Don Quixote (Penguin Classics)读后感锦集

《Don Quixote (Penguin Classics)》是一本由Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra著作，Penguin Classics出版的Paperback图书，本书定价：USD 13.00，页数：1072，特精心收集的读后感，希望对大家能有帮助。

《Don Quixote (Penguin Classics)》读后感(一)：Serenity and hubris

Around 88% of book I of Don Quixote (reading it on Kindle) I nearly lost my patience in the middle of yet another full-page long tirade of chivalry values. It began quite promisingly. Cervantes says "Still less do I know what authors I have followed... because I'm naturally lazy and disinclined to go hunting for authors to say for me what I know how to say without them." This tongue-in-cheek jest seems a direct mockery of the majestic air assumed by Dante, who put himself among the worthy five from the get-go and stuffed Inferno with choke-full of quotes and references to contemporary events when he was not busy settling personal scores. But as I proceed further the story seems to be bogged down real fast, all these repetitive orations and misfortunes and irrelevant side stories. In the end, the saving grace lies not in the romantic reading that Don Quixote is a rare unapologetic dreamer, but in his sheer force of will to persevere, the incredible but convincing way he maintained his dignity as a human being in the apparent context of being a loon, and a laughing stock. This inner peace he was able to achieve sets him apart, in an age of chaos and equal confusion. He was the first manifestation of individualism in literature, in this loosely structured piece touted as the first modern novel. We still read Don Quixote because individualism in its most exalted sense has died in this age of exhausted originality, or at least rendered practically impossible by ever refining subdivision of labor on one hand and over abundance of mass production on the other. Staying true to the dimwit or dickhead you naturally are is not the meaning of individualism, it's called being a dimwit or dickhead, respectively. "How am I different from all these other assholes" is the question I ask of myself every day in the subway, except that I resist wearing suit and tie until it's absolutely necessary.

Multiple references were made to the serenity of Don Quixote in light of his hapless forays and sure consequences:

“Don Quixote was sitting in the cage with his hands tied and his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the bars, and his silence and his patience were such that he seemed more like a stone statue than a man of flesh and blood.”

It's this serenity that is truly noble about Don Quixote, and what is noticeable is whenever such serenity appears it is almost never in association with one of his tirade. Cervantes is emphatically not saying Don Quixote achieved his serenity because he has worked out the system of chivalry but precisely because he couldn't so he gives himself up to it. For all the depictions of his stupidity Sancho nonetheless represents the ultimate common sense, and Cervantes convincingly demonstrated how feeble it is in comparison.

In comparison, whenever his thought process is described through one of his long oration, Don Quixote's first instinct was always to attempt to rationalize the event in the context of the narrative scheme of his belief in chivalry. But when facts become so indisputably incongruous, he invariably invoked "enchantment" to forcibly reconcile them. But here Don Quixote committed a falsehood that is the ultimate undoing of Job: to believe is a virtue, but to rationalize it is a sin. Job keeps saying I did not sin, which is probably true but that is not the point, the mere implication of a causal effect to his suffering is enough to earn God's wrath. Job asks why, God says why not.

《Don Quixote (Penguin Classics)》读后感(二)：较新译本，读者口碑好，可读性强（翻译腔弱）

From Amazon:

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-IMO, most readable, faithful translation for the modern reader, April 19, 2011

By K2 "K2" (Semi-Autonomous People's Republic of Brooklyn) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Don Quixote (Penguin Classics) (Paperback)

I spent a good deal of time studying various modern translations of DQ - among them the works of Grossman (too 'popularized'), Montgomery (dry, verbose), Smollet-Slade (excellent notes and revisions by Slade but the 18th English tone remains - it's not Cervantes and it's not modern either - unsatisfactory) and Rutherford (I should try Lathrop as well...) and I've found Rutherford's to be the most readable, lively and engaging - he explains his approach in his translator's introduction and I think he accomplished his goal. It's a pleasure to read - the prose is smooth, concise and clear, Rutherford has a sharp wit which he has put to good use in this translation, and he is also very scholarly as well as steeped in Spanish culture.

There are two drawbacks to this edition, but I say go for it nonetheless:

1) Being British, Rutherford uses many contemporary British expressions what may not be very accessible to an American - and this is important since DQ is highly nuanced and Rutherford has worked had to convey those nuances into English.

2) There should be more notes - explanatory notes, not just references and citings, and they should be on the page itself as footnotes, not in the back of the book. The Smollet-Slade BN edition is far superior in this respect - if I had time I'd read them both at once, chapter by chapter, first Smollet/Slade and then Rutherford.

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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Sublime..., October 6, 2007

By JordanJasper - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Don Quixote (Penguin Classics) (Paperback)

This translation is actually the best that I have encountered. It is impossible to bring anything terribly critical to such a masterwork (yes, it's one of the few, the proud, the brave). If one were to critique, it would have to be based upon the translation, and again, I find this one to be extraordinarily acceptable and accessible.

I think it's important for readers to know (after reading this particular translation, or any of the recent best) the very crucial gap in time between the first "installment" of this saga and the "second." Problems have arisen in the past, in terms of translations, when the reader is presented with what is essentially one book and a sequel, but this translation militates against some of the usual difficulties.

Essentially, this is one of the great works of human literature that stands the test of time and remains as vibrant today as it was in the day of Cervantes. Supreme characterizations. Supreme wit. Supreme prose. Supreme insight.

If you don't fall in love with Don Quixote and his deliciously hapless "squire," you simply have no soul. Having read it again, I can say that this is a book that brings bittersweet tears to the eyes...simply because it has to end.

Students of the progressive development of the "novel" across what we may very loosely term "modernity" cannot bypass this seminal, pivotal, CRUCIAL component. To do so would be anathema...complete impotence. In fact, I cannot imagine any serious reader of literature (contemporary or otherwise) failing to read and absorb this jewel of human accomplishment.

When an inexpensive edition like this is carefully handled and reverently preserved (for even the most humble library), the enormity of the "pap" we are offered by current "literature" becomes all the more galling.

Long live any and all "Enchanters."

《Don Quixote (Penguin Classics)》读后感(三)：There is no knight that is not in love

At 2:43pm, between fits of violent coughs, I finished Don Quixote de La Mancha, cover to cover. Outside the window the harbor is draped in impenetrable fog, a white day marked with a black stone - it already feels like evening. I turned on the light.

And I saw a vague contour of myself pressed against the other side of the window pane, my dampened soul looking out of the cage of boredom, expressionlessly -- if I was to "violently over-interpret it."

After I pressed past page 1000, I finally gave up my dogged search for deeper meanings. At that point I had combed through every line on his sallies and narratives, with mind-numbing repetitiveness, all that was left was for him to go home, and repent, and die. The tour was not yet over but I'd seen everything worth seeing. Maybe its greatness simply refuses to manifest itself without what it judges to be the context proper. Cervantes prophesied, proudly and half-jokingly, that "all the signs are that there’s no language in the world into which it won’t be translated." A few hundred pages later, he delivered a negation by famously proclaiming that reading a translated book is like "viewing Flemish tapestries from the wrong side". And as I let go of my exasperation over its seemingly unjustified canonical status, I ruminated idly about the Don Quixote character. And I realized how extraordinary a figure he is. After the seemingly endless rounds of misadventures and ridicules faded into a big blur as soon as I turned the last page, Don Quixote the character somehow left on me a distinctive impression of defiance, against what I'm not sure. His ability to persevere alone gave him a fiery aura, culminated at his standoff with the lion. At the same time, there was also a strange kind of calmness that permeated through his madness, most clearly manifested in the grace with which he accepted whatever befell him. Like pale fire he burns quietly, in eternity. Cervantes managed to create this uncanny yet totally convincing character who oscillated between defiance and serenity like a Schrodinger cat, he's unpredictable but he followed an inner logic that was perfectly coherent in its own right.

Auerbach refutes the romantic reading of a quixotic heroism and points out how unambiguous the morale of the story actually is: the society is always coherent and in the right and Don Quixote always confused and in the wrong. But I can't believe there is not at least a hint of sarcasm in this. Did Cervantes truly intended to act as a choir boy for the status quo？ Cervantes was an outcast most of his life, rejected and marginalized by the society － I think he realized the political and cultural environs didn't give him a voice to say what he wanted to say in earnest, so he resorted to jest. And he attacked the books of chivalry because it's a safe target, which allowed him to cast an implicit denunciation of the vulgarity and bad taste of the society in general. As a man who sailed on the sea, fought in battles, enslaved, jailed, and constantly oppressed by destitute, it's imaginable how he would see those fake hardships in the book of chivalry an insult to his real injuries, a lifetime of ordeals and misfortunes cheapened and trivialized even though nothing was directed at him personally. In all jest, he might have eventually come to realize that the repeated abuses and ridicules he subjected Don Quixote to were a little too familiar for comfort - he might be making fun of book of chivalry but the laughters were haughty and bitter, it came out of the ghost of a past. And I thought of the narratives dominating the social media today, people saying the most idiotic, rotten cliche in all seriousness. How I am always quick to suppress the outrage, or even a bit of green envy, that rises in my chest every time I hear these incredible bullshit, because I know it's of no use because I have no voice. I tried to chuckle and say "Is this guy for real？", but that affected condescension just felt weak. So I built a cocoon with silent words, words I read and words I write.

Plenty has been said about the unprecedented self-awareness of Part II of the book. Although Cervantes never make Don Quixote break character and address the audience through the fourth wall, creating a book that knows itself to be a book is a form of ultimate disenchantment. This supposedly ingenious mechanism was implemented above all to refute and discredit the unsolicited and unauthorized sequel to Part I by another hand, with the desired effect of closing the loop in itself, a snake that eats its own tail. And, just like the Jews, maybe in uncanny clairvoyance having foreseen the coming of the Christ, declared the end of the age of prophets, Cervantes killed off Don Quixote to prevent any possibility of a third sally.

With a strain of paranoid, he again insisted at the very end: "my only desire has been to make men hate those false, absurd histories in books of chivalry." The weapon he devised for the attack however acquired a life of its own, and it's not up to anybody else to call him idiotic or heroic. The pride of Cervantes led him to refuse not only to be interpolated, but also in anyway judged or analyzed, and equally important he refused to be moralized. The book is full of ironies but noticeably scarce in sarcasm. He presented the Quixotic madness in abundant varieties, but he seldom passed judgment on it. Eventually, in a rare betrayal of emotion, he declared: "For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was for him to act, for me to write; we two are as one”. Cervantes might not want to be called a romantic, but we hear clearly his voice intoning when Don Quixote said, "there is no knight that is not in love."