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Tonight, I did some more pleasure reading. I’ve been feeling generally unmotivated all things work related; research in particular has been placed in a perpetual limbo. To avoid this no man’s land, I re-read When the Rainbow Goddess Wept by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard. I’ve been meaning to pick this novel up again since I’m going to teach it this winter in my course on geography, time, and trauma in Asian American literature, but I just didn’t have the stomach to read something about war.
The novel is set just before the Japanese invade the Philippines during World War 2. The protagonist, a young girl, Yvonne Macarig, seems to be facing the youthful challenges of her life with aplomb, which include navigating the constricting waters of her Catholic upbringing and cementing a friendship with her cousin, Esperanza. When the Japanese invade Philippines and it becomes clear that Ubec City (backwards for Cebu) may soon be under attack, Yvonne’s family (her mother, Angeling and her father) decide to vacate the city, leaving Yvonne’s aunt (her mother’s sister, Lourdes) and cousin (Esperanza, Lourdes’s daughter) behind with their ailing grandfather (Lolo Peping). Yvonne’s family is accompanied by Laydan, the family cook, and later joins ranks with Max, the family friend, and Max’s wife, Nida. As the Japanese forces lay siege to Ubec City, Yvonne’s family is forced to join the guerrilla movement for protection in numbers. While doing so, they experience various hardships, traumas, and atrocities, including the stillbirth of the fetus that Yvonne’s mother had been carrying, numerous murders at the hands of Japanese soldiers, hunger and starvation. Throughout this ordeal, Yvonne learns to employ indigenous Filipino myths and epics (told to her by Laydan) as a way to empower herself and counteract the debilitating depressions that often buffet the guerrilla group over the war’s trajectory. These Filipino myths and epics ultimately relate an important sense of cultural and ethnic identity that seems to be at the brink of annihilation due to the Japanese colonial war machine. At the same time, the text weaves in a critique of earlier Spanish and American colonialisms by offering the question of whether or not Filipinos can really trust any of the forces that are so-called allies against Japan. Like Yvonne who looks to these epics and myths to find herself, her family and the guerrilla group must necessarily master a self-sufficiency that seems to suggest the foundation of what should be a core Filipino identity. What I appreciate about this book is its less than romantic approach to the children’s perspective in a time of war. The narrative does not turn away in certain graphic depictions of murder and dismemberment, but follows Yvonne’s sensitive perspective to root out some of the more intricate and problematic quandaries that wars to do engender. There is also a fascinating animal politic in the text, related especially by Yvonne’s constant project of fear and anxiety onto pets and small living organisms, whether they be tadpoles, chickens, or turtles.
The novel is set just before the Japanese invade the Philippines during World War 2. The protagonist, a young girl, Yvonne Macarig, seems to be facing the youthful challenges of her life with aplomb, which include navigating the constricting waters of her Catholic upbringing and cementing a friendship with her cousin, Esperanza. When the Japanese invade Philippines and it becomes clear that Ubec City (backwards for Cebu) may soon be under attack, Yvonne’s family (her mother, Angeling and her father) decide to vacate the city, leaving Yvonne’s aunt (her mother’s sister, Lourdes) and cousin (Esperanza, Lourdes’s daughter) behind with their ailing grandfather (Lolo Peping). Yvonne’s family is accompanied by Laydan, the family cook, and later joins ranks with Max, the family friend, and Max’s wife, Nida. As the Japanese forces lay siege to Ubec City, Yvonne’s family is forced to join the guerrilla movement for protection in numbers. While doing so, they experience various hardships, traumas, and atrocities, including the stillbirth of the fetus that Yvonne’s mother had been carrying, numerous murders at the hands of Japanese soldiers, hunger and starvation. Throughout this ordeal, Yvonne learns to employ indigenous Filipino myths and epics (told to her by Laydan) as a way to empower herself and counteract the debilitating depressions that often buffet the guerrilla group over the war’s trajectory. These Filipino myths and epics ultimately relate an important sense of cultural and ethnic identity that seems to be at the brink of annihilation due to the Japanese colonial war machine. At the same time, the text weaves in a critique of earlier Spanish and American colonialisms by offering the question of whether or not Filipinos can really trust any of the forces that are so-called allies against Japan. Like Yvonne who looks to these epics and myths to find herself, her family and the guerrilla group must necessarily master a self-sufficiency that seems to suggest the foundation of what should be a core Filipino identity. What I appreciate about this book is its less than romantic approach to the children’s perspective in a time of war. The narrative does not turn away in certain graphic depictions of murder and dismemberment, but follows Yvonne’s sensitive perspective to root out some of the more intricate and problematic quandaries that wars to do engender. There is also a fascinating animal politic in the text, related especially by Yvonne’s constant project of fear and anxiety onto pets and small living organisms, whether they be tadpoles, chickens, or turtles.