副标题: A Memoir of War, Disasters and Survival
作者: Anderson Cooper
出版社: HarperCollins
出版年: 2006-05-01
页数: 224
定价: GBP 14.99
装帧: Hardcover
ISBN: 9780061132384
作者: Anderson Cooper
出版社: HarperCollins
出版年: 2006-05-01
页数: 224
定价: GBP 14.99
装帧: Hardcover
ISBN: 9780061132384
内容简介 · · · · · ·
Few people have witnessed more scenes of chaos and conflict around the world than Anderson Cooper, whose groundbreaking coverage on CNN has changed the way we watch the news. In this gripping, candid, and remarkably powerful memoir, he offers an unstinting, up-close view of the most harrowing crises of our time, and the profound impact they have had on his life. </p>
Afte... (展开全部)
Few people have witnessed more scenes of chaos and conflict around the world than Anderson Cooper, whose groundbreaking coverage on CNN has changed the way we watch the news. In this gripping, candid, and remarkably powerful memoir, he offers an unstinting, up-close view of the most harrowing crises of our time, and the profound impact they have had on his life. </p>
After growing up on Manhattan's Upper East Side, Cooper felt a magnetic pull toward the unknown, an attraction to the far corners of the earth. If he could keep moving, and keep exploring, he felt he could stay one step ahead of his past, including the fame surrounding his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, and the tragic early deaths of his father and older brother. As a reporter, the frenetic pace of filing dispatches from war-torn countries, and the danger that came with it, helped him avoid having to look too closely at the pain and loss that was right in front of him. </p>
But recently, during the course of one extraordinary, tumultuous year, it became impossible for him to continue to separate his work from his life, his family's troubled history from the suffering people he met all over the world. From the tsunami in Sri Lanka to the war in Iraq to the starvation in Niger and ultimately to Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and Mississippi, Cooper gives us a firsthand glimpse of the devastation that takes place, both physically and emotionally, when the normal order of things is violently ruptured on such a massive scale. Cooper had been in his share of life-threatening situations before -- ducking fire on the streets of war-torn Sarejevo, traveling on his own to famine-stricken Somalia, witnessing firsthand the genocide in Rwanda -- but he had never seen human misery quite like this. Writing with vivid memories of his childhood and early career as a roving correspondent, Cooper reveals for the first time how deeply affected he has been by the wars, disasters, and tragedies he has witnessed, and why he continues to be drawn to some of the most perilous places on earth. </p>
Striking, heartfelt, and utterly engrossing, Dispatches from the Edge is an unforgettable memoir that takes us behind the scenes of the cataclysmic events of our age and allows us to see them through the eyes of one of America's most trusted, fearless, and pioneering reporters. </p>
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第45页
Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart. (更多)
(收起)Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart.
2011-11-27 08:23:51 回应
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第188页
Bill ((E/c^2)(sqrt(-1))(PV/nR))
I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question.... (更多)
(收起)I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question. Sometimes it's right after a person finds out about my brother's death; sometimes it's only after a few weeks of their knowing me. Were we close? Not so close that I knew he was going to kill himself. Not so close that I understood why he did. I knew his laugh, his smell. I knew the sound he made when he walked through our front door, the jingle of his keys, the particular way his shoes scraped on the floor. We didn't talk, however. I didn't ask him deep, probing questions. Do any brothers do that sort of thing? I knew what I observed, I knew his surface, but clearly that was not enough. I still dream about him, and in my sleep he seems so real. They're not happy dreams, however, because I know he's going to kill himself, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. I wake up believing for a moment he's alive. I wake up filled with dread. I found a Polaroid of my mom, Carter and me celebrating his birthday. It was the first one after my father's death. The cake is small and has twelve white candles almost a foot and a half in length. Carter bends sideways in a half hug with our mom. She's smiling, and I'm next to her. I find these photos from time to time--frozen moments, I can't remember. Every time I do, the violence of Carter's death shocks me again. I keep the pictures, as well as his scribbled notes and magazines--the things I found in his apartment. I tell myself that one day I'll go through them and perhaps discover some clue that will help me understand, help me answer the question: Were we close?
2011-03-27 18:57:44 回应
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第45页
Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart. (更多)
(收起)Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart.
2011-11-27 08:23:51 回应
-
第188页
Bill ((E/c^2)(sqrt(-1))(PV/nR))
I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question.... (更多)
(收起)I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question. Sometimes it's right after a person finds out about my brother's death; sometimes it's only after a few weeks of their knowing me. Were we close? Not so close that I knew he was going to kill himself. Not so close that I understood why he did. I knew his laugh, his smell. I knew the sound he made when he walked through our front door, the jingle of his keys, the particular way his shoes scraped on the floor. We didn't talk, however. I didn't ask him deep, probing questions. Do any brothers do that sort of thing? I knew what I observed, I knew his surface, but clearly that was not enough. I still dream about him, and in my sleep he seems so real. They're not happy dreams, however, because I know he's going to kill himself, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. I wake up believing for a moment he's alive. I wake up filled with dread. I found a Polaroid of my mom, Carter and me celebrating his birthday. It was the first one after my father's death. The cake is small and has twelve white candles almost a foot and a half in length. Carter bends sideways in a half hug with our mom. She's smiling, and I'm next to her. I find these photos from time to time--frozen moments, I can't remember. Every time I do, the violence of Carter's death shocks me again. I keep the pictures, as well as his scribbled notes and magazines--the things I found in his apartment. I tell myself that one day I'll go through them and perhaps discover some clue that will help me understand, help me answer the question: Were we close?
2011-03-27 18:57:44 回应
-
第45页
Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart. (更多)
(收起)Many times that year, I wished I had a mark, a scar, a missing limb, something children could have pointed at, at which adults could tell them not to stare. At least then they would have seen, would have known. I wouldn't have been expected to smile and mingle, meet and greet. Everyone could have seen that, like a broken locket, I had only half a heart.
2011-11-27 08:23:51 回应
-
第188页
Bill ((E/c^2)(sqrt(-1))(PV/nR))
I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question.... (更多)
(收起)I worry I've forgotten what's important about my brother, what's not. I recall looks, images, arguments. There was the time Carter punched me when I was an infant. The time in high school when he screamed at me, "You're not my fucking father!" and stormed out of my room. The day I scrawled, "I HATE HIM!" in a diary. "Were you close?" Inevitably I get that question. Sometimes it's right after a person finds out about my brother's death; sometimes it's only after a few weeks of their knowing me. Were we close? Not so close that I knew he was going to kill himself. Not so close that I understood why he did. I knew his laugh, his smell. I knew the sound he made when he walked through our front door, the jingle of his keys, the particular way his shoes scraped on the floor. We didn't talk, however. I didn't ask him deep, probing questions. Do any brothers do that sort of thing? I knew what I observed, I knew his surface, but clearly that was not enough. I still dream about him, and in my sleep he seems so real. They're not happy dreams, however, because I know he's going to kill himself, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. I wake up believing for a moment he's alive. I wake up filled with dread. I found a Polaroid of my mom, Carter and me celebrating his birthday. It was the first one after my father's death. The cake is small and has twelve white candles almost a foot and a half in length. Carter bends sideways in a half hug with our mom. She's smiling, and I'm next to her. I find these photos from time to time--frozen moments, I can't remember. Every time I do, the violence of Carter's death shocks me again. I keep the pictures, as well as his scribbled notes and magazines--the things I found in his apartment. I tell myself that one day I'll go through them and perhaps discover some clue that will help me understand, help me answer the question: Were we close?
2011-03-27 18:57:44 回应
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- Harper Paperbacks版 2007-05-01 / 2人读过
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