哈佛招生官评论本文道：作者非常有创意，用碎片式写场景的方式，将五星咖啡馆的春天展现在我们面前，让我们感觉自己就像在海边的厨房一样。即使这篇essay做的所有事情就是要抓住我们的眼球，让我们记住它的作者的话，那这篇essay是很成功的。全文如下——

木板路上飘满马哈鱼腐烂的气味，木板路旁边的五星咖啡馆也满是鱼腥味，这个气味让人反感。我在后面的小厨房里，站着用刀切明天做简易荞麦面要用的红辣椒。亚当，一个留着短发，很可爱的小男孩儿站在我身后，一边将意大利波萝伏洛奶酪切片，一边讲着关于瑞士滑雪的故事。从咖啡馆前走过的游客，有些就扭过头朝窗子内看看，另外一些人则仅仅对鱼儿在水中向上游的瞬间感兴趣，按一下相机的快门，来记录这自强不息的瞬间。下午3点了，这个时间点，午间客流刚刚结束，晚上的客流还没到，所以我就放松地下来欣赏亚当有节奏感的切片的动作，这个节奏就像我将红辣椒切碎一样。这时门开了，一位顾客进来，亚当看看我说：“你来接待吧！”

我点了点头，让自己从那些辣椒中回过神来，走到收银台。顾客站着看着我，他的眼睛藏在乱糟糟的灰色头发下面，正好撞到我的眼睛，我就朝他的头部以下看，很早之前的纹身纹路显得很突出，他很消瘦的胳膊上纹了很多字、画和象征图案。我意识到我在盯着人家看，所以抬起头来，用明亮的嗓音问道：“请问您有什么需要？”他很小心地说道：“一杯咖啡。”亚当递给他一杯咖啡，然后回去切奶酪了。“一杯咖啡一块钱，先生。”他在口袋摸了摸，然后掏出一张皱巴巴的纸币。他伸出手，很快又缩回去了，脸色也变了，他朝我这边侧过来，瞥了一眼收银机，然后结巴地问道：“这个收银机是活着的么？”我看了看那台放在收银台上的表面是传统灰色的机器，当把钱放进去的时候，它就会显示绿色的数字。我想起了我刚刚到咖啡馆上班的时候，当我自信满满地讲，它是活着的，总觉得它像一台只知道数钱的无耻的机器，会让我很没有自尊。随着日子一天天过去，我对这台普通的机器印象发生了改观，对它倒平添了一种信任。

我想起这个被各种机器操纵的世界，车子、电脑、闹钟，它们会，他们能跳起来攻击我们吗？就像我后面的咖啡机，如果很烫的水向前喷出来，会让我眼睛变瞎的；这台收银机也会掉下来，把我撞倒在地…Oh，当然不会的。

理智又一次战胜了幻想。

“不，先生，这仅仅是一台机器，”我解释道。他看着我，好像不相信我的话，为了让他安心，我补充道“它就是收钱的机器。”然后拿着他的钱，向他展示这个过程：我摁了下按钮，就可以把钱放进去了。他双手拿着咖啡，细细品尝。

“一台机器…”他轻声重复着。

收银机依然安静地躺在收银台上。

分析

这篇essay出彩的地方是它的主题和风格，“理智”就像是招生官呼吸到的一股新鲜空气。想象一下，在读过了千百篇俗套主题的文章后，当你看到一篇写红辣椒，意大利波萝伏洛奶酪和收银机的文章-它怎能不脱颖而出？

不像其他文章，描述一生中的经历或者一段意义非凡的人物关系，作者将她自己的才气展现得淋漓尽致，将我们带入一幅迷人的画面中。

作者非常有创意，用碎片式写场景的方式，将五星咖啡馆的春天展现在我们面前，让我们感觉自己就像在海边的厨房一样。即使这篇essay做的所有事情就是要抓住我们的眼球，让我们记住它的作者的话，那这篇essay是很成功的。

“理智”这篇文章，还有其他的长处。和那位胳膊瘦弱男士的对话，也引发对现实生活的疑问。我们如何联系到我们身边的这些机器呢？“理智”又是如何在新的环境中发生改变的呢？这些机器又是如何在我们与处于不同阶级和有着不同身份背景的人的关系上影响着我们呢？这篇essay并没有要去回答这些问题，但是作者提出这些，表明她老于世故，实际上，是他的思想很有趣。

当然，这篇essay也不是没有缺点。这个场景看起来有些不切实际，所以我们就很想知道这是不是一篇小说。申请文书，最好是我们能听到作者内心最真挚的声音；偏小说的风格折了分。另外，虽然作者在文章中表现得很有思想深度，很有才气，并且描绘了很生动的想象，但却留下了很多问题有待回答。作者是想要成为一名作家么？她怎样才能将其创造性转化成对社会的贡献呢？我们将会在她其他的申请资料中找寻来填补这些遗憾。但不得不说的是，总体来讲，就因为这些不足，或者说虽然有这些不足，“理智”这篇essay是成功的。

英文原版ESSAY赏析

ESSAY13：Sensibility（理智）

-- by Amanda Davis

The putrid stench of rotten salmon wafts through the boardwalk, permeating the Five Star Café with a fishy odor. I stand, chopping red peppers for tomorrow’s soba salad, in the back of the minuscule kitchen. Adam, a pretty boy with cropped hair, stands beside me, relating tales of snowboarding in Sweden while slicing provolone cheese. Tourists walk by the café, some peering in through the windows, others interested only in fish swimming upstream – clicks of cameras capture the endless struggle for survival. It is 3:00 in the afternoon, the lunch rush has died down, the evening rush has not yet started. I relax in the rhythmic trance of the downward motion of the knife, as I watch the red peppers fall into precise slices. The door opens. A customer. Adam looks toward me. “Your turn.”

I nod, pull myself away from the peppers, and turn to the register. A man stands, looking at me. His eyes, hidden under tangled gray hair, catch mine, and my eyes drop, down to his arms. Spider lines of old tattoos stand out, words and pictures and symbols sketched on thin, almost emaciated arms. I know I am staring. I look up.

“Can I help you?” I brightly ask.

He looks at me warily. “A cup of coffee.”

Adam hands him a cup and goes back to slicing.

“That will be one dollar, sir.” He fumbles in his pocket, and pulls out a wrinkled dollar bill. He extends his hand, then – suddenly – pulls back. His face changes, and he leans toward me, casting a frightened glance at the cash register.

“Is that – is that --” he stumbles over his words. “Is that alive?”

I look to the machine. Its common gray exterior rests on the counter, the green numerals displaying the amount owed. I think of my first days at the Five Star, when I was sure that it was alive – a nefarious machine manipulating the costs to cause my humiliation. As the days proceeded, we slowly gained a trust for one another, and its once evil demeanor had changed – to that of an ordinary machine. I think of the world – controlled by machines, the cars and computers and clocks – would they, could they, rise up against us? The espresso machine is behind me, it could attack – the hot water spurting forth, blinding me as the cash register falls and knocks me onto the floor as I – No, of course not.

Sensibility wins again.

“No, sir. It’s just a machine,” I explain. He eyes me, untrusting of my words, in need of reassurance. “It takes money.” I take his dollar, and show him how, with a push of a button, I can place the money inside. He takes his coffee with both hands, and sips it.

“A machine…” he quietly repeats.

The cash register sits, silent on the counter.

ANALYSIS

In both subject matter and style, “Sensibility” is a breath of fresh air. Imagine reading stacks of essays about mundane topics, and then coming upon one about red peppers, provolone cheese and a cash register – how could it not stand out?

Rather than describing a life-altering experience or an influential relationship, the writer reveals herself and her talents indirectly by bringing us into a captivating scene.

With the skills of a creative writer, the author uses crisp detail to make the Five Star Café spring to life and to place us in the seaside kitchen. Even if all the essay does is grab our attention and force us to remember its author, this essay is a success.

But “Sensibility” has other strengths. The dialogue with the emaciated man raises provocative questions about modern life. How do we relate to the machines around us? How does “sensibility” change in this new environment? And how do machines affect our relations with people of different classes and backgrounds? The essay does not pretend to answer these questions, but in raising them it reveals its author to possess an impressive degree of sophistication and, at bottom, an interesting mind.

All the same, “Sensibility” is not without its faults. For one, the scene seems so surreal that we are led to wonder whether this is a work of fiction. And admissions essay will be stronger the more we can trust that we are hearing the author’s honest, personal voice; the fictional quality here jeopardizes that. Moreover, although the author proves that she is thoughtful and talented and has a vivid imagination, many questions are left unanswered. Does the author want to be a writer? How would her creativity translate into a contribution to the community? We would need to rely on the rest of her application to fill in those gaps. Still, on the whole, “Sensibility” is successful both because of and in spite of its riskiness.

注：出自哈佛成功EESAY50篇之第一版