[醉染正版]星星女孩续篇 爱 英文原版小说 Love, Stargirl 儿童青春成长小说 纽伯瑞文学奖作家杰瑞·史宾尼

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书名：Love,Stargirl 星星女孩续篇：爱 
读者对象：12岁及以上
难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数610L
作者：Jerry Spinelli杰瑞·史宾尼利
出版社名称：Ember
出版时间：2009
语种：英文 
ISBN：9780375856440
商品尺寸：13.3 x 1.5 x 20.5 cm
包装：平装
页数：288

纽约时报畅销书作家，纽伯瑞金奖得主杰瑞史宾尼利代表作《星星女孩》之姊妹篇《爱》。

还记得Stargirl“星星女孩”么？
她特立独行，她坚持自我，她做过太多我们想做而不敢做的事。她的离去和了无音讯让我们唏嘘不已。
2007年，作者杰瑞·史宾尼利续写了这部Love,Stargirl《爱》，以日记体的形式，讲述了星星女孩离开云母高中后在云母镇的生活回忆，带领我们从星星女孩自己的视角出发，去感悟流逝的时间、纯粹的生活、难以忘怀的李奥，当然，还有爱。

The New York Times bestselling sequel to Newbery Medalist Jerry Spinelli’s modern-day classic Stargirl! 

Love, Stargirl picks up a year after Stargirl ends and reveals the new life of the beloved character who moved away so suddenly at the end of Stargirl. The novel takes the form of “the world’s longest letter,” in diary form, going from date to date through a little more than a year’s time. In her writing, Stargirl mixes memories of her bittersweet time in Mica, Arizona, with involvements with new people in her life. 
In Love, Stargirl, we hear the voice of Stargirl herself as she reflects on time, life, Leo, and—of course—love. 

Review
“Spinelli is a poet of the prepubescent.... No writer guides his young characters, and his readers, past these pitfalls and challenges and toward their futures with more compassion.” — The New York Times

“Humor, graceful writing, lively characters, and important lessons about life will make this a hit with fans of Stargirl. ” — Kirkus Reviews, Starred 

“Brilliant.... As charming and unique as its sensitive, nonconformist heroine. ” — School Library Journal

“Anyone who loved Jerry Spinelli’s beautiful, poignant young adult novel Stargirl is in for a treat with his latest novel.  Anyone who survived or is enduring the teenage years will repeatedly recognize him or herself in these pages--and find the book hard to put down. ” — St. Louis Post-Dispatch

LOVE, STARGIRL picks up a year after Stargirl ends and reveals the new life of the beloved character who moved away so suddenly at the end of Stargirl, The novel takes the form of the world's longest letter, in diary form, going from date to date through a little more than a year's time. In her writing, Stargirl mixes memories of her bittersweet time in Mica, Arizona, with involvements with new people in her life.

In Love, Stargirl, we hear the voice of Stargirl herself as she reflects on time, life, Leo, and - of course - love.

杰瑞·史宾尼利（Jerry Spinelli）美国知名文学作家。16岁时在地方报上发表了一首描写美式足球赛的诗，转而想成为一名作家。盖兹堡学院毕业后，一边在杂志社上班，一边从事写作。前四部作品被拒，第五部小说《七年级太空站》（Space Station Seventh Grade）却意外获童书出版商青睐。其他作品包括获1991年纽伯瑞金奖的《疯狂麦基》（Maniac Magee）、获1998年纽伯瑞银奖的《小杀手》（Wringer），《失败者》（Loser）、《碰撞》（Crash）和自传体小说《溜溜绳扣》（Knots in My Yo-yo String）等。
Jerry Spinelli is the author of many novels for young readers, includingThe Warden’s Daughter; Stargirl;Love, Stargirl;Milkweed;Crash;Wringer; andManiac Magee, winner of the Newbery Medal; along withKnots in My Yo-Yo String, the autobiography of his childhood. A graduate of Gettysburg College, he lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, poet and author Eileen Spinelli.

January 1

Dear Leo,
I love beginnings. If I were in charge of calendars, every day would be January 1.
And what better way to celebrate this New Year’s Day than to begin writing a letter to my once (and future?) boyfriend.
I found something today. Something special. The thing is, it’s been right in front of me ever since we moved here last year, but today is the first time I really saw it. It’s a field. A plain old vacant field. No house in view except a little white stucco bungalow off to the right. It’s a mile out of town, a one-minute bike ride from my house. It’s on a hill—the flat top of a hill shaped like an upside-down frying pan. It used to be a pick-your-own-strawberries patch, but now it grows only weeds and rocks.
The field is on the other side of Route 113, which is where my street (Rapps Dam Road) dead-ends. I’ve biked past this field a hundred times, but for some reason today I stopped. I looked at it. I parked my bike and walked into it. The winter weeds were scraggly and matted down, like my hair in the morning. The frozen ground was cloddy and rock-hard. The sky was gray. I walked to the center and just stood there.
And stood.
How can I explain it? Alone, on the top of that hill, in the middle of that “empty” field (Ha!—write this down, Leo: nothing is empty), I felt as if the universe radiated from me, as if I were standing on the X that marked the center of the cosmos. Until then I had done my daily meditation in many different places in and around town, but never here. Now I did. I sat down. I barely noticed the cold ground. I held my hands on my thighs, palms up to the world. I closed my eyes and dissolved out of myself. I now call it washing my mind.
The next thing I noticed was a golden tinge beyond my eyelids. I opened my eyes. The sun was seeping through the clouds. It was setting over the treetops in the west. I closed my eyes again and let the gold wash over me.
Night was coming on when I got up. As I headed for my bike, I knew I had found an enchanted place.

January 3

Oh, Leo, I’m sad. I’m crying. I used to cry a lot when I was little. If I stepped on a bug I’d burst into tears. Funny thing—I was so busy crying for everything else, I never cried for myself. Now I cry for me.
For you.
For us.
And now I’m smiling through my tears. Remember the first time I saw you? In the lunchroom? I was walking toward your table. Your eyes—that’s what almost stopped me in my tracks. They boggled. I think it wasn’t just the sight of me—long frontier dress, ukulele sticking out of my sunflower shoulder sack—it was something else too. It was terror. You knew what was coming. You knew I was going to sing to someone, and you were terrified it might be you. You quick looked away, and I breezed on by and didn’t stop until I found Alan Ferko and sang “Happy Birthday” to him. But I felt your eyes on me the whole time, Leo. Oh yes! Every second. And with every note I sang to Alan Ferko I thought: Someday I’m going to sing to that boy with the terrified eyes. I never did sing to you, Leo, not really. You, of all people. It’s my biggest regret. . . . Now, see, I’m sad again.