"...enduring in the stories we tell."
May 2020
"(We) live in the stories they tell of this island and of the people who have worked, suffered, and died in it. They endure, they remember. The gifts of other people's stories become my gifts in turn, stories I will pass onto others, so that we may not forget. Such an expansive world, yet we cross mountains and seas in order to gain our footing, solid and true against the wind and rain, on the ground we tread and the ground we will have trodden."
I went into this book already impressed with the author Professor Caroline Hau, since I've read a few of her academic papers concerning Filipino identity, culture and literature. I found her style in essays verbose but without ever losing sight of her arguments and points in the entirety of the content. For her first ever novel Tiempo Muerto, she almost applied this same kind of approach, which to me enabled her prose to breathe in some places yet also lose air in others. The novel had also undergone what I believe to be thorough and credible research pertaining to key events based on real-life people and situations which, for the sake of creative license, Professor Hau had merely allusioned to rather than specify. Tiempo Muerto can be read as historical fiction in scope because of this, and there are even a few of the underlying themes which delved on Philippine politics and its systematic corruption and abuse of power, particularly among aristocrat families who engage in nepotism and unethical policies to this day.
Before that meaty portion of the narrative was explored, Tiempo Muerto is first and foremost a character study about two women. The premise of the story concerned their starkly distinct lives from one another yet some of these experiences and struggles tend to overlap nevertheless. We have Racel, an overseas Filipino worker who had to go home because her mother Nanay Alma disappeared and no one knows the circumstances surrounding it. Over several years, Racel and her mother have grown distant, almost like strangers to one another, so in her personal mission to understand what happened and where the old woman could have gone, she uncovered certain details that she was never told in the obligatory letters they had exchanged, like any parent and grown daughter would do. Interestingly enough, her chapters are written in first-person whereas the other heroine of this novel is in third-person. This small discrepancy didn't take away anything, because both POVs worked within the limits of the perspective offered.
Lia Agalon, the other side of the coin, was a wealthy heiress from a famed family in the Philippines, sired by a glamorous socialite who married a man who was as crooked as one can expect a prominent figure in business and politics to be. When the book started, Lia just got divorced from her Singaporean husband and also estranged from her only daughter Natasha. Looking for an anchor and harbor, she returned to the Philippines. She, too, has a stake in the missing Nanay Alma. Lia and Racel somewhat grew up together since Rachel's mother was Lia's caretaker. Their relationship can be considered sisterly, but as they soon found their footing in two worlds that were never supposed to meet, the women might as well be acquaintances who merely shared a few memories about the town of Banwa--and the secrets and strife which engulfed its people and self-appointed vassals.
"It doesn't surprise me Nanay has been martyred and canonized over and over.
The thought that she might be dead has a way of reshaping people's memories and the stories they tell.
They're intricately designed cloths while mine is plain and monochrome."
The thought that she might be dead has a way of reshaping people's memories and the stories they tell.
They're intricately designed cloths while mine is plain and monochrome."
A lot about Tiempo Muerto reminded me of a modern-day Victorian novel. The prose's tone fits that quite well especially when the story not only expounded on family genealogy, crises, and interconnected histories, but it also created this semi-paranormal layer concerning ghosts, whether real or imagined. The old Agalon house was established from the beginning as a haunted place, and several scenes hinted that Racel and Lia's ghosts are hardly just symbolic. We never truly learn, and perhaps it never mattered. What was so engaging about this book was how Hau took her sweet, laborious time fleshing out the two women as individuals, and made readers care about their woes, secret fantasies and most of all their memories from childhood that were at once bittersweet and incontestably traumatic. Both were survivors of hardships that spanned across decades and woven into Banwa's own rich history in which it endured the colonial times, the Commonwealth era including World War II and Martial Law. Racel had a very engrossing chapter where in she recounted her fragmented memories about Marcos time where her favorite teacher was 'salvaged'. Later on she would also reveal the first and perhaps even the last time she and her mother shared something horrific that it deepened their filial bond.
Even though Racel felt most real and recognizable in the things she endured as someone who worked hard to bring herself out of poverty, it's ultimately Lia whom I considered warmer and more sympathetic, even in her moments of self-defeat and pitiful choices. That's not to say I cast aspersions on Racel; I don't believe anyone can for there is steel in her bones and ice in her veins, but Lia's story appealed to me more mainly because she came from a place of privilege and was therefore burdened by the compliance she cannot seem to fully free herself from. Now an adult woman who has faced the music regarding a lot of her choices in life, Lia was bound to come home to the country she's been sent away from because her father can afford it. In America she fell in love and made most of her freedom, but she's also a person who merely grew to love her chains, and the story of Tiempo Muerto was the great unraveling in which she must trace where those chains come from. While Racel came to terms that she never truly lived beyond her duty as a good daughter and provider so she must find happiness defined more by her heart and not just pragmatism, Lia had willfully allowed her destiny dictated by the whims of people who never saw her anything more than just an extension of their legacy and pride, and now it's time to take control.
"I had assumed that the years ahead would weave themselves according to a fixed design.
Now I find myself reeling new colored threads onto their spools,
and the thought that other designs are possible scares me as much as it excites me."
Now I find myself reeling new colored threads onto their spools,
and the thought that other designs are possible scares me as much as it excites me."
"She has spent so much of her time on this island being afraid of ghosts, only to realize that the years abroad and elsewhere had turned her into one. Let the ghosts colonize Banwa. She would join them in a different project of haunting. She would atone for her sins, or the sins of her family, knowing that the understanding she sought was not the same as the rationalization and justification, much less forgiveness. She would start by calling her daughter."
Both women learned something beautiful about themselves in examining the defects and jagged pieces of their lives, and it's in this truth that they must carry on separately, with Racel rekindling a childhood love and planning for a new future that's no longer built in self-effacing solitude, and Lia dedicating herself in pursuing writing which was by picking up what her mother started in college, with the sole purpose of hopefully piecing together a complete narrative about her family, the so-called 'Masters of Banwa', warts and all.
The ending for Tiempo Muerto can be taken as evasive or ambiguous, although I'd like to think that the journey was what counted more rather than any destination, because it didn't feel to me as if the story was truly over for Racel and Lia, hence that last scene. I enjoyed everything about this novel in ways I never expected; I commend Professor Hau for the leisurely time she took so she can offer a very nuanced portrait of her characters, two women who came from differing economic backgrounds and personal experiences. The best moments of the novel came from the historical fiction it was penned in. Hau never dropped names explicitly, but I can make educated guesses about certain figures in politics that she based a few of the circumstantial characters from. On the downside, I was left with a few questions in between readings during my almost four-month stint, and sometimes most of the chapters seemed too indulgent in content for the sake of character study, but I actually am a fan of rigorous exploration of characters, so this didn't bother me. Overall, Tiempo Muerto was an impressive feat and a welcome addition to contemporary Filipino fiction.
"No one's love is truly unconditional"
October 2016
I have been a fan of Eliza Victoria since coming across her novel Dwellers which is one of the most exciting psychological supernatural thrillers I have read, and it spanned only for less than two hundred pages! A year later I stumbled upon this, her latest book, and as fates would have it, I only carried enough money with me that also happens to be the exact amount that had enabled me to purchase this treasure. And it is one for the collection!
The reasons why I get excited about reading Eliza Victoria are (1) I don't usually connect with female fiction writers for some reason, save for Virginia Woolf and the CLAMP mangaka; (2) she is a Filipino author and a very talented one at that; and (3) the genre she writes in, which is urban fantasy, is something I believe she brings a lot of freshness of ideas into, particularly on the mythology of supernatural creatures and several folklores.
Wounded Little Gods touches upon the polytheistic religion of Filipinos from the old times. Before we became a Catholic nation for the most part, Filipino ancestors pre-colonial times used to have many deities they worship and dedicate functions concerning nature such as weather and harvest, and this novel explores the idea that these deities still do live on, particularly in a remote fictional place called Heridos. But that was until a grave incident occurred which abruptly ended the communication and patronage between the gods and the people of Heridos.
Regina, this book's protagonist of sorts, comes home to Heridos after a co-worker of hers left her a piece of paper containing an enigmatic map and a few unfamiliar names before this co-worker disappeared. Rather curious about this baffling turn of events, Regina tracks down the names on the paper as well as other several clues which more or less feel like someone is purposely dropping these bread crumbs for her to find. The way the story unfolded both on Regina's end, and ultimately on the end of the unseen characters who will be later revealed as important players, has been executed fairly well. Victoria has built up the right amount of suspense to deliver a plot whose twists are subtle yet still memorable.
I've noticed a common theme in her novels which are sibling relationships. Both in her previous works Dwellers as well as Project 17, a science fiction concerning memories and artificial intelligence, all have lead characters who are cousins or brothers. In Wounded Little Gods, the same theme occurs but this time between a brother and sister. I just think it's noteworthy to point out. I can't really say much about this book because it's rather short much like Dwellers, but the substance is worth the serving because Victoria's prose is a case of simplicity that denotes elegance. The way she weaves certain scenes and sentiments together makes her conflicts and the resolutions of them bittersweet and poignant, often relying on the impact of her characters' defeats and their small compensations at the end.
It might be easy to compare this to Neil Gaiman's American Gods because the concept of deities still living among humans while in disguise as one of them has been explored by Gaiman not just in said book but in his graphic novel series The Sandman too, but that would be a tad unfair because Victoria's own version is unique in itself. Besides, it's also thrilling to see Filipino deities portrayed in fiction in a very compelling manner. Aside from the pagan religion and mythology aspects of this book, there is also a subplot concerning scientific research with questionable ethics that has been performed in Heridos and which ties with the more paranormal elements of the plot. I think they are inseparable more or less, and Victoria balanced them skilfully enough that the pay-off is something both satisfying and not.
Wounded Little Gods is a story about what need and longing do to sentient beings who will never stop searching answers to questions and gratification for their desires. It's a story about accepting that humanity always comes with its flaws and deceptions, but even divinity itself may not be as perfect as it may seem. The book also touches upon the value of not abusing knowledge and science, and to use one's enlightenment for the the benefit of others and not for their oppression. Written in brevity yet engrossing down to the last page, Wounded Little Gods is another triumphant work for Eliza Victoria.
The reasons why I get excited about reading Eliza Victoria are (1) I don't usually connect with female fiction writers for some reason, save for Virginia Woolf and the CLAMP mangaka; (2) she is a Filipino author and a very talented one at that; and (3) the genre she writes in, which is urban fantasy, is something I believe she brings a lot of freshness of ideas into, particularly on the mythology of supernatural creatures and several folklores.
Wounded Little Gods touches upon the polytheistic religion of Filipinos from the old times. Before we became a Catholic nation for the most part, Filipino ancestors pre-colonial times used to have many deities they worship and dedicate functions concerning nature such as weather and harvest, and this novel explores the idea that these deities still do live on, particularly in a remote fictional place called Heridos. But that was until a grave incident occurred which abruptly ended the communication and patronage between the gods and the people of Heridos.
Regina, this book's protagonist of sorts, comes home to Heridos after a co-worker of hers left her a piece of paper containing an enigmatic map and a few unfamiliar names before this co-worker disappeared. Rather curious about this baffling turn of events, Regina tracks down the names on the paper as well as other several clues which more or less feel like someone is purposely dropping these bread crumbs for her to find. The way the story unfolded both on Regina's end, and ultimately on the end of the unseen characters who will be later revealed as important players, has been executed fairly well. Victoria has built up the right amount of suspense to deliver a plot whose twists are subtle yet still memorable.
I've noticed a common theme in her novels which are sibling relationships. Both in her previous works Dwellers as well as Project 17, a science fiction concerning memories and artificial intelligence, all have lead characters who are cousins or brothers. In Wounded Little Gods, the same theme occurs but this time between a brother and sister. I just think it's noteworthy to point out. I can't really say much about this book because it's rather short much like Dwellers, but the substance is worth the serving because Victoria's prose is a case of simplicity that denotes elegance. The way she weaves certain scenes and sentiments together makes her conflicts and the resolutions of them bittersweet and poignant, often relying on the impact of her characters' defeats and their small compensations at the end.
It might be easy to compare this to Neil Gaiman's American Gods because the concept of deities still living among humans while in disguise as one of them has been explored by Gaiman not just in said book but in his graphic novel series The Sandman too, but that would be a tad unfair because Victoria's own version is unique in itself. Besides, it's also thrilling to see Filipino deities portrayed in fiction in a very compelling manner. Aside from the pagan religion and mythology aspects of this book, there is also a subplot concerning scientific research with questionable ethics that has been performed in Heridos and which ties with the more paranormal elements of the plot. I think they are inseparable more or less, and Victoria balanced them skilfully enough that the pay-off is something both satisfying and not.
Wounded Little Gods is a story about what need and longing do to sentient beings who will never stop searching answers to questions and gratification for their desires. It's a story about accepting that humanity always comes with its flaws and deceptions, but even divinity itself may not be as perfect as it may seem. The book also touches upon the value of not abusing knowledge and science, and to use one's enlightenment for the the benefit of others and not for their oppression. Written in brevity yet engrossing down to the last page, Wounded Little Gods is another triumphant work for Eliza Victoria.
"A durable thread that ties you to a past that created you"
February 2016
I've noticed a pattern in the Rosales Saga since reading the previous third installment of the series, My Brother, My Executioner. Simply put, the issues concerning national freedom and independence as well as the struggles, prejudices and prevalent corruption that have defined the relationship of Filipinos with themselves and their own countrymen ARE STILL THE SAME THINGS that are being discussed and argued to this day in my country. Now it was under a different social context but the fight is still being fought, and perhaps is currently suffering a stagnation. FSJ's Rosales Saga was written in 1973 (starting with the third book I mentioned above), and his insights and chronicles about the effects of Spanish and American colonialism in Filipino heritage and culture are impressive and beautifully rendered on page. My personal favorite installment of this saga will always be Po-On which is the first book (ironically written as the last one, chronologically speaking).
FSJ's four books so far do have common themes. They were all set in Rosales, Pangasinan in Luzon, Philippines, and the five generations of families whose relationships and crises he had tackled are all connected by the Balete tree located in the plaza of Rosales town. FSJ explored the conflicts and strife that occurred between the families of poor farmers and the oppressive mestizos who are the rich, abusing their power and control on the lands these farmers are working on. Other obvious themes deal with first cousins who fall in love with each other (third and fourth books focus on this), the subjugation and suffering of a father that impacted a son's upbringing as a progeny and his own man; both failed and successful attempts at social reform; and the breaking points both personal and national that the characters have to face and make decisions for. The Pretenders is no exception.
In fact, many would consider this to be the climactic part of the series.
"Revolutions for a better life are never made by the rich and the intellectuals. They have everything to lose and they are not brave. Revolutions are made by small men--poor men--for they are the ones who suffer most. They care the least about status quo."
I remember when I first started reading this series two years ago. Each installment took a hold of me and ripped me in new ways I never thought I could be ripped. The precious details and tremendous moments of insights that F. Sionil Jose has imparted in each book will forever be engraved in my soul. That being said, the third book My Brother, My Executioner was somewhat alienating but mainly because of the romantic subplot concerning the lead male character and a peculiar woman which I found rather tedious because I wasn't emotionally invested enough on their characters. For The Pretenders, we get yet another romantic relationship, this time between Antonio Samson and Carmen Villa. Their marriage is a contested one, given his humble roots and her well-to background, but because there is love between, they both make it work; more so on Tony's end because he was the one who feels he has to prove something to the Villa family. This, for me, is the highlight of the novel.
Tony Samson is a free thinker at heart; educated in America and very much both cynical and hopeful that he could still contribute some changes in his homeland's politics and way of life. He used to participate in ideology and social reform discussions and writings with fellow intellectual compatriots whom he had grown estranged with the more he became a part of his wife's family. In doing so, he becomes even more entrenched in the corrupt system between the rich mestizos and the poor peasants and farmers who work for them but have also been rebelling against them for years. His marriage to the lovely Carmen has driven him right at the heart of the monster that he and other like-minded scholars had expressed the wish to bring to its knees, when he became friendly with Carmen's father Don Manuel Villa. By having a more personal connection to the man, Tony began to examine things about his own principles and his past.
"The fight for freedom must be constant. Don't forget that men can be enslaved by their own people, by their own prejudices, by their own rulers. What I am saying is that the ilustrados were not the real patriots. They wanted nothing more than equality. They didn't want freedom. It was enough that they could dine with their rulers, argue with them. But is another thing to be free. A revolution should not have to eat its own children. In fact, it is those who are in power who could very well initiate revolutions. Let us not be old-fashioned and think only of armed uprising of minorities as revolutions."
There are many discussions to be had about national icons and expressions of nationalism, some of them concerning the contrast between Jose Rizal's call for reformation and equality with the Spanish conquerors, and Andres Bonifacio's more radical revolution for the country's total independence and freedom from colonizers. The Pretenders is for me the most mediative installment of the Rosales Saga told in the perspective of a man who is torn between two worlds; the one he longed for in his heart as a freedom fighter, and the one he had to settle din since he married into its family. I like the internal struggle that Tony Samson has undergone during this novel because his transformation was poignant and challenging. Carmen Villa, his wife, was a vain, pampered and materialistic woman who unexpectedly understands Tony better than I would have given her credit for. It doesn't make her any likable for me because something about who she is and the role that she played in the story that just never sat right with me, but I certainly do believe she was well-written. I believed her characterization even if it was something I feel repelled by.
A key conflict that is highlighted for The Pretenders is Tony's dilemma between his humble roots and heritage and his new life as a privileged man in relation to him marrying rich. Suddenly he was being judged and often condemned for his choice, but it was nothing compared to his own brand of guilt because he felt as if he has more obligations to his country and ideology rather than to his own wife, and this was how his relationship with her slowly deteriorated. There is more tension and strife among the classes of the country which take place both in the local lands and in the universities of foreign lands where Tony along other scholars get caught up in. Tony acknowledged that he is indeed among the privileged ones but it doesn't make his desire to fight for his country any less noble than his poorer and uneducated counterparts in small towns, nor does it diminish his capacity to be a tool for change and prosperity for his homeland. Tony Samson can be likened to the modern Filipino still finding his place in the world. His story connects him to a past that chose him, and it's also our story.
"...because any movement that seeks to overhaul established attitudes is, I think, a revolution."
The Pretenders is a novel that tries to unmask the players who truly want to contribute something meaningful for love of country, while also revealing the hidden ones who only wish to gain an advantage that feeds their own self-interest and egos. Much like FSJ's earlier books in the series, it was superbly written with crisp prose and riveting exposition and character portraits.
"Nothing is better than even a hard life. I wanted to live."
January 2016
"The old world is dying, but a new world is being born. It generates inspiration from the chaos that beats upon us all. The false grandeur and security, the unfulfilled promises and illusory power, the number of the dead and those about to die, will charge the forces of our courage and determination. The old world will die so that the new world [will have] less sacrifice and agony on the living."
Carlos Bulosan is a Filipino author who is considered both a socialist writer and a labor organizer. His writings have a lot of impact for many Asian immigrants who can relate to his chronicles of hardship, sickness and despair as he tried to make a living in America. This work of non-fiction is semi-autobiographical, depicting his early childhood steeped in poverty back in his hometown Pangasinan, which then carried on to discuss about his misadventures during his immigration to the United States (particularly in Seattle and California). Here in this places is where he encountered several instances and increasingly violent displays and sentiments of racism against Filipinos during the Great Depression. This was a very disconcerting read and something I was not prepared to experience at all as one of the only two books I scheduled to read for this month.
But if I must pick between this harrowing tale of hopelessness and abuse, and the Victorian facebook-ing narrative that was ultimately Jane Austen's Emma in a nutshell, then there is no question in my mind that America is in the Heart is the more stimulating and emotionally stirring book.
Divided into three meaningful aspects of Bulosan's life, this book is a very satisfying slow burn that was painstakingly delivered with one of the most earnest literary voices I have read in a while. But, then again, being a Filipino I might only be showing certain biases, especially since I have made it to a point since I started reviewing novels to always have a Filipino story included in the schedule because although my taste and sensibilities as a reader have more or less been Westernized, there are tons of amazing works of fiction written by my own fellowmen that must be explored. Carlos Bulosan's autobiography is definitely one of those and I don't think I have any regrets. I say this because there are just so many passages in the later second and third parts of the book that are just so upsetting and depressing since they paint a cruel portrait of discrimination and loneliness as one is stuck in a foreign land that supposedly promises opportunities for equality and autonomy but to a barely educated immigrant like Bulosan, nothing could be farther from the truth.
What was singularly engaging about this book is its honesty in chronicling even the smallest moments of cruelty--and compassion. Bulosan would often express the paradox of the white men and women and their treatment of Filipinos. On one hand, they are violent and abusive; on the other they are sympathetic and willing to assist a broken stranger. It's worth noting that this book's setting is majorly in the Depression era so certain economic strains and struggles that American citizens have experienced then seem to only contribute to the way they blame the Asian immigrants for almost every ills the American public then perceives are their doing. But this cycle of racism and hate crime are not only committed against the Filipinos but also on the Chinese with their opium dens and gambling establishments. Still, Bulosan's story made a strong argument that perhaps Filipinos would frequently receive some of the worse maltreatment than other Asian immigrants during that time.
For example: a few of the American police would either beat up, arrest or plain gun down innocent Filipinos who are just there at the wrong place during the wrong time, and they would either do these things for their sick enjoyment or misplaced rage. There was even a legal situation where they want to pass down a law that would prohibit Filipino men to marry Caucasian women by equating Filipinos to Mongolians which they consider a dirty race. When anthropologists stress that Filipinos belong to the Malayan race, they were quick to jump on that and use it to further exercise their ignorance and blatant racism. Racial slurs such as the use of the term 'brown monkeys' to describe Filipinos are also in Bulosan's passages. Filipinos cannot get any kind of stable livelihood considering it's the Depression, but some of them would stick to groups to make it through, until the next raid or hate crime occurs and Bulosan himself had to run away from a few in order to survive. Essentially, this book is not easy to swallow especially now that we belong to a time where racism and discrimination are being slowly abolished in our humane societies. Books like America is in the Heart remind each and one of us just how far we have come--and how far we still have to go.
But if I must pick between this harrowing tale of hopelessness and abuse, and the Victorian facebook-ing narrative that was ultimately Jane Austen's Emma in a nutshell, then there is no question in my mind that America is in the Heart is the more stimulating and emotionally stirring book.
Divided into three meaningful aspects of Bulosan's life, this book is a very satisfying slow burn that was painstakingly delivered with one of the most earnest literary voices I have read in a while. But, then again, being a Filipino I might only be showing certain biases, especially since I have made it to a point since I started reviewing novels to always have a Filipino story included in the schedule because although my taste and sensibilities as a reader have more or less been Westernized, there are tons of amazing works of fiction written by my own fellowmen that must be explored. Carlos Bulosan's autobiography is definitely one of those and I don't think I have any regrets. I say this because there are just so many passages in the later second and third parts of the book that are just so upsetting and depressing since they paint a cruel portrait of discrimination and loneliness as one is stuck in a foreign land that supposedly promises opportunities for equality and autonomy but to a barely educated immigrant like Bulosan, nothing could be farther from the truth.
What was singularly engaging about this book is its honesty in chronicling even the smallest moments of cruelty--and compassion. Bulosan would often express the paradox of the white men and women and their treatment of Filipinos. On one hand, they are violent and abusive; on the other they are sympathetic and willing to assist a broken stranger. It's worth noting that this book's setting is majorly in the Depression era so certain economic strains and struggles that American citizens have experienced then seem to only contribute to the way they blame the Asian immigrants for almost every ills the American public then perceives are their doing. But this cycle of racism and hate crime are not only committed against the Filipinos but also on the Chinese with their opium dens and gambling establishments. Still, Bulosan's story made a strong argument that perhaps Filipinos would frequently receive some of the worse maltreatment than other Asian immigrants during that time.
For example: a few of the American police would either beat up, arrest or plain gun down innocent Filipinos who are just there at the wrong place during the wrong time, and they would either do these things for their sick enjoyment or misplaced rage. There was even a legal situation where they want to pass down a law that would prohibit Filipino men to marry Caucasian women by equating Filipinos to Mongolians which they consider a dirty race. When anthropologists stress that Filipinos belong to the Malayan race, they were quick to jump on that and use it to further exercise their ignorance and blatant racism. Racial slurs such as the use of the term 'brown monkeys' to describe Filipinos are also in Bulosan's passages. Filipinos cannot get any kind of stable livelihood considering it's the Depression, but some of them would stick to groups to make it through, until the next raid or hate crime occurs and Bulosan himself had to run away from a few in order to survive. Essentially, this book is not easy to swallow especially now that we belong to a time where racism and discrimination are being slowly abolished in our humane societies. Books like America is in the Heart remind each and one of us just how far we have come--and how far we still have to go.
"We in America understand the many imperfections of democracy and the malignant disease corroding its very heart. We must be united in the effort to make an America in which our people can find happiness. It is a great wrong that anyone in America, whether he be brown or white, should be illiterate or hungry or miserable."
The first part of this autobiography was bittersweet, describing the life of poverty that Bulosan experienced when he was just a boy named Allos, the youngest son of a farmer and his wife. He had three older brothers he looked up to; the eldest Luciano was a soldier stationed in America who came home and became a politician, the second eldest Julio has also migrated to the States whom he tragically met up again with later encountered as a reinforcer for pimps and gangsters, and the last one, Macario, is a teacher whom his parents have pinned all their hopes and dreams to, as well as all their savings just to give him a proper education. Even as a boy, Allos wanted to learn and he has a passion for books and eventually for writing. He was close to all his brothers particularly with Luciano who taught him how catch birds and get involved in native politics, and Macario who filled his head with stories and imagination. Equipped by his parents' tenacity and values of hard work and humility, as well as his older brothers' lessons for manhood, Allos ventured on at a tender age of fourteen to America and his multiple struggles and failures to cope and succeed have only made him miss home. But in the end, he never went back to the Philippines.
Instead, he strove to write all the injustices he and his fellow immigrants have experienced. Since realizing he can never be silenced anymore and he can now use words and the printed word as a weapon, Bulosan has became a part of a publication that targets the rampant racism in Seattle. He also joined trade unions to fight for the rights of workers and their wage. As a boy, Bulosan is more than acquainted with the unfair salary and treatment that hard workers like his father had faced--his father who plowed rice fields that never belonged to him but to the corrupt upper class of mestizo family clans in the Philippines, and had therefore died sick and penniless. Bulosan has a lot of fire and righteous rage to spare, and he poured all of these feelings to his writings and social activism.
America is in the Heart contains Bulosan's life and legacy and his contributions to the good fight for the immigrants in that era of American society. This is an important book and even though Bulosan has clearly lived a life of impoverished state and abuse, he had also learned to rise above that and become greater than his suffering. Through writing, he had utilized his pain and talents to capture a searing landscape of tolerance, justice and unwavering dreams.
As the curtains fall on a stage where we're all performers
May 2015
"The truth was never just one person's story, or one version of what happened, never a shining absolute but an often filthy and ragged compromise that took not only godly patience to piece together, but also the devil's sureness of the worst of human nature."
This was one of the few books that stayed on my shelves for a very long time and I was only able to pick it up now because I knew I had to include it on my Book Diet schedule for this year at long last. Now I've always considered it a great, humbling experience every time I would come across a novel to which I had no kind of expectations for or familiarity with whatsoever; and yet it'd ultimately fill me with clear-cut emotions that defied almost a logical explanation for their being. Jose Dalisay's 2008 fiction Soledad's Sister was exactly just that. It tackled really hard truths with an almost ethereal glow of optimism in its pages while still being able to leave readers an incompleteness that refuses to become whole. It's a troubling experience that personally made it unforgettable.
At its heart, it's an unmistakable tale of two sisters steeped in sweetness and tragedy, both as a hopeless and a fruitful examination of what happens when certain family conflicts never get resolved or find a happier ending. It's also primarily a novel that is so simple and straightforward in concept because it's rather familiar; yet another story that concerns overseas Filipino workers and the loved ones they left behind. Such a story has now become an insistent archetype dealing with themes of loss and opportunity as portrayed through countless middle and low-class Filipinos journeying to foreign lands to become more or less minimum wage workers (more specifically as caretakers) since it seems to be the only decent option to financially provide for their families back home. There is something immediately tragic with this storyline and Dalisay quite deftly approaches the subject with surprising empathy that for me was uniquely devastating. This has a sincere delicacy to it that can be haunting.
The premise is this: a casket with the corpse of one Aurora Cabahug arrived to an airport to be picked up by her next of kin. It turns out that the real Aurora Cabahug is alive. She is an ambitious twenty-one year old singer in a karaoke entertainment bar somewhere in the humble district of Paez, who is taking care of a nephew whose mother hasn't stayed in constant contact with for several months now. It was the police officer and Walter Zamora who notices this anomaly. Retired from a life of investigating brutal crimes, Zamora had met Aurora one night in the bar and could not forget her and so he was eager to fix the mistake concerning the wrongfully identified remains of Aurora's older sister Soledad, who used her identity to get another passport. What follows is a deceptively murder mystery scenario where readers might expect Walter Zamora to "solve" the puzzle on how and why Soledad Cabahug died. They would be mistaken to expect something like that to take place so I must caution anyone not to get stuck on this promising style of narrative because Soledad's Sister is foremost an intimate and leisurely tale about forgiveness and second chances; but mostly it's about hope--what it truly means to hope and live in hope against all odds that would state otherwise; and why there's a recurring painful pattern to that practice. That is the real mystery that can never be solved.
What I love about Soledad's Sister are the lavish descriptions and introspective passages about the two main characters, Aurora and Walter. I find myself drawn and readily sympathetic for them. Dalisay knows how to make readers care about these people which was why I was invested to know how this story will end. He was able to build up both Aurora and Walter with respective strengths and admirable qualities and then, much like with real people, expose us with their harmless deceptions, deep-rooted fears and insecurities and failures along the way. I feel like I know them very well and not at all as soon as the novel wraps up. And the wrap-up itself is just as frustrating. The ambiguous ending could be the defining quality of Soledad's Sister as a whole and it would depend on the type of reader you are on how you would perceive its rather unfair conclusion. If you're a completeist, then this book could be seen as a waste of time because the characters you've learned to root for didn't get a grand pay-off to their emotional struggles. But if you're like me and you enjoy the constant intrigue of a story that is not supposed to be about endings but of beginnings in the first place then you will appreciate the heartfelt and poignant message of Dalisay's book.
His prose is something I really fell in love with; it was magnetic and rife with uncomplicated subtext and imagery that get under your skin quite easily; while also persistently character-driven in its scope, with a sadness in its delivery that's almost akin to tasting one's own sweat and tears. This distinguishing flavor in his prose had rendered me speechless every now and then.
At its heart, it's an unmistakable tale of two sisters steeped in sweetness and tragedy, both as a hopeless and a fruitful examination of what happens when certain family conflicts never get resolved or find a happier ending. It's also primarily a novel that is so simple and straightforward in concept because it's rather familiar; yet another story that concerns overseas Filipino workers and the loved ones they left behind. Such a story has now become an insistent archetype dealing with themes of loss and opportunity as portrayed through countless middle and low-class Filipinos journeying to foreign lands to become more or less minimum wage workers (more specifically as caretakers) since it seems to be the only decent option to financially provide for their families back home. There is something immediately tragic with this storyline and Dalisay quite deftly approaches the subject with surprising empathy that for me was uniquely devastating. This has a sincere delicacy to it that can be haunting.
The premise is this: a casket with the corpse of one Aurora Cabahug arrived to an airport to be picked up by her next of kin. It turns out that the real Aurora Cabahug is alive. She is an ambitious twenty-one year old singer in a karaoke entertainment bar somewhere in the humble district of Paez, who is taking care of a nephew whose mother hasn't stayed in constant contact with for several months now. It was the police officer and Walter Zamora who notices this anomaly. Retired from a life of investigating brutal crimes, Zamora had met Aurora one night in the bar and could not forget her and so he was eager to fix the mistake concerning the wrongfully identified remains of Aurora's older sister Soledad, who used her identity to get another passport. What follows is a deceptively murder mystery scenario where readers might expect Walter Zamora to "solve" the puzzle on how and why Soledad Cabahug died. They would be mistaken to expect something like that to take place so I must caution anyone not to get stuck on this promising style of narrative because Soledad's Sister is foremost an intimate and leisurely tale about forgiveness and second chances; but mostly it's about hope--what it truly means to hope and live in hope against all odds that would state otherwise; and why there's a recurring painful pattern to that practice. That is the real mystery that can never be solved.
What I love about Soledad's Sister are the lavish descriptions and introspective passages about the two main characters, Aurora and Walter. I find myself drawn and readily sympathetic for them. Dalisay knows how to make readers care about these people which was why I was invested to know how this story will end. He was able to build up both Aurora and Walter with respective strengths and admirable qualities and then, much like with real people, expose us with their harmless deceptions, deep-rooted fears and insecurities and failures along the way. I feel like I know them very well and not at all as soon as the novel wraps up. And the wrap-up itself is just as frustrating. The ambiguous ending could be the defining quality of Soledad's Sister as a whole and it would depend on the type of reader you are on how you would perceive its rather unfair conclusion. If you're a completeist, then this book could be seen as a waste of time because the characters you've learned to root for didn't get a grand pay-off to their emotional struggles. But if you're like me and you enjoy the constant intrigue of a story that is not supposed to be about endings but of beginnings in the first place then you will appreciate the heartfelt and poignant message of Dalisay's book.
His prose is something I really fell in love with; it was magnetic and rife with uncomplicated subtext and imagery that get under your skin quite easily; while also persistently character-driven in its scope, with a sadness in its delivery that's almost akin to tasting one's own sweat and tears. This distinguishing flavor in his prose had rendered me speechless every now and then.
"But duty, she thought, was also a kind of love, perhaps a superior one, even; it had always been about duty, about doing the right thing by and for others, even if they didn't know it, and no matter what it cost."
My favorite character, ironically enough, is Soledad Cabahug who was already dead when this novel began. She was rather pitiful; a woman trapped within the prison of her own guilt for what happened in the past; and yet there are small moments when she was also brave enough to hope for better horizons even if she prioritizes penance and sacrifice as a person. It has made her so deliberately dull without any dreams of her own unlike her younger sister, but it made me love her more deeply. The quoted statement above was written in her point of view of things which demonstrates what a selfless creature Soledad Cabahug is which can also be seen as her foremost flaw. That quote summarizes her as a person and her inclinations to give more than receive something in return.
Her relationship with Aurora was so moving and uncomfortable all at once. I can liken it to the unexplored theme of emotional separation and distance between Frozen characters, Elsa and Anna which were left fully explored because that cartoon must have the happier Disney-twist. Removing that and we get what Soledad and Aurora's relationship as sisters who spent their lives not understanding or knowing one another in spite of living under the same roof but barely interacting meaningfully in a regular basis. It's a more realistic portrayal of such a tragic and fragmented sisterhood and I really appreciated the way Dalisay took his time weaving these emotions within the framework of their respective personalities and struggles.
Overall, Soledad's Sister has the near-perfect simplicity and elegance that one may never expect from a two-hundred paged novel. It has heart and soul and the author has a great understanding on what makes characters sympathetic and easy to root for. It's definitely worth the purchase years ago.
Her relationship with Aurora was so moving and uncomfortable all at once. I can liken it to the unexplored theme of emotional separation and distance between Frozen characters, Elsa and Anna which were left fully explored because that cartoon must have the happier Disney-twist. Removing that and we get what Soledad and Aurora's relationship as sisters who spent their lives not understanding or knowing one another in spite of living under the same roof but barely interacting meaningfully in a regular basis. It's a more realistic portrayal of such a tragic and fragmented sisterhood and I really appreciated the way Dalisay took his time weaving these emotions within the framework of their respective personalities and struggles.
Overall, Soledad's Sister has the near-perfect simplicity and elegance that one may never expect from a two-hundred paged novel. It has heart and soul and the author has a great understanding on what makes characters sympathetic and easy to root for. It's definitely worth the purchase years ago.
"If they were affected by war at all, they bore no scars"
May 2015
"I love our country. But what is our country? It is a land exploited by its own leaders, where the citizens are slaves of their own elite."
This is the third installment for F. Sionil Jose's Rosales saga after Po-On and Tree, and being able to finish it last night left me rather cold and unsatisfied. Unlike the first two books, this one has a protagonist I could not form any attachment to, and I truly tried to make some sort of genuine connection with him and it doesn't make sense to me why I couldn't. All things considered, Luis Asperri--the lead POV character for this novel--is probably the closest archetype I should have some affinity for. He's a writer who lives with his ideals through pen and paper. He worked for print media. He was privileged, well-educated and eloquent. In other words, I should have related to him because we have those listed commonalities to contend with. But I simply did not like him at all; and perhaps that reveals something about how I view myself in an objective sense. Perhaps these same qualities are things about me that I'm rather ashamed of even if I feel entitled to have them.
Set in the fifties, My Brother, My Executioner is rife with historical allegories that I immediately recognized upon reading. Personally, I find that strong parallels have been made between Luis Asperri, the illegitimate son of the rich feudal lord Don Vicente, and Victor, his half-brother and the leader of the Hukbalahap guerrilla movement, to that of two of the most iconic national heroes: Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio. Much like Rizal, Luis is a writer who desires to help his fellowmen through his writings. Victor, like Bonifacio, admires his brother for his ideals on paper but is more inclined to follow through with actions even if they only lead to violence and chaos. History had told us that Rizal had inspired Bonifacio to lead a revolution for Philippine independence through his writings, and this is probably the fundamental basis of the relationship between the characters of Luis and Vic, However, the comparisons end there and much of the characterizations for Luis and Vic have a life of their own, and neither is always portrayed in a flattering light.
In fact, I could argue that from all of F. Sionil Jose's protagonists so far (Istak from Po-On and unnamed first-POV narrator in Tree), Luis Asperri is the least relatable--or the most, depending on how much you can actually sympathize and appreciate such a flawed, sad idealist. There are times I can understand his motivations and sufferings; the way he would rationalize and justify his decisions through dark contemplation; the way he yearns for control and freedom to govern his own life; the way he would desire to contribute more to society and to help the poor but is nevertheless reluctant about sacrificing his own material comforts and heirlooms. Luis Asperri is the most realistic of all the protagonists in the books so far, and for that I think he is compelling and interesting enough--but I have no affection for him whatsoever. I suppose I can't help but feel harsh and critical of him because in spite of his failings and weakness, Luis Asperri is also a reflection of what I generally feel about myself as a Filipino which is to say he mirrors the same kind of helplessness, cynicism and hopeful dreams for the future of this country that I know a lot of us Filipinos still possess and have learned to suppress because we have gotten so used to the functional dysfunction of our economic structure and government system.
Set in the fifties, My Brother, My Executioner is rife with historical allegories that I immediately recognized upon reading. Personally, I find that strong parallels have been made between Luis Asperri, the illegitimate son of the rich feudal lord Don Vicente, and Victor, his half-brother and the leader of the Hukbalahap guerrilla movement, to that of two of the most iconic national heroes: Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio. Much like Rizal, Luis is a writer who desires to help his fellowmen through his writings. Victor, like Bonifacio, admires his brother for his ideals on paper but is more inclined to follow through with actions even if they only lead to violence and chaos. History had told us that Rizal had inspired Bonifacio to lead a revolution for Philippine independence through his writings, and this is probably the fundamental basis of the relationship between the characters of Luis and Vic, However, the comparisons end there and much of the characterizations for Luis and Vic have a life of their own, and neither is always portrayed in a flattering light.
In fact, I could argue that from all of F. Sionil Jose's protagonists so far (Istak from Po-On and unnamed first-POV narrator in Tree), Luis Asperri is the least relatable--or the most, depending on how much you can actually sympathize and appreciate such a flawed, sad idealist. There are times I can understand his motivations and sufferings; the way he would rationalize and justify his decisions through dark contemplation; the way he yearns for control and freedom to govern his own life; the way he would desire to contribute more to society and to help the poor but is nevertheless reluctant about sacrificing his own material comforts and heirlooms. Luis Asperri is the most realistic of all the protagonists in the books so far, and for that I think he is compelling and interesting enough--but I have no affection for him whatsoever. I suppose I can't help but feel harsh and critical of him because in spite of his failings and weakness, Luis Asperri is also a reflection of what I generally feel about myself as a Filipino which is to say he mirrors the same kind of helplessness, cynicism and hopeful dreams for the future of this country that I know a lot of us Filipinos still possess and have learned to suppress because we have gotten so used to the functional dysfunction of our economic structure and government system.
"We cannot conquer life, no one can conquer what one cannot define, but at least it is there and it is ours to shape and to possess fully, with all the senses working, with all the powers of the heart surging, as we search for the answers to the greatest riddles."
My Brother, My Executioner is, as I would have expected, well-versed in the underlying political and ideological discussions (that manifest literally in the texts with the conversations with characters or is latent through the reader's own personal perspective) concerning societal inequity and the cycle of poverty and uneven distribution of wealth in the Philippines--which is very much the oldest story of the world, isn't it? Luis Asperri and his father Don Vicente are inherently different in their views about the elite (their kind) and the poor but at least one of them is a lot more genuine and action-oriented than the other. Sadly enough, it's Don Vicente, and he is more pragmatic albeit oppressive in his actions as a rich man. He believes in self-preservation; that in order to rise from the ranks you need to seize opportunities, and this is only possible when there is are masses of people who are lower than you and often you need to rule them over.
Meanwhile, Luis is a dreamer so consistently blinded by his own heartfelt illusions of harmony and peace that they have made him bitter and angry because they remain unfulfilled throughout the story. He claims to embrace change and yet is trapped within his failed progressive ideals, going back and forth between trying to become the man he aspires to be and the man he is meant to be because of predestined options because of his family background and way of life.
And that in itself is a worthy discussion. Are we truly in control of our destiny when choices are scarce? Can we truly forge new paths or be content walking across paths which were already there to begin and we simply have to follow their direction? What god are ethics and ideals if we are not strong enough to live by them through actions and not just words? My Brother, My Executioner had introduced such fascinating concepts and dialogue regarding national freedom and that of individual autonomy, the tension between the privileged and the masses, and the often inescapable obligations for family and country. However, most of these ideas remained only half-baked, most probably because the protagonist Luis Asperri as a character is ultimately both too proud and ashamed of his life to actually take its reigns and be the change in the world he is always preaching he wants to see fulfilled. He's too caught up in his crippling inaction.
This was why the ending was so unsatisfactory and underwhelming for me. I would have liked to have known his brother Victor some more, and his relationship with him but instead we get so many wasteful pages highlighting Luis' doomed relationship with Ester Dantes who is, by the way, a rather poor representation of women here in this book (which is odd, considering F. Sionil Jose also wrote one of the most empowering women in fiction, Dalin from Po-On, in my opinion). The other female character in this book (the 'all-woman, sensual' Trining), is just as stereotypical and one-dimensional as the evasive Esther. I think that is my major criticism of this novel and it's made even more obvious because Luis is frustratingly chauvinistic without the self-awareness he usually applies when it comes to his moral dilemmas. That said, I think I may have to late this installment the lowest of the bunch so far and I dearly hope the next one would have more focus and purpose like Po-On had been.
Meanwhile, Luis is a dreamer so consistently blinded by his own heartfelt illusions of harmony and peace that they have made him bitter and angry because they remain unfulfilled throughout the story. He claims to embrace change and yet is trapped within his failed progressive ideals, going back and forth between trying to become the man he aspires to be and the man he is meant to be because of predestined options because of his family background and way of life.
And that in itself is a worthy discussion. Are we truly in control of our destiny when choices are scarce? Can we truly forge new paths or be content walking across paths which were already there to begin and we simply have to follow their direction? What god are ethics and ideals if we are not strong enough to live by them through actions and not just words? My Brother, My Executioner had introduced such fascinating concepts and dialogue regarding national freedom and that of individual autonomy, the tension between the privileged and the masses, and the often inescapable obligations for family and country. However, most of these ideas remained only half-baked, most probably because the protagonist Luis Asperri as a character is ultimately both too proud and ashamed of his life to actually take its reigns and be the change in the world he is always preaching he wants to see fulfilled. He's too caught up in his crippling inaction.
This was why the ending was so unsatisfactory and underwhelming for me. I would have liked to have known his brother Victor some more, and his relationship with him but instead we get so many wasteful pages highlighting Luis' doomed relationship with Ester Dantes who is, by the way, a rather poor representation of women here in this book (which is odd, considering F. Sionil Jose also wrote one of the most empowering women in fiction, Dalin from Po-On, in my opinion). The other female character in this book (the 'all-woman, sensual' Trining), is just as stereotypical and one-dimensional as the evasive Esther. I think that is my major criticism of this novel and it's made even more obvious because Luis is frustratingly chauvinistic without the self-awareness he usually applies when it comes to his moral dilemmas. That said, I think I may have to late this installment the lowest of the bunch so far and I dearly hope the next one would have more focus and purpose like Po-On had been.
Harvests reaped and hungers unsated
March 2015
"You are going to die," I told him.
"But I will die decently," he said, pausing. "Isn't that what we should live for?"
His question had a quality of coldness, of challenge.
Reading the first book, PO-ON, of the Rosales series last year by prolific Filipino writer and living legend F. Sionil Jose was a gruellingly reflective experience that awoken a dormant passion of the nationalistic sense within me that I never thought I ever had to begin with. I would go as far as to say that this should have been a required reading in schools all across my country, and it baffles me now that it's wasn't. Simply put, this series is an extraordinary piece of work that needs to be celebrated and read every day because of its relevant commentary in the Philippine society as a whole, using no other than the means of fiction to deliver across some of the most crucial and moving points regarding the state of our post-colonial country.
The Rosales saga is comprised of five books with stories told across history starting with the Spanish era down to the Martial Law years. Each story is interrelated or consequential of the one before it. The stories' shared setting is the Ilocos region, particularly the Rosales area. We follow the lives of a select family for every installment who lives in Rosales.
In Po-On, we have the story of the Salvador family as told by the eldest son Istak, narrating the events starting from the moment they were driven from their lands to seek out a new home after one of their own committed a crime, and then as they venture on in a trip so often beautifully and tragically reminiscent of the Biblical text, Exodus. The struggles of this ordinary family could have easily been our own as well, and it's with the characters of Istak and Dalin that Po-On weaves a tale so engrossing that even the most subtle details in their lives such as their vulnerabilities and sentimentalities become nearly sublime. It was just a remarkable story about a Filipino's ruthless quest for freedom and identity which still rings true even to this day.
The Rosales saga is comprised of five books with stories told across history starting with the Spanish era down to the Martial Law years. Each story is interrelated or consequential of the one before it. The stories' shared setting is the Ilocos region, particularly the Rosales area. We follow the lives of a select family for every installment who lives in Rosales.
In Po-On, we have the story of the Salvador family as told by the eldest son Istak, narrating the events starting from the moment they were driven from their lands to seek out a new home after one of their own committed a crime, and then as they venture on in a trip so often beautifully and tragically reminiscent of the Biblical text, Exodus. The struggles of this ordinary family could have easily been our own as well, and it's with the characters of Istak and Dalin that Po-On weaves a tale so engrossing that even the most subtle details in their lives such as their vulnerabilities and sentimentalities become nearly sublime. It was just a remarkable story about a Filipino's ruthless quest for freedom and identity which still rings true even to this day.
"The balete tree--it was there for always, tall, leafy and majestic. In the beginning, it sprang from the earth as vines coiled around a sapling. The vines strangled the young tree they had embraced. They multiplied, fattened and grew, became the sturdy trunk, the branches spread out to catch the sun. And beneath this tree, nothing grows!"
Meanwhile, in Tree, the approach is vastly different from its predecessor. Now written in first-person narrative, this story is almost autobiographical if not for the fact that the narrator himself (who remains unnamed) was actually more focused on telling the stories of specific relatives, including their idiosyncrasies, most striking experiences and eventual end. This makes Tree more of an exploration of a social status than a personal one where the focal family are haciendero elites during the American era. They supervise the lands owned by the feudal mogul Don Vincente (who interestingly enough becomes the main character in the next book), as well as the lives of modest farmers who have no choice but to work these lands with barely enough compensation.
Chronologically designed to follow the tale of this unnamed narrator from childhood to college years, Tree is semi-autobiographical because of this, but readers never learn about the narrator as much as they learn about his family's way of life, and the servants with their children within his household and out there in the farmlands. What follows then are chapters specifically devoted to certain relatives (mostly his uncles) or childhood friends and their families who have worked tirelessly for him and his father all throughout their lives. In the span of seventy pages or so, the narrator would recall circumstances in his childhood that would allow readers to develop their own insights and interpretations as to the harsh realities the people around him are striving to get through while he himself was living rather comfortably if not ignorantly as a rich haciendero's son.
As he grows older, the narrator has learned to understand the subtleties of the socio-political climate during those times, as well as the unending class struggle and corruption happening around him, but he was still ultimately powerless to do anything about them. In this sense, Tree is more intimately close to the way modern Filipinos react to the dire situations of the politics that dominate our lives these days, fully aware of the persistent effects and yet a great number of us would still rather choose to remain individually negligent in finding solutions to the nation's prevalent social diseases. Not because of apathy but more as a product of collective exhaustion because the corruption of the rich and the abuse of the poor has become too much of a convenient commonplace that we are no longer moved to act against this terrible status quo.
Tree only has a hundred and thirty-five pages which meant that it can be consumed within two days or so. With this brevity, the story itself is engaging in such a way that each chapter deliberately and seamlessly explores what it means to live in a world where people are suffering on different levels of oppression; that whether rich or poor, a family and the individual can suffer because of the overall inequality in the society they live in. Tree's metaphor of the balete tree found in the story further emphasizes this truth; a seemingly noble tree that is a centuries old can also be viewed as a parasitic entity that thrives in expense of the plants surrounding its breadth, much like those who live in luxury and comfort indirectly harms those who are less fortunate than they are.
Perhaps through this novel, F. Sionil Jose is making the argument that such a dog-eat-dog mentality will always be the natural state of things which allow only the strongest (if not ruthless) to survive, and now perhaps it's merely up to us as a nation whether or not to embrace this evolutionary state, or rebel against it and redefine our place.
"You take up a summer job and trip into a conspiracy"
December 2014
Eliza Victoria has consumed me wholly this year though our love affair as authoress and admirer has been, on some occasions, an infrequent and most unsure relationship, but I take comfort in the private knowledge that our rendezvous point will always be located within the rich tapestry of her stories. The gift of her prose and imagination has revitalized the way I look at certain areas in my life, and I'd like to believe that she is my own Neil Gaiman, since I'm aware that Gaiman is a lot to his fans simply magical, and Victoria is the same for me as well.
This is the third work of hers that I read and reviewed for this year and it's a science fiction novella that had a lot of promising potentials to become a full-length novel if Victoria ever decides to pick this up again and go in that direction someday because I believe it's not too late, and I know a lot of readers share this opinion. I also believe that some of them might criticize this novella's brevity, particularly on the aspect of world-building which most sci-fi novels often entail with in order to be considered a very nuanced reading experience. Personally, I think that this was a more self-contained piece than anything, so I can understand why the setting was only discussed in context of the characters who live in that time and place which was a futuristic Philippines where robotics have advanced and have become prominent machines used in law enforcement. This was what the focus of the book; what the Philippines would be like if menial jobs are given to machines.
In Victoria's Project 17, policemen have been replaced by model units called sentries while domestic helpers and prostitutes are replaced by cleaners and dancers respectively. As a futuristic world, Victoria created something memorable in the sparse 169 pages of the book and it served its purpose well enough for a character-driven story that was at its core a mystery to be unraveled and solved by the teenage protagonist Lillian and her friends Max and Jamie. A seemingly harmless and ordinary job, Lillian was hired by a man named Paul Dolores to take care of his mentally unstable yet heavily medicated brother Caleb which she was reluctant to take up at first. As soon as she got involved in the brothers' pattern and routine, she became intrinsically attached to the lives they lead, particularly when she began to suspect that they were not who they say they are. With the help of her hacker friend Max, Lillian begins to pull at the threads until she uncovers a secret that could shake up the very fabric of the reality they have cozily lived in for so long.
I have enjoyed Victoria's stylistic language for this book which had always been economical and brisk, and poignant when it needs to be. It superbly suited the story it was telling because we readers are able to wrap ourselves in the enigma that the lead heroine is solving before our own eyes as we closely follow her discoveries. This was a great first effort for a science fiction novella though I still believe Victoria's strength as an author is more fully embodied when she's composing speculative and metaphysical fiction like the stories collected in her anthology A Bottle of Storm Clouds. I also still consider Dwellers as her more superior work, but comparing Project 17 to that is truly a matter of apples and oranges. Despite of the difference in genre, what they do share is Victoria's penchant for writing "siblings with a dark secret" angle. Other than that, Project 17 has amusing, witty and relatable protagonists in Lillian, Max and Jamie who we trust as the story unfolds, and this never wavers until the conclusion of the book itself. Said conclusion is more definitive than Dwellers which was formulaic enough to be acceptable but not as haunting as the latter's own conclusion that is open to interpretations.
I liked this book a lot. It was a fun and fast read with delightful character interactions as much as heavily emotional ones, and a mystery that had surprising twists and turns. The world Victoria created for this book that was filled sentries, cleaners and dancers was descriptive and believable enough in the context of the plot. However, this was a lesser work for me than Dwellers and A Bottle of Storm Clouds because it just didn't resonate as much as those works did. Still, I expect greater things from this authoress and will continue look forward to her future projects.
This is the third work of hers that I read and reviewed for this year and it's a science fiction novella that had a lot of promising potentials to become a full-length novel if Victoria ever decides to pick this up again and go in that direction someday because I believe it's not too late, and I know a lot of readers share this opinion. I also believe that some of them might criticize this novella's brevity, particularly on the aspect of world-building which most sci-fi novels often entail with in order to be considered a very nuanced reading experience. Personally, I think that this was a more self-contained piece than anything, so I can understand why the setting was only discussed in context of the characters who live in that time and place which was a futuristic Philippines where robotics have advanced and have become prominent machines used in law enforcement. This was what the focus of the book; what the Philippines would be like if menial jobs are given to machines.
In Victoria's Project 17, policemen have been replaced by model units called sentries while domestic helpers and prostitutes are replaced by cleaners and dancers respectively. As a futuristic world, Victoria created something memorable in the sparse 169 pages of the book and it served its purpose well enough for a character-driven story that was at its core a mystery to be unraveled and solved by the teenage protagonist Lillian and her friends Max and Jamie. A seemingly harmless and ordinary job, Lillian was hired by a man named Paul Dolores to take care of his mentally unstable yet heavily medicated brother Caleb which she was reluctant to take up at first. As soon as she got involved in the brothers' pattern and routine, she became intrinsically attached to the lives they lead, particularly when she began to suspect that they were not who they say they are. With the help of her hacker friend Max, Lillian begins to pull at the threads until she uncovers a secret that could shake up the very fabric of the reality they have cozily lived in for so long.
I have enjoyed Victoria's stylistic language for this book which had always been economical and brisk, and poignant when it needs to be. It superbly suited the story it was telling because we readers are able to wrap ourselves in the enigma that the lead heroine is solving before our own eyes as we closely follow her discoveries. This was a great first effort for a science fiction novella though I still believe Victoria's strength as an author is more fully embodied when she's composing speculative and metaphysical fiction like the stories collected in her anthology A Bottle of Storm Clouds. I also still consider Dwellers as her more superior work, but comparing Project 17 to that is truly a matter of apples and oranges. Despite of the difference in genre, what they do share is Victoria's penchant for writing "siblings with a dark secret" angle. Other than that, Project 17 has amusing, witty and relatable protagonists in Lillian, Max and Jamie who we trust as the story unfolds, and this never wavers until the conclusion of the book itself. Said conclusion is more definitive than Dwellers which was formulaic enough to be acceptable but not as haunting as the latter's own conclusion that is open to interpretations.
I liked this book a lot. It was a fun and fast read with delightful character interactions as much as heavily emotional ones, and a mystery that had surprising twists and turns. The world Victoria created for this book that was filled sentries, cleaners and dancers was descriptive and believable enough in the context of the plot. However, this was a lesser work for me than Dwellers and A Bottle of Storm Clouds because it just didn't resonate as much as those works did. Still, I expect greater things from this authoress and will continue look forward to her future projects.
"We are doomed because we are connected"
September 2014
I first encountered Eliza Victoria in her short story submission for the Filipino horror anthology Demons of the New Year entitled Salot and it was a piece that stayed with me because of its ambiguous ending and fascinating characters whom I wished she expounded on some more. Heck, I even personally tweeted her one time and asked if there is a sequel because I couldn't get enough of it and she responded that there was no more that she could offer me. I was heartbroken but it also ignited my interest further so I ventured on to discover more of her fiction.
She once again dazzled me for her submission in Alternative Alamat entitled Ana’s Little Pawnshop on Makiling St., and eluded me for her submission in the fantasy anthology The Farthest Shore entitled The Just World of Helena Jimenez which I had to read twice to fully understand.
So, as you can see, my first impressions of the work of this authoress have been quite intoxicating. Now you can just imagine my glee once I was able to purchase this novella of hers--and was absofuckinglutely blown away by the simplicity yet elegance of her plot and prose.
Surprisingly yet admirably enough, Dwellers only has less than two hundred pages and yet that very length is something Victoria made the most of. The story is about two cousins with the power to inhabit the bodies of other people of their choosing. That's how the story starts, with these two men right after they freshly occupied the brothers Louis and Jonah and began settling down in their new home. The novel is written in the first-person perspective of the new Jonah who is from here on serves as the eyes of the readers as the story unfolds.
Part of the ongoing mystery is that we never learned about the cousins' real names to the very end yet perhaps it's not what really matters at all.
In addition to this, Dwellers operated in a two-fold level of storytelling where we get the main plot which is about the mystery surrounding the lives of the brothers they have inhabited--especially once they found out one night during a blackout that the brothers have stored a dead body in the freezer down the basement. On the other hand, the secondary subplot starts in the middle of the novel where we get a flashback story concerning the cousins' tragic lives permeated by a complicated family history, and why they chose to run away from it all.
What I enjoyed most about Dwellers is the amazing pacing and direction of each chapter that both relish on keeping the readers on their toes as we ourselves slowly uncover the dark secrets of the brothers Louis and Jonah alongside the cousins. I also easily developed great sympathy for the cousins, particularly the one who is narrating everything as the new Jonah. Victoria has gracefully wove a psychological mystery novella with an unmistakable poignancy pouring out from the confines of its narrative which in turn speaks of the darkness and desolation of human struggles and conflicats that more often than not will always weigh down our lives.
One of the chief villains of the story even makes this big speech that truly drove the theme home: "We're doomed because we are all connected. But alone, we won't survive. Even if you all follow the rules, someone, somewhere, won't and it will be the end of you...We are infinitesimal. We are too small and our lives are too brief to make a difference."
I can't give away too much of the story anymore but I can guarantee that everything about the tone, atmosphere and theme in Dwellers will chill you to the bone. This is a marvelous novella that further seals the impact of Victoria's literary style. She certainly has a fondness for ambiguous endings where she never gives us a fixed resolution of her equally thought-provoking and surreal stories. In fact, once you turn the very last page, you are left with a feeling of emptiness and perplexion but, personally, it worked quite well.
It has certainly made the entire novella a painfully unforgettable one that is open to many interpretations.
"All Creatures in the Miasma"
February 2014
I don't know why I waited this long to read this book. I've bought this a week before I met F. Sionil Jose himself in the Cavite Young Writers event back in 2010. He recognized my surname and knew how to spell it, which doesn't happen often since my twelve-lettered surname is an uncommon Spanish last name. For a man who is almost ninety, his memory was astounding. Though I haven't read his works at that time, I knew of his legacy, and the excitement and anxiety at that moment upon meeting a national icon were palpable and overpowering. I thought I was going to have a panic attack right there.
Here I am three years later after that fateful day, and I finally started reading the first book of his critically-acclaimed Rosales Saga, Po-On. The series itself follows different protagonists for each novel, but the stories of the five books are interrelated across chronological boundaries. Set in the Philippines during its most notable and tumultuous times, F. Sionil Jose takes us into the heart of the common Filipino man, who has yet to establish a clear national and identity. The best thing about his books is that they are written in English, which is the language of my soul. That's a good thing too, I guess, since it's arguable that most readers of my generation in the country are more used to reading English novels after all, so Po-On will be more than accessible to them, not to mention it's affordable (under 300 bucks).
Po-On is an important book not just because it has international recognition and because it's a historical fiction about our country. As a work of literature itself, this was an impressive achievement. F. Sionil Jose's stylistic language is distinct, and the quality of his prose is straightforward without the need for extravagant verbosity. In Po-On, the central figure his Eustaqio "Istak" Salvador, a promising acolyte who idolized a Spanish priest as his mentor. His prominent characteristic is that he's an educated man, a rare accomplishment for an "indio", let alone an Ilokano, who are considered to be mere docile farmers. His parents and two brothers were also significant players in the plot, as well as the elusive and admirable Dalin who became his wife later on.
Driven from their lands, the Salvador family, together with their relatives (because extended families are still considered to be of close ties for your typical Filipino) traveled across mountains and forests in search for a new place to call home. My favorite thing about Po-On is that it's rife with religious allusions, particularly on the Old Testament accounts of the Book of Exodus. There is a sublime connection between the plight and cavalry of the Salvador family with that of Moses and the Israelites. There were many instances of parallelism between them, and they are the most heartbreaking moments of the book. Their new home "Cabugawan" might as well have been the "promised land" for these Ilokanos.
Another beautiful aspect of Po-On is Istak's constant struggle to define his faith within and outside the context of the Catholic Church's influence. He's always torn between his loyalty to his family and his people, and the values he had learned from his late Spanish mentor. The book is divided into two parts; the first part was the exodus while the second one was about the upcoming final war between the Spaniards and the new colonists, the Americans. Istak meets historical figures, Emilio Jacinto, Apolinario Mabini and Gregorio Del Pilar. His interactions with these men are striking and heartfelt. Through Istak's character, we became acquainted with ourselves.
The Filipino then and the Filipino now are still similar; we are creatures who aspire for greatness but remain a race divided. Istak's general apathy about the war-torn situations of the country then can still speak to our own inner conflicts. But once his life was touched by these remarkable, patriotic men willing to fight and die for independence, Istak himself has found the courage to do his part, as small as it may be. Mabini, fondly called as the Cripple in the book, rationalized why it's difficult to unite his countrymen. We identify more as Ilokanos, or Tagalogs, or Batangeños instead of one Filipino nation. Once Istak embraced that he doesn't simply belong to his family but to a higher, nobler purpose, he took up arms with the rest of the outnumbered soldiers led by General Del Pilar against the Americans, in the memorable battle of Mount Tirad.
There are many instances in this book that made me tear up in spite of myself. I realized that this is an important work, and it saddens me that it only has 8 ratings (including my own) here in Goodreads. We should all pick up the Rosales Saga because F. Sionil Jose is a prolific artist who dedicated his lifetime in writing us these books so our generation and the next can read and see their lives in the pages. This is a book of great importance and will definitely give you a sense of national pride like you have never felt before.
MEMORABLE QUOTES
"Evil is often a creation of our minds. It starts as a spark and then it is fanned into a fire, self-willed and self-sustaining. That is not to say there are no evil men, but our best protection against them is our innocence and our truth"
"No stranger can come battering down my door and say he brings me light. This I have within me."
"There was no measure for love of country except in sacrifice, and why ask the poor for more sacrifices? It was the comfortable, the rich, who should express it with their wealth. The poor had only their lives to give."
"He was valuable to them--teacher, healer, patriarch, but now he realized with seeing sharpness that they were valuable to him not just as cousins and neighbors--they were the earth, the water, the air which sustained him."
"Duty comes in many forms; at times duty to country can be conflict with duty to family. But in the end, duty becomes but one, and that is duty to value justice above everything--to do what is right not because someone ordains it, but because the heart which is the seat of truth decrees it."
"I have been blinded, as many of us have been blinded by our needs. I had thought only of my family--this was the limit to my responsibility and therefore my vision."
"The whole history of mankind has shown how faith endures while steel rusts."
"Evil is often a creation of our minds. It starts as a spark and then it is fanned into a fire, self-willed and self-sustaining. That is not to say there are no evil men, but our best protection against them is our innocence and our truth"
"No stranger can come battering down my door and say he brings me light. This I have within me."
"There was no measure for love of country except in sacrifice, and why ask the poor for more sacrifices? It was the comfortable, the rich, who should express it with their wealth. The poor had only their lives to give."
"He was valuable to them--teacher, healer, patriarch, but now he realized with seeing sharpness that they were valuable to him not just as cousins and neighbors--they were the earth, the water, the air which sustained him."
"Duty comes in many forms; at times duty to country can be conflict with duty to family. But in the end, duty becomes but one, and that is duty to value justice above everything--to do what is right not because someone ordains it, but because the heart which is the seat of truth decrees it."
"I have been blinded, as many of us have been blinded by our needs. I had thought only of my family--this was the limit to my responsibility and therefore my vision."
"The whole history of mankind has shown how faith endures while steel rusts."
A semblance of home
December 2011
The premise of the entire novel was intriguing: a very famous Filipino writer by the name of Crispin Salvador was found dead, his corpse floating in the Hudson river. The manuscript of his final book The Bridges Ablaze is gone as well, a book that will expose the crimes of many ruling corrupted political families in the Philippines. His apprentice Miguel, an aspiring writer, sets out to Manila to investigate and untangle the mysteries surrounding the Salvador family, going back as far as three generations. In doing so, Miguel has to re-visit his mentor’s poetry, interviews, novels, polemics and memoirs, and this made Ilustrado not a linear work of fiction as a reader may hope it would be. In fact, as much as there is a consistent plot being followed, the entire novel is so fragmented that it’s visually challenging to read. Syjuco has invented Crispin Salvador as a prolific writer and therefore quotes ‘excerpts’ from the fictional author’s works. Reading this book required time because of the explorative way it was written. I don’t think anyone can consume it in just a few days. By its very definition, Ilustrados are ‘enlightened’ Filipinos who lived abroad and were able to understand firsthand what centuries of colonization have done to our nation, and so they seek for reform in an intellectual sense. Jose Rizal is one. And so are the characters Crispin and Miguel in this book. Most of the time it’s difficult to distinguish whose story it truly is, and about halfway through the novel, I realized that it is every Filipino’s story; all of us who never stop yearning for progress in a country with a decaying economy, dirty politics and hypocritical Christian values.
Syjuco’s prose is beautiful in the most harrowing and irritating sense. The passages are filled with feelings familiar with a Filipino individual, with all the aches, desires and disillusions we share as a colonozied nation, and yet the prose manages to alienate a more critical reader because the entire novel is a tapestry so convoluted and overwhelming at times that there was no defining bigger picture to put the puzzles neatly together. This is both the magic and weakness of Ilustrado. As terribly enchanting and genuinely humorous the excerpts from Salvador’s works were, Syjuco’s plot is hardly distinguishable; his side of the story alternates between autobiographical lamentations to psychological examinations of the Filipino identity or lack thereof. Though this book is a work of fiction, it translates more as a memoir of a person (who is by all accounts not even real), though perhaps that was the intention. If Salvador was meant to mirror the neglected Philippine literature, then Miguel (not the actual author but the ‘protagonist’) is the reflection of a generation of youth who is a mix of different cultures that are not its own, and the only distinctive quality that makes it unique is the diversity itself.
I battled within myself how I could review this novel while I balance both subjective and objective opinions. In a more personal sense, this book was an accomplishment of multitude proportions. It was intelligent, funny and intense. It casted a spell on me the whole time I was reading it. It was the kind of story that feels important because you relate strongly to it, even if the true reason is unknowable. I applaud Syjuco’s grasp of the English language while at the same time using it as distinctively Filipino. His prose has the same layers as our national identity like the scattered entities of our own geographical distance; we live separately because our country is an archipelago but in a more symbolic sense than the literal. When this book was awarded the Man Asian Literary Prize, Syjuco claimed that "I’m a Filipino. I’m nothing else but a Filipino. I’d like to be a writer, not just defined by race." The product of his literary quest is a novel where fact and fiction are interchangeable at both its best and worst. Realities are blurred in this work of art, and oftentimes that it became exhausting to keep up with.
I’m almost afraid to be critical of this book, and it’s probably because in doing so I fear that it would devalue the enjoyment and other more sentimental feelings I have for Ilustrado. But two days after finishing it, I was finally able to de-mystify and make more sense of this book once I’ve separated myself from its transformative hold. This was also made possible when I finally figured out the epilogue. It took me a while but once it hit me, I was more confounded than satisfied. It enabled me to re-examine the book again with a more critical stance.
There was definitely an overreaching quality to the way Syjuco wrote this story. There are so many threads that he had to connect together but the threads were not gracefully woven in the first place so the endgame was composed of many frays rather than with something concrete. I was not too happy about that. It certainly felt like all that time I spent in the darkness was absurdity itself because there was a candle behind me the whole time and all I needed to do was to turn around and grab it. I suppose that Syjuco’s novel is what it is because he is still defined by the Filipino’s search for national identity, even if he doesn’t want to believe it himself. We cannot escape the pull of our race and all its trappings. Much like Luna’s painting of Spolarium, we bask in our colonization, and our struggle to be individualistic still comes back to our purgatory where we are never going to be complete as persons, or whole as a nation. And there’s beauty in that decay.
Though flawed in narrative and consistent storytelling, Ilustrado is stylish and daring. The prose is crisp with memorable passages and its defying structure makes it unable for readers to put it in a specific genre. This novel can be enjoyed best if you read nothing else. Because of the fragmented way it was written, you shouldn’t put it down for too long if you do take a break. It may take a while to develop a momentum when you read it.