Book Review: The Blind Earthworm in the Labyrinth

The Blind Earthworm in the Labyrinth by Veeraporn Nitiprapha
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I was led to this book by real people, and not the algorithm that prioritizes books published by The Big Five. If I hadn’t seen this book being passed on from one lifelong reader to another with a discernible air of excitement, I wouldn’t even have known that this Thai book existed. If the theme of our book club (Ex Libris Philippines) hadn’t been Southeast Asian literature, I might have prioritized others in my TBR pile and not this one published by River Books. The literary landscape is so much more diverse than the shelves of local bookstores might show, and when a book is this good, I hope local bookstores stock it.

Veeraporn Nitiprapha’s (วีรพร นิติประภา) “The Blind Earthworm in the Labyrinth” ( ไส้เดือนตาบอดในเขาวงกต) is only the second Thai novel I’ve read thus far, apart from “Bangkok Wakes to Rain” by Pitchaya Sudbanthad. This was her first novel of two that have won the S.E.A. Write Award, and it’s easy to see why from the very first page. Kong Rithdee’s English translation sings and dances, unveiling this heartbreaking tale of so many different melodies and flavors of love with a sensuality that bathes the reader in the smells and sounds of the area around Bangkok and Nakhon Chai Si.

Nitiprapha’s book is about love and desire, and the suffering it creates. We are warned at the end of the very first chapter, that this is “when the voyage of tears began.” While the focus is on the heartaches of two beautiful sisters and their foster brother who falls in love with each of them in turn, Nitiprapha also tells us of the love affairs of the supporting cast: the lady who cooks and cleans for them and her five children by three fathers, the sisters’ parents bound in a miserable marriage, their uncle who falls in love with treasure hunting for ancient cloth, the lying boyfriend addicted to the toxic cycle of separation and return, and others.

There is a hint of feminism and the subversive in the way the author uses political uprisings as markers in the characters’ timelines, and how the women are portrayed in a more sympathetic light than the men. I also found it fascinating how the author never put quotation marks when her characters spoke, only italicizing their words. It made me feel as if I was reading their most intimate thoughts.

All throughout the book, I kept thinking how very Buddhist it seemed to this Christian reader. If the goal was to document the different agonies of yearning, then this book more than succeeds: it just might scare people off from succumbing to the universal pull of this cosmic dance. One character escapes by becoming a monk, taking to heart the Buddha’s teachings on the Four Noble Truths: We escape suffering by getting rid of desire.

And yet, despite its overwhelming melancholy, the book so keenly rejoices in the pleasures to be found in quickened heart beats, in the joys of living.

Despite the not-so-cheerful stories within, there is much to delight every sense in the book’s wealth of Thai food, flora, and landscapes. Reading this brought happy memories back of a visit to the land of temples and river ferries, food so fresh and tasty wherever one bought it from, and a country that at first glance may seem familiar to this Manila girl, but retains such a distinct sense of self.

(As a music major, I also loved the play list at the end, which lists the specific songs playing in chapters of the book, an overwhelming majority of which are classical. Beethoven’s Violin Sonata in F Major, Op. 24 is listed as “Music to make the gardenias blossom,” and the modernist L’arbre des songes by Henri Dutilleux is “Music to make you forget your homework.” And as for the Requiem in D minor, K. 626 by Mozart? “Proof of God’s existence.”)

Nitiprapha’s sheer skill in setting down every single taste, smell, and yes, even the background music of every scene, and yet keep the reader fully immersed in the narrative and the unfolding of the emotions in every chapter, is breathtaking.

I’m grateful to have read this ode to love that produces life, to the hearts that break yet keep loving in Bangkok. And I hope more folks get to read this memorable flower of a book as well.


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Book Review: The Lawless Roads by Graham Greene

The Lawless Roads by Graham Greene
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“One came to believe in Heaven because one believed in hell.”

Once upon a time, around a hundred years ago, Catholicism was made illegal in Mexico. During the Calles persecution (aka Cristero War), priests were exiled or executed (or hid in forests and swamps for years), while churches and schools were closed down. For decades, baptisms and consecration of the dying were forbidden, and any house where nine or more gathered for mass was automatically transferred to the government.

Enter Graham Greene, whose 1938 trip throughout Mexico inspired one of his great Catholic novels, “The Power and The Glory” (1940). From Tabasco and Chiapas, to Oaxaca and Veracruz, Greene wrote about the scars left on the land and its people. Greene hates Mexico for the discomfort, the food that made him ill, and the casual violence all around. But at the same time, what comes across is a deep respect for the religiosity he bore witness to. “Here, one felt, was a real religion.”

Even in nonfiction, Greene’s skill for finding God in the ugly and unlikeliest people and places is evident. “This was the population of heaven - these aged, painful, and ignorant faces: they are human goodness.”

All sorts of misadventures occur: he interviews a general for a paper, travels on mules over mountains, seeks reprieve from loneliness by speaking with all who cross his path.
He finds various forms of Catholicism, from the gaudy golden cathedrals (“It was a place for prelates, not for prayer”) to the mountains where Indians committed minor massacres one day, then worshipped the next in churches bereft of the host. He finds a town where the voice of a saint “miraculously” speaks out of a wooden box, and visits a hidden convent with a mass grave, only discovered by crawling through a tiny hole in a wall.

It is perhaps the most unusual travelogue this reader has encountered, one written as if with the intent to scare away visitors, instead of encouraging them to come and visit. Greene’s Mexico is a grace-less place where farmers prostrate themselves on the ground with arms outstretched like a fallen Christ, and women crawl to the altar on their knees for salvation more desperately sought in fallen times. “The Lawless Roads” offers a vision of hell on earth, yet with glimmers of heaven, still.

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Book Review: Katabasis by R. F. Kuang

Katabasis by R.F. Kuang
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

There was so much hype about RF Kuang's sixth novel. Manila International Book Fair visitors will remember that National Bookstore had a huge display of the book (along with the new Dan Brown). Bookish folk were pre ordering left and right (yours truly included). And even before the book came out, a TV series deal with Amazon was already struck.

I confess that, upon reading the first couple of chapters, I was a bit put off. Dialogue and tone came across as very simplistic, almost like a YA novel; something I hadn't expected of an RF Kuang book about Cambridge PhD students chasing their thesis adviser thru Hell.

And so I put it down for several weeks, until I was compelled to pick it up again when I saw how lonely it looked on my desk. A few more chapters in, then BLAM! SOMETHING HAPPENED that involves what my twin and I call the "vile vetrayal" trope (spelling intended) 🤣 in our favorite romances. And then I was tearing through the pages, caught up in a frenzy of NEEDING TO KNOW HOW IT ENDS. RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT.

And so, to those who find themselves struggling through the first couple of chapters... I say, SOLDIER ON! It's worth it. This is by RF Kuang, after all. And although I much prefer her epic #poppywar series over this and her other books (the angrier Babel and the more satirical Yellow Face), Katabasis is still a pretty good read where you'll have fun and, like it or not, learn a lot along the way. It's one thick love letter to learning and libraries, while frankly discussing the shadowy side of academia.

I'd recommend it for readers who are at least college age, as Kuang references a lot of classical literature, philosophy, history, and mythology. And some of the themes in the book get pretty dark (as befits the premise of descending into the realm of the dead). Shan't list any trigger warnings as I don't want to spoil. But don't worry! Kuang simplifies the real-life scholarly references in very accessible language. And despite its bleak moments, it's ultimately a joy to read, and never becomes overly academic or dry.

Kuang continues to blend scholarship and great storytelling in her latest, and I can't wait to read whatever she comes up with next.

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Book Review: Sympathy Tower Tokyo by Rie Qudan

Sympathy Tower Tokyo by Rie Qudan
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"There was a time when language was an unparalleled means of communication - a time when we still knew how to wield it, and relied on it to achieve peace and mutual understanding. But now it is simply tearing our world apart...A world ravaged by ranting. The era of the endless monologue."

The author of SYMPATHY TOWER TOKYO, Rie Qudan, (in)famously declared that she had used ChatGPT to write 5% of her Akutagawa Prize winning novel. The use of large language models (LLM's) is the most pressing issue now in the academe and in the workplace, and today's literature is now reflecting society's ongoing dialogue with rapidly changing times and social mores.

Where do we draw the line? Does 5% of LLM assisted writing render the human 95% null and void?

Happily, with this specific book, the 5% consists of the human characters "conversing" with an LLM or giving it a prompt. In order to truthfully show what an LLM would say, the author had to use one.

It's a memorable book. Tackling multiple themes such as the increasing bastardization of the Japanese language (as illustrated by the use of katakana over kanji), the ethical way societies should treat its criminals when one considers the state's partial responsibility in allowing them to become law breakers, as well as delving into the role of architecture in forming a city and its people... for such a short volume, it gives the reader plenty to think about.

I found it very interesting that in the beautiful tower that our architect protagonist builds to house criminals, the top two rules are: "One: Words must only be used to make yourself and others happy. Two: All words which do not ..must be forgotten." And at the very top floor? A library.

Does the future hold more books co-written by LLM's? If architecture is meant to "show cities where to go," as Qudan writes, then perhaps this book is her literary structure pointing a path forward.

After all, "words determine our reality."

(English translation by Jesse Kirkwood)

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