太会说话、 "她们总得有地方去, 我告诉您, 她们总得有地儿去、" 她重复地念叨这句话、其她的就是我演绎了一下、17几周内, 爸爸的提议在家里生根发芽、我们心照不宣, 但都试着不再郁郁寡欢, 面带微笑、妈妈对每个客人都笑脸相迎, 我也受到传染, 冲着猫乐、爸爸成天想着娱乐大众, 变得有点头脑发昏、毫无疑问, 她体内藏着一个激情四射的演员、她不愿在来吃夜宵的铁路工人身上浪费弹药, 养精蓄锐只等毕兑奥的姑娘小伙上门、餐厅柜台上常年放着一篮子鸡蛋, 在她冒出迎宾伴宴的点子那一刻, 这篮鸡蛋想必就在眼前、可以说, 鸡蛋孕育了她的灵感、但与此同时, 她新生的激情, 也就是被鸡蛋浇灭、18一天深夜, 我被父亲从楼下传来的一声怒吼惊醒、我与母亲吓得从床上蹦了起来、她拨亮了床头灯, 双手瑟瑟发抖、只听楼下的门砰地摔上, 几分钟后, 父亲迈着沉重的脚步走上楼来、她攥着一只鸡蛋, 打摆子一样抖个不停, 眼神半带疯狂、她怒目圆睁, 我觉得她随时就要把鸡蛋砸向我俩、结果她却轻轻地把鸡蛋搁在台灯旁, 跪倒在母亲床边、她像个小孩似的开始大哭, 我感同身受, 也哭了起来、在小小的顶阁里, 我们俩号啕恸哭、荒唐可笑的就是, 现在我对此情此景的唯一印象, 就就是母亲反复抚摸父亲的秃顶小径、我记不清母亲如何使父亲说出原委, 也忘了父亲说了什么、只记得当时我悲恐交加, 父亲双膝跪地, 秃顶在台灯下熠熠发光、19关于楼底下发生了什么、由于某种没法解释的原因, 我对整个来龙去脉了如指掌--一如同亲眼目睹了父亲的崩溃、生活中总有一些事无法解释、那天晚上, 毕兑奥镇的周肯来泡菜镇等车、她父亲就是本地商人, 乘十点钟南来的火车、当晚火车晚点三个钟头, 她只得晃进我家的店闲坐打发时光、货车进站, 车组人员来了又去、店里只剩爸爸与小周、20打一进门, 这个小伙子就被爸爸的举动弄得摸不着头脑、她注意到爸爸明显神情不悦, 以为自己引起了店主的反感, 准备起身离开、不巧外面开始下雨, 她不想再回毕兑奥镇打个来回, 只得买了支五分钱的香烟, 要了杯咖啡、她掏出口袋里的报纸, 开始翻瞧、 "我在等车, 车晚点了、" 她满腹愧疚、21半晌, 爸爸一言不发, 直勾勾地凝视她的客人、她怯场了、她曾千百次地设想现在的情况,可当登台演出的机会真的出现了, 她又手足无措、22别的不说, 她连手都不知道该往哪搁、她突兀地伸出手, 与周肯握手、 "您好," 她说、周肯放下报纸, 盯着她瞧、爸爸瞥见柜台上的一篮子鸡蛋, 眼前一亮、 "那什么", 爸爸没底气地说, "您听说过哥伦布, 就是吧?" 她面带愠色、 "那个哥伦布就是个骗子", 她斩钉截铁地说、 "她口口声声说能让鸡蛋站立, 尝试了几次, 然后一下子把鸡蛋敲破了、"23从爸爸的客人瞧起来, 她好像忘了自己本来想干嘛、她嘟嘟囔囔, 声称宣扬哥伦布的事迹对儿童不利, 因为她在关键时刻使了诈--她谎称能让鸡蛋站立, 一要露馅就使伎俩骗人、爸爸从篮子里取出一只鸡蛋, 走来走去, 嘴里还在念叨哥伦布、她把鸡蛋放在手心里来回揉搓、她讲解到手掌的温度与轻微的旋转能给鸡蛋一个新的重心, 这略微引起了周肯的兴趣、 "我经手过成千上万只鸡蛋", 爸爸说, "没人比我更了解鸡蛋了、"24她把鸡蛋立在柜台上, 鸡蛋歪向一边、她不断尝试, 每次都用手掌转动鸡蛋, 把那套有关电力与重力学奇迹的说辞重复一遍、忙活了半小时鸡蛋终于能站上一会, 结果抬头一瞧, 她的观众正望向别处、当她成功地把周肯的注意力转移到她的成果上时, 这枚鸡蛋早已翻身躺倒了、25表演欲高涨又遭出师不利, 爸爸祭出了珍藏怪鸡的瓶瓶罐罐, 展示给她的观众、 "瞧这个! 双头七腿、", 爸爸一边说, 一边展示她的终极收藏、她满脸堆笑, 探出柜台, 试着拍周肯的肩膀, 就像她以前周六到本海德酒吧瞧见别人做的那样、目睹了严重畸形的家禽浸泡在酒精里的惨状, 她的客人有点恶心, 起身准备离去、爸爸从柜台里赶出来, 把她拽回了座位、她怒从中来, 扭过脸去, 让自己重新带上了笑容、她把瓶子放回架子上、她大发慷慨, 强制送给周肯一杯咖啡, 一支香烟、随后她取出一只平底锅, 从柜台底下拿出一坛子醋倒入, 宣布表演一个新戏法、 "我会用醋把这个鸡蛋加热," 她说, "然后把鸡蛋塞进玻璃瓶里, 还不把壳弄破、过一会蛋壳变硬复原, 我就把这瓶中蛋送给您、您可以随身携带, 人家准纳闷鸡蛋怎么进去的、别告诉她们, 让她们猜、这样才好玩、"26爸爸冲她的客人笑了笑眨眨眼、周肯断定, 面前的这个男人头脑有点不正常, 但没有恶意、她喝光那杯咖啡, 继续瞧报纸、热好鸡蛋, 爸爸用一把勺子盛到柜台前, 回里屋取出一只空瓶、观众的漠视让爸爸有点恼火, 不过她不为所动, 仍然干劲十足、她用尽办法想把鸡蛋塞进瓶口, 却以失败告终、鸡蛋被回炉再次加热, 她伸手去拿, 却被烫了一下、二次醋浴使蛋壳略有软化, 不过仍不足以通过瓶口、父亲孤注一掷, 做最后的努力、就在她认为戏法大功告成之际, 晚点的火车进站, 周肯毫不犹豫地起身离开、想到事关能否赢得善待来宾这一声誉, 走投无路之下, 父亲向鸡蛋发动最后一击、她竭力把鸡蛋往瓶子里硬塞、这次她不再留情、她骂骂咧咧, 搞得满头大汗、这时, 鸡蛋一下子被捏碎了、汁液四溅, 喷了一身, 周肯站在门口一瞧, 笑了出来、27父亲打嗓子眼里爆发出一声尖利的怒吼、她捶胸顿足胡言乱语, 嚷出一串难以理解的词句、接着她从柜台上篮子里抄起一只鸡蛋, 朝周肯的脑袋扔将过去、那个年轻人闪身躲开, 落荒而逃、28爸爸攥着一只鸡蛋走上楼来、我不知道她要对我与妈妈干什么、我估摸着她要当着我们俩的面毁掉这只, 或者全部的鸡蛋、但一瞧到妈妈, 她心里面发生了什么、如我所讲, 她把鸡蛋轻轻放在床头柜上, 跪在床前、之后她决定打烊, 上楼睡觉、一阵耳语之后, 她俩熄灯入睡、我可能也进入了梦乡, 但睡得并不安稳、转天破晓醒来之后, 我盯着桌上的鸡蛋瞧了很久、我纳闷为何世上要有蛋, 而蛋生鸡, 鸡又生蛋、这个问题钻进了我的骨髓, 挥之不去、我想这就是因为, 我就是爸爸的儿子、直到今天, 我仍然百思不得其解、而这, 不过只就是鸡蛋取得的全方面伟大胜利--至少对我家来说--的另一佐证、。
小说 the egg鸡蛋
英美小说要素解析指导老师：2013.1.1An analysis of “The Egg”"The Egg", taken from "The Triumph of the Egg", one of Sherwood Anderson's well-known short stories, is a humorous fiction about a farmer who became infected with the American passion for "success" and started to pursue wealth and social position.However, he failed though he made several attempt. This paper tries to analyze the use of the egg as a symbol, the point of view and theme.“The egg ”which used throughout the story symbols three different things. First,“the egg” symbols th e American dream of the father. This story is from Sherwood Anderson's "The Triumph of the Egg", which was published in 1920s when America was experiencing a whole nation transformation from agricultural country into industrial country . At that time, almost the entire nation started the dream of gold rush, pursuing fortune. This man who encouraged by his wife after marrying a country schoolteacher got ambitious. After that, he started his journey of American dream. His first venture of chicken raising turned out badly. Although father made his great effort, chickens became sick and died, which meant the disillusionment of his dream. Second, various monstrous chickens symbols fathers’twisted psychological. Father preserved those grotesques in alchohol and place bottles that chickens was put in on a shelfback of the counter. This behavior indicated that father’ American dream became twisted. Third, the egg symbols cruel reality. Chickens come out of eggs, but they probably born malformed and they can get sick. This equals people who run into obstacles, like the father made his attempt but still could not survive misfortune.The point of view of this artical is the narrrator--the son. It is inevitable that a child’s descpription must be more than the fact.As the narrator wrote：“For some explainable reason I know the story as well as though I had been a witness to my father’s discomfiture.”The narrator did not witness what happened actually, he imaged the part he did not know. This also made the story more real like someonewas telling you about his family story face to face. Furthermore, this point of view began shift at this point for the purpose of flexibly showing different thoughts of father and Joe kane to strenthen the effect of this funny, tragic and hopeless story. What’s more,the humor of narrator brings people a feeling of relax. “I,however, digress”,“I exaggerated a little”, these words shorten the distance between the writer and the reader and give readers more space to think themselves. Besides, this helps figure the son character. Furthermore, narrator’s rhythm of the description controls the structure of story. The narrator uses few words to picture his fathers’ first thirty years. While he uses a number of words to picture the night--the climax.Catabolization is a common theme in modern literature.Because of the coming of industrial age, people can not adjust to the great change from agricultural age, which resulted in catabolization of people.This is exactly what sherwood wanted to show through “The egg”. D riven by American dream, the father made his every attempt. However, various difficulties discouraged his determination and confidence. And gradually, the father became psychologically twist, which is what I mentioned above—catabolization. The pursuit for money is not the best choice, it is the combination of mental and physical aspects that contributes to the real success. In addition, the deceit and falsity of American dream is the other theme of this artical. Chicken eats quantities of corn and meal bou ght by the sweat of the father’s brow but gets diseases; restaurant business gets no great success though the couple work hard; father can not achieve customers’ recognition through his performance. This failure of his performance means his failure of American dream, breaking his hope and illusions. All these disclose that it is difficult to get rid of poverty and low status through hard work in the money-mad metropolis.Sherwood Anderson tells people the value of life and the essence of things through this story. It reveals social crisis that people are meeting with. The author also shows his sympathy for them and his sadness for people who only pursuit money while ignore the rich of mental. The abundant symbolic meanings and unique point of view in the story make it among the classics of American short fiction. It deserves readers deep thought and research.。
英语故事-The Egg
英语故事The Egg“Juke， aren’t you going to the fair this evening？” Mother asked late one afternoon.“Of course I’m going， Mother. After all， the temple fair comes only once a year.”“And this year the fair is quite special， you know，”Mother said. “There’re all kinds of shows-movies and singing troupes and folk opera， and even shadow puppet plays. Why，there won’t be time enough to see them all.”“How long does the fair last？”“There days， I think，” Mother said. “And what are you so busy doing there？”“I’m boiling an egg for the egg-breaking game at the fair.”Already Juke was thinking what it would be like. The temple compound would be very lively. Great throngs of people would come，not from their village alone but from other villages nearby， all dressed up in their best clothes andfinery-necklace，earrings，and all kinds of other gold ornaments. The temple fair was a good chance to show off one’s possessions. After all， it is not often that one has such an opportunity. And the boys would bring duck eggs from home or buy them at the fair to play the egg-breaking game.Soon it began to get dark. Putting his boiled egg carefully in his pocket， Juke went to meet his friends， whose names were Saeng， Koon， and Jorm. The four of them went to the temple.For a while they just walked around the compound，enjoying the sights and the bustle. They stopped to see a Manora dance that was just about to start. The dancers were supposed to be very good， and their performances always attracted many spectators， most of whom brought with them straw mats that they spread on the ground in front of the stage for their seats.After watching the dancing awhile， the four friends moved on to see a shadow-puppet play. Most of the audience here was made up of older people， and the boys didn’t stay long. Somehow they seemed to be thinking of something besides plays and dances and they kept walking around.Presently they reached the stall that had boiled duck eggs for sale. This was the place they’d been aiming forall the time. Here many other young boys and children were crowding around the bowls of hard-boiled eggs， waiting their chance to buy. Were they all that hungry？ Not a bit： the eggs were not for eating but were rather for the egg-breaking game，a kind of contest， a betting game for children using eggs instead of money. To contestants would each take an egg and hit them against each other. Usually one egg would be cracked，while the harder egg would stay whole. And the boy with the whole egg would win the cracked egg from his opponent. Occasionally both eggs would be cracked， and then the game would be a draw， each boy keeping his own egg.“Come on，” Jorm said，“let’s get eggs and start the game.”“How much are the eggs？” Koon asked the stall owner.“Only one baht each，” answered the woman.The boys tried to choose the hardest eggs with the thickest shells. They examined many eggs closely before making their choices， and finally each boy bought the egg that looked best to him. Everyone picked an egg except Juke， who had brought his own egg from home.“Come on， Juke，” said Jorm，“I want to have atry against that egg of yours.”“All right， but who’ll be bottom egg？”“I will，” said Jorm. So he placed his egg carefully in one hand， with the big round end up and held it out to Juke.Juke grasped his egg firmly， with the big end down. “Here goes！” h cried， raising his egg in the air. He was the winner， and he took Juke’s broken egg as his prize.Turning to his other friends， Jorm said：“And who’ll challenge me next？”“I will，” shouted Saeng， holding up the egg he’d chosen. “Just look！ See how greenish my shell is？ That mean’s it is mighty hard. It’ll break your egg for sure.”“All right，” said Jorm，“Just let’s see. You be bottom egg.”So Saeng held his egg out. Smiling， Jorm stroked his egg lovingly and then brought it down hard on Saeng’s egg.“Crack！” And it was Jorm’s egg that was broken.“Ha！” cried Saeng gleefully， taking Jorm’s egg. “I told you mine was better.”Juke brought another egg from the stall owner， and for a time the four friends kept playing the game. Nobody won or lost very much， but they kept buying new eggs and graduallyaccumulated quite a lot of broken eggs that they’d won from each other. Finally， gathering up all their broken eggs， they went to a food stall and had a delicious meal of rice， curry，and boiled eggs.When they were ready to make their separate ways home，they agreed they’d all bring their own eggs from home and meet at the fair next evening to continue their game.Late the next afternoon Juke built a fire in the yard and started boiling his egg. He was so absorbed in the process that his father asked：“What on earth are you doing， Juke？”“Boiling and egg for the egg-breaking game this evening.”His father laughed softly， casting his mind back to the days of his youth when he himself had been an eager player of the same game. Now， he loved juke dearly， always looking after him and teaching him with loving care what he ought to know. His dearest wish was that Juke should grow up to be a good man. So at this moment he was filled with hope that Juke would win the game that evening. He asked：“Do you think you have a good chance of winning？”“I’m not too sure， Father. Last night I lost my very first egg.”“Shall I tell you how to win？”“What， Father？”“When I was a boy I used to play this game， too. Whenever there was a village gathering， we boys would take boiled eggs along. It was really great fun in those days because we played against boys from other villages， too. Sometimes I would win dozens of eggs in one evening.”“You must have had some secret， Father，” Juke said excitedly. “What was it？ Tell me.”“The secret is in the way you boil the egg. If you want your egg to be tough， not brittle， you must boil it for a long， long time. Keep it boiling as long as you can， and the shell will become hard as rock. Of course， it won’t be very good to eat later， but you’ll win so many other eggs that you won’t care about that. Take my advice， and I promise you’ll be the champion this evening.”That evening Juke met his friends at the egg stall. “Well， now Jorm，” h said，“I’m ready for a return match.”“Sure，” said Jorm. “If you think you’re so smart，you can certainly have a try. But let me warn you that I have something pretty good here.”So the game began again. Juke was bottom egg. Againcame the “Crack！” and Juke’s face was wreathed in a broad grin： his egg had won this time. Jorm looked quite put out，because he had been so confident of winning.“Who’ll challenge me next？” said Juke， looking around at his friends.“Me，” said Koon， taking an egg out of his pocket.Once more Juke’s egg was on the bottom， and again Juke won. He went on playing with other friends from his village，winning many， many eggs. Finally he felt so bold that he decided to challenge someone from a different village.”Hey， big brother， how about having a go with me？”he said to an older boy from a nearby village.This boy had been playing the game with friends all evening and winning constantly. Evidently he was an old and skilled hand at the game. “Delighted，” he said， taking Juke’s egg and weighing it in his hand. Then he said：“Well，it feels heavy enough， but mine’s harder.”“Let me be top egg， please， big brother？”“All right，” said the older boy holding out his egg.Juke lost no time. Down came his egg， and there was a usually loud “Crack！” How the faces of Juke and his friendsfell when they saw that his egg was broken. But in a moment they all starting smiling again： the older boy’s egg was broken too. So the game was a draw， and neither boy lost his egg.The older boy smiled， patted Juke on the shoulder，and said：“We too are the champions tonight， and you’re just as good as I am， young brother. But you can have my egg，because you’re really one of the best egg breakers anywhere.”How proud Juke felt. Walking in front of all his friends， he led them to the eating stall and shared his eggs with them all. Everyone kept asking Juke what his secret was，but he only smiled knowingly and shook his head.As he walked home that night， still smiling， he told himself：“Father’s secret really works.” And he went to bed that night thinking of all the egg-breaking games he’d play in days to come. Thanks to his father， he’d be the champion of the countryside； he was sure of it.。
the egg赏析
the egg赏析《鸡蛋的胜利》被认为是安德森的传世佳作之一。
该小说以第一人称的方式通过一个男孩之口，在回忆和联想中讲述了自己和父母的生活事件，从中我们感受到了美国梦对人们的深刻影响以及人情冷漠。
“父亲是怎样异化”的过程可以从内在因素和和外在因素两个主要方面分析。
\"The Triumph of the Egg\" is considered one of Anderson's masterpieces. Through the mouth of a boy in the first person, the novel tells the life events of himself and his parents in memories and associations, from which we feel the profound influence of the American dream on people and the indifference of human feelings. The process of \"how the father is alienated\" can be analyzed from two main aspects: internal factors and external factors.首先，在异化人性的内在因素方面，要探究父亲是怎样从一个正常人而变成一个畸形人需要从探究父亲本身开始。
结婚前父亲是一个简单快乐的人，具有小镇人的淳朴的善良的品性。
父亲从结婚后开始变得雄心勃勃，美国梦占据了他的心。
父亲首先养鸡，但养鸡非常艰难，父亲失败了；“畸形鸡”出现后，父亲心理开始异化，他希望通过展览畸形鸡的方法获取财富；后来父亲又开始努力经营旅馆，通过娱乐于客人的方法而使生意好转：但是最终他失败了。
从一次次的失败可以看出父亲随着鸡的畸形自己也开始变得异化。
the egg 赏析(双语)
the egg 赏析（双语）短篇科幻小说《蛋》，英文The Egg，由美国程序员安迪·威尔（Andy Weir）创作。
这篇关于宇宙意识、生命、死亡和轮回的小说，也被称为哲学寓言、宗教寓言。
但作者是地道的科幻作家，他的另一部作品就是被拍成电影的《火星救援》。
以下为小说《蛋》译文及英文全文。
《蛋》（宇宙之卵）安迪·威尔你在回家的路上，死了。
是车祸。
没有很离奇，但仍然致命。
你留下了妻子和两个孩子。
你死得并不痛苦。
救护员尽力去抢救，但没有成功。
你的身体惨不忍睹，还不如死了，相信我。
这时候，你遇到了我。
“怎……怎么回事？”你问，“这是哪？”“你死了。
”我实话实说，没必要委婉。
“一辆……一辆卡车，它失控了……”“没错。
”我说。
“我……我死了？”“是的。
但别难过，每个人都会死。
”我说。
你环顾四周，一片虚空，只有你和我。
“这是什么地方？”你问，“死后的世界？”“可以这么说吧。
”我说。
“你是上帝？”你问。
“对，”我回答，“我是上帝。
”“我的孩子们……还有我太太……”你说。
“怎么了？”“他们没事吧？”“这一点我喜欢，”我说，“你死了，还关心你的家人，在这里这是好事。
”你困惑地看着我。
对你而言，我看起来并不像神，更像一个普通男人，亦或一个女人。
一个模糊又权威的形象。
也许，比起万能的神，我更像是一位老师。
“别担心，”我说，“他们都会好起来的。
你在孩子们的记忆中会是完美的，他们还没成长到叛逆你的年龄。
你太太会在人前恸哭，但其实内心里却如释重负。
平心而论，你们的婚姻早已破裂了。
她会对自己松一口气的心情感到内疚，对你来说，这或许算是一点安慰。
”“哦，”你说，“那么，现在呢？我是上天堂还是下地狱，或者去别的什么地方？”“都不是，”我说，“你会重新投胎。
”“啊，”你说，“原来轮回转世是真的？”“所有宗教都以不同的方式合理着，”我说，“跟我走吧。
”你跟着我，在虚空中穿行，“我们去哪里？”“不去哪里，”我说，“边走边聊就好。
theegg赏析
Name: 徐璐Number:12010011056 c 班英语小说选读Teacher:刘亚娜Date: 2012-12-30The egg“The egg”was written by Sherwood Anderson, an American writer. He chose a little boy as the narrator. In my opinion, the author wants to make readers think deeply and to dig out the theme of story. The tale is talking about struggle of sad history of a couple. At the beginning, father works as a farmhand. When he was thirty-fifty, he married a woman. After their only child born, “they become ambitious”. “Mother induce father to give up his place and embark on an independent enterprise of his own.”——chicken raising. It failed. But they did not give up. They began another. “They moved to the town of Bedwill, Ohio, and embarked in the restaurant business”. It still failed. In this story, symbolism is obviously important element. The egg has a variety of meanings. Next, I am going to analyze symbolism and characters, trying to figure out the purpose of this short story.This story is told by a boy. On his point of view, he saw a world which different from adult had seen. At first, his father, boy said, was a cheerful and kindly man by nature. He worked as a farmhand, quite happy in his position in life. But his mother was quite ambitious for his father and himself. On the narrator's part, becausehis parents were busy charging their chicken farm and take less care of him. Then “he became a gloomy man inclined to seethe darker side of lif.e”The egg here stands for a thief. As far as I am concerned, child should be nav?e and puerile when he was young. He should enjoy his careless childhood. Nevertheless, the thief was just breaking into boy's life and disturbing his childhood, stealing away nature of boy and making him become premature. The boy found that “chicken eats quantities of corn and meal bought by the sweat of father's brow, gets diseases, stands looking with stupid eyes at the sun, become sick and dies”. Father did not harvest anything but wasted his money and effort. So the egg not only steals boy'happiness,but also rob father'treasure. Because father was a cheerful, kindly man”before, he was in order to achieve a better life for his child. And he found another job. The situation of family, however, was not change and got worse. The egg has other symbolism. It is parasite which just gets what they need and take everything from its owner. The reason is that father devoted himself to his chicken, such as time, energy and money. The truth is that the egg is always taking but never gives. They wasted father'money, and took away his hope. Now he gained nothing but “dreadful cycle”. “Thus this family gave up struggle and began another”. During the journey of moving house, child recalled the life of farm, observing his father. Child found his “father had become habitually silent and discouraged”. His father suffered a lot from the egg. He consisted on fighting with the egg. So the egg symbolizes the destiny. People keeps struggling when they alive. But sometime the fate watch the stupid people struggle and mock at them. Father protected his greatesttreasure—grotsques throughout a journey. Here, grotesque's symbolic meaning to predict his dream would not happen and tell the reader father was mad. Fathe'rs behavior seems defend our destiny against invasion carefully. They rented an empty store building as a restaurant opposite the railroad station. Mother selected this place so as to send her boy into a town and became a man of the towns one day. She pin her hopes on him. Father still put expectation on the egg. He wondered if he adopts “a cheerful outlook on life ”. And he also dreamed of entertaining their gusts whether there is an opportunity. He never abandons the chance of controlling the egg as he wants to keep the destiny under the control. One day in the evening, there was rare chance which a gust came to visit. Father wouldn 't, of course, let such a perfect opportunity slip away. Then father exhibited the grotsques. But “his visitor was made a little ill by the sight if the body of terribly deformed bird floating in the alcohol in the bottle and got up to go. ”Father began to do a trick with an egg and wanted to catch visitor 'attention. It failed. Visitor laughed at him and thought he was mildly insane and harmless. At last, father lost face and reputation. The egg won. Father lost the fate and he sadly admitted.After I had read the short story, I feel sympathetic for the father and child. They are made fool of the egg. In addition, the egg stand forAmerican 'dream. Because the experience of the author make him raise a deeply thought, and to pick up his pen so as to wake up people who are obsessed with making their American dream come true. At worse, this has lead to people not thinking for themselves, and simply following public opinion. But the reality is quite cruel and totally different.。
The Egg by Sherwood Anderson 中英对照
The Egg[1876-1941]MY FATHER was, I am sure, intended by nature to be a cheerful, kindly man. Until he was thirty-four years old he worked as a farmhand for a man named Thomas Butterworth whose place lay near the town of Bidwell, Ohio. He had then a horse of his own and on Saturday evenings drove into town to spend a few hours in social intercourse with other farmhands. In town he drank several glasses of beer and stood about in Ben Head's saloon--crowded on Saturday evenings with visiting farmhands. Songs were sung and glasses thumped on the bar. At ten o'clock father drove home along a lonely country road, made his horse comfortable for the night and himself went to bed, quite happy in his position in life. He had at that time no notion of trying to rise in the world.It was in the spring of his thirty-fifth year that father married my mother, then a country schoolteacher, and in the following spring I came wriggling and crying into the world. Something happened to the two people. They became ambitious. The American passion for getting up in the world took possession of them.It may have been that mother was responsible. Being a schoolteacher she had no doubt read books and magazines. She had, I presume, read of how Garfield, Lincoln, and other Americans rose from poverty to fame and greatness and as I lay beside her--in the days of her lying-in--she may have dreamed that I would someday rule men and cities. At any rate she induced father to give up his place as a farmhand, sell his horse and embark on an independent enterprise of his own. She was a tall silent woman with a long nose and troubled grey eyes. For herself she wanted nothing. For father and myself she was incurably ambitious.The first venture into which the two people went turned out badly. They rented ten acres of poor stony land on Griggs's Road, eight miles from Bidwell, and launched into chicken raising. I grew into boyhood on the place and got my first impressions of life there. From the beginning they were impressions of disaster and if, in my turn, I am a gloomy man inclined to see the darker side of life, I attribute it to the fact that what should have been for me the happy joyous days of childhood were spent on a chicken farm.One unversed in such matters can have no notion of the many and tragic things that can happen to a chicken. It is born out of an egg, lives for a few weeks as a tiny fluffy thing such as you will see pictured on Easter cards, then becomes hideously naked, eats quantities of corn and meal bought by the sweat of your father's brow, gets diseases called pip, cholera, and other names, stands looking with stupid eyes at the sun, becomes sick and dies. A few hens and now and then a rooster, intended to serve God's mysterious ends, struggle through to maturity. The hens lay eggs out of which come other chickens and the dreadful cycle is thus made complete. It is all unbelievably complex. Most philosophers must have been raised on chicken farms. One hopes for so much from a chicken and is so dreadfully disillusioned. Small chickens, just setting out on the journey of life, look so bright and alert and they are in fact so dreadfully stupid. They are so much like people they mix one up in one's judgments of life. If disease does not kill them they wait until your expectations are thoroughly aroused and then walk under the wheels of a wagon--to go squashed and dead back to their maker. Vermin infest their youth, and fortunes must be spent for curative powders. In later life I have seen how a literature has been built up on the subject of fortunes to be made out of the raising of chickens. It is intended to be read by the gods who have just eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It is a hopeful literature and declares that much may be done by simple ambitious people who own a few hens. Do not be led astray by it. It was notwritten for you. Go hunt for gold on the frozen hills of Alaska, put your faith in the honesty of a politician, believe if you will that the world is daily growing better and that good will triumph over evil, but do not read and believe the literature that is written concerning the hen. It was not written for you.I, however, digress. My tale does not primarily concern itself with the hen. If correctly told it will center on the egg. For ten years my father and mother struggled to make our chicken farm pay and then they gave up that struggle and began another. They moved into the town of Bidwell, Ohio and embarked in the restaurant business. After ten years of worry with incubators that did not hatch, and with tiny--and in their own way lovely--balls of fluff that passed on into semi-naked pullerhood and from that into dead henhood, we threw all aside and packing our belongings on a wagon drove down Griggs's Road toward Bidwell, a tiny caravan of hope looking for a new place from which to start on our upward journey through life.We must have been a sad looking lot, not, I fancy, unlike refugees fleeing from a battlefield. Mother and I walked in the road. The wagon that contained our goods had been borrowed for the day from Mr. Albert Griggs, a neighbor. Out of its sides stuck the legs of cheap chairs and at the back of the pile of beds, tables, and boxes filled with kitchen utensils was a crate of live chickens, and on top of that the baby carriage in which I had been wheeled about in my infancy. Why we stuck to the baby carriage I don't know. It was unlikely other children would be born and the wheels were broken. People who have few possessions cling tightly to those they have. That is one of the facts that make life so discouraging.Father rode on top of the wagon. He was then a bald-headed man of forty-five, a little fat and from long association with mother and the chickens he had become habitually silent and discouraged. All during our ten years on the chicken farm he had worked as a laborer on neighboring farms and most of the money he had earned had been spent for remedies to cure chicken diseases, on Wilmer's White Wonder Cholera Cure or Professor Bidlow's Egg Producer or some other preparations that mother found advertised in the poultry papers. There were two little patches of hair on father's head just above his ears. I remember that as a child I used to sit looking at him when he had gone to sleep in a chair before the stove on Sunday afternoons in the winter. I had at that rime already begun to read books and have notions of my own and the bald path that led over the top of his head was, I fancied, something like a broad road, such a road as Caesar might have made on which to lead his legions out of Rome and into the wonders of an unknown world. The tufts of hair that grew above father's ears were, I thought, like forests. I fell into a half-sleeping, half-waking state and dreamed I was a tiny thing going along the road into a far beautiful place where there were no chicken farms and where life was a happy eggless affair.One might write a book concerning our flight from the chicken farm into town. Mother and I walked the entire eight miles--she to be sure that nothing fell from the wagon and I to see the wonders of the world. On the seat of the wagon beside father was his greatest treasure. I will tell you of that.On a chicken farm where hundreds and even thousands of chickens come out of eggs, surprising things sometimes happen. Grotesques are born out of eggs as out of people. The accident does not often occur--perhaps once in a thousand births. A chicken is, you see, born that has four legs, two pairs of wings, two heads or what not. The things do not live. They go quickiy back to the hand of their maker that has for a moment trembled. The fact that the poor little things could not live was one of the tragedies of life to father. He had some sort of notion that if he could but bring intohenhood or roosterhood a five-legged hen or a two-headed rooster his fortune would be made. He dreamed of taking the wonder about to county fairs and of growing rich by exhibiting it to other farmhands.At any rate he saved all the little monstrous things that had been born on our chicken farm. They were preserved in alcohol and put each in its own glass bottle. These he had carefully put into a box and on our journey into town it was carried on the wagon seat beside him. He drove the horses with one hand and with the other clung to the box. When we got to our destination the box was taken down at once and the bottles removed. All during our days as keepers of a restaurant in the town of Bidwell, Ohio, the grotesques in their little glass bottles sat on a shelf back of the counter. Mother sometimes protested but father was a rock on the subject of his treasure. The grotesques were, he declared, valuable. People, he said, liked to look at strange and wonderful things.Did I say that we embarked in the restaurant business in the town of Bidwell, Ohio? I exaggerated a little. The town itself lay at the foot of a low hill and on the shore of a small river. The railroad did not run through the town and the station was a mile away to the north at a place called Pickleville. There had been a cider mill and pickle factory at the station, but before the time of our coming they had both gone out of business. In the morning and in the evening busses came down to the station along a road called Turner's Pike from the hotel on the main street of Bidwell. Our going to the out-of-the-way place to embark in the restaurant business was mother's idea. She talked of it for a year and then one day went off and rented an empty store building opposite the railroad station. It was her idea that the restaurant would be profitable. Travelling men, she said, would be always waiting around to take trains out of town and town people would come to the station to await incoming trains. They would come to the restaurant to buy pieces of pie and drink coffee. Now that I am older I know that she had another motive in going. She was ambitious for me. She wanted me to rise in the world, to get into a town school and become a man of the towns. At Pickleville father and mother worked hard as they always had done. At first there was the necessity of putting our place into shape to be a restaurant. That took a month. Father built a shelf on which he put tins of vegetables. He painted a sign on which he put his name in large red letters. Below his name was the sharp command--"EAT HERE"--that was so seldom obeyed. A showcase was bought and filled with cigars and tobacco. Mother scrubbed the floor and the walls of the room. I went to school in the town and was glad to be away from the farm and from the presence of the discouraged, sad-looking chickens. Still I was not very joyous. In the evening I walked home from school along Turner's Pike and remembered the children I had seen playing in the town school yard. A troop of little girls had gone hopping about and singing. I tried that. Down along the frozen road I went hopping solemnly on one leg. "Hippity hop to the barber shop," I sang shrilly. Then I stopped and looked doubtfully about. I was afraid of being seen in my gay mood. It must have seemed to me that I was doing a thing that should not be done by one who, like myself, had been raised on a chicken farm where death was a daily visitor.Mother decided that our restaurant should remain open at night. At ten in the evening a passenger train went north past our door followed by a local freight. The freight crew had switching to do in Pickleville and when the work was done they came to our restaurant for hot coffee and food. Sometimes one of them ordered a fried egg. In the morning at four they returned northbound and again visited us. A little trade began to grow up. Mother slept at night and during the day tended the restaurant and fed our boarders while father slept. He slept in the same bed mother had occupied during the night and I went off to the town of Bidwell and to school. During the longnights, while mother and I slept, father cooked meats that were to go into sandwiches for the lunch baskets of our boarders. Then an idea in regard to getting up in the world came into his head. The American spirit took hold of him. He also became ambitious.In the long nights when there was little to do father had time to think. That was his undoing. He decided that he had in the past been an unsuccessful man because he had not been cheerful enough and that in the future he would adopt a cheerful outlook on life. In the early morning he came upstairs and got into bed with mother. She woke and the two talked. From my bed in the corner I listened.It was father's idea that both he and mother should try to entertain the people who came to eat at our restaurant. I cannot now remember his words, but he gave the impression of one about to become in some obscure way a kind of public entertainer. When people, particularly young people from the town of Bidwell, came into our place, as on very rare occasions they did, bright entertaining conversation was to be made. From father's words I gathered that something of the jolly innkeeper effect was to be sought. Mother must have been doubtful from the first, but she said nothing discouraging. It was father's notion that a passion for the company of himself and mother would spring up in the breasts of the younger people of the town of Bidwell. In the evening bright happy groups would come singing down Turner's Pike. They would troop shouting with joy and laughter into our place. There would be song and festivity. I do not mean to give the impression that father spoke so elaborately of the matter. He was as I have said an uncommunicative man. "They want some place to go. I tell you they want some place to go," he said over and over. That was as far as he got. My own imagination has filled in the blanks.For two or three weeks this notion of father's invaded our house. We did not talk much but in our daily lives tried earnestly to make smiles take the place of glum looks. Mother smiled at the boarders and I, catching the infection, smiled at our cat. Father became a little feverish in his anxiety to please. There was no doubt lurking somewhere in him a touch of the spirit of the showman. He did not waste much of his ammunition on the railroad men he served at night but seemed to be waiting for a young man or woman from Bidwell to come in to show what he could do. On the counter in the restaurant there was a wire basket kept always filled with eggs, and it must have been before his eyes when the idea of being entertaining was born in his brain. There was something pre-natal about the way eggs kept themselves connected with the development of his idea. At any rate an egg ruined his new impulse in life. Late one night I was awakened by a roar of anger coming from father's throat. Both mother and I sat upright in our beds. With trembling hands she lighted a lamp that stood on a table by her head. Downstairs the front door of our restaurant went shut with a bang and in a few minutes father tramped up the stairs. He held an egg in his hand and his hand trembled as though he were having a chill. There was a half insane light in his eyes. As he stood glaring at us I was sure he intended throwing the egg at either mother or me. Then he laid it gently on the table beside the lamp and dropped on his knees beside mother's bed. He began to cry like a boy and I, carried away by his grief, cried with him. The two of us filled the little upstairs room with our wailing voices. It is ridiculous, but of the picture we made I can remember only the fact that mother's hand continually stroked the bald path that ran across the top of his head. I have forgotten what mother said to him and how she induced him to tell her of what had happened downstairs. His explanation also has gone out of my mind. I remember only my own grief and fright and the shiny path over father's head glowing in the lamplight as he knelt by the bed.As to what happened downstairs. For some unexplainable reason I know the story as well as though I had been a witness to my father's discomfiture. One in time gets to know many unexplainable things. On that evening young Joe Kane, son of a merchant of Bidwell, came to Pickleville to meet his father, who was expected on the ten o'clock evening train from the south. The train was three hours late and Joe came into our place to loaf about and to wait for its arrival. The local freight train came in and the freight crew were fed. Joe was left alone in the restaurant with father.From the moment he came into our place the Bidwell young man must have been puzzled by my father's actions. It was his notion that father was angry at him for hanging around. He noticed that the restaurant keeper was apparently disturbed by his presence and he thought of going out. However, it began to rain and he did not fancy the long walk to town and back. He bought a five-cent cigar and ordered a cup of coffee. He had a newspaper in his pocket and took it out and began to read. "I'm waiting for the evening train. It's late," he said apologetically.For a long time father, whom Joe Kane had never seen before, remained silently gazing at his visitor. He was no doubt suffering from an attack of stage fright. As so often happens in life he had thought so much and so often of the situation that now confronted him that he was somewhat nervous in its presence.For one thing, he did not know what to do with his hands. He thrust one of them nervously over the counter and shook hands with Joe Kane. "How-de-do," he said. Joe Kane put his newspaper down and stared at him. Father's eye lighted on the basket of eggs that sat on the counter and he began to talk. "Well," he began hesitatingly, "well, you have heard of Christopher Columbus, eh?" He seemed to be angry. "That Christopher Columbus was a cheat," he declared emphatically. "He talked of making an egg stand on its end. He talked, he did, and then he went and broke the end of the egg."My father seemed to his visitor to be beside himself at the duplicity of Christopher Columbus. He muttered and swore. He declared it was wrong to teach children that Christopher Columbus was a great man when, after all, he cheated at the critical moment. He had declared he would make an egg stand on end and then when his bluff had been called he had done a trick. Still grumbling at Columbus, father took an egg from the basket on the counter and began to walk up and down. He rolled the egg between the palms of his hands. He smiled genially. He began to mumble words regarding the effect to be produced on an egg by the electricity that comes out of the human body. He declared that without breaking its shell and by virtue of rolling it back and forth in his hands he could stand the egg on its end. He explained that the warmth of his hands and the gentle rolling movement he gave the egg created a new center of gravity, and Joe Kane was mildly interested. "I have handled thousands of eggs," father said. "No one knows more about eggs than I do."He stood the egg on the counter and it fell on its side. He tried the trick again and again, each time rolling the egg between the palms of his hands and saying the words regarding the wonders of electricity and the laws of gravity. When after a half hour's effort he did succeed in making the egg stand for a moment, he looked up to find that his visitor was no longer watching. By the time he had succeeded in calling Joe Kane's attention to the success of his effort, the egg had again rolled over and lay on its side.Afire with the showman's passion and at the same time a good deal disconcerted by the failure of his first effort, father now took the bottles containing the poultry monstrosities down from their place on the shelf and began to show them to his visitor. "How would you like to have seven legsand two heads like this fellow?" he asked, exhibiting the most remarkable of his treasures. A cheerful smile played over his face. He reached over the counter and tried to slap Joe Kane on the shoulder as he had seen men do in Ben Head's saloon when he was a young farmhand and drove to town on Saturday evenings. His visitor was made a little ill by the sight of the body of the terribly deformed bird floating in the alcohol in the bottle and got up to go. Coming from behind the counter, father took hold of the young man's arm and led him back to his seat. He grew a little angry and for a moment had to turn his face away and force himself to smile. Then he put the bottles back on the shelf. In an outburst of generosity he fairly compelled Joe Kane to have a fresh cup of coffee and another cigar at his expense. Then he took a pan and filling it with vinegar, taken from a jug that sat beneath the counter, he declared himself about to do a new trick. "I will heat this egg in this pan of vinegar," he said. "Then I will put it through the neck of a bottle without breaking the shell. When the egg is inside the bottle it will resume its normal shape and the shell will become hard again. Then I will give the bottle with the egg in it to you. You can take it about with you wherever you go. People will want to know how you got the egg in the bottle. Don't tell them. Keep them guessing. That is the way to have fun with this trick."Father grinned and winked at his visitor. Joe Kane decided that the man who confronted him was mildly insane but harmless. He drank the cup of coffee that had been given him and began to read his paper again. When the egg had been heated in vinegar, father carried it on a spoon to the counter and going into a back room got an empty bottle. He was angry because his visitor did not watch him as he began to do his trick, but nevertheless went cheerfully to work. For a long time he struggled, trying to get the egg to go through the neck of the bottle. He put the pan of vinegar back on the stove, intending to reheat the egg, then picked it up and burned his fingers. After a second bath in the hot vinegar, the shell of the egg had been softened a little but not enough for his purpose. He worked and worked and a spirit of desperate determination took possession of him. When he thought that at last the trick was about to be consummated, the delayed train came in at the station and Joe Kane started to go nonchalantly out at the door. Father made a last desperate effort to conquer the egg and make it do the thing that would establish his reputation as one who knew how to entertain guests who came into his restaurant. He worried the egg. He attempted to be somewhat rough with it. He swore and the sweat stood out on his forehead. The egg broke under his hand. When the contents spurted over his clothes, Joe Kane, who had stopped at the door, turned and laughed.A roar of anger rose from my father's throat. He danced and shouted a string of inarticulate words. Grabbing another egg from the basket on the counter, he threw it, just missing the head of the young man as he dodged through the door and escaped.Father came upstairs to mother and me with an egg in his hand. I do not know what he intended to do. I imagine he had some idea of destroying it, of destroying all eggs, and that he intended to let mother and me see him begin. When, however, he got into the presence of mother something happened to him. He laid the egg gently on the table and dropped on his knees by the bed as I have already explained. He later decided to close the restaurant for the night and to come upstairs and get into bed. When he did so he blew out the light and after much muttered conversation both he and mother went to sleep. I suppose I went to sleep also, but my sleep was troubled. I awoke at dawn and for a long time looked at the egg that lay on the table. I wondered why eggs had to be and why from the egg came the hen who again laid the egg. The question got into my blood. It has stayed there, I imagine, because I am the son of my father. At any rate, the problem remainsunsolved in my mind. And that, I conclude, is but another evidence of the complete and final triumph of the egg--at least as far as my family is concerned.相信, 爸爸是生来是一个活泼开朗的人. 三十四岁之前, 他一直在俄亥俄州毕兑奥镇的汤巴托农场打短工. 他自己有匹马, 每周六晚上都骑马到镇上和一帮雇农混上个几个钟头. 本海德酒吧那时整晚觥筹交错欢歌笑语, 人满为患得没地落脚, 他只能站着喝两杯啤酒. 一过十点, 他沿一条孤僻乡间小路策马回家, 将坐骑安顿停当, 上床就寝, 对人生心满意足. 当时, 他并没有任何出人头地的念想.三十五岁的春天, 他娶了当时还是学校教员的妈妈, 第二年春, 我便呱呱坠地. 打那儿起, 他俩起了变化. 他们变得雄心勃勃, 满脑子都是美国式飞黄腾达的远大理想.对此我妈可能也要付一定责任. 她识文断字, 一定经常读书看报. 我估计她在坐月子的时候, 就读了伽菲和林肯等人怎么从一介草民变成一代伟人--当时我就躺在她边上--兴许她指望我哪天也能呼风唤雨. 她不由分说, 怂恿爸爸辞掉了雇农的工作, 卖了马匹自己做买卖. 她身高体长, 沉默寡言, 鼻梁高耸, 灰色的眼珠常显得忧虑不安. 她对自己无欲无求, 为我们却豪情万丈到无可救药.他们的第一桩投资就惨不忍睹. 他们在距彼兑奥镇八英里的格利路边租了十英亩贫瘠的石板地, 将养鸡厂投入运营. 我在那里进入了孩提时代, 并获得了对人生的第一印象. 最初的印象充斥着死亡和不幸, 如果说我后来成了一个彻头彻尾的悲观主义者, 都归功于我在养鸡场度过的本应快乐的童年时光.没有相同的生活经历, 你绝想不到鸡的一生能惨绝人寰到何种程度. 它破壳而生, 像复活节明信片上的小毛球样子活上几周, 然后令人发指地掉毛, 成堆地吃掉你老爹辛勤汗水换来的谷粮, 染上喉舌病, 霍乱等各种鸡瘟, 傻站着两眼朝天, 生病, 然后死翘翘. 多数母鸡和少数公鸡, 为了践行上帝的神秘旨意, 挣扎着撑到成年. 随后母鸡下蛋, 孵出小鸡, 恐怖的生命轮回籍此画上圆圈. 整个过程复杂得匪夷所思. 绝大多数哲学家的童年一定都在养鸡厂度过. 各种期许美轮美奂, 到头来眼睁睁地一一破灭. 初生的小鸡看似聪明伶俐, 实际上蠢得骇人听闻. 倘若能侥幸熬过鸡瘟, 引得你期待满满, 它们便闲庭信步地走向马车轮底, 被轧成肉饼向上帝报道. 寄生虫是他们健康的大敌, 于是大笔的钱被用来购买药粉. 多年之后, 文坛涌现了一种致力于描写靠养鸡发家致富的文学流派. 那是写给全知全能开天眼的神人看的. 此类养鸡文学积极向上, 描绘了人类靠两窝母鸡可以取得的巨大成就. 别上当, 那不是写给你看的. 上阿拉斯加的冻土淘金, 相信政客敢上测谎仪, 坚信人类不会玩完或仁者无敌, 也坚决不要相信任何与母鸡有关的文艺作品. 那不是写给你看的.怎么回事, 我跑题了. 这个故事其实跟母鸡无关, 确切地说, 是关于鸡蛋. 十年来爹妈累死累活, 让养鸡场扭亏为盈的尝试还是以失败告终. 他们果断地改变投资项目, 前往毕兑奥镇进军餐饮业. 十年来他们第一次可以不用担心孵蛋器不孵蛋, 或者为从半裸雏鸡变成死老母鸡的小毛球--它们确有自己的可爱之处--操心受累. 我们打点家当扔掉鸡舍, 怀揣对新生活的美好憧憬, 沿着格利路启程朝毕兑奥进发.如果没人硬说我们是逃荒的难民, 往轻了说, 我们也是个个愁云惨淡凄风苦雨. 我和妈妈走路, 全部家当装在向邻居艾格里借来一天的马车里. 椅子腿从车子两旁支棱出来, 床铺桌子厨具后面是一木箱活鸡, 箱子上放着我幼年用过的婴儿车. 我想不通干嘛还留着它--我不太可能有弟弟妹妹, 而且车轱辘早坏了. 穷人总是什么都不舍得扔. 此类种种, 生活如此让人沮丧.爸爸高坐在马车上. 当时他四十五岁, 谢顶略胖, 常年与妈妈和鸡相伴使他变得习惯性的寡言少语闷闷不乐. 十年间他一直在临近农场打零工, 赚来的钱大都花在了维魔特效霍乱散, 毕教授催蛋剂, 以及各种妈妈在家禽杂志广告上看到的鸡瘟特效药上. 爸爸鬓角有两缕稀疏的头发. 我记得小时候的冬天下午, 我会看着他在壁炉前的椅子里打瞌睡. 那时我已经开始看书认字, 萌生了这么一个想法, 爸爸头顶上的光秃小径, 就像凯撒大帝的大路, 将他的疆土从罗马通向未知世界. 他耳旁的发丛, 则是森林. 在半梦半醒之间, 我看到全家沿着爸爸头顶上的康庄大道, 走向无鸡无蛋的幸福生活.我们从鸡场到市镇的长途跋涉可以写成一篇纪实文学. 我和妈妈溜溜走了八英里, 她照看车上摇摇欲坠的东西, 我则打量着世上的奇景. 父亲的旁边是他的宝贝, 我接下来就要说.养鸡场里落生的鸡成千上百, 发生的事情也千奇百怪. 有的人生得歪瓜劣枣, 也有的鸡生来就奇丑无比. 但此类横祸并不常见, 概率约为千分之一. 瞧这只, 就生了四条鸡腿, 两对鸡翅, 两个脑袋. 这些劳什子命薄, 出生不久便要到一时疏忽的造物主手里回炉重造. 对爸爸来讲, 这些小可怜的夭折是彻头彻尾的悲剧. 他说若能将一只五腿母鸡或者双头公鸡成功养大, 带这些神鸡赶集卖票展览走遍美国, 不失为一条生财捷径. 对此, 他一直念念不忘.每一只怪鸡仔短暂的一生都得到了爸爸的竭力挽救. 它们死后, 爸爸用乙醇对尸首防腐处理, 并分别贮藏在玻璃瓶中. 这些瓶子被妥善保管在一个箱子里, 现在就躺在爸爸的旁边. 他一手驾车, 另一手不离箱子左右. 刚一抵达, 父亲就第一个把箱子小心翼翼地捧下车, 取出瓶子. 我家在俄亥俄州毕兑奥市经营餐馆的期间, 玻璃瓶中的可怖异形始终霸占着柜台正后方的货架. 妈妈不时表示抗议, 但父亲对此立场坚定不可动摇. 据他所言, 瓶中怪鸡乃无价之宝. 人们都爱猎奇, 他言之凿凿.我说过我家注资俄州毕市餐饮业了吗? 那其实略有点夸张. 小镇位于小丘脚下, 小河之畔. 绕镇而过的一条铁路停于一英里远的泡菜镇. 火车站旁的一家果醋作坊和泡菜厂在我们来前就已经关门大吉. 每天早晚有一趟巴士沿着特纳国道, 从毕兑奥主街上的旅社往车站拉人. 在这个前不着村后不着店的地方开餐馆是妈妈的主意. 念叨了一年之后的某一天, 她突然到火车站对过租下了这个门脸. 这餐馆指定挣钱, 她一口咬定. 进出小镇来此等车的旅人, 都会上门点个馅饼, 喝杯咖啡. 现在我知道她另有所图, 就是让我去上城镇公学, 做城里人. 为了让我出人头地, 她替我摩拳擦掌.在泡菜镇的时候, 父母像往常一样任劳任怨. 为了让这里看上去像个饭馆, 我们花了一个月进行了基本的修缮. 爸爸造了个放蔬菜罐头的架子, 在招牌上用大红字漆了自己的名字, 底下直奔主题地写了--"来吃"--不过很少有人肯乖乖听话. 新添置的玻璃柜里放满了各式烟草. 妈妈把墙皮地板擦的光可鉴人. 我在镇上上学, 每每为了逃离惨不忍睹的鸡场和鸡仔暗自庆幸. 不过我还不是完全无忧无虑. 晚上放学沿着特纳路走回家, 我想起白天在学校操场看见一群同学在玩耍, 一拨女生边唱边跳. 我照模照样, 在结冰的路上金鸡独立, 庄严肃穆地往前蹦, 大声唱道"蹦蹦跳,上发廊". 不过我马上停住, 狐疑地四下张望, 生怕兴高采烈的样子被人瞧见. 我确定无疑, 对一个在死亡司空见惯的鸡场长大的小孩, 这种举动简直就是灵异现象.妈妈做主, 饭馆通宵营业. 每晚十点有一趟向北的客车和一节货车车皮先后从门口驶过. 货车列车员在泡菜镇扳完道岔, 就会来饭馆吃点东西. 有时候有人会要一只煎蛋. 清晨他们打北边回来, 又再来吃. 他们渐渐成了常客. 妈妈白天盯着饭馆, 做饭跑堂, 晚上跟爸爸换班. 白天爸爸在同一张床上补觉, 我去毕镇上课. 一到晚上, 老爸准备熟肉冷盘, 等到转天中午包成三明治卖给候车的食客. 这当儿, 扬名立万的美国梦攫住了他, 他变得踌躇满志.无事可做的漫漫长夜, 爸爸经常陷入沉思, 深刻检讨自己的前半生. 他断定自己之所以不是一个幸福的人, 是由于没有积极乐观地面对生活. 因此他决定从明天起, 面朝大海春暖花开. 第二天早上他上楼在妈妈身边躺下. 妈妈醒来, 他们开始说话. 我躺在一旁, 静静地听.。
英美文化the egg
The son
The father
The mother
ThAmerican Dream Passion and spirit of people
Human life from birth till death
The Theme
The theme of this story are: the atrocities of life, disappointment, failure, and the vicious cycle of the egg in comparison to the life of this family.
Sherwood Anderson
· Anderson was a famous American novelist in 20th century and played 海明威将他称为 an irreplaceable role in American “我们所有人的老 literature. 师”。 · His best works influenced almost 福克纳的评价是： every important American writer of “他是我们这一代 the next generation. · He also encouraged William 作家的父亲。” Faulkner and Ernest Hemingway in their writing aspirations.
The Author
美渠·中国
美渠·中国
Novels: Short Story Collections: Poetry: Drama:
works
美渠·中国
Windy McPherson’s Son《饶舌的麦克佛逊的儿子》 (1916) Marching Men《前进的人们》 (1917) Poor White《穷白人》 (1920) Many Marriages 《多种婚姻》(1923) Dark Laughter《阴沉的笑声》(1925) Tar: A Midwest Childhood (1926, semi-autobiographical novel) Alice and the Lost Novel(1929) Beyond Desire (1932) Kit Brandon: A Portrait(1936)
theegg主题
theegg主题摘要：I.引言- 介绍鸡蛋的基本信息- 提出文章主题：鸡蛋的营养价值和烹饪方法II.鸡蛋的营养价值- 蛋白质含量- 脂肪含量- 维生素和矿物质- 健康益处III.鸡蛋的烹饪方法- 煮鸡蛋- 煎鸡蛋- 炒鸡蛋- 蒸鸡蛋- 鸡蛋的其他烹饪方法IV.鸡蛋的搭配和食用建议- 常见搭配- 食用建议V.结论- 总结鸡蛋的营养价值和烹饪方法- 强调鸡蛋在日常饮食中的重要性正文：I.引言鸡蛋是我们日常生活中非常常见的食材，其营养价值丰富，烹饪方法多样。
本文将详细介绍鸡蛋的营养价值和烹饪方法，以及如何搭配和食用鸡蛋。
II.鸡蛋的营养价值鸡蛋是一种优质蛋白质的来源，每100克鸡蛋中含有大约13克蛋白质。
此外，鸡蛋还含有脂肪、维生素和矿物质等营养成分。
鸡蛋中的脂肪主要是不饱和脂肪酸，对心血管健康有益。
鸡蛋还富含维生素A、D、E和B族维生素，以及钙、铁、锌等矿物质。
适量食用鸡蛋可以降低患心血管疾病的风险，提高免疫力，保护眼睛健康等。
III.鸡蛋的烹饪方法1.煮鸡蛋：将鸡蛋放入沸水中，煮10-12分钟，然后放入冷水中，剥去蛋壳即可。
2.煎鸡蛋：将锅烧热，加入适量油，将鸡蛋打入锅中，煎至两面金黄即可。
3.炒鸡蛋：将锅烧热，加入适量油，将鸡蛋打入锅中，快速翻炒至熟即可。
4.蒸鸡蛋：将鸡蛋打入碗中，加入适量温水，搅拌均匀，放入蒸锅中，蒸10分钟左右即可。
5.鸡蛋的其他烹饪方法：如蛋饼、蛋花汤、蒸蛋羹等。
IV.鸡蛋的搭配和食用建议1.常见搭配：鸡蛋可以搭配各种蔬菜、肉类、谷物等，如西红柿炒鸡蛋、黄瓜拌鸡蛋、肉末蒸鸡蛋等。
2.食用建议：适量食用鸡蛋，每天1-2个为宜。
此外，鸡蛋的烹饪方式也会影响其营养成分，建议多样化烹饪方法，以保证营养均衡。
V.结论鸡蛋是一种营养价值丰富、烹饪方法多样的食材。
在日常饮食中，我们可以根据自己的口味和需求，选择合适的烹饪方法，搭配各种食材，享受鸡蛋带来的美味和营养。
介绍鸡蛋的英语作文
介绍鸡蛋的英语作文英文回答：The egg is an essential food in the human diet. It is a source of protein, vitamins, and minerals. Eggs can be eaten in a variety of ways, including boiled, fried, scrambled, and baked.The egg is composed of two main parts: the yolk and the white. The yolk is the yellow center of the egg and contains most of the fat and cholesterol. The white is the clear liquid surrounding the yolk and contains most of the protein.Eggs are a good source of protein. One large egg contains about 6 grams of protein. Protein is an essential nutrient that is used to build and repair tissues. Eggs are also a good source of vitamins and minerals. One large egg contains about 10% of the recommended daily intake of vitamin A, riboflavin, and selenium.Eggs can be eaten in a variety of ways. Boiled eggs are a simple and healthy snack. Fried eggs can be added to a variety of dishes, such as sandwiches and salads. Scrambled eggs are a popular breakfast food. Baked eggs can be used in a variety of casseroles and quiches.Eggs are a versatile and nutritious food that can be enjoyed in a variety of ways. They are a good source of protein, vitamins, and minerals.中文回答：鸡蛋是人类饮食中不可缺少的食物。
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象征原指用甲物来代表、暗示乙物。 对于文学而言，则主要是指以具体的形 象来代表、暗示抽象的观念或情感。
• 在《鸡蛋》这篇短篇小说中，“鸡蛋”作 为一种象征是贯穿整个故事始终的，它出 现了好几次，它一直作为故事发展的引子， 同时它每次的出场都能够和父亲的命运联 系起来，有着各自不同的暗示和象征
Ⅰ. In the beginning, the chicken farm hints Father’s American dream inside his heart.
• 在小说的第五段中讲到，养鸡场的小鸡在 吃完父亲辛辛苦苦用劳动的汗水换来的谷 物之后，要么死于鸡瘟，要么被车轮碾死。 好不容易活下来几只，却又莫名奇妙地死 掉了。这些小鸡的突如其来的死亡就像上 天注定一样，总是那么让人不可理解。小 鸡的死亡象征着父亲夭折的美国梦，象征 着父亲无力主宰自己的生活，就像父亲无 论多么努力地工作，无论怎样坚持，始终 没有实现自己的美国梦一样，始终要遭受 挫败，一切的努力总是以失败告终。
在养鸡场不断死去的小鸡暗示和象 征着父亲夭折的美国梦。
• 第五段红色部分为文本
• The death of the chickens symbolizes that Father had no power to be master of his own destiny. No matter how hard he worked and persisted, he didn’t realize his dream all along. All the Father’s endeavors always ended up with failure.
Ⅱ. The continuous dead small chickens hint and symbolize the death of Father’s American dream. • In the fifth paragraph It is born out of an
egg, lives for a few weeks as a tiny fluffy thing such as you will see pictured on Easter cards, then becomes hideously naked, eats quantities of corn and meal bought by the sweat of your father's brow, gets diseases called pip, cholera, and other names, stands looking with stupid eyes at the sun, becomes sick and dies.
In the original, the author first refers to egg in the fourth paragraph of the story. They rented ten acres of poor stony land on Griggs's Road, eight miles from Bidwell, and launched into chicken raising.
Ⅳ. A basket of small live chickens which on the wagon when we moved symbolize that Father longed of American dream once again.
• In the sixth paragraph For ten years my father and mother struggled to make our chicken farm pay and then they gave up that struggle and began another. They moved into the town of Bidwell, Ohio and embarked in the restaurant business.andIn the eleventh paragraph
1．在文章开始，养鸡场暗示着父亲 心底的美国梦。
• 在文章的开e, the chicken farm which is related to egg symbolizes Father’s American dream at that time. He had notion of trying to rise in the world. The hens lay eggs out of which come other chickens, and then these chickens lay eggs again. This a rolling thing which is endless. Thus before long, or family would grow rich. At this point, Father was induced by Mother to give up his place as a farmland. Like many other American people, Father became quite ambitious. Setting up the chicken farm was to realize his American dream as well as long for the wonderful life.
• 在养鸡场里，总是会有些畸形的小鸡出生， 父亲对于这种明知不可能长久活下来的小 鸡，也是好好地照顾，不惜一切代价地救 治他们，满心希望这些畸形的小鸡可以存 活下来，希望通过去集市上展出这些畸形 的小鸡来发财。但父亲在养鸡场的经营总 是不成功，他心里的通过“鸡生蛋，蛋生 鸡”的模式来实现美国梦的理想总是不断 地受到重创的时，眼看着自己通过勤劳的 劳动饲养小鸡来发家致富的美国梦不太可 能会实现的时候，他把他的希望和梦想转 移到了畸形的小鸡上的举动。从这里可以 看出，父亲在实现梦想的过中，遭受了很 多失败和挫折，内心受到了很大的煎熬， 以小鸡象征着父亲心里被扭曲的美国梦。
• 原文里第一次提到鸡蛋是在文章最开始的第四段。 “父母亲租了十英亩贫瘠的石头地开办了养鸡 场”。在这里是有关鸡蛋的“养鸡场”象征着当 时父亲心底的美国梦。鸡生蛋，蛋生鸡，鸡再生 蛋，蛋再生鸡，这样周而复始，毫无止境，用不 了多久就可以发家致富。父亲这时由原来的一个 满足生活现状的一个小帮工，在母亲的怂恿下， 也像当时的好多人一样萌发了美国梦。开办养鸡 场是为了实现他心底的美国梦，是父亲对过上好 生活的美好憧憬。随着大量移民的涌入和美国历 史上著名的“淘金潮”，美国梦逐渐演化为通过 自身不懈努力最终发家致福，实现个人梦想。美 国梦作为一种精神理想，已经植根于每个美国人 的心里，流淌在每个美国人的血液了，当然也包 括“我”的父亲。
搬家的车上装着的一篮活着的小鸡，这 一群活着的小鸡象征着父亲对美国梦的 再一次的追求，同时也象征和暗示着这 次追求仍是不成功的。
• 红色部分为文本
•
After the failure business of raising chickens, Mother urged Father to move to another town to embark in the restaurant business. We packed our belongings on a wagon including a basket of live chickens, a tiny caravan of hope looking for a new place from which to start on our upward journey through life. On one hand, Father wanted to start a new life and continued to seek his dream. But on the other hand, it represents that Father’s new try failed again. Father didn’t say goodbye to his past life when he began a new life. Past life deeply affected Father’s mind though it meant failure to him. In other words, Father didn’t really face the actuality. In deep of Father’s soul, past life just like a shadow played a negative role. With this state of mind, how could Father succeed in achieving his dream?
The use of symbolism
In terms of literature, symbolism means the use of concrete symbols to represent or hint abstract conception or emotion. In the short story Egg, egg as a symbol runs through the whole story and appears several times. It is considered as the introductory remark of the story all the time. Meanwhile, every time egg appears, it is able to link up it and Father’s destiny. Each has its own hint and symbol.
Ⅲ. Exceedingly strange and deformed chickens symbolize Father’s distorted American dream. • In the eighth paragraphAll during our ten years