The Hanging on Union Square: An American Epic - Softcover

Tsiang, H. T.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0143134027 ISBN 13: 9780143134022

Verlag: Penguin Classics, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

A subversively comic, genre-bending satire of bourgeois life by an essential Chinese American voice, featuring an introduction by New Yorker writer Hua Hsu, author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning memoir Stay True

A Penguin Classic

It's Depression-era New York, and Mr. Nut, an oblivious American everyman, wants to strike it rich, even if at the moment he's unemployed, with no job prospects in sight. Over the course of a single night, in a narrative that unfolds hour by hour, he meets a cast of strange characters—disgruntled workers at a Communist cafeteria, lecherous old men, sexually exploited women, pesky authors—who eventually convince him to cast off his bourgeois aspirations for upward mobility and become a radical activist. Absurdist, inventive, and suffused with revolutionary fervor, and culminating in a dramatic face-off against capitalist power in the figure of the greedy businessman Mr. System, The Hanging on Union Square is a work of blazing wit and originality. More than eighty years after it was self-published, having been rejected by dozens of baffled publishers, it has become a classic of Asian American literature—a satirical send-up of class politics and capitalism and a shout of populist rage that still resonates today.

Celebrate Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month with these three Penguin Classics:
 
America Is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan (9780143134039)
East Goes West by Younghill Kang (9780143134305)
The Hanging on Union Square by H. T. Tsiang (9780143134022)

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

H. T. Tsiang (1899-1971) was born in China and emigrated to the United States at the age of twenty-seven. While living in New York he wrote poetry and op-eds, acted in local theatre productions and self-published three novels. In 1943 he staged a theatrical adaptation of his novel, The Hanging on Union Square, that counted Alfred Hitchcock, Orson Welles and Gregory Peck among its audience members. He died in Los Angeles.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

I:

 

He Was Grouching

 

. . . A ten-cent check,
I had my coffee an'
I have only a nickel
In my hand.

 

Money makes money; no money makes no money.
Money talks; no money, no talking; talking produces no money.

He is worrying; he has no money.
He is crying; he lost money.
He is smiling; he made money.

Isn't she a beautiful girl? I wish I had money.
He is a nice-looking fellow. Has he any money?
He marries an old maid; the old maid has money.
She marries an old bald-head, fat-belly; the old bald-head, fat-belly has money.
He likes this girl. He likes the other girl. He likes the other girl better than this girl. The other girl has more money than this girl.
She likes this fellow. She likes the other fellow. She likes the other fellow better than this fellow. The other fellow has more money than this fellow.

 

It is the same girl. Today she has money. She is a Honey Darling. Tomorrow she has no money. She is a Daughter of a Bitch.
It is the same fellow. Today he has money. He is a Honey Darling. Tomorrow he has no money. He is a Son Of . . .

 

An old fellow kneeling in front of a young fellow. Fooling with his shoes. The old fellow wants to make a nickel of money. Rubbing. Brushing. Carefully! Respectfully! The old fellow expects a nickel tip-money.

The girls in the next door burlesque show with nothing on except their natural skins. Shaking breasts. Moving hips. Sparkling eyes. Front going up and down. Before a lip-parted and mouth-watering audience. Making money.

 

That fellow doesn't talk to me any more. I didn't let him have a nickel of money.
This fellow is so friendly to me. I once treated him to coffee. One nickel of money.

He smokes no more cigarettes. Cigarettes cost too much money.
He smokes a pipe now. Pipes cost less money.

Smoke cigarettes, somebody spends your money. Smoke a pipe, you alone spend your money.

The guy writes no more poetry. In poetry, there is no money.
The fellow writes sex stories. Sex is depression proof.

 

He hangs around Union Square. He has no money.
He disappears from Union Square. He has made a little money.

Bedbugs bite me. I have no money. Bedbugs don't bite Rockefeller. Rockefeller has money.
Rich men go to Heaven. Rich men have money. Poor men don't go to Heaven. Poor men have no money.

Three-dollar shoes; three-dollar feet. Ten-dollar shoes; ten-dollar feet. There are million-dollar feet. There are no million-dollar shoes. The shoemakers must be crazy. They don't know how to make money!

He has money: he lives on Park Avenue. He lives on Park Avenue: he sees no one who has no money. He sees no one who has no money: he thinks everywhere is Park Avenue and everyone, everywhere, has as much money as everyone who lives on Park Avenue.

 

He is radical; he has no money.
He is conservative; he has money.
He is wishy-washy; he has a wishy-washy amount of money.

 

He has more money; he is more conservative.
He has more more money; he is more more conservative.
He has more more and more money; he is more more and
more conservative.

 

He has no money. Yet he is conservative. He expects someday to have money. He expects someday to have lots of money.

He has money. He has lots of money. Yet he is radical. Radical talk costs him no money.
I don't like money. You don't like money. He doesn't like money.
You have money. He has money. I must have money.

It's under this system!
It's under this system!

Mr. System
Beware:
The Hanging
On
Union Square! . . .

 

 

II:

Once In A Communist Cafeteria

 

"A ten-cent check,
I had my coffee an'
I have only a nickel
In my hand."

It was Mr. Nut grouching.

Mr. Nut was grouching about his being stuck in a cafeteria on Fourteenth Street.
This situation made Mr. Nut think more or less differently from when, three months ago, he visited a Communist Cafeteria on Thirteenth Street.

Everybody there called him "Comrade." "Comrade" this. "Comrade" that. To people in the Communist Cafeteria, Mr. Nut wasn't "Mister" anymore. It did not please him; for how could they take for granted so much that he was their "comrade"--a Communist?

Sometimes they called Mr. Nut "Fellow-Worker". That made him madder still. How could they know that he was a worker? Did they not see that he had a black derby on! Yes, he was a worker. Now. For the time being! But how could they tell that he would not, someday, by saving some money, establish a business of his own?

In the Communist Cafeteria, there were so many literature agents, so many pamphlet-salesmen and so many contribution-seekers. One after the other.

If a panhandler came to you, all you needed was to show him your face-he would go away. No argument. But these agents, salesmen and contribution-seekers gave you more trouble than panhandlers. Why? Because, they said, they themselves would get nothing out of it. Every cent would go to the cause. Was it true? Yes. It was true. For all these sealed tin-boxes with coin-spaces at the tops and the contribution-lists were their spokesmen. Besides, they wouldn't ask you to buy or to contribute right away. They just sat at your table and made friends with you. And explained things to you. A few seconds or a minute later, the boxes, the pamphlet and the contribution-list appeared from some unseen source.

With your hand, you said, "I won't give." But your conscience said, "I must do my share." And you lost money.

On the wall there was a sign: "Don't shout so loud, your comrade can hear you!" Mr. Nut thought: "If the Communists don't shout, how can they make a revolution?"

Again, he saw on the wall many figures, painted on cardboard; figures with overalls on. Shirt-sleeves rolled up. Chests bare. Black hair could be seen. Caps incorrectly placed. Shoes out of shape. Yes, these figures looked like him when he was working. But he did not understand why the fellow who made those posters could not do the worker a favor by giving him a necktie, a coat, pressed trousers, a nice, soft, felt hat or a derby. It neednÕt have cost him more than a few strokes.

About six o'clock, the floor-manager, moving from one table to another, was propagandizing: "This is no private business. This is your restaurant." (Does that mean that Nut will not have to pay for all he ate?) "After you eat, don't hang around. Give your seats to others. We're not capitalists. We can't afford to lose money. Comrades!" (Again Comrade.) "Fellow-workers!" (Again Fellow-worker).

If the so-called "comrade'" floor-manager had had a butcher face, Mr. Nut would have had a chance to show his anger. But the so-called "comrade" was smiling. What could Mr. Nut do? The point was, however, that while Mr. Nut came here to get some Communistic atmosphere, although two hours had elapsed, he hadn't seen the whole thing yet. But Mr. Nut had to move.

As to one thing he felt he had been educated.

While he was conversing with a young fellow in the cafeteria, Nut interrogated him with: "How's business?" Upon hearing this, the color of the young fellowÕs face suddenly changed and his eyebrows rose. The dark spots of his eyes became steady and because of the steadiness it made the surrounding white parts appear smaller. Mr. Nut knew that the young fellow was angry. But Mr. Nut didn't know why.

The young fellow saw that that Mr. Nut was shooting back with a steady face, too, and he became more angry. Because of his doubled anger, the young fellow pointed to Mr. Nut saying: "You are a Mister! You are a Boss! You are a Capitalist!" and "You are a Business Man!"

Now Mr. Nut stood up...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Classics
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2019
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0143134027
• ISBN 13: 9780143134022
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 240
• Herausgeber: Cheung Floyd
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland