For the first time in a long while, I failed to attend the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature ceremonies last Wednesday, for the most annoying of reasons arthritis. I woke up last Tuesday with a throbbing pain in my right knee, something I’d never had before. A visit to the orthopedist later that day confirmed what I suspected: my age and weight were taking their toll on my bones. They bled out some fluid and injected cortisone into my knee to get me back on my feet, but I still felt too wobbly to go up the Palanca stage.
But never mind my medical travails. What made this year’s Palancas special was the fact that it was the 60th anniversary of this cultural institution, an event anyone who’s ever won a Palanca and there should be several hundreds by now would have wanted to be a part of. Some of us had earlier suggested that President Noynoy Aquino be invited as guest speaker to share his thoughts on Philippine art and culture for which the event would have been the perfect occasion but with his administration just settling in, the Palancas thought it more prudent but no less an honor to invite one of the true icons of Philippine literature, the fictionist and essayist Gregorio Brillantes.
I had other reasons to want to go: I chaired the board of judges for the short story in English, and the first-prize, first-time winner a teacher from Cagayan de Oro named Elena Paulma was a student of mine; her story “Three Kisses” was written in my graduate fiction class. Now before your eyebrows hit the roof, listen to this (short) story.
While I think of the short story in English as “my” category, having won most of my own Palancas there, I haven’t been a judge in it that often this will have been only my second or third time this past decade, I think because I’d purposely avoided judging when I knew that my best Creative Writing students were joining in the category, as I’d encouraged them to. My reason was precisely to avoid any hint of favoritism, and to give my students, if and when they won (as quite a few did), the full satisfaction of knowing I had nothing to do with their selection.
So again I wasn’t expecting to be a judge this year, and as usual, I urged my best students Elena among them to submit their stories, which I suppose they did, and we all went on with our lives. And then I got a call from the Palancas, asking me to chair the board of judges in the English short story; it was a special request, because, on their 60th anniversary, the Palancas wanted their Hall of Famers to chair the boards, whenever possible. I couldn’t say no, and just vowed to be as fair as I could, whoever and whatever came up; after all, I would be joined on the panel by two very gifted and sharp readers the advertising maven and cultural stalwart Emily Abrera and the prizewinning speculative fictionist Dean Alfar.
Over a month, we sifted through about 120 stories, trimming the pile down to a shortlist of 12, which we further segregated into three groups the A group, which all three of us liked (three stories); the B group, which two of us liked (also three stories); and the C group, which contained stories that at least one of us thought was worth another long look, for reasons not immediately obvious (six stories).
I was pleased though not surprised to see “Three Kisses” in Group A; I said nothing in its favor, preferring to let the others speak first. After further deliberation, it became abundantly clear that “Three Kisses” and the eventual second prize winner, “Waiting for Rain” (another Group A starter), were a cut above the rest, for their merits described below. “Café Masala” shot out of Group C to claim third prize, after its subtler qualities emerged.
Why did these three stories win, and what were we looking for?
“Three Kisses” was a strong and early standout not only for its unobtrusively surefooted language but, more importantly, for the maturity of its insight and, perhaps not incidentally, even the maturity of its characters. It’s a story about the improbable, difficult, and achy love that arises between two characters in their 60s she a Filipino, he a Belgian. She follows him into the harsh European winter, struggles with his quirks, and almost leaves him, but inexplicably doesn’t; later, stricken by disease, she receives the equally inexplicable gentleness of his affections.
We were all deeply moved by the story a rare thing these days, when linguistic cleverness often overtakes human characterization. It was the youngest and the least traditional of the three of us, Dean, who pointed out how the story also defied the “ageist bias” in much of contemporary fiction, which is almost relentlessly focused on affairs of the young.
Rachelle Tesoro’s “Waiting for Rain,” on the other hand, does deal with the very young a 12-year-old girl named Carlie, caught in pain-prone adolescence, who gets dragged around by an itinerant mother. “Rent is cheap, Ma says, in the provinces. She makes a living teaching piano, the only thing she can do well besides seducing men. I go to a public school whenever I can, but mostly I like wandering around town looking at people’s houses…. It’s been this way all my life. We travel by bus, by train, by boat, my mother tucking my hand into hers, talking about a clean slate, a fresh start, while outside the window the sky burns bright and untarnished.” Carlie pines for an elusive constancy, but the real power of the story lies in the tension between toughness and tenderness, between the mother who’s often more like a child and the child who’s often more like a mother.
Catherine Rose Torres’ fluidly written “Café Masala” the story of a Filipino woman seeking happiness from new Delhi to Manila is utterly now, utterly cosmopolitan, and earned this accolade from Dean: “Perhaps the best praise I can give is that despite the absence of a huge plot (it is a quiet story), technical wizardry (no structural trickery to be found), or any of the classic social realist tropes (perhaps expected of a Palanca winner), the story held my attention. It succeeds because it simply tells its story well. The author’s obvious comfort in using English allows the reader to trust the narrative, especially when parts of the story take place in a foreign country. The dialogue is ably handled as well as the excellent character work, and with other elements of the story contributes to the text’s overall delight.”
So our warmest congratulations go this new crop of winners who happen to be young women writers all (my pal and perennial Palanca tablemate Krip Yuson would text me his summary impression of the evening’s laureates: “Puro bebot!”) Many thanks as well, Emily and Dean always a pleasure to work with you!
I end with a friendly but serious suggestion for next year’s Palancas: please do away with the requirement of a synopsis at the head of a story. It actually spoils or distorts the judges’ reading (and might provide an easy out for the lazy reader). And then again, next year, it’ll be back to the woodwork for me.
* * *
E-mail me at penmanila@yahoo.com and visit my blog at www.penmanila.net.