Educated - (EPUB全文下载)

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Dedication
For Tyler
Epigraph
The past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, & thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
— VIRGINIA WOOLF
I believe finally, that education must be conceived as a continuing reconstruction of experience; that the process and the goal of education are one and the same thing.
— JOHN DEWEY
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Part One
1. Choose the Good
2. The Midwife
3. Cream Shoes
4. Apache Women
5. Honest Dirt
6. Shield and Buckler
7. The Lord Will Provide
8. Tiny Harlots
9. Perfect in His Generations
10. Shield of Feathers
11. Instinct
12. Fish Eyes
13. Silence in the Churches
14. My Feet No Longer Touch Earth
15. No More a Child
16. Disloyal Man, Disobedient Heaven
Part Two
17. To Keep It Holy
18. Blood and Feathers
19. In the Beginning
20. Recitals of the Fathers
21. Skullcap
22. What We Whispered and What We Screamed
23. I’m from Idaho
24. A Knight, Errant
25. The Work of Sulphur
26. Waiting for Moving Water
27. If I Were a Woman
28. Pygmalion
29. Graduation
Part Three
30. Hand of the Almighty
31. Tragedy Then Farce
32. A Brawling Woman in a Wide House
33. Sorcery of Physics
34. The Substance of Things
35. West of the Sun
36. Four Long Arms, Whirling
37. Gambling for Redemption
38. Family
39. Watching the Buffalo
40. Educated
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
A Note on the Text
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
I
’M STANDING ON THE RED RAILWAY CAR THAT SITS ABANDONED
next to the barn. The wind soars, whipping my hair across my face and pushing a chill down the open neck of my shirt. The gales are strong this close to the mountain, as if the peak itself is exhaling. Down below, the valley is peaceful, undisturbed. Meanwhile our farm dances: the heavy conifer trees sway slowly, while the sagebrush and thistles quiver, bowing before every puff and pocket of air. Behind me a gentle hill slopes upward and stitches itself to the mountain base. If I look up, I can see the dark form of the Indian Princess.
The hill is paved with wild wheat. If the conifers and sagebrush are soloists, the wheat field is a corps de ballet, each stem following all the rest in bursts of movement, a million ballerinas bending, one after the other, as great gales dent their golden heads. The shape of that dent lasts only a moment, and is as close as anyone gets to seeing wind.
Turning toward our house on the hillside, I see movements of ............

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