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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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05018900.072
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1990-09-17
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BOOKS, Page 70Full Circle
By Stefan Kanfer
TRIPMASTER MONKEY: HIS FAKE BOOK
by Maxine Hong Kingston
Knopf; 340 pages; $19.95
In China Men (1980), Maxine Hong Kingston recalled a group of
immigrant Orientals shoveling foreign ground and shouting "Hello
down there in China! . . . Hello, my heart and my liver . . . I
want home. Home. Home. Home. Home."
But for most of them, return was a financial and political
chimera. Against their wishes and traditions, home became the U.S.
Initially, their neighbors regarded them, in Bret Harte's words,
as the "Heathen Chinee," an enduring caricature of cheap labor and
social isolation, living in towns within cities, operating behind
the impenetrable facades of restaurants and laundries. It was
decades before the hostility softened to tolerance and, in recent
years, to appreciation.
If the applause began with Richard Nixon's famous visit to the
People's Republic, it has been intensified by the growing Chinese
presence on campuses, in business and the arts. When Kingston
published her first account, The Woman Warrior (1976), she was a
soloist. Today she is part of a choir of writers concerned with the
Chinese experience. On Broadway, David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly
explores the boundaries of power, sex and race. In Amy Tan's The
Joy Luck Club, published last month, Chinese mothers offer their
children a series of poignant confessionals. China's repressive
Cultural Revolution is the subject of a forthcoming
autobiographical novel, A Generation Lost, by Zi-Ping Luo. The
Chinese immigrant, now a professor of chemistry at Caltech, was 14
when the Red Guards closed her school.
But not everyone in Luo's generation was lost. Spring Bamboo,
published early this year, is a collection of stories by Chinese
writers under 40, gathered and edited by Jeanne Tai, a New York
City attorney. The variety of their expressions and subjects
indicates that culture has begun to seep back to the mainland.
Wesleyan Professor Ann-ping Chin offers more proof of recovery in
the recent Children of China, a survey of youth in the People's
Republic. "One cannot say that all China's cultural symbols and
cultural assumptions were reduced to ruins," she writes. "They seem
to be endowed with a life of their own."
Given this feverish interest in China, it was inevitable that
Occidental travelers would add their own speculations about the
People's Republic. Two years ago, Mark Salzman wrote Iron and Silk,
a recollection of his years as an English teacher in Changsha. Next
spring he will produce a novel, tentatively titled Journey to the
West, that mixes Chinese myth and actuality. And next month will
bring The Great Black Dragon Fire, by veteran journalist Harrison
Salisbury. The fire was not fiction; it occurred in 1987, and it
burned a Manchurian forest "so large that, like China's Great Wall,
it could have been seen from the moon."
Appropriately, the Sino-American renaissance has now come full
circle with Kingston's first novel, Tripmaster Monkey. Many books
have been influenced by her luminous works, and many more are
likely to tumble from her new picaresque. The time is the late
'60s, the place San Francisco, and the protagonist the wild-eyed
Wittman Ah Sing, a recent graduate of Berkeley. Overseas,
annihilation beckons as the Viet Nam War escalates. Envious of the
black experience, Wittman howls, "Where's our jazz? Where's our
blues? Where's our ain't-taking-no-shit-from-nobody
street-strutting language? I want so bad to be the first bad-jazz
China Man bluesman of America."
To awaken the Chinese-American conscience, Wittman decides to
stage a phantasmagorical street theater piece, complete with diving
monkeys and realistic thousand-man battle scenes. En route, he
caroms off a cast of eccentrics: activist egomaniacs, a new wife
and a newer girlfriend, hidebound parents, an ancient grandmother,
pot-scented philosophers ("You're going through the delusion of
clarity") and a restless audience for his riffs.
Some of Tripmaster owes its atmosphere to Herman Hesse's
overheated German vaudeville, Steppenwolf, and a few historical
meditations are straight out of Saul Bellow ("The world was
splitting up. Tolstoy had noted the surprising gaiety of war.
During his time, picnickers and fighters took to the same field").
But Kingston's humor and idiom are her own, and so is the message,
buried deep in her complex narrative. When Wittman visits his
mother, she offers a succinct appraisal. "He read books," she
complains, "when he was three years old. Now look at him. A
bum-how." That critique has been made for 200 years by innumerable
parents. As the world is discovering, the Chinese American is just
like all the other immigrant Americans. Only more so.