by Jodesz Gavilan
THE STORY
In the 25 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. The hardcover edition (Dutton, 1970) was praised by the New York Times Book Review as “stunning;” this is the first paperback edition, for which novelist Robert Coover has written an appreciative foreword.
WHAT I LIKED
“Necrophiliacs, all of you. You love a corpse, make love to a corpse, and hope is dead. Bible-dead. Hell-dead. You were born dead in the image of God, who was always dead, you were loved dead by the dead, all of us are ghouls sucking hope from each other; therefore is death our destiny. But hope is Lazarus everlasting and therein lies the folly.“
In Wilfrido D. Nolledo’s But for the Lovers, a widely diverse set of characters navigate the chaos of World War II in Manila while dealing with their internal struggles, reflecting the conflicted identities of Filipinos stuck in the dreary space between occupation and liberation.
The novel starts in some sort of a fever dream. The reader is treated to a bit of magical realism that somehow sets the tone of the entire book. And then Nolledo brings us to the streets of Manila through the eyes of Spanish has-been performer Hidalgo de Anuncio with his ward, prolific thief Molave Amoran, as they care for a frail lost girl. They hold court in one of the rooms of the decrepit Ojos Verdes apartments, overseen by the kinky landlady Tira Colombo who, like her property, has seen better days.
The novel reads like an allegory to the different imperialist powers trying to dominate and control the Philippines. It symbolizes also the internal conflict felt—or still being felt—by Filipinos in the face of pressure and abuse under the guise of being saved.
But for the Lovers is clearly not out to glorify war nor seeks to hold high the American liberation. Nolledo’s work presents reality as it is, but in a way that is so beautiful. This is the novel’s strongest feature: The use of language.
I think I’m a language person. One who is often drawn to how a writer strings words into wonderful sentences that make up a universe that is either within or beyond our own. I appreciate a good theme or plot, yes, but there is something about how a masterful way of using words makes any literary work stand out for me. It could be the words the writer chooses to use, reflecting his or her deliberate framing. Or the decision when to expound a thought, or to hold back. Writing beautiful sentences requires an entirely different skill set from actually coming up with a good plot. One can think of a beautiful story, but not be able to translate it into paper very well. But amazing writing can at least salvage a basic, or generic, plot.
This is not to say that But for the Lovers is basic. But it’s a masterclass on the use of language in literature. The way Nolledo writes about the places in Manila torn by war or the characters besieged by elements beyond their control reminds us of the power of words in not just placing us on the scene but making us feel everything. I know the places mentioned in the novel, and I know the historical events that these places bore witness to, but to see them in the way Nolledo intended them to be seen is something else. He balances being generous and thrifty when it comes to descriptions, but in a way that does not feel the reader is being teased. It feels like you’re actually in this labyrinth without even knowing it because you enjoy looking at the art on the walls.
One thing I also enjoyed about this work is how Nolledo uses Filipino, Spanish, and English seamlessly. Sentences in this structure roll nicely on the tongue and don’t feel too forced just to depict the multiculturalism of the Philippines. I think this also reflects other works during that period, perhaps one of the reasons I am a fan of many of the authors in Nolledo’s generation.
tl;dr
Wilfrido D. Nolledo’s work needs to be read by everyone in the Philippines. It is ridiculous that my copy of But for the Lovers is just the first Philippine edition (published by Exploding Galaxies). It’s wild to think that such a classic was first published in the US in 1970, kept away from many Filipinos who have no access to the also labyrinth-like style of Western publications. I would pay good money to rid myself of some memory so I could read this book for the first time again.
☁️
