Book Review: THE THREE-CORNERED SUN by Linda Ty-Casper

The Three-Cornered Sun by Linda Ty-Casper
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“A nation without a soul should not be defended.”

It is often said of the two sexes that men tend to focus on airy ideals while women dwell on the practical, earthy details that make up daily life. I can very much believe this to be the case with this historical novel written by a Harvard-educated Filipina such as Linda Ty-Casper. She benefited from the extraordinary wealth of detail of someone who read and listened to primary sources, which the author did with her grandmother (the book is dedicated to her).

Gabriela Paez Viardo De Valesquez (1871-1953) whose memory of the Revolution of 1896 is the touchstone of this novel in which characters of fiction reenact history, the main protagonist.

The dedication matters because of the name: Viardo, and because of the acknowledgement that the protagonist is not a character, but history itself.

To read of history in textbooks is to see it as a smooth flow of cause-and-effect, focusing on heroes so far removed from the mortal coil, they seem more saint and half-god than human. Yet in our hearts we know it could not have been thus, which makes this 21st century reader grateful for the unique value of this novel.

The novel’s protagonists, apart from History, are the different members of the Viardo family. All fall under the shadow of the Revolution, though in different ways. What Linda Ty-Casper does so well is spell out the stakes for each type of Filipino, depending on his pre-Revolution station, and what he stands to gain or lose.

Familiarity with actual historical events is a given for the reader, as the author assumes we know the basic timeline of the War for Independence. But reading this book makes one realize that acing a history exam full of dates is nothing compared to the realization of the absolute chaos of the times, when Filipinos dared to rise against Spanish priests and rulers because of the ideals spread by three priests (Gomburza), a doctor who penned subversive thoughts (Jose Rizal), and a leader of a secret society who dared raise his bolo for freedom (Andres Bonifacio).

Linda Ty-Casper shows how the events transpired slowly, and so messily. “Glory” is the last word one will think of the revolution, after reading this book. The confusion of being swept along the tides of passion on both sides, the ugliness of human nature shown in the selfish who focus on self-aggrandizement and comfort above every loyalty, is portrayed in absolutely horrible scenes written in so simple language that it adds to the realism, and therefore, to the horror.

Anecdotes fill the pages, so full of detail they resonate as true, so oddly specific that one believes they could not have been made up.

There is the mother, one of many who join the hordes of humanity fleeing the Spanish cavalry, whose baby is shot and carries her still despite being told to let go.

There is the indio who asks if God is on the side of the Kastila because “all images of saints resemble them,” revealing “the reason many hesitated in the beginning, why those who finally joined the revolution thought they had condemned themselves in trying to save the country.”

Then there is the eagerness with which many Katipuneros embraced the amnesty of 1897 because it meant sleeping on dry ground, instead of awaiting capture or death in the pouring rain.

One scene that stood out for this reader featured the war photographer who interrupted a Kastila about to kill a Katipunero, calling out the ideal poses so he could better capture “the instant of death.” Unsatisfied with this slaughter by bayonet, he drags a corpse onto a banca for a long shot, then starts a cleansing fire so he can take a prize-worthy, dramatic photo.

Even the most Rizal-like character, Simeon, is portrayed realistically, with all too human frailty. For what good are ideals if one is unable to physically fight for them?

Perhaps the most heartbreaking thing about the novel is its end. I thought I would last the entire book without crying, but the ending broke something in me, and proves that Linda Ty-Casper is no romantic idealist. With echoes of Elias and Ibarra, but written more realistically, the author shows who is most worthy of contempt: those who choose to do nothing.

“On either side people stopped to watch, surprised that with the revolution over, someone would still try to be killed in it. Cristobal beseeched his mother’s house for help. All merely looked back, as if it did not matter what happened to one more.”

At the end, Linda Ty-Casper shows that the Revolution is intensely personal, as is salvation for every Filipino/a. Reading this book not only places us squarely in the times, but makes us examine our deepest selves and question what would we have done, had we lived through this darkness?

View all my reviews