It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus. ‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’ The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS (GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY) SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could. ‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’ The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus. ‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’ The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS (GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY) SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could. ‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’ The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and rest
以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus.
‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’
The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS
(GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY)
SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could.
‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’
The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and rest
以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus.
‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’
The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS
(GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY)
SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could.
‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’
The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
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以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus.
‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’
The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS
(GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY)
SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could.
‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’
The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
同问
删那些?印尼康米?
原著有什么敏感的吗
dd
没看过这一版,但以台版看,并没有任何值得被删除的地方,关于屠华和印共基本一笔带过,只在书的最后写了别人评价印共历史的一段可能稍微敏感。不过,也有可能基于一种诡异的逻辑而把描写尸体和性文化的地方修饰一下
我可以很肯定地说,有删节。第十二章中有一句「他们走出神龛后,必须找个陌生人性交。」(307 页)此句之后有一大段都被删掉了,大概讲的是高级宗教人士利用人民的无知吧,没仔细读,但英文原著里是有的。
其他地方不清楚是否有删节了
以下是被删的段落:
It’s this anonymous sex that seals the saint’s blessing and restores people’s business to health. ‘Where there’s a womb, there’s God,’ a Javanese writer told me when I expressed my surprise at the goings on at Kemukus.
‘Sex and spirituality always go together.’
The local government at Gunung Kemukus appears to disagree. They have put up a sign, spotted over with mould but still legible, that reads:
A PLACE OF PILGRIMAGE AND RECREATION NOT FOR DOING OTHER THINGS
(GAMBLING, BOOZE, AMORALITY)
SOCIAL EVILS TEAM, SRAGEN DISTRICT
The district council that put up that sign also issues licences to the bars that cling to the hill: Hot Lips, the thudding Sexy Karaoke Bar and dozens more besides. The saint has certainly proved a blessing to the owners of knocking-shops, and has fattened the wallets of the thousands of girls that work there on peak nights. The villagers who facilitate meetings and rent out rooms don’t do badly either. One lady sidled up to me as I sat on the steps outside the shrine. ‘You can sleep with the preacher if you want,’ she nodded at the paunchy, grey-haired man in thick glasses, busy waving flowers over the brazier and squirrelling away envelopes. I tweaked my headscarf defensively and deferred as politely as I could.
‘Well, how about his younger brother?’ She shot her lips towards another of the gatekeepers, this one in a shiny batik shirt of gold and white. The man unpeeled his buck teeth and grinned at me. ‘You can do it at my place,’ the lady urged. ‘No need to pay, just a donation for the saint . . .’
The supplicants at the grave were an ill-assorted lot. A college girl was being taken through each step of her first visit by an avuncular minder. An immensely fat woman in a sequinned black top and Lycra leggings pressed herself against a very dark young man with bus-station hair, new Monster Mash hip-hop shorts and incongruous knee-length socks in beige nylon. He shuffled himself uncomfortably away from her all-encompassing bosom and scattered more flowers. She shuffled after him. He shuffled off again. Together, they danced on their knees around the grave; finally, he came full circle to the cream patent-leather shoes that he had left at the door. He grabbed them and fled.
啊!感谢, 抱拳!
那我还是去买台版吧~ :-)
不客气 :)
感谢,对删节不太能忍受,还是走台版吧。
同问
可以翻译
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