购买选项
| Kindle电子书价格: | ￥80.79 |
下载免费的 Kindle 阅读软件，即可立即在智能手机、平板电脑或电脑上阅读 Kindle 电子书 - 无需 Kindle 设备。了解更多信息
使用手机摄像头 - 扫描以下代码并下载 Kindle 阅读软件。
![“Lost Children Archive: A novel (English Edition)”，作者：[Valeria Luiselli]](https://images-cn.ssl-images-amazon.cn/images/I/41sKwzuQpML._SY346_.jpg)
Lost Children Archive: A novel (English Edition) Kindle电子书
广告
NEW YORK TIMES 10 BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR • “An epic road trip [that also] captures the unruly intimacies of marriage and parenthood ... This is a novel that daylights our common humanity, and challenges us to reconcile our differences.” —The Washington Post
In Valeria Luiselli’s fiercely imaginative follow-up to the American Book Award-winning Tell Me How It Ends, an artist couple set out with their two children on a road trip from New York to Arizona in the heat of summer. As the family travels west, the bonds between them begin to fray: a fracture is growing between the parents, one the children can almost feel beneath their feet.
Through ephemera such as songs, maps and a Polaroid camera, the children try to make sense of both their family’s crisis and the larger one engulfing the news: the stories of thousands of kids trying to cross the southwestern border into the United States but getting detained—or lost in the desert along the way.
A breath-taking feat of literary virtuosity, Lost Children Archive is timely, compassionate, subtly hilarious, and formally inventive—a powerful, urgent story about what it is to be human in an inhuman world.
In Valeria Luiselli’s fiercely imaginative follow-up to the American Book Award-winning Tell Me How It Ends, an artist couple set out with their two children on a road trip from New York to Arizona in the heat of summer. As the family travels west, the bonds between them begin to fray: a fracture is growing between the parents, one the children can almost feel beneath their feet.
Through ephemera such as songs, maps and a Polaroid camera, the children try to make sense of both their family’s crisis and the larger one engulfing the news: the stories of thousands of kids trying to cross the southwestern border into the United States but getting detained—or lost in the desert along the way.
A breath-taking feat of literary virtuosity, Lost Children Archive is timely, compassionate, subtly hilarious, and formally inventive—a powerful, urgent story about what it is to be human in an inhuman world.
商品描述
媒体推荐
‘Beautiful, pleasurable, engrossing, beguiling … brilliantly intricate and constantly surprising’ James Wood, New Yorker
‘A mould-breaking new classic … The novel truly becomes novel again in her hands – electric, elastic, alluring, new’ New York Times
'Fascinating, haunting, poetic, engrossing … an involving and richly textured book' Sunday Times
'Valeria Luiselli offers a searing indictment of America’s border policy in this roving and rather beautiful form-busting novel. Among the tale’s many ruminative ideas about absences, vanished histories and bearing witness, it offers a powerful meditation on how best to tell a story when the subject of it is missing' Daily Mail
‘Thrilling … a rollicking tale that contains within it an extremely disciplined exercise in political empathy’ Harper’s
‘Elegant and generous, funny and poignant … an extraordinary allegory’ Atlantic
‘A novelist of a rare vitality’ Ali Smith
‘Powerful, eloquent. Juxtaposing rich poetic prose with direct storytelling and brutal reality and alternative narratives with photos, documents, poems, maps and music, Luiselli explores what holds a family and society together and what pulls them apart. Superb’ Publishers Weekly
‘The novelist all your smart friends are talking about’ Broadly
‘An extraordinary new literary talent’ Daily Telegraph
‘Valeria Luiselli is a writer of formidable talent, destined to be an important voice in Latin American letters. Her vision and language are precise, and the power of her intellect is in evidence on every page’ Daniel Alarcon
‘Luiselli's writing is full of verve’ Irish Times
--此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。作者简介
Valeria Luiselli was born in Mexico City in 1983. She is the author of the novels Faces in the Crowd and The Story of My Teeth, which won the 2016 LA Times Book Prize for Fiction; the essay collection Sidewalks; and Tell Me How It Ends, an essay about the situation faced by children arriving at the US-Mexico border without papers. Lost Children Archive is her first novel written in English.
--此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。文摘
Part I: Family Soundscape
Relocations
“An archive presupposes an archivist, a hand that
collects and classifies.”
—Arlette Farge
“To leave is to die a little.
To arrive is never to arrive.”
—Migrant prayer
Departure
Mouths open to the sun, they sleep. Boy and girl, foreheads pearled with sweat, cheeks red and streaked white with dry spit. They occupy the entire space in the back of the car, spread out, limbs offering, heavy and placid. From the copilot seat, I glance back to check on them every so often, then turn around to study the map again. We advance in the slow lava of traffic toward the city limits, across the GW Bridge, and merge onto the interstate. An airplane passes above us and leaves a straight long scar on the palate of the cloudless sky. Behind the wheel, my husband adjusts his hat, dries his forehead with the back of his hand.
Family Lexicon
I don’t know what my husband and I will say to each of our children one day. I’m not sure which parts of our story we might each choose to pluck and edit out for them, and which ones we’d shuffle around and insert back in to produce a final version—even though plucking, shuffling, and editing sounds is probably the best summary of what my husband and I do for a living. But the children will ask, because ask is what children do. And we’ll need to tell them a beginning, a middle, and an end. We’ll need to give them an answer, tell them a proper story.
The boy turned ten yesterday, just one day before we left New York. We got him good presents. He had specifically said:
No toys.
The girl is five, and for some weeks has been asking, insistently:
When do I turn six?
No matter our answer, she’ll find it unsatisfactory. So we usually say something ambiguous, like:
Soon.
In a few months.
Before you know it.
The girl is my daughter and the boy is my husband’s son. I’m a biological mother to one, a stepmother to the other, and a de facto mother in general to both of them. My husband is a father and a stepfather, to each one respectively, but also just a father. The girl and boy are therefore: step-sister, son, stepdaughter, daughter, step-brother, sister, stepson, brother. And because hyphenations and petty nuances complicate the sentences of everyday grammar—the us, the them, the our, the your—as soon as we started living together, when the boy was almost six and the girl still a toddler, we adopted the much simpler possessive adjective our to refer to them two. They became: our children. And sometimes: the boy, the girl. Quickly, the two of them learned the rules of our private grammar, and adopted the generic nouns Mama and Papa, or sometimes simply Ma and Pa. And until now at least, our family lexicon defined the scope and limits of our shared world.
Family Plot
My husband and I met four years ago, recording a soundscape of New York City. We were part of a large team of people working for the Center for Oral History at Columbia University. The soundscape was meant to sample and collect all the keynotes and the soundmarks that were emblematic of the city: subway cars screeching to a halt, music in the long underground hallways of Forty-Second Street, ministers preaching in Harlem, bells, rumors and murmurs inside the Wall Street stock exchange. But it also attempted to survey and classify all the other sounds that the city produced and that usually went by, as noise, unnoticed: cash registers opening and closing in delis, a script being rehearsed in an empty Broadway theater, underwater currents in the Hudson, Canada geese flocking and shitting over Van Cortlandt Park, swings swinging in Astoria playgrounds, elderly Korean women filing wealthy fingernails on the Upper West Side, a fire breaking through an old tenement building in the Bronx, a passerby yelling a stream of motherfuckers at another. There were journalists, sound artists, geographers, urbanists, writers, historians, acoustemologists, anthropologists, musicians, and even bathymetrists, with those complicated devices called multibeam echo sounders, which were plunged into the waterspaces surrounding the city, measuring the depth and contours of the riverbeds, and who knows what else. Everyone, in couples or small groups, surveyed and sampled wavelengths around the city, like we were documenting the last sounds of an enormous beast.
The two of us were paired up and given the task of recording all the languages spoken in the city, over a period of four calendar years. The description of our duties specified: “surveying the most linguistically diverse metropolis on the planet, and mapping the entirety of languages that its adults and children speak.” We were good at it, it turned out; maybe even really good. We made a perfect team of two. Then, after working together for just a few months, we fell in love—completely, irrationally, predictably, and headfirst, like a rock might fall in love with a bird, not knowing who was the rock was and who the bird—and when summer arrived, we decided to move in together.
The girl remembers nothing about that period, of course. The boy says he remembers that I was always wearing an old blue cardigan that had lost a couple of buttons and came down to my knees, and that sometimes, when we rode the subway or buses—always with freezing air pouring out—I’d take it off and use it as a blanket to cover him and the girl, and that it smelled of tobacco and was itchy. Moving in together had been a rash decision—messy, confusing, urgent, and as beautiful and real as life feels when you’re not thinking about its consequences. We became a tribe. Then came the consequences. We met each other’s relatives, got married, started filing joint taxes, became a family.
Inventory
In the front seats: he and I. In the glove compartment: proof of insurance, registration, owner’s manual, and road maps. In the backseat: the two children, their backpacks, a tissue box, and a blue cooler with water bottles and perishable snacks. And in the trunk: a small duffle bag with my Sony PCM-D50 digital voice recorder, headphones, cables, and extra batteries; a large Porta-Brace organizer for his collapsible boom pole, mic, headphones, cables, zeppelin and dead-cat windshield, and the 702T Sound Device. Also: four small suitcases with our clothes, and seven bankers boxes (15” x 12” x 10”), double-thick bottoms and solid lids.
Covalence
Despite our efforts to keep it all firmly together, there has always been an anxiety around each one’s place in the family. We’re like those problematic molecules you learn about in chemistry classes, with covalent instead of ionic bonds—or maybe it’s the other way around. The boy lost his biological mother at birth, though that topic is never spoken about. My husband delivered the fact to me, in one sentence, early on in our relationship, and I immediately understood that it was not a matter open to further questions. I don’t like to be asked about the girl’s biological father, either, so the two of us have always kept a respectful pact of silence about those elements of our and our children’s pasts.
In response to all that, perhaps, the children have always wanted to listen to stories about themselves within the context of us. They want to know everything about when the two of them became our children, and we all became a family. They’re like anthropologists studying cosmogonic narratives, but with a touch more narcissism. The girl asks to hear the same stories over and over again. The boy asks about moments of their childhood together, as if they had happened decades or even centuries ago. So we tell them. We tell them all the stories we’re able to remember. Always, if we miss a part, confuse a detail, or if they notice any minimal variation to the version they remember, they interrupt, correct us, and demand that the story be told once more, properly this time. So we rewind the tape in our minds and play it again from the beginning. --此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
Relocations
“An archive presupposes an archivist, a hand that
collects and classifies.”
—Arlette Farge
“To leave is to die a little.
To arrive is never to arrive.”
—Migrant prayer
Departure
Mouths open to the sun, they sleep. Boy and girl, foreheads pearled with sweat, cheeks red and streaked white with dry spit. They occupy the entire space in the back of the car, spread out, limbs offering, heavy and placid. From the copilot seat, I glance back to check on them every so often, then turn around to study the map again. We advance in the slow lava of traffic toward the city limits, across the GW Bridge, and merge onto the interstate. An airplane passes above us and leaves a straight long scar on the palate of the cloudless sky. Behind the wheel, my husband adjusts his hat, dries his forehead with the back of his hand.
Family Lexicon
I don’t know what my husband and I will say to each of our children one day. I’m not sure which parts of our story we might each choose to pluck and edit out for them, and which ones we’d shuffle around and insert back in to produce a final version—even though plucking, shuffling, and editing sounds is probably the best summary of what my husband and I do for a living. But the children will ask, because ask is what children do. And we’ll need to tell them a beginning, a middle, and an end. We’ll need to give them an answer, tell them a proper story.
The boy turned ten yesterday, just one day before we left New York. We got him good presents. He had specifically said:
No toys.
The girl is five, and for some weeks has been asking, insistently:
When do I turn six?
No matter our answer, she’ll find it unsatisfactory. So we usually say something ambiguous, like:
Soon.
In a few months.
Before you know it.
The girl is my daughter and the boy is my husband’s son. I’m a biological mother to one, a stepmother to the other, and a de facto mother in general to both of them. My husband is a father and a stepfather, to each one respectively, but also just a father. The girl and boy are therefore: step-sister, son, stepdaughter, daughter, step-brother, sister, stepson, brother. And because hyphenations and petty nuances complicate the sentences of everyday grammar—the us, the them, the our, the your—as soon as we started living together, when the boy was almost six and the girl still a toddler, we adopted the much simpler possessive adjective our to refer to them two. They became: our children. And sometimes: the boy, the girl. Quickly, the two of them learned the rules of our private grammar, and adopted the generic nouns Mama and Papa, or sometimes simply Ma and Pa. And until now at least, our family lexicon defined the scope and limits of our shared world.
Family Plot
My husband and I met four years ago, recording a soundscape of New York City. We were part of a large team of people working for the Center for Oral History at Columbia University. The soundscape was meant to sample and collect all the keynotes and the soundmarks that were emblematic of the city: subway cars screeching to a halt, music in the long underground hallways of Forty-Second Street, ministers preaching in Harlem, bells, rumors and murmurs inside the Wall Street stock exchange. But it also attempted to survey and classify all the other sounds that the city produced and that usually went by, as noise, unnoticed: cash registers opening and closing in delis, a script being rehearsed in an empty Broadway theater, underwater currents in the Hudson, Canada geese flocking and shitting over Van Cortlandt Park, swings swinging in Astoria playgrounds, elderly Korean women filing wealthy fingernails on the Upper West Side, a fire breaking through an old tenement building in the Bronx, a passerby yelling a stream of motherfuckers at another. There were journalists, sound artists, geographers, urbanists, writers, historians, acoustemologists, anthropologists, musicians, and even bathymetrists, with those complicated devices called multibeam echo sounders, which were plunged into the waterspaces surrounding the city, measuring the depth and contours of the riverbeds, and who knows what else. Everyone, in couples or small groups, surveyed and sampled wavelengths around the city, like we were documenting the last sounds of an enormous beast.
The two of us were paired up and given the task of recording all the languages spoken in the city, over a period of four calendar years. The description of our duties specified: “surveying the most linguistically diverse metropolis on the planet, and mapping the entirety of languages that its adults and children speak.” We were good at it, it turned out; maybe even really good. We made a perfect team of two. Then, after working together for just a few months, we fell in love—completely, irrationally, predictably, and headfirst, like a rock might fall in love with a bird, not knowing who was the rock was and who the bird—and when summer arrived, we decided to move in together.
The girl remembers nothing about that period, of course. The boy says he remembers that I was always wearing an old blue cardigan that had lost a couple of buttons and came down to my knees, and that sometimes, when we rode the subway or buses—always with freezing air pouring out—I’d take it off and use it as a blanket to cover him and the girl, and that it smelled of tobacco and was itchy. Moving in together had been a rash decision—messy, confusing, urgent, and as beautiful and real as life feels when you’re not thinking about its consequences. We became a tribe. Then came the consequences. We met each other’s relatives, got married, started filing joint taxes, became a family.
Inventory
In the front seats: he and I. In the glove compartment: proof of insurance, registration, owner’s manual, and road maps. In the backseat: the two children, their backpacks, a tissue box, and a blue cooler with water bottles and perishable snacks. And in the trunk: a small duffle bag with my Sony PCM-D50 digital voice recorder, headphones, cables, and extra batteries; a large Porta-Brace organizer for his collapsible boom pole, mic, headphones, cables, zeppelin and dead-cat windshield, and the 702T Sound Device. Also: four small suitcases with our clothes, and seven bankers boxes (15” x 12” x 10”), double-thick bottoms and solid lids.
Covalence
Despite our efforts to keep it all firmly together, there has always been an anxiety around each one’s place in the family. We’re like those problematic molecules you learn about in chemistry classes, with covalent instead of ionic bonds—or maybe it’s the other way around. The boy lost his biological mother at birth, though that topic is never spoken about. My husband delivered the fact to me, in one sentence, early on in our relationship, and I immediately understood that it was not a matter open to further questions. I don’t like to be asked about the girl’s biological father, either, so the two of us have always kept a respectful pact of silence about those elements of our and our children’s pasts.
In response to all that, perhaps, the children have always wanted to listen to stories about themselves within the context of us. They want to know everything about when the two of them became our children, and we all became a family. They’re like anthropologists studying cosmogonic narratives, but with a touch more narcissism. The girl asks to hear the same stories over and over again. The boy asks about moments of their childhood together, as if they had happened decades or even centuries ago. So we tell them. We tell them all the stories we’re able to remember. Always, if we miss a part, confuse a detail, or if they notice any minimal variation to the version they remember, they interrupt, correct us, and demand that the story be told once more, properly this time. So we rewind the tape in our minds and play it again from the beginning. --此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
基本信息
- ASIN : B07D23HK9F
- 出版社 : Vintage (2019年2月12日)
- 出版日期 : 2019年2月12日
- 语言 : 英语
- 文件大小 : 32823 KB
- 标准语音朗读 : 已启用
- X-Ray : 未启用
- 生词提示功能 : 已启用
- 纸书页数 : 401页
- 亚马逊热销商品排名: 商品里排第193,514名Kindle商店 (查看商品销售排行榜Kindle商店)
- 商品里排第1,188名Literary Fiction（文艺小说）
- 商品里排第2,046名Mystery, Thriller & Suspense（推理与惊悚）
- 用户评分:
无顾客评论
| 5 星 (0%) |
|
0% |
| 4 星 (0%) |
|
0% |
| 3 星 (0%) |
|
0% |
| 2 星 (0%) |
|
0% |
| 1 星 (0%) |
|
0% |
评分是如何计算的？
在计算总星级评分以及按星级确定的百分比时，我们不使用简单的平均值。相反，我们的系统会考虑评论的最新程度以及评论者是否在亚马逊上购买了该商品。系统还会分析评论，验证评论的可信度。
此商品在美国亚马逊上最有用的商品评论
美国亚马逊：
3.6 颗星，最多 5 颗星
132 条评论
Brian J. Greene
1.0 颗星，最多 5 颗星
Dry
2018年12月8日 -
已在美国亚马逊上发表
I’ll get right to the flaws of this novel. It’s dry and self-centered. The setup is intriguing. A relatively newly married couple, with two kids each from previous relationships, is trying to make a life together. The couple met and connected while working on a research project together. But that project is completed and now they are working on separate, individual projects, and that is bringing challenges to their relationship. And then they’re going through all the usual ups and downs of parenting, with the added factor of each of the kids now being raised by a parent who is not their biological mom/dad. The big problem is the author’s first person narrator tells of their lives in a dry way, mostly via her own thoughts and perceptions. I get that this is not an action-based novel, but rather a contemplative one. But it winds up feeling more like a series of journal entries than a story. And the narrator is so self-centered as to be annoying, plus her self absorption makes it so that she never really draws out the other characters enough to make them come to life and seem interesting. Instead of a 400-page novel with so much dry narrative, this should have been a 250-page one where the narrator showed us all that happened among the characters and allowed us room to have our own perceptions about them and their experiences.
149 个人发现此评论有用
RKB NJ
5.0 颗星，最多 5 颗星
Stunning
2019年2月13日 -
已在美国亚马逊上发表已确认购买
Tell Me How It Ends is the kind of book I told people about for months after I read it--so I've been (im)patiently waiting for Luiselli's next work. It does not disappoint.
It's beautiful, original, luminous, and provocative. I'm not one to write long reviews. If a book moves me, it moves me. If it challenges me, it challenges me. Lost Children Archive did all of that. It's such a stunning read.
I'd like to get this book into everyone's hands in the country right now. We all need to think harder and act faster with compassion. This might be a novel, but the lost children? All real.
It's beautiful, original, luminous, and provocative. I'm not one to write long reviews. If a book moves me, it moves me. If it challenges me, it challenges me. Lost Children Archive did all of that. It's such a stunning read.
I'd like to get this book into everyone's hands in the country right now. We all need to think harder and act faster with compassion. This might be a novel, but the lost children? All real.
65 个人发现此评论有用
JG
5.0 颗星，最多 5 颗星
A timely & thoughtful book that teaches you how to read it and teaches you as you read it
2019年2月21日 -
已在美国亚马逊上发表已确认购买
Valeria Luiselli’s Lost Children Archive is a novel about borders & families written concurrently with her powerful essay on the same subject Tell Me How It Ends. Where that essay is tight in its scope & focus on the bureacracy of immigration policy, this novel is expansive & experimental. Luiselli’s narrator is masterful in her weaving of texts & images & sources--photographs, novels, poems, songs, government documents, and sound recordings all create a multi-faceted entrance to the action. About halfway through the novel, another character--the stepchild of the narrator--takes over the narration. This new narrative POV really pays off, particularly in a whirlwind of a stream-of-conscious chapter late in the novel that must be read to be believed. Lost Children Archive is a surprisingly suspenseful story, for a novel so thorough in literary erudition & historical context. The resolution is cathartic in the Athenian tragic sense of the word: It purges us of pity & fear, and it challenges us to think about what has become of the institutions that rule us, what will become of the polity in which we live.
36 个人发现此评论有用
G. Dawson
5.0 颗星，最多 5 颗星
Complex and haunting
2019年2月7日 -
已在美国亚马逊上发表
I loved this novel. It works on many different levels at once and challenges the mind as well as the heart. On one level, this is a story of a family of four on a cross-country road trip. The parents are sound documentarians (or documentarists—there’s some discussion in the book about the difference), and they are heading to the American Southwest to capture sounds related to Apaches and unaccompanied refugee children, respectively. Luiselli clearly writes from experience as a parent because she captures the dynamics of a family road trip perfectly. On another level, Luiselli is examining the refugee crisis and the reasons behind it as well as sharing some of the harrowing experiences these children go through. While reading this book, I learned so much about this sad thing that is happening to thousands and thousands of children every year. This “novel” often reads like a non-fiction documentary, and I liked that aspect of it. On a third level, Luiselli’s sentences are beautiful. Near the end, the novel goes into some experimental territory, but I was so into the story by that point that I didn’t mind the longer, more freeform blocks of text and shifting points of view (Virginia Woolf is an influence). This could very well end up being the most powerful novel I read in 2019 (and perhaps also the most well-written one).
79 个人发现此评论有用
Bonnie Brody
2.0 颗星，最多 5 颗星
Boring and Without Depth
2018年12月6日 -
已在美国亚马逊上发表
I have given myself a 50-page rule. I'll read 50 pages of any book and if, by that time I don't like it, I won't continue. I read more than 50 pages in this case but could not finish. It is poorly written, the narrative is minimalist and the writing is immature.
The characters are nameless, but in a postured and unrealistic way. There is 'the father', 'the son', 'the daughter', etc. There is no depth to the character development. In fact, they seemed like cut-outs to me. The gist of the story is that the husband and the wife meet on an oral history project and later marry. Each has a child from a former relationship and they are integrated into a semblance of a family. They live in New York City and for some obscure reason, the father wants to travel to Arizona to study the history of Apache indians. The wife doesn't really want to go but they pack up and leave anyway. The wife figures she can study the impact of separating immigrant children from their mothers.
If you want to read a looooonnnnngggg and boring book, this is a definite sleep inducer. How it came to be published is a mystery to me.
The characters are nameless, but in a postured and unrealistic way. There is 'the father', 'the son', 'the daughter', etc. There is no depth to the character development. In fact, they seemed like cut-outs to me. The gist of the story is that the husband and the wife meet on an oral history project and later marry. Each has a child from a former relationship and they are integrated into a semblance of a family. They live in New York City and for some obscure reason, the father wants to travel to Arizona to study the history of Apache indians. The wife doesn't really want to go but they pack up and leave anyway. The wife figures she can study the impact of separating immigrant children from their mothers.
If you want to read a looooonnnnngggg and boring book, this is a definite sleep inducer. How it came to be published is a mystery to me.
71 个人发现此评论有用
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Valeria%2520Luiselli%2520%25EF%25BC%258C%25E7%258B%25AC%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B8%258D%25E5%25A6%2582%25E4%25BC%2597%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25EF%25BC%2581%25E5%2588%2586%25E4%25BA%25AB%25E7%25BB%2599%25E5%25A4%25A7%25E5%25AE%25B6%25E3%2580%2582%26desc%3D%25E5%25BE%2597%25E6%259D%25A5%25E5%2585%25A8%25E4%25B8%258D%25E8%25B4%25B9%25E5%25B7%25A5%25E5%25A4%25AB~%25E6%2588%2591%25E5%259C%25A8%25E4%25BA%259A%25E9%25A9%25AC%25E9%2580%258AZ.cn%2520%25E6%2589%25BE%25E5%2588%25B0%25E4%25BA%2586%2520Lost%2520Children%2520Archive%253A%2520A%2520novel%2520(English%2520Edition)%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Valeria%2520Luiselli%2520%25EF%25BC%258C%25E7%258B%25AC%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B8%258D%25E5%25A6%2582%25E4%25BC%2597%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25EF%25BC%2581%25E5%2588%2586%25E4%25BA%25AB%25E7%25BB%2599%25E5%25A4%25A7%25E5%25AE%25B6%25E3%2580%2582%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB07D23HK9F%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_qq_dp_E3VDXE96KTD3YKA0NZGD%26pics%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F41sKwzuQpML.jpg%26site%3DAmazon&token=91BE2A9E176EDEE81F1FE331621A856DEF582AF6){kind=link}
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Valeria%2520Luiselli%2520%25E3%2580%2582%26pic%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F41sKwzuQpML.jpg%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB07D23HK9F%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_si_dp_E3VDXE96KTD3YKA0NZGD%26appkey%3D620381579%26ralateUid%3D1732523361&token=C5E4B7DE4815F4657E9A17F1B1A76E19A8406966){kind=link}
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Valeria%2520Luiselli%26title%3D%25E6%2588%2591%25E5%258F%25AA%25E8%25B4%25AD%25E4%25B9%25B0Lost%2520Children%2520Archive%253A%2520A%2520novel%2520(English%2520Edition)%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Valeria%2520Luiselli%26pics%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F41sKwzuQpML.jpg%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB07D23HK9F%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_qz_dp_E3VDXE96KTD3YKA0NZGD&token=E560DFFE1D031408CB96CDDDD818E5EF235FD98B){kind=link}