『Borstal Boy』，作者Brendan Behan。一个爱尔兰人强烈推荐的，读了三个多月，终于把它读完了。
我买的书里面，大约有一半，是看了几章就放下了。有时候是写得太差，有时候是不对自己的兴趣。另外一半，是看完了，觉得不错，但是这辈子不会再去拿起来了。偶尔的，会遇到那么几本书，看完了觉得依依不舍，有空就还会拿起来翻翻。这本『Borstal Boy』就属于最后一类的“珍品”。
虽然是小说，其实是日记似的自传。Behan少年的时候，为爱尔兰共和军去英国放炸弹，被逮捕入狱。因为他未成年，后来又迁到类似少年管教所的地方关押。这些少年犯们，就被称为“Borstal Boy”。
如果说情节，那几乎是没有。就是每日里的琐碎事情。我记得第一个月的时候，看得很辛苦。因为那时就想赶快把书看完，可以进入下一本。但是快速的跳跃着看情节，什么也看不到，非常的乏味。后来某一天的下午，慵懒的躺在沙发上，没有计划和目标，随意的翻一两页，一字一句的仔细看过去，突然觉得，原来作者创造了那么精彩的一个世界，而我差点错过。从那天开始，接下来的两个多月，每天看上几页几十页，跟着少年犯们一起吹牛打架、一起偷水果、一起溜到海边去游泳……
尤其是书的结尾，不是“霓裳羽衣曲”盛唐原版的渐渐消散，而是像南唐大周后改订的那样，急转直下，嘎然而止。正是看得最兴致勃勃的时候，突然就散了，结束了，心里是那样的依依不舍。
Behan是语言高手。书中大量的对白是当时英国的俚语，但有诗的韵律，非常美。人物非常的生动。情绪则是典型的男性风格：看似不经意，惊心动魄自在其中。
前两天因为书，还去借了改编的同名电影来看。太失望了，不知道编剧是怎么想的，硬把它改编成了一个gay love story，让里面的两个少年犯恋爱了一场，还让监狱长多了个女儿出来，来一段三角恋。真是看得气晕掉了。唯一想像会更让人生气的名著改编，就是开拍『红楼梦』，然后让马景涛来演贾宝玉，叶童演林黛玉，然后两个人满大观园的激动，活蹦乱跳，大喊大叫。
熊的传人 山海杂记 
Anonymous said:
唯一想像会更让人生气的名著改编，就是开拍『红楼梦』，然后让马景涛来演贾宝玉，叶童演林黛玉，然后两个人满大观园的激动
果然精于想象。。。看你这想想，都够呕了
Sean said:
摘几个我喜欢的段子。
“Well,” said Joe, “‘ow about your old man and woman? I reckon they’re over forty.”
“My Mum’s thirty-seven, ” said Charlie, “she was twenty when I was born, and my old man’s a year or two older.”
“And you don’t think they’are ‘aving a bit of crumpet still?” asked Joe.
“You shut your bloody mouth,” said Charlie, in a bursting rage, his lips set stern, and his fists clenched.
I thought he’d go for Joe, and I spoke across them. “When I was working at my trade outside, I got sent out to a little job on my own, to coat out a kitchenette, in a house in Merrion, a part of Dublin with a lot of old women. And this old woman, an old maid she was, and with a house full of holy pictures, she gave me a dollar to have a go at her. ‘oh, my young love, it’s lovely,’ she moaned, ‘if I’d have known it was like this, I’d have done it years ago.'”
“Ahhr of it, you lying sod,” said Joe, with a wave of his hand, laughing. “That ‘appened me — not you.”
Sean said:
这一段是结尾处，作者听到他刚出狱的好友参军战死的消息。很是感人。
So this October day, I’m walking up the road to the site, with a few panes of glass, when Gunboat Smith, out for a walk after his lunch, having been on the first shift that day, walks alongside me, and says, “Remember your china, Paddy?”
“Which of them?” said I. “Is it Charlie Millwall? He went out in March.” But I knew it was.
Gunboat handed me a cigarette and lit mine and his own, a thing a screw would never do during working hours. “I’ll walk up towards the camp with you, Paddy. Well, I just heard today in the mess. Millwall —”
“Is croaked,” said I.
“You knew? You’d heard already.”
“Oh, I just fughing guessed,” said I. “Where was it? At sea, I suppose.” Seeing as he’s, was, a sailor.
“Remember the convoy was attacked, and the Southampton was sunk a couple of weeks ago?”
“I suppose I do. I don’t take that much interest in your bloody convoys, as a rule.” Gunboat let that go.
“Well, it was in the Straits of Gibraltar.”
“I’d have guessed it,” said I, “that he’d have been croaked before it finished.”
“How’s that?”
I said nothing but “Thanks for telling us, Mr. Smith, and thanks for the bit of snout.”
“That’s all right, Paddy, boy,” said he, patting my shoulder.
I went on up the road to the camp site and did sod all for the afternoon but drank tea with the plumber’s head boy, which he made on his charcoal burner. And I gave him some snout and we smoked and drank tea and I listened to him telling me what he was done for, and how he was done, and I wasn’t minding a word of what he was saying, or giving a fish’s tit about him, or what he was done for, either, but saying, “yes” and “no” and “go on.”
Jiong said:
欺负我英语不好