PIECE OF CAKE, A(ISBN=9781400052295) pdf mobi txt 2024 电子版 下载

There are shelves of memoirs about overcoming the death of a parent, childhood abuse, rape, drug addiction, miscarriage, alcoholism, hustling, gangbanging, near-death injuries, drug dealing, prostitution, or homelessness.

Cupcake Brown survived all these things before she’d even turned twenty.

And that’s when things got interesting….

You have in your hands the strange, heart-wrenching, and exhilarating tale of a woman named Cupcake. It begins as the story of a girl orphaned twice over, once by the death of her mother and then again by a child welfare system that separated her from her stepfather and put her into the hands of an epically sadistic foster parent. But there comes a point in her preteen years—maybe it’s the night she first tries to run away and is exposed to drugs, alcohol, and sex all at once—when Cupcake’s story shifts from a tear-jerking tragedy to a dark comic blues opera. As Cupcake’s troubles grow, so do her voice and spirit. Her gut-punch sense of humor and eye for the absurd, along with her outsized will, carry her through a fateful series of events that could easily have left her dead.

Young Cupcake learned to survive by turning tricks, downing hard liquor, partying like a rock star, and ingesting every drug she could find while hitchhiking up and down the California coast. She stumbled into gangbanging, drug dealing, hustling, prostitution, theft, and, eventually, the best scam of all: a series of 9-to-5 jobs. But Cupcake’s unlikely tour through the cubicle world was paralleled by a quickening descent into the nightmare of crack cocaine use, till she eventually found herself living behind a Dumpster.

Astonishingly, she turned it around. With the help of a cobbled together family of eccentric fellow addicts and “angels”—a series of friends and strangers who came to her aid at pivotalmoments—she slowly transformed her life from the inside out.

A Piece of Cake is unlike any memoir you’ll ever read. Moving and almost transgressive in its frankness, it is a relentlessly gripping tale of a resilient spirit who took on the worst of contem-porary urban life and survived it with a furious wit and unyielding determination. Cupcake Brown is a dynamic and utterly original storyteller who will guide you on the most satisfying, startlingly funny, and genuinely affecting tour through hell you’ll ever take.

When it came time for me to talk , I wasn’t sure which parts of my past to tell, which to keep secret, and which to pretend never happened. Uncle Jr. had already seen the welts on my back, so he wasn’t too surprised when I told them about some of the physical abuse I endured at Diane’s. Everyone else hit the roof, except Daddy. He got really quiet and started balling and unballing his fists.

I continued my update. Experience had taught me that adults have trouble accepting the idea of children having sex. I decided that from then on, that part of my life never happened. I picked up the story by telling them about Fly, the Gangstas, and getting shot.

I was dying for a cigarette. So it seemed a good time to announce that I smoked cigarettes—and weed.

After a moment Sam looked at me, smiled, and handed me one of her Marlboros. I preferred menthols, but beggars can’t be choosers. I kicked back, took a long drag, and closed my eyes.

Daddy and Jr. were silent. They seemed a bit shocked and unsure about how to respond.

“Well, Cup,” Jr. said, “it’s a little too late to be trying to raise you now. But those cigarettes will kill you. And weed will only lead you to stronger drugs.”

He didn’t know how right he was. But for me, it was too late to be worrying about stronger drugs—the only worrying I did was whether I could find a connection to get some. So I just smiled, nodded, and took another hit off my cigarette.

The eerie quiet returned.

—from A Piece of Cake

Also available as a Random House AudioBook and eBook.

From the Hardcover edition.

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　　Cupcake Brown practices law at one of the nation’s largest law

firms and lives in San Francisco. Visit her website at

cupcakebrown.com.

　　From the Hardcover edition.

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　　1

　　The booming music coming from Momma’s radio alarm clock suddenly

woke me. I could hear Elton John singing about Philadelphia

freedom.

　　I wonder why Momma didn’t wake me? I thought to myself.

　　It was January 1976. Wasn’t no school that day. But Momma still

had to go to work. So, while Momma was at work, I was goin’ over to

Daddy’s house to play with Kelly, the daughter of his lady

friend.

　　I wonder why she didn’t wake me? I thought again to myself as I

climbed out of bed.

　　When I passed the dresser I caught a glimpse of myself in the

mirror. Boy, was I ugly.

　　“Skinny, black, and ugly.” That’s what the kids at school called

me. Or they’d yell out, “Vette, Vette, looks just like my

pet!”

　　My name was La’Vette, but my first birth name was Cupcake. At

least that’s what my momma told me. Seems Momma craved cupcakes

when she was pregnant with me. She had three cupcakes a day, every

day, without fail, for nine and a half months (I was two weeks

overdue). Momma said that even if she didn’t eat anything else,

she’d have her daily dose of cupcakes.

　　Anyway, seems that while “we” were in labor, the hospital gave

Momma some pain drugs. Once Momma popped me out, the nurse

said:

　　“Pat”—that was my momma’s name—“you have a little girl. Do you

know what you want to name her?”

　　Tired and exhausted from eight hours of hard labor, Momma lifted

her head, smiled sheepishly, and said, “Cupcake,” before she passed

out.

　　So that’s what they put down on my birth certificate. I mean,

that is what she said. (The nurses thought it was due to the

excitement of motherhood, Momma said it was the drugs). A few hours

later, however, when Daddy came to the hospital he decided he

didn’t like “Cupcake.” Momma said Daddy wanted to name me La’Vette.

So, just to make Daddy happy, Momma said she had the hospital

change my name. I didn’t mind, really. I loved my daddy; so as far

as I was concerned, he could change my name to whatever he wanted.

But, Momma said that to her I would always be Cupcake. She never

called me anything else, ’cept sometimes she called me “Cup” for

short.

　　Anyway, the kids at school always told me that I was ugly. They

teased me, saying I looked like “Aunt Esther,” that old lady from

Sanford and Son, the one always calling Sanford a “fish-eyed fool.”

She was the ugliest woman I’d ever seen. So if the other kids

thought I looked like her, I knew I had to be ugly. Besides,

everybody knew a black girl wasn’t considered pretty unless she was

light-skinned with long straight hair. I was dark-skinned with

short kinky hair. I hated my complexion. I hated my hair. I hated

my skinny legs and arms.

　　But, my momma thought I was beautiful. She’d say:

　　“Cup, you’re only eleven years old. You will appreciate your

beauty as you grow up.”

　　Shoot, I couldn’t wait to grow up!

　　Momma always said things to make me feel better. I loved my

momma. She was my best friend and she was beautiful: she had

cocoa-colored skin and her long black hair hung way past her

shoulders. And, Momma had the biggest, prettiest smile you ever

saw. People always told her that she looked like Diana Ross because

of her long hair and wide beautiful smile—all teeth.

　　I passed the black ugly thing in the mirror and continued toward

Momma’s room. The radio alarm continued to blast. I giggled to

myself. Momma was like me. She hated getting up in the morning, so

she put the clock way across the room and turned it all the way up

so it would scare her awake in the morning. That way, she’d have to

get out of bed and walk across the room to turn it off.

　　I wonder why she didn’t turn the alarm off? I thought as I made

my way through the kitchen toward the large living room that led

into Momma’s room. The floor was cold because wasn’t no carpet in

our house. Still, I loved our old house. It was Victorian style,

three bedrooms and one bathroom.

　　We lived in San Diego in the heart of the ghetto, though I never

knew it until I got older. We had our share of dilapidated houses,

and run-down apartment buildings, but most of the houses and

apartments in the neighborhood were in decent order. I mean, we

didn’t have any mansions, but most folks made sincere efforts to

keep their houses decent-looking: they watered their tired brown

lawns, trying to keep them up (as kept up as a lawn could be with

kids runnin’ over it all the time), and tried to replace windows

that had been broken from runaway fly balls that escaped the

imaginary fields of street baseball games.

　　We had a great neighborhood store, Sawaya Brothers, that had

everything you could need or want, including the most delicious

pickled pig feet. We had a neighborhood park, Memorial Park, a

boys’ club and a girls’ club.

　　I thought my family was rich because I was the only kid in the

neighborhood who had her own bedroom, furnished with a white

princess-style bedroom set complete with a canopy bed, matching

nightstands, and dresser. There was a pink frilly comforter with

matching frills for the canopy overhead. And, I had a closet full

of clothes. Unlike other kids in my neighborhood, I never had to

share clothes or wear hand-me-downs. Momma loved to sew and made

most of my clothes.

　　The other kids thought we were rich too. Little did we know that

we weren’t rich—it’s just that both my mom and dad worked while the

other kids only had one parent trying to raise several kids either

on one income or, more commonly, on welfare, though being on

welfare wasn’t nothing to be ’shamed about. Most everybody was. In

fact, I envied my friends on welfare because they got government

food that you couldn’t get from the store, like this great

government cheese. You ain’t had a grilled cheese sandwich till

you’ve had one made with government cheese.

　　The blasting radio brought me back to my immediate mission:

finding out why Momma didn’t wake me.

　　I wished she’da woke me up, I thought as I followed the sound of

the blasting radio. I was excited about going to my daddy’s.

　　My momma and daddy didn’t live together. Daddy lived around the

way with my brother, Larry. I hated Larry. Larry was thin and lanky

like me. And he was dark-skinned like me. Although he was two years

older than me, he never acted like a big brother. He never

protected me. In fact, HE was usually the one I had to be protected

FROM. And, usually, it was ME jumping in a fight to protect HIM. I

thought he was a wimp.

　　Larry hated me just as much as I hated him, but for different

reasons. He was jealous of me. He’d never admit it, but I knew he

was. I was the one who always got good grades and saved my weekly

allowance so I could buy something nice and big, while Larry hated

school (and was always on the verge of flunking out) and spent his

money faster than he got it—and then had the nerve to get mad when

he didn’t have anything left.

　　Our hate for each other resulted in fierce fights: cussin’ each

other out (a skill I’d turned into an art from an early age) and

throwing knives and hammers (or anything else lethal we could find)

at each other. Our fights were no joke. We were trying to kill each

other for real, or at least cause loss of body parts. In our house,

before Larry went to live with Daddy, I could never slack up and

always had to watch my back because we were always trying to

sabotage each other.

　　Once I woke to Larry trying to smother me with a pillow. Bastard.

He just woke up one day and decided he’d try to kill me. I had to

fight, kick, scratch, punch, and scream to get him off me. I got

him back, though: I tried to poi- son him.

　　Larry was always trying to boss me around. One day, after yet

another unsuccessful attempt at killing me, he’d ordered me to get

him some Kool-Aid. And I did—with a little rat poison in it. But

watching my sudden obedience, he got suspicious. Talkin’ ’bout he

smelled “somethin’ funny.” He ordered me to take a drink first. I

took a sip, but I didn’t swallow. I just held it in my mouth,

hoping he’d now be willing to drink. He was smarter than I thought.

He fucked around and fucked around twirling the Kool-Aid in the

glass with a sly grin on his face till I couldn’t hold what was in

my mouth anymore without swallowing.

　　Oh shit! I thought, I can’t kill myself! That’d be right up his

alley!

　　I ran for the bathroom, which confirmed Larry’s suspicions that

something was up. He ran ahead of me and blocked the bathroom door

with his body, laughing hysterically at the irony of the situation.

My only other option was out the front door—halfway ’cross the

house. I’d never make it.

　　“Swallow it, bitch!” he ordered, his body still blocking the

doorway, hands up in the air like a soccer goalie. Damn, I hated

him.

　　But, I would have the last word on this one. It took me a moment

to think of a way out, but then it came to me. As I realized my way

out, the look of terror on my face from envisioning what seemed to

be my impending death slowly changed into a wide-ass grin: I spit

the Kool-Aid in his face. And with that, it was on—we tumbled,

kicked, bit, and scratched, until we tired ourselves out and

retreated to opposite ends of the house to await the next

battle.

　　So I was really glad when Momma sent Larry to go live with Daddy.

Larry had started talking back to Momma, being smart-mouthed and

sassin’ ..

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书籍介绍

There are shelves of memoirs about overcoming the death of a parent, childhood abuse, rape, drug addiction, miscarriage, alcoholism, hustling, gangbanging, near-death injuries, drug dealing, prostitution, or homelessness.

Cupcake Brown survived all these things before she’d even turned twenty.

And that’s when things got interesting….

You have in your hands the strange, heart-wrenching, and exhilarating tale of a woman named Cupcake. It begins as the story of a girl orphaned twice over, once by the death of her mother and then again by a child welfare system that separated her from her stepfather and put her into the hands of an epically sadistic foster parent. But there comes a point in her preteen years—maybe it’s the night she first tries to run away and is exposed to drugs, alcohol, and sex all at once—when Cupcake’s story shifts from a tear-jerking tragedy to a dark comic blues opera. As Cupcake’s troubles grow, so do her voice and spirit. Her gut-punch sense of humor and eye for the absurd, along with her outsized will, carry her through a fateful series of events that could easily have left her dead.

Young Cupcake learned to survive by turning tricks, downing hard liquor, partying like a rock star, and ingesting every drug she could find while hitchhiking up and down the California coast. She stumbled into gangbanging, drug dealing, hustling, prostitution, theft, and, eventually, the best scam of all: a series of 9-to-5 jobs. But Cupcake’s unlikely tour through the cubicle world was paralleled by a quickening descent into the nightmare of crack cocaine use, till she eventually found herself living behind a Dumpster.

Astonishingly, she turned it around. With the help of a cobbled together family of eccentric fellow addicts and “angels”—a series of friends and strangers who came to her aid at pivotalmoments—she slowly transformed her life from the inside out.

A Piece of Cake is unlike any memoir you’ll ever read. Moving and almost transgressive in its frankness, it is a relentlessly gripping tale of a resilient spirit who took on the worst of contem-porary urban life and survived it with a furious wit and unyielding determination. Cupcake Brown is a dynamic and utterly original storyteller who will guide you on the most satisfying, startlingly funny, and genuinely affecting tour through hell you’ll ever take.

When it came time for me to talk , I wasn’t sure which parts of my past to tell, which to keep secret, and which to pretend never happened. Uncle Jr. had already seen the welts on my back, so he wasn’t too surprised when I told them about some of the physical abuse I endured at Diane’s. Everyone else hit the roof, except Daddy. He got really quiet and started balling and unballing his fists.

I continued my update. Experience had taught me that adults have trouble accepting the idea of children having sex. I decided that from then on, that part of my life never happened. I picked up the story by telling them about Fly, the Gangstas, and getting shot.

I was dying for a cigarette. So it seemed a good time to announce that I smoked cigarettes—and weed.

After a moment Sam looked at me, smiled, and handed me one of her Marlboros. I preferred menthols, but beggars can’t be choosers. I kicked back, took a long drag, and closed my eyes.

Daddy and Jr. were silent. They seemed a bit shocked and unsure about how to respond.

“Well, Cup,” Jr. said, “it’s a little too late to be trying to raise you now. But those cigarettes will kill you. And weed will only lead you to stronger drugs.”

He didn’t know how right he was. But for me, it was too late to be worrying about stronger drugs—the only worrying I did was whether I could find a connection to get some. So I just smiled, nodded, and took another hit off my cigarette.

The eerie quiet returned.

—from A Piece of Cake

Also available as a Random House AudioBook and eBook.

From the Hardcover edition.

• 作者：_小花_ 发布时间：2014-02-22 13:31:50

  这本书的内容我不好说什么，不过真的怀疑真实性。选这本书本来就只是为了简单易懂

• 作者：C'fun 发布时间：2018-04-14 02:32:37

  虽然副标题是漫话十三陵，但实际上几乎没怎么讲十三陵，完全是在讲明朝十三个皇帝，不过写得还算流畅，读起来比较轻松。

• 作者：Andy 发布时间：2021-11-06 19:34:21

  书名取得比较好，但是内容撑不起这个名字。只是把10个公司案例介绍了一下，没有深入洞察和细节，过于浮光掠影了。不推荐。

• 作者：Panny 发布时间：2014-09-17 10:59:32

  Nice written

• 作者：Aether 发布时间：2010-05-23 02:03:14

  四川好多风情小镇啊！！

• 作者：bedj2zth8n 发布时间：2022-04-04 14:32:07

  看哭了好几次 挺黑暗的吧

• 散发着浓浓乡土气息的小说

  作者：casa暖阳 发布时间：2013-10-13 17:58:18

       之前看一法国小说史的书，帕尼奥尔似乎没有被摆在很重要的位置上，这也难怪，他的小说，就内容而言，没有太多深刻的东西，就形式而言，也无所谓创新，相反，在小说多元化发展的20世纪法国，显得十分普通，轻松耐读，无异于一般的通俗小说。庆幸的是，作为读者，我无需考虑什么价值评判，只要认清一个现实，我很喜欢这部小说。

     虽然看的是翻译版，但是富有乡土气息的语言与故事还是深深吸引了我，本书的翻译应该也是相当成功的，真实还原了作者笔下那个生机勃勃的法国南部山区，在这个远离了都市繁华的世界里，没有深邃的哲学，没有任何大道理，有的只是小人物的悲伤与欢乐、努力与挣扎、或是阴谋与猥琐......情节的发展似乎走了一个圆，并没有太多出人意料的地方，但里面的人物却是活生生的，“坏人”仿佛也没那么坏，甚至令人同情；“好人”也不一定是完美的，也有他们的弱点。作者无意于说理，却借助圆满的故事表达了自己朴素的哲学。

     其实以前我曾经看过由小说拍成的两部电影，虽然浓重的南部口音影响了对剧情的理解，不过美丽的山景与南部风情却给我留下深刻印象，那是实景拍摄的。而现在看小说的时候我又常常联想起电影里的画面。有机会的话很想看一下小说原著。

• 轻松学生物，不仅仅有工作细胞

  作者：消费主义小可爱 发布时间：2019-01-22 11:14:52

  2018年，一部豆瓣评分9.0，讲述身体中细胞工作流程的夏季番萌遍整个B站，整天迷路的红细胞，跟随潜行的白细胞，协同工作的血小板，他们一起维护了我们身体的稳态和健康，在羡慕现在的孩子们学生物也如此简单的同时，我们也在思考能不能学得更多，学得更好？

  

  工作细胞

  (2018)

  8.9

  2018 / 日本 / 喜剧 动作 动画 奇幻 / 铃木健一 大脊户聪 青柳宏宜 朝木幸彦 清丸悟 江副仁美 佐佐木纯人 吉川志我津 / 花泽香菜 前野智昭

  “白细胞跑这么快是依靠什么来供能的呢？”

  “呼吸作用啊，白细胞是有线粒体的”

  “那呼吸作用的过程是什么样的呢？”

  ……

  《生命的运作方式》就能解答这些问题，这本书的有趣程度，也不输《工作细胞》（虽然没有萌出血的血小板，但是这里的画风更写实啊~）

  这本书有六个亮点：

  1、设置有全书简介

  与每一集《工作细胞》一开始都有一段长长的简介类似，《生命的运作方式》一开篇也设计了一段简介，让读者更好地进入书中的内容，了解大自然中的生命同一性，了解生命的运作方式。

  “想象一下，你正走在一片荒无人烟的沙滩上，突然看到一副鲸的残骸。时间、海浪和食腐的鸟类已经销蚀了它大部分血肉。你可能第一反应是同情这种与我们有血缘关系的哺乳动物，也可能很好奇到底发生了什么事——这只鲸身上有着怎样的故事？”

  “当你观察这些骨骼时，它的样式将令你大为惊讶……实际上，鲸胸鳍中的这些骨头和人的手臂与手掌非常相似。尽管比例大小不同，但二者的模式是惊人的雷同。”

  

  在这以后切入全书的主题——生命的同一性，今天支撑着地球生命的基本结构与机制都适用于现存的生物，创造生命的过程遵循着一套共通的法则。

  

  最后是徐徐展开的画卷，讲述全书的脉络与阅读指南。作者非常诚恳地讲述着每一章的主题去，从全景图一般的模式历经能量、信息、装置、反馈、社群五个部分，最终用进化来将生物学的方方面面统一起来。讲述这一切的，则是手绘的插画，这也是这本书的第二个亮点。

  2、手绘

  《工作细胞》中不论是红细胞还是血小板（我的血小板才没有这么可爱）能够深入人心的原原因往往得益于漫画的表现方式。每个在中学阶段学过生物的人都深有体会，生物学往往会沦为背诵的战场，很多内容过于抽象，理解是不能理解的，最终还是得靠背。相比《工作细胞》的二次元漫画，《生命的运作方式》则用手绘插图的方式来帮助我们更加深入和形象地理解生物学知识，利用想象画出照片很难做到的场景，呈现出照片无法呈现的细节，以及干净利索的解释。

  

  比如这页，需要说明恐龙是如何进化成鸟类，以及进化中骨骼的变化，这显然不可能用照片来展示了，但是通过手绘，这根本不是问题。

  

  再譬如生命的内外之分，细胞膜用磷脂分子组成，一侧亲水，一侧亲脂，将细胞内外的环境隔离的同时，保证细胞膜内部环境的稳定，在这里，作者用麝牛环绕成一圈的插图，传达了这个意思——恰巧磷脂分子的形状也像一头牛，有着亲水的头部与亲脂的尾部。

  但是手绘的意义还不止这些，从上面的例子就能看出来，手绘是比喻的基础，而生动、精准的语言和比喻是这本书的又一个亮点。

  3、生动诙谐，异常准确的语言和比喻

  在《工作细胞》中，我们能够看到漫画作者疯狂的比喻，比如将整个身体比作城市，血小板（为什么我总是记着血小板？）的凝血功能是织成一张网。与《工作细胞》类似，《生命的运作方式》也用各式各样的比喻来进行讲述，如下图：

  

  原子和分子用球表示已经不是什么新鲜的比喻了，但是当氨基酸变成链的一环——那么蛋白质就是是链子的盘曲。当核苷酸的碱基、核糖、磷酸被抽象化的时候，后边的任何比喻都不再显得奇怪了。

  

  再举一个例子，这里讲述的内容基于热力学第二定律，生命为了维持一个有序的形态就必须要消耗能量，为了展示这个过程，用积木来表示有序和无序，用上坡和下坡表示有序与无序之间的变化，其实，生命并没有凌驾于自然的规律之上，只是将自然规律化作自身优势罢了。

  4、从微观到宏观，从个体到群体的知识结构

  相较各集内容独立的《工作细胞》（没错，有几集没有出现血小板，这让我非常不满），《生命的运作方式》做到了各章之间衔接有序，渐次深化的内容组织，作者不满足于让读者知道些零散的生物学知识就拉到，两位作者想让读者掌握的不仅仅是知识，更是一个从微观到宏观，从个体到群体的生物学知识结构。

  

  举一个例子，这页讲述了生物通用的能量通货ATP的形态和作用，ATP高能磷酸键的断裂与形成（这个戴眼镜的人其实是个很好的比喻，高能磷酸键确实像这个人一般“狂野”和活泼）几乎每一时刻，在每一个活细胞中的ATP都高达10亿个，每隔两三分钟这些ATP分子都被消耗，可想而知这内容是多么的微观。白细胞之所以跑这么快，都是因为ATP哦！

  

  还有这里，在认识ATP之后，这里讲述了ATP的合成。还是最原始的那种，无氧呼吸，也叫糖酵解，又名发酵，酿酒的原理就在于此，生产ATP需要细胞器参与，更需要多种酶的参与，这已经比ATP宏观一点了。

  

  再举一个例子，细胞器是看不见摸不着的，更宏观的人体组织就可以直观地感受了，比如这里蛋白质的七种功能。

  

  还有这里，此处就已经脱离了个体的范畴，多种生物生存在同一个环境中会形成一个生态系统，生态系统有大有小，到了这里，开始讲述宏观和群体的生活与调节，而这就是生物之间共存共生的前提。

  

  在全书的最后，开始讲述进化，也就是新物种的产生，这已经不再是一两个个体的事情，也不是一两个物种的事情，这是整个自然界的事情，前面所讲述的一切：能量，信息，反馈，社群在这里交汇与统一。

  知识的结构性让这本书变得非常耐嚼，那怕我们对这些内容已经烂熟于心，我们仍然会为书中生动诙谐的比喻和立体全面的知识结构拍手称快，同时涌现出一种后悔：“当年要是有这本，能省多少背诵的时间啊！”

  5、科学的精神与人文和自然的关怀

  一本好的科学书能给予读者的不能仅仅是知识，还应该能够让读者理解自然，并让生活变得更加丰富多彩。《生命的运作方式》就能在传递知识同时，让我们的生活变得更美好。

  

  陆地上的某种蜥蜴进化成了现代的鸟类，听起来很不可思议，但这是真的。只需要一点小小的优势发扬光大，经过时间的推移就能成就物种的进化——这和我们的人生何其相似？

  

  在全书的最后，作者依然没有忘记环保，“我们给自然世界留下的印记越深，我们对它的责任就越大。”

  6.、大神之作

  最后让我们我们来看看两位作者，生物化学家与插画家的完美组合：马伦·霍格兰（Mahlon Hoagland），美国生物化学家，于1948年在哈佛大学医学院获得医学学位，并在该学院细菌学系工作。其对生物学的最大贡献是发现了转运RNA（tRNA）和氨基酸活化机制，帮助构建了遗传学的基础。霍格兰一生共发表62篇文章，被引用超过2 500次。他曾两次被提名诺贝尔奖，并于1976年获得富兰克林生命科学奖章。他曾出版6本面向公众的分子生物学书籍，并于1982年和1996年两次获得美国医学作家书籍奖。

  伯特·窦德生（Bert Dodson），才华洋溢的画家，曾为60多本书籍绘制插画。他也在学校开课教授素描与绘画，并著书教人如何画素描。

  《生命的运作方式》就是两位作者合作的结晶，科学家希望读者们能对科学探索的成就和人类不断加深认识的能力感到敬佩和骄傲。另一方面，艺术家则看到一种可能性，让大家领会到人类与生命世界的同一性。

  我想他们做到了。