The good, raw stuff
Like I promised last week, I’m going to give you a sampling today of what and how some of our best young writers are thinking about their work and when they work. It’s been a feature of the UP Writers Workshop these past few years to require all fellows to submit a brief discussion of their “poetics” — a fancy term for describing why they write what they write. There’s no set format for this presentation, so each writer is free to approach the subject any way he or she pleases. We then evaluate the writer’s ongoing project in the light of these poetics.
As you’ll see from the following excerpts, every writer has a different focus or concern: Dean Alfar talks about craft, Mikael Co about “dating” or “affect,” Carlomar Daoana about the how being the what, Carljoe Javier about the pleasure of watermelon-smashing, Jing Panganiban about getting away from oneself, and Alvin Yapan about why magic realism is a valid native response to colonialism. (It’s too bad that, this being a family newspaper, I can’t reprint Norman Wilwayco’s delightful exploration of the Pinoy Bastos.) In future, we hope to be able to edit and publish these papers — interesting and insightful works of the writer’s art themselves — in a collection, but for now, have a taste of the good, raw stuff.
Dean Alfar: I write speculative ?ction, and what guides me when I write my stories is the need to produce a well-written story. Yes, there needs to be a speculative element (or at the very least a speculative sensibility) but I am decidedly old-school when it comes to crafting a story. On my totem pole of priorities, techniques of characterization come ?rst (and not “the idea,” as some would expect of a writer of non-realist ?ction). After that, anything goes: narrative structure, space, plot, dialogue and other discourse elements. For me, what makes a story work is character, not conceit.
Mikael Co: At ano nga ba ang paniniwalang ito tungkol sa dating, sa affect? Ganito, in a nutshell: Oo, siyempre, logical system ang wika. Pero ‘yung sining, ang nagpapasining sa kanya, ‘yung katangian niyang i-extend ‘yung boundaries ng logical system na iyon—o, siguro, more accurately, ‘yung kapangyarihan niyang ipa-intuit sa atin kung ano ang nasa kabila ng boundaries na iyon. Art transcends (or at least attempts to transcend) mere logic to remind us of that human part of us, the part that thrives in the humility of saying that no, not everything can be explained. That thrives in faith, actually: Faith that there is a langue upon which each of our paroles are anchored upon — that there are things that cannot be encased in our feeble attempts at understanding. Kutob ko, nandu’n ang affect, e. The heart has reasons that reason cannot comprehend.
Carlomar Daoana: Perceiving and speaking consciousness in the poem is the insight and the how in the telling of the poem (the slant in the narrative) may offer more light and access to the mind of the poet than any message received by the reader at the end of the poem like some kind of reward…. The challenge in writing a poem is not to work towards a pre-determined, articulate and wise destination but to offer a tenacious, clear-eyed and unique (neurotic, abrupt, disinterested) point-of-view — a voice that is alive from the ?rst line, insisting its human capacities, singular in its observations and declarations, not explaining itself.
Carljoe Javier: I imagine a lot of my literary contemporaries, those with smashing new visions for literature, those that seem to straddle the worlds of writing and theory effortlessly, those who at such a young age are racking up awards and pushing the envelope of Philippine literature as youths; I think of them being exposed to literature early in their lives, I imagine their parents supporting their writing, I imagine the books around them, the teachers that encouraged their writing. While others get this, I spend the majority of my time watching Gallagher smash watermelons. That might be something to help de?ne my poetics: with others locked in various intellectual and aesthetic struggles, striving for beauty, pondering the art for art’s sake vs. art for society debate, trying to question and transcend the limitations of form, forwarding new genres, I aspire for the same effect that Gallagher got when he put a watermelon on a table and smashed it with a mallet.
Jing Panganiban: Natumbok ng aking kaibigang si Lawrence L. Ypil ang problema ng maraming manunulat ng personal na sanaysay na kumbinsihin ang mambabasa na interesante ang kanyang buhay sapat para magsulat tungkol rito. Sa kanyang sanaysay na “Look at My Life! and Other Outrageous Claims of Creative Non?ction,” inilatag ni Larry ang suliranin tungkol sa self-referentiality sa isang masturbatory genre. Itong-ito rin ang mga isyu ko. Paano ko iiwasang malunod sa sarili sa aking akda? Paano ko matitiyak na karapat-dapat ikuwento ang kuwento ng buhay ko? Paano ako iigpaw sa personal na sanaysay bilang akology, ang walang pasintabing pagbibida sa sarili?
Alvin Yapan: Hindi dayuhang konsepto sa ating pagkukuwento ang magic realism. Sa ating mga epiko, kuwentong bayan, alamat at mito, sa ating mga katutubong naratibo hayag na hayag na ang buto ng magic realism, na ayon kay Alejo Carpentier na isa sa mga unang nagbigay ng kahulugan sa marvellous realism ay isang uri ng pagtanaw sa mundo kung papaano ang buhay sa mga kolonisadong kultura ay nagiging absurdo na kung minsan, nagiging pantastiko na sa lenteng dala ng realismo. “Bagabag” ang nararamdaman ng tao sa kolonisadong kultura sa nararanasan nilang patuloy na pagbabanggaan ng dalawang kulturang nararanasan nila: isang kulturang taal, katutubo, malalim ang ugat sa kanilang kamalayan at isang kulturang hiram, Kanluranin, kolonyal. Kung kaya siguro matatagpuan ang paksain ng mga kuwento ko sa ugnayan ng lungsod at lalawigan, ng pagbabago ng tradisyon.
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I had an interesting chat on the sidelines of the workshop with crime novelist Felisa “Ichi” Batacan, whose Smaller and Smaller Circles quickly acquired a following after its publication in 2002. Now based in Singapore, Ichi is working on a “prequel” to Circles, and has co-edited a collection of Filipino crime fiction. Both of us continued to wonder why the crime-fic genre hasn’t been as popular here as it is elsewhere, especially when — as the tabloids never fail to remind us — we’re swimming in a sea of crime.
I had some ideas to offer Ichi:
Crime in this country often isn’t just crime against persons; crime tends to be socially and politically rooted, involving issues of power, privilege, and, inevitably, justice. Our crime fiction begins where others end — the solution of the crime is just the beginning of the search for justice. Our problem isn’t solving crime — our problem is the solution: once we know whodunit, what then? How do you go up against the powers that be?
But then we’re no longer talking fiction, are we?
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E-mail me at penmanila@ yahoo.com, and visit my blog at www.penmanila.net.
