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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=89TT1182>
<title>
May 01, 1989: Full Circle
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
May 01, 1989 Abortion
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 70
Full Circle
</hdr><body>
<qt> <l>TRIPMASTER MONKEY: HIS FAKE BOOK</l>
<l>by Maxine Hong Kingston Knopf;</l>
<l>340 pages; $19.95</l>
</qt>
<p> 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."
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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."
</p>
<p> 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."
</p>
<p> 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."
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>