A Decade After Doc Ed's Death

Today marks the 10th death anniversary of Dr. Edilberto K. Tiempo, who founded the National Writers Workshop with his wife Edith and became the literary father of many of our best and brightest creative writers today. He may have been dead for almost five years when I became a workshop fellow, but in a way I could still sense his influence in some form or another.

To commemorate this occasion, I have posted below the first book review I wrote, published in the July 7, 2003 issue of the Philippine Graphic. The book is Tribute: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Fiction. I think Doc Ed would’ve been very proud of it:

Title: Tribute: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Fiction (2001)
Editors: Timothy R. Montes and César Ruiz Aquino
Publisher: Anvil Publishing, Inc.
Award: National Book Award for Best Anthology, 2001-02

When Dr. Edilberto K. Tiempo—creative writer, critic, and teacher—passed away several years ago in Dumaguete City, generations of creative writers mourned, and with good reason. As co-founder of what used to be called the Silliman National Writers Workshop, he and his wife, National Artist for Literature Edith L. Tiempo, influenced and nurtured batch after batch of fictionists and poets, helping them polish their blossoming craft. Under their guidance, many of them emerged to be the best and brightest luminaries of our literature.

Two years ago, two of them, Timothy R. Montes and César Ruiz Aquino, came up with the National Book Award-winning Tribute: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Fiction (Anvil Publishing, 2001), affectionately dedicated to Dr. Tiempo. If the collective sheen and skill the stories gathered in this book are any indication, it testifies a lot to how much he had influenced the authors, some of whom called him “Dad.” He would’ve been so proud.

The writers who contributed to this book include family (Edith L. Tiempo and Rowena Tiempo-Torrevillas), friends (Kerima Polotan and Aida Rivera-Ford) and former workshop fellows. And the twenty-three stories anthologized here, though written in a conventional, realistic style, are as diverse as they come, exhibiting considerable depth and mastery.

Consider the range they demonstrate at almost every level: from perceptive young girls (Gina Apostol’s “A Tall Woman from Leyte” and Rivera-Ford’s “The Chieftest Mourner”) to reflective adult men (Carlos Ojeda Aureus’ “Chinita” and Anthony Tan’s “The Cargo”); from the country (Jose Y. Dalisay Jr.’s “In the Garden”) to the city (Alfred Yuson’s “Big Street”); from Dumaguete and Cebu (Cárlos Cortés’ “Vietnik,” Tiempo’s “Abide, Joshua” and Bobby Flores Villasis’ “Suite Bergamasque”) to Indiana (Jaime An Lim’s “The Axolotl Colony”); from the poignant (Susan S. Lara’s “The Edge of Innocence”) to the comic (Raymond Llorca’s “Rhapsody in Khaki”).

Interestingly, two of the stories (Eileen Tabios’ “The Naming of My Child” and Ernesto Superal Yee’s “Valencia Drive: A Tribute to Dad”) have Dr. Tiempo as their direct inspiration; and Ruiz Aquino’s “Stories” won a first-prize Palanca, as did Tiempo-Torrevillas’ “The Fruit of the Vine” and An Lim’s “The Axolotl Colony.” Erwin E. Castillo’s “Ireland,” Ma. Victoria Kapauan’s “The Other End,” C.J. Maraan’s “Ghost,” Montes’ “Of Fish, Flies, Dogs and Women,” Charlson Ong’s “Bearer of Swords,” Polotan’s “Carpe Diem” (a reworked excerpt from her novel The Hand of the Enemy), and Danton Remoto’s “In Transit” round up the rest of the collection.

All in all, the stories reveal a clear, sharp eye for details and a firm command of the English language, not to mention a strong handling of different points of view, styles, and tones that persuade the reader to probe into the characters and situations they present. Much as I admire the thoughtful crafting of these stories, there are some that I inevitably like over others.

Aureus’ “Chinita” is one of them. What I like most about this amusing story of a deeply conservative man’s growing, even overpowering attraction to a pretty coed (reminiscent of Aureus’ Palanca-winning "The Late Comer") is the author’s strikingly vivid characterization of the protagonist, Ricardo Cáceres. Here is a pre-Vatican II Catholic living in a post-Vatican II world, and the author’s decision to use a first-person point of view gives the reader complete access to his solemn, surprisingly romantic, and ritual-and-tradition-minded character.

Religion likewise figures prominently in a more accomplished story, Ong’s “Bearer of Swords.” Here, he uses, to exceptional effect, both the third-person limited and first-person points of view to tell what’s essentially one story—a devout Chinese immigrant’s unwilling rejection of an oracle’s ominous prophecy, with very tragic consequences—from the perspectives of three deeply religious women—Siu Lan, her daughter-in-law Dolores, and her househelper Andrea. Ong divides the story into sections in which one point of view alternates with another, and it’s quite impossible for readers not to miss which point of view belongs to which woman.

Women are also the subject of Montes’ engaging “Of Fish, Flies, Dogs and Women,” but specifically women empowerment. What makes it so engaging is that the protagonist, a fish vendor, is clearly addressing another woman in the story; and the effect this achieves is a stronger sense of intimacy between the narrator, who recounts how she evolved from an abused, timid wife to an assertive woman while vending fish on the streets, and the reader. A fine story, and what partly makes it so is Montes’ handling of his chosen point of view.

But the most impressive of the stories happens to be the oldest and most anthologized of the lot, Rivera-Ford’s “The Chieftest Mourner.” One of this story’s achievements is that not only does it comment on a social phenomenon—the man-wife-mistress love triangle—but also pulls it inside out, allowing us to look at it in a completely different way. Rivera-Ford accomplishes this by using a humorous, even mocking tone and an observer for a narrator. The result? A topnotch story that courageously sympathizes not with the wife, but with the grieving mistress.

These, and the rest of the stories here prove that Philippine literature is thriving, despite lacking a mass audience; and that they, like the best works of art, can illuminate us, can allow us to see ourselves in a different light. But as far as the people behind Tribute are concerned, this award-winning anthology may be a tribute to a beloved writer and teacher, but it’s also a testament to how much, and how well, they have learned from him.