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15 of 17 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Memoir of a Playwright Among Ghosts?, January 13, 2002
It is hard to believe that "Tripmaster Monkey: His ... Book" is by the same author who wrote "The Woman Warrior." Maxine Hong Kingston's "Tripmaster Monkey" is her first "novel" (though by no means her first foray into fiction), and it is easy to see why there was a nine year gap between this book and "China Men." Kingston's novel, centring on a young, literary minded Chinese American man named Wittman Ah Sing, is meticulously researched and detailed, bringing to life the issues and fads of the mid-1960s Bay Area literary scene. Wittman, largely without an Chinese/Asian American literary tradition, has to overcome (white) racist assumptions of "the artist" in order to produce his truly American play without it being reduced to some "exotic" or "Oriental" exercise in Asianness. Despite the seriousness of Wittman's self- and community-driven mission to be taken seriously as an artist despite the racist assumptions that attempt to stifle his creativity, the novel is extremely funny, witty and surreal. Wittman disturbs a girl he is infatuated with by proclaiming "I am really: the present-day USA incarnation of the King of the Monkeys." Wittman is fired from his department store job because he puts "an organ-grinder's monkey with cymbals attached to its hands" on ..., for customers (children) to see! Wittman's parents abandon his honorary grandmother PoPo high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains to die, and she is later rescued by a wealthy man who just happens to be seeking a wife! In many ways, Kingston's rendering of the surreal, "tripmaster" (mental and physical) wanderings of Wittman resemble the textual flow of the post-"Moby Dick" novels by Herman Melville. As with those later Melville novels, Kingston's own novel is often angry, but is also frightfully funny and filled with accurate observations of life, love and the role of art, religion, philosophy and national identity in society.
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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Some Gems, Lots of Murk., June 5, 2005
Before I read this, I'd only read one other work by Maxine Hong Kingston--not a book, but a short essay. However, just reading that, it was very clear to me that Kingston is a superb writer with a clear, strong voice and a great ear for ambience and cultural innuendos. So I picked this book up.
The beginning of the book was simply stunning. The first few paragraphs were a bit hard to read, being so disjointed and LSD-ish, but once I got over that... Just hearing Wittman Ah Sing neurotically spewing out observations and thoughts about the city and its inhabitants was a real eye-opener. I really got the feel of what it was like to be fifth-generation Chinese-American at that time, and that's no mean feat. Also, later on in the book, near the end, Wittman is raging about how Asian-American writers are all written off as "exotic" or "not quite as exotic as you'd expect." Written with painfully acute perception in masterful language, that section almost trembled with rage and furor at racial stereotypes and prejudices. Yeah, and Wittman kind of grew on me and despite his neuroticism, I came to like him as a character. Perhaps not fleshed out completely well, but still likeable.
That said, though, I can see why this was her first novel. This book needs EDITING. The first part of the book and the last part of the book are excellent. Moving. Perceptive. Real issues, thoughtfully delivered, perhaps without clear-cut answers but then again there are not clear-cut answers to issues of this kind. BUT! If I wanted an LSD trip, I would TAKE an LSD trip. Jesus Christ. The middle section of the book, a few hundred pages, is just pure dribble as Wittman crazily heaves himself here and there while pontificating about some-forgettable-something-or-other. Given how much I feel for the subject, stereotyping and racism, the fact that I COULDN'T get through those pages says a lot. The review a few numbers back is quite funny--the one about how "you idiots don't have enough training in postmodernism to appreciate it, and I do, blah blah blah." It seriously is. But hey--Mr. or Ms. Gloomy Literary Geek With Your Nose Stuck Up in the Air--not all bad writing can be defended by that "oh it's the undereducated reader's fault, blah blah" argument. If that were so, hell, anyone who can hold a pen and spell reasonably would be the next Kundera. It's just like saying "We Lost 'Nam 'Cause You, the American Public, Didn't Support Us Enough!" Revisionist history, revisionist literary criticism. Blame and responsibility assigned on the wrong heads.
That said, though, I gave the book a four-star rating just because of the sheer force, lyricism and perceptiveness of the beginning and the end, around two hundred pages long.
I have a good mind to read Kingston's other books. If her first book's this good, those others are bound to be great.
I just have to wonder--why WASN'T this edited? Surely, with her name value, she could have gotten hold of any number of good editors. It's sad to see such a great book laid to waste.
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9 of 10 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Tripmaster Monkey is a rare delight for the picky reader., December 21, 1998
Until I read Tripmaster Monkey, I was afraid I was the only "Wittman Ah Sing" in the world. I am no longer fearful. Maxine Hong Kingston crafts this book like a tasty dumpling; substantial, filling, and it sticks to your heart (rather than the roof of your mouth). One major incentive of this book is its blatant honesty. This story about an Asian hippie Wittman is not complete without the parent-like nagging of truths, always present, and always raising questions. Perhaps the only negative comment I can render unto this book is that it repeats itself sometimes quite obviously, and that may distract from a (certainly not mine) sensitive reader's enjoyment. However, the complex messages imbued within Tripmaster Monkey are a pleasure to decode and comprehend. Along with entertaining (and all too true) depictions of the Asian-American- I especially rememeber the one about Uncle Bun, the obsessive wheat germ-loving communist- this "fake" book has me firmly convinced it's the real thing. Authentic (for a novel) Maxine Hong Kingston, folks.
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