谁能提供欧亨利的写作风格？要英文的

原名威廉·西德尼·波特（William Sydney Porter），是美国最著名的短篇小说家之一，曾被评论界誉 为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。 他的一生富于传奇性，当过药房学徒、牧牛人、会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者、银行出纳员。当银行出 纳员时，因银行短缺了一笔现金，为避免审讯，离家流亡中美的洪都拉斯。后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入 狱，并在监狱医务室任药剂师。他在银行工作时，曾有过写作的经历，担任监狱医务室的药剂师后开始认真 写作。1901年提前获释后，迁居纽约，专门从事写作。 欧·亨利善于描写美国社会尤其是纽约百姓的生活。他的作品构思新颖，语言诙谐，结局常常出人意 外；又因描写了众多的人物，富于生活情趣，被誉为“美国生活的幽默百科全书”。代表作有小说集《白菜 与国王》、《四百万》、《命运之路》等。其中一些名篇如《爱的牺牲》、《警察与赞美诗》、《带家具出 租的房间》、《麦琪的礼物》、《最后一片藤叶》等使他获得了世界声誉。
欧·亨利晚年开始酗酒，身体情况恶化。1907年他再次结婚，但和妻子不和，一年后即离婚。他的经济情况也不好，为了缓解生活压力，他不得不以很快速度创作小说来换取稿费，这也导致了他的作品的质量参差不齐。1910年欧·亨利因肝硬化去世。
O. Henry (1862-1910) - pseudonym of William Sydney Porter
Prolific American short-story writer, a master of surprise endings, who wrote about the life of ordinary people in New York City. Typical for O. Henry's stories is a twist of plot which turns on an ironic or coincidental circumstance. Although some critics were not so enthusiastic about his work, the public loved it.
O. Henry was born William Sydney Porter in Greenboro, North Carolina. His father, Algernon Sidney Porter, was a physician. When William was three, his mother died, and he was raised by his parental grandmother and paternal aunt. William was an avid reader, but at the age of fifteen he left school, and then worked in a drug store and on a Texas ranch. He continued to Houston, where he had a number of jobs, including that of bank clerk. After moving in 1882 to Texas, he worked on a ranch in LaSalle County for two years. In 1887 he married Athol Estes Roach; they had one daughter and one son.
In 1894 Porter started a humorous weekly The Rolling Stone. It was at this time that he began heavy drinking. When the weekly failed, he joined the Houston Post as a reporter and columnist. In 1894 cash was found to have gone missing from the First National Bank in Austin, where Porter had worked as a bank teller. When he was called back to Austin to stand trial, Porter fled to Honduras to avoid trial. Little is known about Porter's stay in Central America. It is said, that he met one Al Jennings, and rambled in South America and Mexico on the proceeds of Jenning's robbery. After hearing news that his wife was dying, he returned in 1897 to Austin. In 1897 he was convicted of embezzling money, although there has been much debate over his actual guilt. Porter entered in 1898 a penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio.
In 1907 O. Henry married Sara Lindsay Coleman, also born in Greensboro. The marriage was not happy, and they separated a year later. O. Henry died of cirrhosis of the liver on June 5, 1910, in New York. Three more collections, SIXES AND SEVENS (1911), ROLLING STONES (1912) and WAIFS AND STRAYS (1917), appeared posthumously. In 1918 the O. Henry Memorial Awards were established to be given annually to the best magazine stories, the winners and leading contenders to be published in an annual volume.

O. Henry is famed for his 'twist' endings, and as such, many of his short stories fall into a formula. That said, it's a pretty good formula, and if more writers that are published could find themselves a formula that works as well it would be alot better world to read in. Yet, even the best of formulae lend themselves to needless repetition and predictability. While there are a handful of tales that are great, most are merely solid, for O. Henry lacks a modern feel to his character development. In one tale he can be as realistic as turn of the Twentieth Century fiction can be and in the next he can give merely slight caricatures and corny sight gags.

Among his greatest tales are some of his most famous, like The Social Triangle which humorously skewers classism by having a down and out protagonist named Ikey Snigglefritz end up the object of affection to a gratuitous, social climber. Here is that tale's classic end:

The big pale-gray auto with its shining metal work looked out of place moving slowly among the push carts and trash-heaps on the lower east side. So did Cortlandt Van Duyckink, with his aristocratic face and white, thin hands, as he steered carefully between the groups of ragged, scurrying youngsters in the streets. And so did Miss Constance Schuyler, with her dim, ascetic beauty, seated at his side.

'Oh, Cortlandt,' she breathed, 'isn't it sad that human beings have to live in such wretchedness and poverty? And you- how noble it is of you to think of them, to give your time and money to improve their condition!'

'It is little,' he said, sadly, 'that I can do. The question is a large one, and belongs to society. But even individual effort is not thrown away. Look, Constance! On this street I have arranged to build soup kitchens, where no one who is hungry will be turned away. And down this other street are the old buildings that I shall cause to be torn down and there erect others in place of those death-traps of fire and disease.'

Down Delancey slowly crept the pale-gray auto. Away from it toddled coveys of wondering, tangle-haired, barefooted, unwashed children. It stopped before a crazy brick structure, foul and awry.

Van Duyckink alighted to examine at a better perspective one of the leaning walls. Down the steps of the building came a young man who seemed to epitomize its degradation, squalor and infelicity- a narrow-chested, pale, unsavory young man, puffing at a cigarette.

Obeying a sudden impulse, Van Duyckink stepped out and warmly grasped the hand of what seemed to him a living rebuke.

'I want to know you people,' he said, sincerely. 'I am going to help you as much as I can. We shall be friends.'

As the auto crept carefully away Cortlandt Van Duyckink felt an unaccustomed glow about his heart. He was near to being a happy man.

He had shaken the hand of Ikey Snigglefritz.

Another excellent story is The Last Leaf, in which a symbolic article of hope becomes another's doom. Best-Seller comments on the then gloomy state of publishing. And The Gift Of The Magi, his most famous tale, set at Christmas, is as good as it's made out to be, recounts a poor young couple who give up their own prized possessions so the other will get their heart's desire, only to have each gift, intended to complement the other's treasure, be the thing the other relinquishes. And other classics like Brickdust Row- a social commentary, and The Furnished Room- a tale of suicide, are as good as billed.

However, this book would have been better were it halved to twenty-one tales. There is an essence to O. Henry tales that are too plot-driven. The characters are mere accoutrements to tell a tale, rather than having the appearance of the tale willing to serve them. The best writers make a reader feel like we're merely glimpsing in on the private lives or thoughts of a character, not having a stage play put on for us. Many of O. Henry's lesser tales, the bulk of the book, read like mini Our Towns. That is not to deny the humor, nor the inventiveness of the stories, but, especially read one after another,and after the first four or five tales, a good reader can see the plot's machinations and twists from a mile away. This is why even his best stories do not have the intellectual and artistic heft of truly great short story writers like a Raymond Carver or Russell Banks. Yet, that very obviousness is not always a disadvantage, as any Vaudeville comedian could tell you. Still, a book with half as many tales would be twice as enjoyable, if many of the lesser tales were pruned, especially those set outside of New York. William Sydney Porter, O. Henry's real life persona, just did not have a feel for the non-urban, and his formulae, honed on city hustlers, does not work on amigos nor cowpokes. What would have been interesting was if O. Henry had NOT done a twist ending on every tale, and played into that assumption of a twist ending, then twist the tale with a no twist, or an off-twist. Irony loses its edge in the cacophony of its company.

It is believed that Porter, a career hustler, and ex-con, wrote at least 270 stories under his pseudonym, so this represents about one seventh of his output. It is not difficult to say that a Complete O. Henry would bore even his most ardent fans, and the dated nature of some of his stylistic writing and their subject matter will not win over many young readers. Still, there are lively creations, such as the rapscallious Jeff Peters of several stories, including The Ethics Of Pig, collected here. Look at this bit of wordplay: 'Jeff is in the line of unillegal graft. He is not to be dreaded by widows and orphans; he is a reducer of surplusage. His favorite disguise is that of the target-bird at which the spend-thrift or the rockless investor may shy a few inconsequential dollars.' This is an example of excellent lingual skills, that makes even the dullest of his tales worth reading, if not ever reading again. He is also a master of gentle humor, and often shows an insight into the lower classes that far more serious writers utterly missed, in favor of screeding.

As proof, just reread the end of The Gift Of The Magi, and note how wise and calm Jim is portrayed, in contrast to many contemporary depictions of the poor as little more than savages who deserved the poverty they were shunted to:

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

'Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.'

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

'Dell,' said he, 'let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.'

The magi, as you know, were wise men- wonderfully wise men- who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

The last paragraph also details one of O. Henry's strengths, as well- his ability to seamlessly intrude into a tale, rewind it, or even restart it, as in Springtime A La Carte. His tales are always primally plot driven, as are Guy de Maupassant's, but that does not mean he didn't occasionally limn great characters- they're just few and far between. Good, bad, or in between, O. Henry is an American original- just make sure you take him in lite doses.
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