There
are authors and books meant to be taken in small doses. National Artist F.
Sionil Jose’s latest volume of Collected Short Stories is one of them, but
perhaps not for the reasons you might think.
I
can only read a few stories at a time because it simply hurts the heart too
much.
This
is my first time to read the controversial author’s short stories, and I’m very
grateful to have the chance to get fifty of them (so many!!) in one handy
volume during our last visit to the late author’s bookstore in Ermita. My previous
exposure to Jose were a couple of novels and a few one-act plays.
The
stories are arranged in chronological order of writing, and while I’m only
seven stories in, I thought I’d do a series of posts about them.
It
hurts to read them. Much like it hurts one’s vanity to hold a mirror close enough
to see all the pores and imperfections in one’s face, reading the first seven
stories is like looking into a mirror of the collective Filipino soul, and
seeing our society’s faults. And while the external circumstances of the
stories took place generations ago (there are barely any years written in them,
but you get the idea because of old place names and monthly salaries of
P1,500.00), the catalyzing actions and corresponding reactions of the people are
hauntingly familiar.
The
book starts with much beauty, though. The preface is addressed To The Young Writer,
and all of it is immensely quotable, especially these excerpts:
“Be
an honest witness to your time, and be strong when they revile you for telling
the truth… Even in your shattering loneliness, remember you are writing… for
your own people who, in their silence and perhaps poverty, cannot express their
aspirations and anguish. You are their voice, but only if you have not deserted
or betrayed them…
Why
then must you write at all? Do it because there is so much hypocrisy and
cussedness in us, and who knows, you may be able to exorcise a bit of these. Do
it because many of us have lost our moorings, and it is in literature where
history lives, where we can know best ourselves so that we can then live with
ourselves and be rooted again in native soil…
What,
after all, is literature but pain remembered…
One
final word: write wherever you can do it best… but never, never leave your
village, your town, your beginning.”
I’d
like to end this first section with a joke that I found funny, but the fact
that I did speaks a lot about my/our culture:
“He
is on this elevator and there is only one other passenger. He asks him if he is
from Leyte and the man says no. He asks the man again if he is from Ilocos, and
again, the man says no. Finally, Father asks: “Are you in the Army or are you
related to any sergeant or officer?” Again, the man shakes his head. At this
point, (he) gains some courage and tells the man: “Then, will you please take your
shoe off my foot? You are hurting me.”
The
first seven stories hurt me. But I shall continue, a little bit at a time.
Because even when F. Sionil Jose hurts his readers, there is still much to
learn from the man who has witnessed a century of Philippine history.
***
Here are pictures of my twin and I outside F. Sionil Jose’s bookstore in Ermita in 2018, with Judie who very kindly brought us!
And then it was our turn to bring another dear friend, Meewa, in 2022, which is when I got the short story collection.
No comments:
Post a Comment