Week 8: Tripmaster Monkey

Wittman Ah Sing is a character who is searching, often in vain, for a practical use for this Berkeley English education, and he yearns for a community to call his own. He is technically part of many different communities: San Francisco, poets, Chinese, college students, and a group of friends with whom he parties. Still, he always feels out of place. He must learn to belong to a hybrid culture, one that encompasses both the individual and the community. Neither one can completely encompass the other. He must deal with the issue of his own visibility or invisibility. Sometimes he feels all important, and at others, he feels he can’t be heard by a single person in the city.

The title of the book comes from the ancient Chinese story “Monkey,” in which the monk Tripitaka brings the Buddhist scrolls from India to China. Monkey is one of his three companions, and the strongest and most unruly one. He is infinitely powerful, yet he is uncontrollable, rash, proud, and somewhat of a jokester. Much of this can apply to Wittman (except perhaps the infinite power). Wittman shares some of Monkey’s supernatural monk-ish powers. When on the bus, he sees a girl turn into a boar and speak to him. He seems to hallucinate, but his visions nearly always make some kind of sense and reveal important understandings to him.

The subtitle and chapter headings of the book are references to other types of works. The chapter titles are all phrases from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” The connection here needs no explanation. “His fake book” might not imply that the story is fake; it is like a jazz fake book, or a springboard for new ideas and cultures that will require improvisation. On the other hand, it could be a direct response to Frank Chin’s accusation:

“Come All Ye Asian American Writers of the Real and the Fake,” he writes: "What seems to hold Asian American literature together is the popularity among whites of Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior (450,000 copies sold since 1976); David Henry Hwang’s F.O.B. (Obie, best off- Broadway play) and M. Butterfly (Tony, best Broadway play); and Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club. These works are held up before us as icons of our pride, symbols of our freedom from the icky-gooey evil of . . . Chinese culture.

"Furthermore, Kingston, Hwang, and Tan are the first writers of any race, and certainly the first writers of Asian ancestry, to so boldly fake the best-known works from the most universally known body of Asian American lore in history."

The fact that Wittman is based on Frank Chin makes this a likely interpretation. It is a clever retort to that hurtful remark, and Kingston’s way of recreating the American canon, a goal she shares with Wittman Ah Sing.

Week 7: Hollow City

Hollow City brings up extremely interesting opinions and ideas about the gentrification of San Francisco. The idea of a hollow city at all is a very intriguing concept. Solnit and Schwartzenberg give so many examples of the types of people Ferlinghetti and Ginsberg write about as central to the San Franciscan culture being turned onto the streets or driven from the city entirely. It is a heartbreaking situation. If all the “angelheaded hipsters,” “men with burlap feet,” beatniks, and winos are expelled from the city, what is left but yuppies and empty buildings? It seems that those who made San Francisco great as a mythological and socially desirable places will no longer inhabit it. As the authors predict, there will be black culture, but no black people. This goes for all non-yuppie traditions. There will sushi bars with no Japanese, Latino restaurants with no Latinos, reggae clubs with no Rastafarians, etc. These are not the types of people who will commute into the city for the work like laborers or dot-com employees. They will take their art, culture, and social views elsewhere, leaving San Francisco (to borrow from Professor Wilson) a spectral city.

The photography with accompanying stories is what makes this book impressive and effective. Tracking certain trends is common enough, but she took the time to gather photos and personally interview hundreds of people about their experiences in the hollowing of San Francisco. This is what drives the points home. Seeing poor, elderly people and low-income families driven from their homes simply because there is more money to be made is heartbreaking. Stories like Ira Nowinski’s, being evicted the same day he was mugged for the four cents he was carrying from his long-time home, are especially poignant. This book is an incredible look into the changing city and what it might mean for the future.

Week 6: The Dharma Bums

One of the most interesting aspects of this book is the different explorations of religion. It is refreshing and entertaining to read their interpretations of the world and religion. While both focus primarily on Buddhism, there are different elements on which they choose to focus, and none is portrayed as more correct than the other.

Ray’s version of Buddhism involves a great deal of private meditation. He uses every opportunity to slip into the woods and be alone. Even when he returns to the east coast to spend Christmas with his family, he refuses to sleep in their house or spend his time with them. Later in the book, he begins to close his eyes and meditate while in a group setting, which unsettles many of his friends and their children. He also feels that celibacy is important since “lust [is] the direct cause of birth which [is] the direct cause of suffering and death” (29). He is repulsed at first by Japhy’s practice of yabyum and continually makes a point of staying away from girls. He is somewhat of a hypocrite, though, because he ends up appreciating his baths with Princess, and he bugs Japhy at one point for having so many girls and not sharing. He also doesn’t keep his body pure as many Buddhists do. He constantly drinks, to his friends’ chagrin. Japhy eats more purely, and he is more interested in actions than words.

The metaphor of climbing a mountain as a religious experience is one thing these characters have in common. When they climb the Matterhorn, Japhy makes it to the top by letting go and running while Ray fails because he is afraid of falling, so he clings to the rock. “Clinging” is a common word used in Buddhism to describe the inability to let go of the material world. Ray recognizes later that you can’t fall off a mountain. Their adventure helps to enlighten him.
At the end of the book, Japhy goes off to Japan so he can study with the great Buddhist masters while Ray works as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak. Each ends up finding his own way to personal fulfillment. The book ends with Ray descending Desolation Peak and giving thanks to the mountain for showing him enlightenment.

Ray is not a pure Buddhist; he doesn’t study in Japan or follow every tenet of the practice. He even mixes some Judeo-Christian belief into it, saying that Jesus preaches love, and he thanks God at the end. This mix of religion is the particular spirituality that suits Ray, so it is complete and perfect. We, as readers, hold nothing against him for this inventive conglomeration of beliefs.

Week 4: Myths and Façades

In their creative work “Location: San Francisco” (Reclaiming San Francisco, p. 151), Marina McDougall and Hope Mitnick write about people searching to penetrate the façade of a city and experience what it truly is to be in part of the city life. They ask a provocative question: “What happens to this quest when the façade is indistinguishable from the real thing?”

This question is somewhat new to me since I don’t have much of a personal involvement with San Francisco’s culture. I admit that I was always of those people who associates the Transamerica Pyramid, Golden Gate Bridge, and lots of homeless people with San Francisco, and not much else. Only in recent years have I even considered something beyond those images. This is proof that the façade of the city is often conflated with its true identity.

The true consequences of this phenomenon are far-reaching. A wealth of forgotten history and lessons, as well as the lives of countless contributors, is forgotten when a city’s identity is lost. This is a chronic problem in America. We romanticize our own heritage until we forget what really happened. This is true of gold mining, meeting with Native Americans, writing and ratifying the Constitution, and hundreds of other events; we mythologize them for social or economic benefit until any true life is forgotten. It paints a nice, comfortable picture of America for schoolchildren, but the collective population cannot forget the truth.

Losing a city’s identity is just as important as remembering the realities of historical events. Cities are living, breathing organisms with all types of people living in them. San Francisco has drawn significant attention to its artists and tradesmen in the past, helping to keep its culture alive. There are also people who lived San Francisco’s social life and remember it for us. We must make sure that its façade never replaces its true identity, or we will lose priceless culture and history. We have to refrain from mythologizing San Francisco out of existence.

Week 3: The Hetch Hetchy Controversy

San Francisco’s inexhaustible quest for water to feed its ever-growing population led many people to support the damming of the Tuolumne River in the Hetch Hetchy valley, part of Yosemite National Park. This plan became a reality in 1923 when Michael M. O’Shaughnessy completed the Hetch Hetchy project. The 312-foot dam built to create the reservoir was named after O’Shaughnessy, its chief engineer. Since that time, San Francisco has drawn much of its water from that source. Even though it is such a significant water source for the city, many have called for the dam to be removed and the valley restored.

This is a particularly large debate in my hometown of Sonora in Tuolumne County. People are fairly polarized on this issue, and there is literature from both sides circulating constantly. One in ten cars sports a blue bumper sticker reading “RESTORE HETCH HETCHY” in white letters. Both sides of the argument have valid points, making it very difficult for lawmakers and environmental scientists to make a decision.

Those who want the dam torn down and the valley restored believe strongly in the value of wilderness and natural beauty. They believe that Hetch Hetchy rivaled Yosemite Valley in beauty and grandeur before it was inundated with water. Making the valley another public destination for sightseers, hikers, and bicyclists is important for these people. They argue that, if the dam were removed, it would be possible to maintain 95% of the water supply and 73% of the hydropower drawn by San Francisco. The hydropower could be compensated for by energy conservation and new, energy efficient technologies. The water supply could be maintained by enlarging the existing Don Pedro reservoir, also on the Tuolumne River within Tuolumne County. Raising the existing Don Pedro dam by 30 feet and inundating an additional mile of wilderness could achieve this goal while still preventing flood overflow. Restoring Hetch Hetchy would free more than 8 miles of wilderness land and 6 miles of natural trout stream. The Calaveras and Moccasin reservoirs would continue to supply water, as well.

After removal of the reservoir, we would see young trees within 5 years and a Yosemite-like environment after only 50 years. Removal would restore one of only four glacier-carved valleys in California. John Muir said that “Hetch Hetchy is a grand landscape garden, one of Natures rarest and most precious mountain temples.” For proponents, it is necessary to restore such a place. According to them, all this could be done for fewer than 1 billion dollars. This would be a small price to pay for the beauty of the valley and the jobs a new tourist destination would create in Tuolumne County.

Those who oppose removing the dam have valid points as well, some of which contradict those made by the proponents. A 1990 report stated that the water was more valuable to California than the potential restored valley. They also project a cost anywhere from 3 to 10 billion dollars, which is significantly larger than the estimate by proponents. Even if the water could be maintained by existing sources, it would have to be filtered. Currently, the water pumped from Hetch Hetchy is unfiltered, which is why city residents with health concerns are discouraged from drinking the tap water. Proponents argue that even Hetch Hetchy water should be filtered to avoid Giardia and other contaminants, but opponents believe it is an unnecessary cost.

They also say that 50 years to restore a valley is extremely optimistic. In addition, there are silt concerns and the pile of refuse dumped on the valley floor before flooding (photo on page 117 of Brechin). Though people are not currently allowed to swim in or camp near the reservoir, opponents argue that the Yosemite Valley 15 miles south is similar and large enough that we don’t need another such site. San Francisco also argues that it holds senior water rights that should not be ignored (though Modesto and Turlock have true senior rights).

On a personal level, I have never been able to make up my mind about the controversy. So much contradictory information is released that it’s hard to get a straight answer to a question. Maintaining what is left of California’s “wild” spaces is important, but removing the O’Shaughnessy dam would call for larger reservoirs elsewhere. Leaving the dam there doesn’t change anything, but removing it is a large change that entails large risks. I remain unable to decide whether or not the benefits outweigh those risks.

Photo of original Hetch Hetchy Valley:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Hetch_Hetchy_Valley.jpg

Photo of Hetch Hetchy Reservoir:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Hetch_Hetchy_Valley_in_Yosemite_NP-1200px.jpg

Photo of O’Shaughnessy Dam:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:O%27Shaughnessy01.JPG

Week 2: Brautigan's "Worsewick"

This story in Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America creates an incredibly displeasing and repulsive image in my mind. The meaning of the combination of the putrid environment and the distant sexual encounter remain somewhat mysterious to me.

The visual descriptions of the hot springs discourage me from wanting to swim in the water. The path of the spring is covered in “bright orange scum,” and the tub itself is filled with “green slime growing around the edges” and “dozens of dead fish…their bodies has been turned white by death.” These are the kinds of things that people don’t like to touch, yet Brautigan turns them into a kind of attraction. The narrator takes his family into the water and enjoys the temperature, not at all worried about the rotting surroundings. This is understandable; perhaps he is not bothered by the slimy filth as I assume most would be.

The narrator’s sexual encounter with “[his] woman” is what bothers me more about the passage. The woman realizes that the narrator has started to “get ideas,” so she puts the baby in the car. The narrator says that the “deerflies were at her, and then it was [his] turn.” This line both implies that the flies’ biting her is sexual in a way, and that what he does with her is no different. It makes him seem parasitic, and it makes the encounter one-sided. His pleasure is the only thing that matters.

Throughout the entire passage, there is no mention of the woman’s happiness. In fact, she is only referred to by the narrator as “my woman,” as if she is his possession and unworthy of a name. There is no language that would cause a reader to think this man is overly controlling and chauvinistic, but the absence of any feeling toward her is a hint. He comments on the dead fish and green slime several times, but the only time he talks about her is when a dead fish floats under her neck or when she tells him she doesn’t have her diaphragm. Instead of worrying about her pleasure or whether she was satisfied, the narrator decides to contemplate his sperm mingling with the dead fish.

I cannot figure out how this particular passage speaks to my vision of San Francisco. I can’t seem to get past the parts I dislike, but I also assume there is something important that I fail to understand about it. Trout Fishing in America and the narrator are separate entities, and I am still uncertain about the function of the narrator in the series of stories.

Ferlinghetti's "The Changing Light"

Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s “The Changing Light” takes a unique approach to the subject of fog. Rather than the gloomy, claustrophobic connotations fog can generally elicit, a soft, ethereal quality is given to the San Francisco fog.

Within the first four lines, Ferlinghetti has established that San Francisco’s light is “none of your East Coast light/none of your/pearly light of Paris.” He is not saying that he appreciates fog, but that San Francisco has a monopoly on the cheerful version of it. It is not necessarily the fog that makes the city light beautiful; it is the city that makes the fog’s light beautiful. It is described as “drifting in at night/through the Golden Gate/to lie on the city at dawn.” This gentle, comforting description contradicts the wet, cold physical qualities of fog.

Ferlinghetti continually writes about the “light of fog,” which is an interesting image. Fog blocks the sun and turns the sky gray, but he sees only the whiteness reflected from it. It is as though the all of the murky or ominous connotations that generally follow the word are absent from San Francisco’s unique version of it. It is a “veil,” but never a shroud.

He also plays with the common trope of San Francisco’s being an island or entity separate from the United States. He describes the fog’s light as “an island light.” San Francisco is not a physical island, and there is no reason that the fog on an island would emit a different type of light than that on a continent. The difference is metaphorical. He also writes that San Francisco “drifts/anchorless upon the ocean,” creating that ethereal and mystical image of the city.

Social and political originality, not geography, are the things that make San Francisco an island, and Ferlinghetti plays with that image, but there is some truth to the literal image he creates with the fog. Though fog can be incredibly depressing, there is something romantic and unique about San Francisco. The sights of the Golden Gate Bridge peaking out of the fog or the tops of the skyscrapers disappearing into it are landmarks in themselves. Locals and tourists don’t see the fog as a hindrance; the “Foggy City” is a term of endearment. Ferlinghetti cleverly plays with both the literal and metaphorical images of San Francisco’s fog and creates an accurately attractive representation of the city.