Sharon Du 和Oswald Li 的书出版了

cl2007

The Word Whirlpool

两位小作者Sharon Du 和Oswald Li 合著的书The Word Whirlpool上市了，欢迎购买。

书中收录了两位小作者近年来写的很多生动有趣故事，散文，诗歌等。Sharon Du，是2008年墨尔本文学奖最高奖获得者，This book luckily caught her footages, and the glimpse of a light that shines down from a very gifted girl. 而Oswald Li 曾经是个害怕写作的男孩子，他的写书经历证明了it is now possible to build up the gateway to an intense aesthetic world lies beyond for a young boy. Also, an interpreted world via a boy’s eye is amusing and attractive.

该书50%的利润将捐献给帮助盲人的导盲犬组织和帮助中国贫困山区的儿童。

买书的孩子如果愿意，还可以成为“Children help Children （孩子帮助孩子）”机构的成员。希望所有的孩子能够体会到帮助别人的乐趣，并学会用自己的能力和才华为社会做贡献。“Children help Children （孩子帮助孩子）”是Sharon Du 和Oswald Li组织成立的，通过各种形式帮助世界上贫穷地区的孩子。书中附“Children help Children ”申请表。有专业会计师做帐，买书者也将出现在捐赠名单上。账目和捐赠发票对外公布。

价格：
$18 元一本。

购买方式：
1．        Glen Waverley 新金山中文学校有售。 Box Hill （6 Nelson Rd）新金山办公室有售。
2．        邮寄购买：转账至BSB：083 152 Account Number 528758725 转账时请在留言栏注明买书者名字，然后发邮件至cheny98@hotmail.com 确认购书者姓名和邮寄地址。书将在第二日寄出。5月10前购买免澳洲内邮寄费用。
3．        美国英国的发售渠道：该书很快会进入美国英国的发售渠道，非澳洲地区可以从网上或者书店购买。细节稍后公布。

cl2007

　　　
　　Oswald 的故事写的都是小故事，男孩子的经历及眼里的世界：
　　比如一个故事是：
　　一个爱数学的孩子，口袋里总是在莫名其妙的出现钱，还是“Fibonacci Code”的规律在出现…
　　穿插的情节和很有意思
　　
　　
　　
　　Sharon 一个故事的片断
　　Sharon 的故事有短篇和中篇
　　The Phoenix Whom Is Not One
　　
　　大意是：狗的社会和人的社会一样，分成各种等级，表演狗，电影明星狗等在上层社会里，地位高的还有警犬，救援犬，导盲犬等；中产阶级有宠物狗和牧羊犬等，“最下层的，就是我们，流浪狗”。
　　
　　有让人流泪的幽默“流浪狗问妈妈自己叫什么名字，妈妈说流浪狗是不需要名字的，靠气味就能辨别对方”。
　　有辛酸的细节：妈妈去抢一只地上的饺子，被车轧死了，然后这只流浪狗开始了艰辛的寻梦历程：去变成一只宠物狗…
　　“在没有安全和温饱时，自由毫无价值”这是妈妈的遗言。
　　还有，关于“血统”等。
　　
　　The Phoenix Whom Is Not One
　　Sharon Du
　　
　　The human society is a complicated test of subtlety, of gossip, and of manners. And as much as we don’t like to admit it, there are levels of wealth and reputation, with celebrities, wealthy businessmen, sportspeople and the like on the top, and starving people who survive on less than a dollar a day at the bottom.
　　The dog society is exactly the same. There are the show dogs, the film star dogs, and the rich dogs at the top. Then come the guide dogs, the obedience competition stars, the police dogs and the rescue dogs. In the middle there are the pet dogs (or the companion dogs) and the sheepdogs. And at the bottom was, well, us.
　　I am a stray dog, wandering the streets of China. My life is one of snarling, fights, freedom, risk and danger. And one also of dirt, despair, and sadness. It goes without saying that all of us homeless dogs are the failures, the ones that no one ever wants. Would there ever be hope for the ones that are kept in the dark, the ones that have never been clean enough to guess the color of their fur, the ones that are unwanted?
　　My life began as a stray dog. I was born in a dump, full of rubbish that had an acrid smell to it. My mother was a poorly, sick dog with ratty red-brown fur and a skinny frame. I had a sibling that died because my mother only had enough milk for one pup to survive. I was stronger, so I had to starve my sibling in order to survive. It is a dog-eat-dog world, and I mean that literally. It was a time of poverty, a time when the district was hungry, so all of the free food th
　　at was tossed at us or thrown away, was gone.
　　My mother was full of ambition – she had once been a sheepdog in a remote area that had been abandoned to become wild. Her owners didn’t take her when they went off. However before they left, they gave her, her name, Apple.
　　“It was because of my coat. It was because, once, I was reddish-brown, and I looked like one of the rotten apples left in the orchard. The apples were never big, or sweet, or red. Mostly, they were small and sour. So the family never grew rich, and they were a selfish lot, so they never gave me anything more than apples to eat, and they ate all the meat.”
　　“What’s my name, and what is the color of my coat?” I asked. I was secretly longing for a dazzling white coat and a gorgeous name, named after a Greek goddess, even though I knew I was foolish for entertaining dreams of splendor.
　　My mother looked at me sadly. “I don’t know what color your coat is. I gave birth to you in a den I constructed of hay and soft mud. You wriggled yourself into the mud, but I have a feeling your fur was reddish-brown. Your father’s fur was brown and white, and so was your sibling.”
　　“But, do I have a name?”
　　“Most stray dogs that are born as strays, have no name. They have no need for one. They can identify each other with smells, but I think you need a name. I’ll name you a good name, and seeing you are female, I’ll name you Phoenix, after one of the most beautiful and powerful animals. You’ll then be destined for great things.”
　　Suddenly, my mother plummeted soundlessly down onto her stomach. She indicated with her nose that she was looking at an abandoned dumpling underneath a chair that was covered with pieces of rubbish. I followed suit, and we slowly moved towards the dumpling. We had to cross two roads, but that was fine because we were street dogs.
　　It was raining heavily, and we knew we had to reach the dumpling before it dissolved into a lump of white goo, so we ran across the road, our paws landing with a splat on the wet concrete. Suddenly, my mother pushed me out of the way, and I looked back, confused at what she was doing. But all I saw was a huge metal monster barreling into my mother’s legs and sending her sprawling. The car then swerved off into the distance.
　　“Mama!” I howled. My mother was sprawled on the wet concrete, blood soaking her legs that were twisted at an impossible angle. Her legs were bloody and mangled, and she couldn’t walk. I dragged her to the edge of the street, the metallic smell of blood and the whimpers of pain filling the air.
　　When we finally reached the edge of the street, I dropped the dumpling next to her face. “No, eat it for yourself. I’m going to die anyway.” She managed to choke out.
　　……