Michael Ondaatje's three previous novels have each been met with the highest praise: for their startling narrative inventiveness, the richness of their imagery and emotion, and the spellbinding quality of their language. When In the Skin of a Lion was published in 1987, Carolyn Kizer, writing in The New York Times Book Review, called Ondaatje "a beautiful writer... brilliantly gifted." And Tom Clark wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle that "Ondaatje handles fiction with the deceptive touch of a magician." Now, with The English Patient, he gives us his most stunningly original and lyric novel yet. During the final moments of World War II, in a deserted Italian villa, four people come together: a young nurse, her will broken, all her energy focused on her last, dying patient, a man in whom she has seen something "she wanted to learn, to grow into and hide in"... the patient: an unknown Englishman, survivor of a plane crash, his mind awash with a life's worth of secrets and passions ... a thief whose "skills" have made him one of the war's heroes, and one of its casualties ... an Indian soldier in the British army, an expert at bomb disposal whose three years at war have taught him that "the only thing safe is himself." Slowly, they begin to reveal themselves to each other, the stories of their pasts and of the present unfolding in scene after haunting scene, taking us into the Sahara, the English countryside, down the streets of London during the Blitz, into the makeshift army hospitals of Italy, and through the battered gardens and rooms of the villa. And with these stories, Ondaatje weaves a complex tapestry of image and emotion, recollection and observation: the paths and details of four diverse lives caught and changed and now inextricably connected by the brutal, improbable circumstances of war.
Michael Ondaatje is a novelist and poet who lives in Toronto, Canada. He is the author of In The Skin of a Lion, Coming Through Slaughter, and The Collected Works of Billy the Kid; two collections of poems, The Cinnamon Peeler, There's a Trick with a Knife I'm Learning to Do; and a memoir, Running in the Family. He received the Booker Prize and the Governor General's Award in C...
- "在饭店里，他伸出手臂，把桌上的盘子杯子一扫而空，因为她在这座城市的别处，他想让她抬起头听到这噪音的源头。当他身边没有她的时候。他，一个从来没有感觉到孤独的人，在沙漠小镇之间那些长长的经度里。沙漠里的人可以把空无掬在手中，他知道他喝下的空无要比水更多。在爱尔达加附近他认识了一种植物，如果把它的心切开，会发现一种有药物作用的液体。每天早晨，你可以吞下一颗心。这棵植物还能再长一年，然后枯萎，因为缺了什么。 他躺在自己的房间里，被褪色的地图包围着。他的身边没有凯瑟琳。他是那样饥渴，想把所有的社会伦理付之一炬。 至于她同别人的生活，他已毫无兴趣。她的昂昂然的美，她的来势汹汹的爱，才是他唯一的渴望。他渴望"
- "在一半的时间里，我不能没有你。在另一半的时间里，我又觉得无所谓。这不在于我爱你多少，而在于我能忍受多少。"
- "然后，他向前一步，靠近她，有那么一刹那，她以为他要拥抱她。他没有，他伸出右手，搂住她裸露的脖颈，她的皮肤能感觉到他整个湿漉漉的前臂。 “再见。” 他走回卡车。此刻她能感觉到他的汗水，就像刀锋留下的血滴，他的手臂似乎就是一挥而下的刀。"
- "“你最恨什么？”他问。 “谎言。你呢？” “占有，”他说。“等你走了，就把我忘掉。” 她的拳头挥向他，重重地打在他眼睛下面的骨头上。她穿上衣服，走了。"
- "一张明信片。长方形的纸面上，笔迹干干净净的。 有一半的时间，我无法忍受不能抚摸你。 剩下的时间，我觉得如果能再见到你 这也没什么。不是道德的问题， 是你能忍受的程度。 没有时间，也没写名字。"
- "他渴望彼此的映照，细微而隐秘，极小范围内的深度，彼此亲密的陌生，就像一本合拢的书里紧紧挨着的两页纸。 他已经被她瓦解了。 如果她让他到了这样的地步，那么他又对她做了什么呢？"
- "阳光洒进他在开罗的房间。他的手有气无力地搭在希罗多德的书上，身体的其他部分却分外紧张，所以他写下的字都是错的，笔在挣扎中爬行，好像没了脊梁。他几乎没法写下“阳光”两个字。恋爱中的字。"
- "（凯瑟琳坚持要分手） 她之前曾在他耳边说：从这一刻起，我们的灵魂，找到便是找到，找不到就是没有了，再也没有了。 这是怎么发生的？陷入爱情然后被瓦解。 我曾经在她的怀里。我把她衬衫的袖子推到肩膀上，为了想看她打疫苗留下的伤疤。我喜欢它，我说。她手臂上的淡淡的光环。我看到针筒在摩擦，免疫血清涌进她的身体，拔出来，离开她的皮肤，很多年以前的事了。她九岁的时候，在一所学校的体育馆里。"
