Wilfrido Nolledo's disjointed style merges personalities and events into
one stunning nightmare with a momentum all its own kaleidoscopic
continuity
Wilfrido D. Nolledo, But for the Lovers
, Dalkey Archive Press, 1994 (1970).
"In
the years since its original publication, But for the Lovers has
acquired an underground reputation as one of the most remarkable novels
about World War II, doing for the Pacific war theater what Joseph
Heller's Catch-22 did for the European one. Set in the Philippines, But
for the Lovers depicts the survival of a cross-section of Filipinos
during the Japanese Occupation and the American Liberation.
The cast
is enormous, including an old man who used to wander the countryside
entertaining children, a young girl raped by Japanese soldiers,
guerrilla messengers bringing word of the coming of the American army,
and a Japanese major who views the war as the first step of the
liberation of the Asian people from Western civilization.
This
extraordinary novel is no less remarkable for the power and the beauty
of its language than for the exotic and magical world it creates.
Ranging from hallucinatory lyricism to documentary realism, from black
humor sketches to scenes of horror and degradation, But for the Lovers
is a rich and complex exploration of language, history, and mythology."
"For
his first English novel, this Filipino author received high praise,
including that of LJ's reviewer who claimed Nolledo "[has] perfect
control of technique, and appears, enviably, to be able to write almost
as he pleases". The novel is set in Manila during the Japanese
occupation as the American invasion is beginning. This remains an
"important novel."
"The book shows the Philippines as a land of
people struggling for hope, surviving against the tyranny of the
Japanese as they await General MacArthur's return. But for the Lovers is
a classic story of love, war, and freedom." -
Explanasian
"This
is a strange, compelling book that has the tortuous complexity and is
fraught with the labyrinthine terrors of a dream..." -
Publishers Weekly
"[Nolledo's]
deliberately disjointed style merges personalities and events into one
stunning nightmarewith a momentum all its own, and a built-in,
kaleidoscopic continuity." -
Martin Levin
"There's some ongoing discussion on Filipino-American novels on the Flips Listserve. A series of titles was shared.
Then Paolo Javier mentioned,
THE
text that really got me back into reading Philippine Literature was W.
Nolledo's BUT FOR THE LOVERS. This book was a real watershed read for me
in college, but I didn't so much read it as read THROUGH it...opened my
eyes (& heart) to the phil lit section in my college library, which
was surprisingly vast (I attended the University of British
Columbia)((go figure)). They even had a first edition of the book,
published in '71 i think (!!). so do check it out...I
immediately and enthusiastically zipped out the following post to the
Flips List: "I am so happy Paolo mentioned Wilfrido D. Nolledo's novel,
BUT FOR THE LOVERS! This is one of my top two favorite novels ever
written by a Filipino author."
I'm a bit surprised now at realizing
I've never blathered enthusiastically about this book before. I've long
wished to see the type of consistency in energy as well as diction as
I've seen in this book... particularly when (in my experience) it's not
as mentioned as frequently by those who would teach or create *lists* of
Filipino American literature.
Here's a one-paragraph excerpt:
Whenever
the boy was away, Hidalgo gave imitations of foliage to the girl. This
recital carried him into: alder, myrtle, deodar, linden. He shaped sepal
in his hands and spoke of fatal fragrances. On this personal stage the
old Spaniard performed with love and variety for he knew his blushing
audience would follow him into the restlessness of his art. He had only
to mimic the mating call of cauliflowers and she would reward him with
unfeigned, even tearful laughter. Posturing on his wriggly cane, he
would amble into center light and venture in the delicate rhythm of
liche. In his preludes, he was always gay, flamboyant. To this she
curtsied, joining him breathlessly, his father's book of dichos in her
hand; and together they would take a bow.THAT is a Prose Poem in itself, and yet that paragraph is obviously just one of many in a 316-page book.
Definitely,
let's recover this novel out of its undeserved (relative) obscurity.
This is the kind of book that, had it been touted over other (cough)
choices, would have eased the global reputation of Filipino literature
being great writing. Indeed, according to Robert Coover's introduction
in the Dalkey edition, this novel was published in 1970 by E.P. Dutton
and its editor was the legendary Hal Scharlatt who died (not yet forty)
on an indoor tennis court. Coover says that, "Without Scharlatt, Nolledo
had no one in the industry to champion his writing. Thus it was that
one of the best books of the decade, abandoned by its own publisher,
came and went virtually without notice.
Well...what a shame! And
don't let us be naive in believing that writing well suffices for
marketing and distribution purposes. Writing well suffices for...
writing well. Marketing and distribution is something else. So let's
spread the word on Nolledo's novel... TODAY.
So, okay: I was
enthused. I am still enthusiastic. Note that Coover didn't call this
novel one of the *best Filipino novels* out there; Coover called it "one
of the best books of the decade" regardless of the author's ethnicity.
So Nolledo has never received the attention he deserves—and it's time to
rectify that. Apparently, Melissa Nolledo-Christoffels (Nolledo's
daughter) is setting up a website that hopefully will serve to introduce
Nolledo to a new generation of readers. Great! I look forward to it.
Until then, here's another excerpt from Nolledo's novel, BUT FOR THE
LOVERS.
Prologue:
HE WAS BEGINNING TO EAT FLOWERS and the
crescent moon was in his eyes when he awoke again. One night long ago
when they had intercepted a code from the enemy on the shortwave and had
not needed him anymore, they pulled out their tents, mantled him with
leaves, and left him. They left him a rifle, a buri basket and a book of
psalms, for the major had decreed in defense of this murder: Let the
little legionnaire lie here and die; it is written, it shall be read.
But the boy went on sleeping and did not die and when he awakened it was
to see (it was to find himself alone) a bird, a whitewinged maya dart
in from the west, perhaps headed for the monsoon. Steadying the
Springfield, he cocked the hammer with a quivering thumb, and waited. It
flew away, whatever it was, and now he squinted up and remembered that
it was the first time in a long spell he had seen the sky, and he
thought: It is longer, lonelier and lovelier than any of my prayers. He
sighted the nimbus—an eagle in captivity—and fired." -
Eileen Tabios"...There
are certain things you can not stop. The Fall of Bastille for example.
The revolutions in Russia for example. The revolutions in China for
example. And then, you can't stop reading a book entitled "But For The
Lovers by Wilfrido Nolledo".
Wilfrido who?
Well and well again!
Wilfrido Nolledo's book ain't an easy read. At least to me. I wanted to
give up its reading after the first fifty pages because, well, it
requires somethin' to comprehend, I say somethin' because it is not your
typical novel where you see men walkin' and talkin' and plottin' in an
expected order. It's a novel that drives me crazy even now because I
still don't know what that somethin' is.
It bombards me with millions
of images in a stack revealed without any arrangement. The order
becomes clear only somewhere close to the end. But in the end I don't
know anymore if the characters were real or symbols. Weird really.
Is
this novel a poem in prose? Or prose in poem? Would a poet understand
it better than me who is non-poet? Is this novel about World War Two
(it's time frame) or is it about history (characters composed of
natives, Spanish, Japanese, Americans) or is it a social commentary (
struggle between a businesswoman(Tira) and her impoverished tenants) or
is it about brutality ( heads rolling, women being raped, Japanese
soldiers murdered ) or is it just plain wild ( an exotic dancer turns
into a male, a landlady demands to be f---- by male tenants who could
not pay rents, and the worst of all, a woman biting a lethargic man's
penis until the head is cut off as the building collapses on both,
ouch!) or is it about love (Amoran and "the" Filipino girl whose name
isn't mentioned) or is it about the Philippines symbolized by "the"
Filipino girl whose name can not be mentioned? I can go on and on
sharing with you the images and theories that linger in my mind -
believe me - there are lots of them in this novel. But some images I can
no longer recall. And there is also the big possibility of me
misinterpreting these images.
Was this novel written when Salvador Dali was hot?
Another
thing about it is its English mastery where every word seems to be
plucked out of a mountain of words. Like a novel that painstakingly
weighed the use of words. It reminds of the current lamentation of
Filipino educators who claim that the lustre of Filipino English in the
1960's has been totally wiped out in this generation.
Was it written
in the midst of hallucination? Or some psychedelic imagination in
multiple colors like the Hippie colors of the late sixties?
Was it written at a time Pablo Picasso was hot?
Was it written using magic realism to the max?
I
may never be able to tell you anything about this novel that came out
of our country when we were still the best Asians around.
It is a
novel whose style is as contemporary and experimental as our time today.
But it is not an easy read. It is not one you'd consider a potential
bestseller.
And finally, But For The Lovers reminds me again of the
Filipino generation who witnessed the destruction of our country because
of the savagery of war. The same generation who wept loud as they saw
their Philippine flag replace the American and Japanese flags after the
Liberation. The same Filipino generation who built the Philippines as
one wealthy and intelligent and peaceful nation in the decade fifties
and sixties. The same Filipino generation who are rolling on their
graves in disgust and anger at the current generation who don't seem to
give a damn about the country that was trusted to them." -
Alex Maskara more
Earlier That Day
I greeted him hello; he waved me goodbye.
I wrote a book review on "BUT FOR THE LOVERS" by Wilfrido Nolledo. I
called his book weird. What followed was even wierder. He went to the
ICU the same day. He died two days later. This must never happen to a
superstitious man like me.
I bought his book long time ago, together, I think, with "America Is In
the Heart" by Bulosan. Never had a chance to read it until it was
mentioned in the FLIPS group. I told my sister to get it from my
storage. She said she looked and looked but it was nowhere.
So I went. It's been years since I checked out my storage. I opened it
and if there was anything that it reminded me of - it was a tomb.
Death was painted all over it. Dead books. Dead authors. Dead singers. Dead writing. Dead past. Everything is dead.
But I thought, who's afraid of death?
So I started to write a free text on my computer about entering my
storage. Then I read the book. It took me a while because my winter
allergies started attacking me again. Then my job became very busy that I
had to work everyday. Then I had to continue training for my first
marathon this year. Then I had to deal with pain all over.
I just could not find the time to read any book.
Besides, BUT FOR THE LOVERS was not an easy read. Until I reached its middle and off I went reading.
I was mesmerized by its play of words. By its uniqueness. By the fact that Nolledo and I seem to like writing weird things.
I wrote my review and posted it on FLIPS.
Earlier that day, Mr Nolledo was sent to ICU.
And what I wrote scared the s--- out of me. Because now I understand why
I checked my storage and found it so dead. Now I understand why I
suddenly thought of dead authors and singers and writers.
Perhaps Mr. Nolledo had a unique way of influencing things. And if he
did whisper in my consciousness the things I wrote, I thank him for the
great privilege. He is a Philippine treasure.
I think he pulled his last trick on me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he's mystery.
My Personal Reaction to Wilfrido Nolledo's BUT FOR THE LOVERS
...praised by New York Times Review as "stunning" in its first publication...
I finally visited my storage - and looked at things I kept all these
years. Books, lots of books; some read, others not. There are boxes and
boxes of assorted items: a glass figurine, old computer components,
detergents, clothes, blankets, and my thirteen year old diaries. I call
them contemplative diaries, I wrote them to straighten out my mind, and
to direct my thoughts. It's awful to look at things I accumulated
through my thirteen years living in America.
I see a little box containing a rock from Pinatubo. My father told me
it's the closest I could get to the dangerous eruption. I visited
Pinatubo twice since then. Then I see all the papers I prepared to get
me hired as a Therapist in the US. That was thirteen years ago when
America to my mind was this wonderful escape from my country's
misfortunes. A way to save my family. Like Zorro, maybe. Like William
Tell, I don't know.
My immigrant experience is an experience worthy of a novel itself,
another one that I'd probably write and write about, assuming someone
might find it readable, or at least understandable. I love to write
about the things I go through, only because I want to keep my experience
captured forever, like pictures...though unlike pictures, it doesn't
fade. Writing makes my experience linger as fresh as a new day everyday.
It smells as good as a newly brewed coffee.
I find my coffee maker, the one I used for years until I became allergic
to coffee. How I ended up with so many allergies in the US I'd never
know. I find Filipino casettes, I don't recall anymore who the top
Pinoy singers were when I left. I believe they were Martin Nievera and
Gary Valenciano. But certain singers keep me Pinoy forever: Rey Valera,
Florante, Asin, and of course, Ric Manrique Jr. and Sylvia La Torre,
really, it's always 'of course' when it comes to Bakya Mo Neneng and
Leron Leron Sinta.
I take a look at all the Pinoy books I accumulated through the years. My
gay books. My classic books. All of them standing along the walls of
the storage, like heads of dead corpses in the catacombs of Italy.
Begging me to read them all. And I couldn't. There is a limit to one's
reading capability. I want to write. I want to exercise. I want to work
seven days a week. I want to, argh, I've got so many wants and I can't
get them. I place a CD in my CD player.
Ella Fitzgerald is singing Summer Time and Someone To Watch Over Me. You
listen to who? My co-workers wonder who Ella Fitzgerald is. Or Nina
Simone. Or Edith Piaf. Even Mahalia Jackson they don't know. They're
the ones I listen to, I say. Singers? they ask. Of course!
...Summertime and the livin is easy, fish are jumpin' and the cotton is
high, your Dad's rich, and you Mama's good-lookin', so hush little baby
don't you cry....
And I don't even know if these are the exact words. Ah, don't I just
love these jazzy tunes, these show tunes, these - I can't believe I have
copies of "The Producers" and "Rent". These Broadway musicals have
special meanings - "Producers" brought to life the dead spirit of NY
post 9/11. "Rent" creator, whatever his name is, died without seeing his
creation top Broadway. Ain't that sad, you spend your entire life
trying success and when it's there, you're dead.
Dead - this word no longer threatens me. I used to be so frightened of
death until - wait a minute! - what do I know about death? I see death
everyday and what it is is nothingness; it's a split second existence
without a concept of time or space or anything. Why would I be afraid of
a one second moment? No matter how many billions of years pass by when
I'm dead, I won't know. It is a temporary change between lives and
existence. I believe that even if Jesus were to take me to his House I
surely wouldn't know what would happen in the world from that point on. I
surely wouldn't be sitting by a window watching the world go by. Who
wants to watch the world go by anyway? What I know of the world is what I
know about it now - that somewhere in the Philippines, there are so
many stupid politicians trying to run it. So there! That is what I know.
Do I care?
Not anymore. There are certain things you can not stop. The Fall of
Bastille for example. The revolutions in Russia for example. The
revolutions in China for example. And then, you can't stop reading a
book entitled "But For The Lovers by Wilfrido Nolledo".
Wilfrido who?
Well and well again! Wilfrido Nolledo's book ain't an easy read. At
least to me. I wanted to give up its reading after the first fifty pages
because, well, it requires somethin' to comprehend, I say somethin'
because it is not your typical novel where you see men walkin' and
talkin' and plottin' in an expected order. It's a novel that drives me
crazy even now because I still don't know what that somethin' is.
It bombards me with millions of images in a stack revealed without any
arrangement. The order becomes clear only somewhere close to the end.
But in the end I don't know anymore if the characters were real or
symbols. Weird really.
Is this novel a poem in prose? Or prose in poem? Would a poet understand
it better than me who is non-poet? Is this novel about World War Two
(it's time frame) or is it about history (characters composed of
natives, Spanish, Japanese, Americans) or is it a social commentary (
struggle between a businesswoman(Tira) and her impoverished tenants) or
is it about brutality ( heads rolling, women being raped, Japanese
soldiers murdered ) or is it just plain wild ( an exotic dancer turns
into a male, a landlady demands to be f---- by male tenants who could
not pay rents, and the worst of all, a woman biting a lethargic man's
penis until the head is cut off as the building collapses on both,
ouch!) or is it about love (Amoran and "the" Filipino girl whose name
isn't mentioned) or is it about the Philippines symbolized by "the"
Filipino girl whose name can not be mentioned? I can go on and on
sharing with you the images and theories that linger in my mind -
believe me - there are lots of them in this novel. But some images I can
no longer recall. And there is also the big possibility of me
misinterpreting these images.
Was this novel written when Salvador Dali was hot?
Another thing about it is its English mastery where every word seems to
be plucked out of a mountain of words. Like a novel that painstakingly
weighed the use of words. It reminds of the current lamentation of
Filipino educators who claim that the lustre of Filipino English in the
1960's has been totally wiped out in this generation.
Was it written in the midst of hallucination? Or some psychedelic
imagination in multiple colors like the Hippie colors of the late
sixties?
Was it written at a time Pablo Picasso was hot?
Was it written using magic realism to the max?
I may never be able to tell you anything about this novel that came out
of our country when we were still the best Asians around.
It is a novel whose style is as contemporary and experimental as our
time today. But it is not an easy read. It is not one you'd consider a
potential bestseller.
And finally, But For The Lovers reminds me again of the Filipino
generation who witnessed the destruction of our country because of the
savagery of war. The same generation who wept loud as they saw their
Philippine flag replace the American and Japanese flags after the
Liberation. The same Filipino generation who built the Philippines as
one wealthy and intelligent and peaceful nation in the decade fifties
and sixties. The same Filipino generation who are rolling on their
graves in disgust and anger at the current generation who don't seem to
give a damn about the country that was trusted to them.
