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新疆阜康白杨河上游墓群发掘简报

2016年9月至2017年9月，新疆文物考古研究所、新疆博物馆组成联合考古队，对阜康市白杨河上游墓群进行了抢救性发掘,共清理墓葬85座、遗址2处，出土各类器物200余件（组）。墓葬可分为石棺墓、竖穴土坑墓、竖穴石室墓、竖穴偏室墓、竖穴洞室墓等多种类型，时代自青铜时代晚期延续至晋唐时期。墓群中还发现石构遗址1座、火塘1座，所在台地上分布有岩画，游牧文化特征显著。本次发掘对于揭示白杨河流域历史发展脉络，构建博格达山北麓考古学文化序列等具有重要意义。

宁夏固原南郊唐墓发掘简报

南郊唐墓位于宁夏固原市西南新区。2015年6～7月，为配合基本建设，宁夏文物考古研究所清理了汉代至明代墓葬27座，其中唐墓4座（编号M1～M4），除M2盗扰严重外，其余3座保存较好。3座墓葬排列有序，方向一致，出土器物较具特色，包括陶器、汉白玉俑和铜镜等。M3出土的墓志，墓志盖背面志文接续墓志志文，较为少见。根据其记载可知，此墓年代为开元十二年（724年）。3座墓葬出土器物风格相似，年代应相近。M3、M4出土的汉白玉俑，线条简洁，工艺精巧，丰富了宁夏地区唐代墓葬的考古资料。

医学考古学初论

近年来，有关古代医学的考古发现日益丰富，并且受到学界的广泛关注。本文从缘起、研究对象、研究理论与方法、定位、意义等方面对医学考古学进行了系统论述。文章认为，医学考古学作为一门新兴的交叉学科，其产生与发展是考古学与医学相互作用并有机结合的结果；医学考古学是以考古学和医学的研究理论与方法对古代人类医学遗存进行研究的一门学科，既属于考古学的分支学科，同时也是医学研究的新兴领域之一。文章关于医学考古学的讨论，有助于构建完善的医学考古学学科体系，促进医学考古学的发展，推动古代医学文化的研究。

下期要目

河南郏县黑庙墓地西汉墓发掘简报

河北曲阳北镇定窑遗址发掘简报

·考古新收获·

河南郏县黑庙墓地西汉墓发掘简报

郑州大学历史学院等

河北曲阳北镇定窑遗址发掘简报

北京大学考古文博学院等

·研究与探索·

早期定窑研究

秦大树  吴闻达  李   鑫

·古代建筑·

鼓浪屿清代古厝民居外檐灰塑彩绘初探

成   丽  漆诗征

·科技考古·

景德镇宋元时期米黄釉瓷器的科技分析

李其江  翁彦俊  张茂林  何    俊

汪丽华  吴    琳  江建新  江小民

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一个人孤身独处，远离他人，就很可能出现心理问题。在某种意义上，欺骗是人的本能，绝大多数人无须练习就能实施高深莫测的欺骗行为。高明的骗子、戏子和赌徒还能贏得同类人的敬仰，而同样进行欺骗的秘密特工，则没有那么简单。特工实施欺骗是为了自我保护，他们不但要提防外部世界，还要伪装自己的真实情感。所以他们即使能赚到一些钱，在生活中也不敢做任何出格的事情；即使很博学，平常所说的也是一些陈词滥调；即使他们内心是很柔情的丈夫或父亲，在任何情况下也都要克制感情的自然流露。

如果在欺骗行动中碰到不断的难以抵御的诱惑，利玛斯就会诉诸他的法宝：就算实际上是孤身一人，他也强迫自己认为身边就有战友。据说巴尔扎克临终前还热切地询问他书中人物的情况，利玛斯同样充分发挥自己的想象力，在他想象的世界里获得认同。因此他表现给费德勒看的那些特征：躁动的不安、掩饰羞愧的孤傲，都几乎成了他的本性流露，包括很多细节：走路拖沓、不注意个人形象、对食物好坏无所谓，以及不断增加的烟瘾酒瘾。即使在他一人独处的时候，他也保持这些习惯。有时候他还会演点戏，自言自语地抱怨以前工作中所受到的不公平待遇。

I wrote The Spy Who Came in from the Cold at the age of thirty under intense, unshared, personal stress, and in extreme privacy. As an intelligence officer in the guise of a junior diplomat at the British Embassy in Bonn, I was a secret to my colleagues and much of the time to myself. I had written a couple of earlier novels, necessarily under a pseudonym, and my employing service had approved them before publication. After lengthy soul-searching, they had also approved The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. To this day, I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t.

As it was, they seem to have concluded, rightly if reluctantly, that the book was sheer fiction from start to finish, uninformed by personal experience, and that accordingly it constituted no breach of security. This was not,...

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold was the work of a wayward imagination brought to the end of its tether by political disgust and personal confusion. Fifty years on, I don’t associate the book with anything that ever happened to me, save for one wordless encounter at London airport when a worn-out middle-aged military kind of man in a stained raincoat slammed a handful of mixed foreign change onto the bar and in gritty Irish accents ordered himself as much Scotch as it would buy. In that moment, Alec Leamas was born. Or so my memory, not always a reliable informant, tells me.

Today I think of the novel as a not-very-well-disguised internal explosion after which my life would never be the same. It was not the first such explosion or the last. And yes, yes, by the time I wrote it, I had been...

And the deep background of the novel? The sights, smells, and voices that, fifteen years after the end of the war, continued to infest every corner of divided Germany? The Berlin in which Leamas had his being was a paradigm of human folly and historical paradox. In the early Sixties, I had observed it mostly from the confines of the British Embassy in Bonn, and only occasionally in the raw. But I watched the Wall’s progress from barbed wire to breeze block; I watched the ramparts of the Cold War going up on the still-warm ashes of the hot one. And I had absolutely no sense of transition from the one war to the other, because in the secret world there barely was one. To the hard-liners of East and West the Second World War was a distraction. Now it was over, they could get on with the real ...

The novel's merit, then — or its offense, depending where you stood — was not that it was authentic but that it was credible. The bad dream turned out to be one that a lot of people in the world were sharing since it asked the same old question that we are asking ourselves fifty years later: How far can we go in the rightful defense of our Western values without abandoning them along the way? My fictional chief of the British service — I called him Control — had no doubt of the answer:

I mean, you can’t be less ruthless than the opposition simply because your government’s policy is benevolent, can you now?

Today, the same man, with better teeth and hair and a much smarter suit, can be heard explaining away the catastrophic illegal war in Iraq, or justifying medieval torture techniques as...

There was a girl standing on the beach throwing bread to the sea gulls. Her back was turned to him. The sea wind played with her long black hair and pulled at her coat, making an arc of her body, like a bow strung toward the sea. He knew then what it was that Liz had given him; the thing that he would have to go back and find if ever he got home to England: it was the caring about little things--the faith in ordinary life; that simplicity that made you break up a bit of bread into a paper bag, walk down to the beach and throw it to the gulls.

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