Hey Rub-a-dub-dub: A Book of the Mystery and Wonder and Terror of Life

A nameless narrator, now forty, lives in a cramped boarding house on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, his window framing the towering Woolworth Building that seems to pierce the sky. He watches the bustling, multilingual neighborhood of Poles and Hungarians, hearing the distant calls of a bright yellow church and the clatter of street‑cars that carry him from one menial job to another. The prose captures the gritty texture of early‑twentieth‑century life, blending the starkness of poverty with fleeting moments of urban grandeur. Yet beneath the external scene runs a steady current of curiosity, as he absorbs history, philosophy, and art while trying to make sense of a world that offers contradictory truths.

He describes himself as a scrivener‑in‑training, a handyman, a motorman—any role that lets him keep both body and soul together. Loneliness haunts him, especially around women, whose imagined affection becomes a refuge from his own insecurity. His observations of neighbors like the tobacco‑selling Spitovesky reveal both humor and a yearning to belong. All the while, he wrestles with the question of whether a clearer, happier life might be found by simply becoming like those around him.