Book Review: MY NAME IS ASHER LEV by Chaim Potok

My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"Do you hear the pain carried on in the wind? It is the cry of wasted lives. Who dares add to that cry? Who dares drain the world of its light?"

Classes got suspended today, which gave me time to pick up this 1972 book that had been languishing in my TBR for months, one I'd heard so much about but never got around to reading until now. Foul weather allowed me to finish it in one sitting, it was THAT compelling! But it's one of those books whose ending I hated, with equal passion to the love I feel for the earlier chapters. I will admit that any book that gets a rise out of its reader is good, even if that goodness is incomplete.

It's a bildungsroman about a Hasidic Jew growing up in Brooklyn in the '50's (as the author did; later on I find that the book is biographical as Potok was also a Jewish artist who painted his own crucifixion, thereby causing pain to people of his religious tradition). In an ultraconservative world such as his, art has no place. But the Master of the Universe has given Asher Lev an enormous gift, which completely consumes his life to the point that he makes terrible choices.

The interesting thing about this book is how it will reflect your own values, as a reader. Perhaps it's the Filipino/Asian upbringing I've had, one that tends to prioritize the community over the individual, which explains why I hate the ending so.

How is a life to be lived? the book asks.

"Many people feel they are in possession of a great gift when they are young. But one does not always give in to a gift. One does with a life what is precious not only to one's own self but to one's own people," says Asher Lev's father, echoed by his uncle, and mother, and rabbi.

But then his art teacher puts goyish ideas in his head, dangerous ideas like the superiority of the individual over the herd, the innate rebelliousness of the artist throughout the ages.

Does art matter, in the modern world? "What was a drawing in the face of the darkness of the Other Side? What was a pen and paper, what were pastels, in the face of the evil of the shell?"

Asher Lev, as a child, weeps and cries YES, and continues to do so even as he grows older.

And this is why I detest the end. There is so much selfish egotism in the genius impressed with his own worth, believing his own life and feelings matter more than everyone else's. There is very little self-growth despite the passage of years. Asher Lev at the end is a childish adult who knowingly hurts others and finds his cruelty justifiable, and this is what makes me angry.

"You must not dislike God's world, even if it is unfinished," the book reminds us.

I do hope Asher Lev grows up in Book 2. It's a credit to Book 1's utterly hypnotic nature that I immediately got a copy of the sequel. Despite my dislike, I care about Asher Lev and what happens to him twenty years later.

I do wish I get the chance to watch the play version of this! I wasn't able to catch the 2017 Manila run. It would make for a very fascinating experience, I'm sure, especially in a post-pandemic world.

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Book Review: DVORAK'S PROPHECY by Joseph Horowitz

Dvorak's Prophecy: And the Vexed Fate of Black Classical Music by Joseph Horowitz
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"Dvořák's Prophecy" is a very erudite (if sometimes a bit self congratulatory) book by scholar and music critic Joseph Horowitz, which raises important questions on the role of race in a nation's classical music history. Classical music still comes off as elitist and white because of its beginnings, despite efforts to democratize it and make it accessible to all. Horowitz highlights little known composers that aren't, as of now, included in the canon, and explains why that is.

When the great Czech composer Dvořák came to New York to help found a school of music, he stayed for a few years and fell in love with what he heard and considered to be truly American: Negro and Indian music. With the black spirituals especially, he prophesied they would become the foundation for a unique classical music, the bedrock of identity for a young continent still looking for itself. "“In the negro melodies of America," he said, "I discover all that is needed for a great and noble school of music."

The book came out in the pandemic, amidst all the chaos in American society. With all this madness going on globally, why bother to read this very niche book? Why even care about a genre that is considered passé, or utilized by a ruling elite to emphasize the cultural divide between haves and have nots?

As a Filipino watching a vernacular translation of Rossini's and Mozart's Figaro operas this past weekend, I had similarly themed questions in my mind. To be honest, they've been unanswered questions for decades. But reading this book shone a light on the form this problem takes in my own country.

To be Filipino and to love classical music seems almost unpatriotic, given our colonial background. It may come across as studying how to be white underneath the brown, to some. But, as the author reminds us, music and beauty belong to all mankind, regardless of skin color.

To be moved by the beauty of classical music is to partake in the cause of shared humanity itself, one that believes "that sometime, somewhere, men will judge men by their souls and not by their skins," and that "there breathes a hope, a faith in the ultimate justice and brotherhood of man."

But to appreciate a common legacy is one thing. To drive a beautiful art form into the future, or to make it come alive to new audiences, is another.

Quoting W.J. Henderson in his book, Horowitz writes: "Art addresses itself to humanity; it cannot be monastic, nor can the artist live a hermit life. What he has to do is to study his own people and his own time and strive ever to bring his inner life into harmony with them."

And as for singing opera in vernacular Filipino? "Only in this way can a musician express the true sentiments of his people. He gets into touch with the common humanity of his country."

Opera is only one form in a tradition that includes so many combinations of instruments. Horowitz takes us on a musical journey, introducing composers that, to my shame, I've only heard of for the first time in this book. He points out the performative nature of the Eurocentric classical music world, which is bad news for composers. He indicts institutional bias against gifted black composers like Florence Price, Nathaniel Dett, and William L. Dawson (to name but two of many), and lampoons art institutions themselves that are partly to blame for the failure of memory, the failure to make sense of past events, settling for too-easy narratives that divide American music into "jazz vs. not jazz" and focusing exclusively on Gershwin and Copland.

The language is very learned, which narrows down the audience for this book. And a lot of it is self-referential, requiring the reader to seek out the author's other books.

But it is worth the read, if only to be reminded of the danger classical music faces all over the world: beware the purist's pride in exclusivity, for it leads to a shrinking audience and a possible death of a form of art.

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Book Review: THE CHRYSALIDS by John Wyndham

The Chrysalids by John Wyndham
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"We are not dogmatists teaching God how He should have ordered the world."

I find it hard to believe that this novel was written back in 1955. It rings too true, too "now."

Fresh from reading about Oppenheimer and his atomic bomb, reading this felt like a sequel that has more realistic elements than fantastical ones. Religious paranoia, society's condemnation of anyone different, are rampant in this world as well as Wyndham's made-up, post-apocalyptic one.

When humanity nearly destroys itself after unleashing its weapons that assure mutual destruction for all sides, the world is vastly changed. Scrambling for order, survivors build settlements and wipe out any form of mutation, an integral part of evolution.

Our hero's childhood is one surrounded by religious sayings pasted all over his house: "BLESSED IS THE NORM, and IN PURITY OUR SALVATION" and "THE NORM IS THE WILL OF GOD."

When he dares to question, out of innocent inquisitiveness, he is punished harshly, and told: "You blasphemed, boy. You found fault with the Norm."

All his life he is told that anyone and anything who looks different must be destroyed, and best by fire. But then he discovers that he himself, and several others, possess an invisible gift that marks them out for destruction. Never mind that the difference is one for good, an improvement on the race. To hide a brightly burning light amidst the darkness, one risks being burnt.

And so we have the setup for one of the tightest and best written novels I've ever read. Part mystery, part thriller, and only partly scifi, it is as potent and powerful a critique of modern society as the best of them. And it's short enough to be read in one sitting!

The book had surprisingly beautiful phrases about God's role in a changing world: "God doesn’t have any last word. If He did He’d be dead. But He isn’t dead; and He changes and grows, like everything else that’s alive."

This book is a powerful call to review organized religion's stances on science and technology's myriad gifts, and a reminder that what authorities claim to be lawful is not always what is good.

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Concert Review: DANCING IN A NEW WORLD by the Ramon Obusan Folkloric Group

 

Why do some of us have the tendency to put down our own? Why do some consider folk dance a lesser form of art than ballet, than dance with “real training” involved? Is it a weird form of elitism, some twisted colonial mentality?

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. We recall our own school days with haphazardly put together Buwan ng Wika performances and think, if we could do it, then it must be easy. And if it’s easy, then it must be inferior.

But that ignorant belief shatters when one beholds the grandest dance recital ever: ROFG’s 50th anniversary concert featuring choreography by four of the Maestro’s loyal students (Jhunnard Jhordan Cruz, Lyle Eymard Villahermosa, Marciano Viri, and Cherry Ylanan-Villanueva). It was a staggeringly epic mix of old and new in seven sumptuous suites, each one outshining the next. Legacy merged with technology in an all-engulfing feast for eyes and ears, and heart.

Director Floy Quintos proves why he is the most in-demand director in the business with his straightforward yet moving script that strung together all the suites in two acts. There were times this audience member’s emotions overwhelmed her as a tearful waterfall, deeply moved by the elegant direction and a script that enlightens, explaining complex societal and historical issues in words every Juan can understand.

Back in 2019, he almost single handedly changed the narrative about the Southeast Asian Games, causing the media to stop focusing on our screw ups as a host country, and zeroing in on the truly magnificent opening ceremony which showed the history of our country in the form of dance suites. People who had been ashamed of their country suddenly became the proudest of Filipinos after Quintos and his team stunned and amazed the world with that historical opening program.

Having watched the glory of that accomplishment via screen, it was another thing entirely to see that same all-encompassing vision on a smaller scale (100+ dancers instead of a thousand on the stage of the Metropolitan Theater). Smaller, but not necessarily less in importance, nor less in sheer artistry. That’s still a lot of dancers! No review can do justice to the magic of seeing all of them move as one, draped in robes of every hue, dancing so proudly the steps of our ancestors as researched and documented by National Artist Ramon Obusan.

With the aid of Stevenson Tantiongco’s graphics projected onscreen, dramatic lighting by Meliton Roxas Jr., the simple yet tasteful set of Ricardo Eric Cruz was utterly transformed. It was amazing to see a primarily empty stage (a must when you have that many dancers at one time) become moving canvases and glorious masterpieces. One appreciates how, despite the grandeur of the lights and graphics, they never detracted from the main attraction: the dancers themselves.

Suite I (Dancing with the Masters) was the grandest opening one could wish for. Portraits and landscape paintings by the likes of Hidalgo and Luna were projected onscreen, then made flesh by groups of dancers. Each time the art work came to life, the painting’s image within a frame (imitating how it might be displayed in a museum) would zoom outward, eliciting sighs of pleasure from the crowd as we felt ourselves inside the moving picture from such a pretty idyllic past.

It’s that feeling of inclusion that struck me from the very first, and it lasted until the end.

And this is what makes ROFG different from all the other ballet companies’ offerings.

Filipino music and dances were a way of life, an integral part of the waking world. It wasn’t strictly a performance, as understood in the Western context with the never-bridged divide between performer and audience. Filipinos made no distinction between the two while we sang as we worked, or danced as part of a sacred rite.

This is the context that Filipino dance must not be removed from, or else it runs the risk of commodification that cheapens, or make it seem like part of a school Buwan ng Wika program.

What ROFG does so well is perform our people’s songs and dances (they sing WHILE dancing! And mostly with live accompanying rondalla and agung music) in as close to the original context as possible. Their founder, after all, spent years amongst the different indigenous peoples, taking videos and recordings of chants and dances, living amongst them instead of merely watching them. This is dance as a part of life.

Six more suites followed, ranging from the traditional dances of the Tingguian, Blaan, the Tausug and Badjao (to name only some), but showcasing Hispanic ones as well. Who can forget that incredibly moving “Mutya ng Pasig” that paid tribute not just to rich mestizas, but the working women who did their laundry and bathed in the river waters?

A highlight of the show was the third suite (Walang Bastusan), which was wonderfully edifying as well as theatrically thrilling to watch. Jhunnard Cruz highlighted the babaylan of our precolonial past, when men wore women’s skirts to honor the masculine and feminine (our own yin and yang). It is still being done among the Umayamnon of Bukidnon and the Inagta of Negros Occidental. Next, a montage of festivals with phallic symbols were presented, from the Baliw-Baliw of Olanggo Island, Cebu, to the Dyanggo and Lukayo of Cagayan Valley and Laguna.

While some dancers onstage were dressed in the traditional white robes of a solemn Catholic procession, others crossdressed and carried giant members, tossing them joyfully about, only to be silenced momentarily as the oppressive sound of the church bell rang. But then the party resumes as the dying peals faded away.

I was deeply moved by the fifth suite as well (Lumin-awa: A Kalinga Festival). Marciano Tiri recounted how the youth in Lubuagan still joyfully dance in modern clothes, even without traditional attire.

In an inspired piece of directing, we see a teenaged barkada take a cellphone groufie, and suddenly a century-old black and white photograph of an ancestor appears on the screen behind them. At the same time, three rows of Kalinga, arms intertwined, dance and sing Salidummay behind the youth. My tears fell then at this visual representation of what lies behind every Filipino, every selfie. In our faces we can see theirs. Our forefathers live in us.

I especially loved how dancers of all ages and body types were represented, with the more dignified ROFG alumni for more stately quadrilles, and the younger students doing the faster and physically challenging stunts. This is truly dance as part of life, where everyone who can move is a dancer, and not merely when you were born blessed with a waifishly thin torso.

Now that the school year starts at the end of August, which allows for little to no time at all to study national dances for Buwan ng Wika programs in schools, ROFG’s mission is ever more vital. To preserve, yes, but also to adapt and make old dances fresh again. As the curtain fell, the dancers cheered, “Ang kultura ay buhay at magpapatuloy!” and it was a joyful prophecy we can believe in, for as long as ROFG is there. This is art at its most democratic and patriotic. Few shows make me want to get up on the stage and dance along with the performers. Salamat, ROFG, for this most joyful gift!

Book Review: GOOD BEHAVIOUR by Molly Keane

Good Behaviour by Molly Keane
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"Grief possessed me, but I would and must behave. No mourning. No whining."

What manner of book nearly wins the Booker but loses to Salman Rushdie in 1981?

A most unique one! So beautifully written it's almost painful to read. ("Leaving the sea at evening is a death – a parting of worlds." and "I was resistless in the strength of a river that had no source and reached no sea.")

This book has several different interpretations, depending on how observant the reader, and how cynical or innocent their view of the world is.

Our Unreliable Narrator is a single plus-sized lady (these details MATTER) who lives in a bygone era of genteel poverty in rural Ireland. We begin with the death of her mother. Murder? Accident? Who can say?

She then recounts what leads to this most horrific beginning, taking us to a childhood and adolescence filled with hazy misrememberings, and trauma hidden beneath the veneer of Good Behavior.

"I don’t need to have everything spelled out. I know how to build the truth."

When you've finished, let's compare and see if my version of events matches yours. But let's not argue, oh no. Instead let us mutually admire this masterpiece of the English language, its exactitude and nebulousness, its beauty and vulgarity.

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Concert Review: FOR LIGHT I CLOSE MY EYES by Aleron

There are groups that, once one sees their name on a poster, one reorganizes one’s life to watch. No excuses. Aleron is such a group.

This is an exceptional choir from its inception. Tied to no church, no school, founding director Christopher Arceo formed an all-male choir with the most powerful binding thread of all: a common love for excellent music-making. This is idealism of the highest level, as Aleron dared to tackle challenging music that used to be similar to the repertoire of other excellent choirs, until commerce forced these other groups to alter their repertoire to suit the tastes of the paying public.

Aleron did not, and does not, follow suit.

To listen to an Aleron concert is to be uplifted and enlightened. Even the most avid choir concert-goer will find new songs, new repertoire that excites.

Take this latest concert of theirs: a valedictory one as their brave leader leaves the homeland for further studies abroad.

The price of entry includes one of the most well-made and comprehensive programs I have ever come across. Arceo’s program notes, the detailed descriptions of each piece, and the complete lyrics attached at the end show that this group is bent on education. “Sing,” they seem to encourage. Maybe not at the live performance itself, but perhaps squeezed in between meetings at a busy work day, a beam of light and joy to illuminate the sameness of each passing sun.

I’ve always said I’d travel great distances for this particular choir, and I did. When work did not permit me to watch them perform this same repertoire in the CCP last Sunday, I braved the commute North last night. To miss this performance is Not. Permitted.

Especially when the esteemed director Floy Quintos is involved. The whole experience, then, becomes so much more elevated. Quintos understands that the music comes first. As the incredibly difficult singing does not permit a whole lot of physical action, Quintos has the choir walk onstage whilst acting, or merrily cheer and pump their fists in the air, or close their music books at the same time and throw them down violently at key moments that had us jumping in our seats.

Combine this with the sparse yet gorgeous and effective lighting of D Cortezano, and thankful audience members leave with an unforgettable choral experience.

Aleron’s first all-secular concert has a remarkably diverse repertoire. Arceo wanted to feature the duality of man, both his doom (our penchant for violence) and his salvation (our longing for peace). Act I featured songs of aggression, featuring Chilcott, Britten, Mahler, and lesser known gems by Veljo Tormis and Henrik Dahlgren. The second act starts with commentaries on war, then moves to songs celebrating unity and life. Medieval madrigals, anthems from Romantic composers, and Tavener’s mystical song on a Greek wedding are followed by a Blaan lullaby from Mindanao, set to music by Krina Cayabyab with spoken word poetry by Kevin Maske. The evening ended with a song by one of Aleron’s very own, Karl San Jose, as collective voices illustrated lipad, liwanag and ligaya through radiant song.

The musical highlight of the evening for this audience member was Mahler’s Urlicht. And with this jewel of a song, I dare to contest Arceo’s claim that this was an all-secular show.

There is nothing mundane about this piece. There is nothing earthly about Aleron’s singing of it.

When Urlicht ended, I was in tears, and frantically trying to keep it together, as it won’t do to break down in public.

This is the visceral effect Aleron has on people.

One does not emerge from an Aleron concert untouched. Their concert title reminds us of the artist’s mission: to dream while awake, and to sing a better world into being. Helped by this incredible gift of souls shared through song, we are able to dream again of what can be. And judging from the sold-out show, with the star-studded audience (including a National Artist and the most respected conductors) giving Aleron a standing ovation, it looks like I’m not the only one.