You’ve joined me here: on the third floor of a building on Padre Faura Street. The bookshop called Solidaridad is at the ground floor. (As college students we would go there once we got our allowance and hope we could procure for ourselves a Faulkner by Modern Library or a Foucault by Vintage or a vintage Quijano de Manila, we being nerdy connoisseurs). The office is on the second floor. (Downstairs we could hear the thundering voice of the owner: a writer with mountains upon mountains of stories, and rivers upon rivers of inspiration and passion in impaling words down by longhand in his journal or neatly typewritten on shroud-white paper.) A meeting room is on the topmost floor, after a flight of narrow stairs. (Years later I would walk my way up and have a mind-altering chat with the man himself.)
Here, there is a small study that the writer calls his “den of iniquity” with its imposing wooden table, an electric typewriter, a snooze nook, artworks, and racks of his own novels and collected short fiction translated into 28 languages. Günter Grass sat on a corner bench by the dining area. So did Norman Mailer. So did Mario Vargas Llosa. Countless other authors of worldwide renown. All to see the man.
He is National Artist for Literature F. Sionil Jose — one of the Philippines’ most critically acclaimed authors abroad, one of the country’s most prolific, one of its most widely read. And he tells me this, as if I should’ve known it all along (and not a sort of terrifying secret of the universe as Jorge Luis Borges put it so worryingly and blindingly brilliant in Ficciones). “When you write,” he says with a voice that could fell ancient trees in forgotten forests, “it’s not just with words.”
There is a trail of a life in every word.
He once wrote, “The writer’s own life is now his richest material; he must study himself, shed all sense of pride and be naked to his own creative eye. He knows if he is his own critic that art is the most tyrannical and demanding mistress he has to serve with unblemished constancy.”
Yes, a life shadowed by ideas, social empathies and, most importantly, a soul.
Mang Frankie, as how he likes to be called, says it a dubious distinction; of being called “the old man of Philippine letters.” He recently wrote: “I am 86; most of my contemporaries — the first post-war generation of writers — have gone and I am the last to bear witness to what transpired historically and culturally in the last century and on to this new and uncertain age.”
Newness. Uncertainty. These are the monarchs of our time. But writers such as F. Sionil Jose provide us with a history, with roots, with a racial memory, and with a foreshadowing of what terrors and delights our future might hold.
He advised aspiring writers, “Nurture memory because it will be your most important asset, because without individual and collective memory, there is no nation.”
Nation is an essential element in F. Sionil Jose’s prose, almost achieving character-like status in his oeuvre. His epiphanies deal with a nation in search of itself, as well as the need to address social iniquities and transform the lives of average Filipino families. His novels — essential readings such as Viajero, Sin, Dusk (Po-on), and the tomes in the Rosales Saga (“this saga is my homage, my humble tribute to my unhappy country…”) — can be enjoyed by the richness of their narratives, as well as the ideational slap of their social commentaries.
During a memorable lunch at Kashmir with Philippine STAR Lifestyle editor Millet Mananquil, Tonette Martel, Scott Garceau and me, F. Sionil Jose talked shop about life, literature and even historical gossip. How he once spent three days writing feverishly, not eating, not sleeping, chronicling the grand sagas spinning in his head. How he once told a young artist, “You could become rich, you could become famous, but if you don’t make social commentaries with your work, you would never be considered great.” (“What about Van Gogh?” somebody asked. Jose retorted, “Have you seen ‘Potato Eaters’?”) How in a Klaus Zeller book launch he berated some socialites who were chirpily chatting during a speech: “Peasants behave better than you!” How a person could discover much about the country by readings its literature. How he enjoys writing in places like Tokyo and Paris (“no telephone calls, no friends, no Manila newspapers”). How he still enjoys writing even in his twilight years — calling a character “Esperanza” (after watching Stanley Kubrick’s version of Lolita featuring James Mason as Humbert Humbert, and after rereading Nabokov’s classic), currently working on a “science fiction” novel with nods to The Picture of Dorian Gray, and still working his butt off in his study on Padre Faura, or in his home in Quezon City.
And in honor of this prolific, prominent Filipino author, Freeway launches the latest collection in the fashion brand’s National Artist Collectors’ Series (past honorees were Nick Joaquin, Ang Kiukok, Jose Garcia Villa and Ramon Valera). Freeway’s F. Sionil Jose collection features staple favorites such as graphic tees in trendy silhouettes, modern tailored woven tops as well as dresses and accessories. All items will have their own gift packaging, a swing tag of the author’s bio and an F. Sionil Jose authenticity stamp printed on the merchandise.
“Not a day goes by,” said the old man of Philippine letters, “that I don’t write.”
So runs on and on F. Sionil Jose’s threads of literature.
A gush of words. Myths created, histories revisited. Fiction to help us become who we are.
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The Freeway National Artist Collectors’ Series F. Sionil Jose collection will be launched on May 31, Tuesday, 6 p.m., at The Row, Glorietta 5, Makati City. The tribute will be hosted by Lisa Macuja-Elizalde. Selected readings will be done by Cherie Gil and Lourd De Veyra. This will be followed by a no-holds-barred question-and-answer session with the always honest and ever fearless F. Sionil Jose.
For information, visit www.freeway.net.ph.