A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping: A Cozy Fantasy on the Island of Fire, Siquijor

by Mitos Suson, Darwin Price

Upon returning to the enchanted island of Siquijor with her grandmother, Lola Ellie, balikbayan teenager Leklek Rosal makes a startling discovery – her so-called imaginary friend from her childhood, a Sigbin named Rocky, is in fact real! This revelation leads her to explore the mysteries behind her untapped magical abilities. They will be crucial for protecting Siquijor, but will she be ready in time? Under Lola Ellie's guidance, Leklek is beginning to feel more grounded in her Barangay. As Leklek prepares to face the Wakwak known as Ravenous, she finds connection in her ancestral roots. In her quest to uncover the full extent of her mystical powers, Leklek is joined by her cousin Bert, her boyfriend Eric, and Rocky the Sigbin, who offers supernatural support throughout her journey. Together they search the depths of her hidden mystical gifts. They must be particularly careful because a Vatican priest, Brother Simon Del Cano, is on a mission to uncover the reality surrounding Sigbins. As dark forces coalesce, can Leklek succeed in harnessing her power and destiny to safeguard her Barangay against the looming threat?

277 pages, Paperback

Published March 30, 2025

Reviews

[Niño Louis · Rating 4 out of 5]

It lived up to the “cozy fantasy” description.
As someone who grew up in the Visayas and hearing stories about sigbins and wakwak, this book was too familiar for me.

Also, Leklek’s love for her lola was admirable.

I could not give it a 5 star because of the cliffhanger though. They should have defeated the enemy!!!

So all in all 4.5/5 stars.

[Fe Anastasia]

The book is a mirror of Filipino culture. While the characters come from middle -class families, the book gives a glimpse into the different characters making up a Filipino community. Visible are the use of balikbayan boxes, the habit of referring to people or objects by pointing one's lips towards what is referred to, the frenzy that accompanies a fiesta, the stigma of pregnancy without marriage, and one manner of becoming an immigrant.
Likewise, the book can appeal to several age groups. Being a senior citizen, I could relate to Lola Ellie, and I think my adolescent grandchildren would be able to connect with the main characters. Those who are environmentalists will appreciate the concern for pollutants in the ocean, and those who pine for good governance would wonder how to repair a system that has become inhumane.
What I like most about the book is the value it places on the virtue of love and compassion. The value shines through even as one gets absorbed in the fantasy.

[Megan Redmond · Rating 5 out of 5]

The first pages of "A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping" hooked me with their luscious descriptions—salty wind, shivering water, that unique mixture of dread and hope only found in childhood adventure. It’s a rare fantasy that threads peril and family so tightly, capturing both the overwhelming lure of the unknown and the fragile bonds that keep us anchored. Leklek’s journey—her fear, faith, and brief surrender in the sea—felt terrifyingly real, even as strange magic flickered in the background. What struck me most was how seamlessly the supernatural wove into everyday Filipino life, the rhythm of Lola’s prayers reverberating like distant thunder. The writing is vivid, at turns playful and deeply haunting; never overwrought, but always intimate. I left the book pondering the invisible forces in our own lives, the small rituals we hold close against uncertainty. Highly recommended for anyone who finds comfort in stories blending wonder and darkness.

[Taylor Reilly · Rating 5 out of 5]

From the outset, “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” radiates warmth—yes, even as its opening scenes drip in seawater and mortal danger. Mitos Suson and Darwin Price use folklore as scaffolding but layer it with something wonderfully particular: the specific anxiousness of Filipino mothers, snarky generational banter, and the ache of diaspora. Leklek is both mystic and modern, caught between warnings and Wi-Fi, her fear when lost at sea palpable, unforgettable. The sigbin, that legendary cryptid, becomes almost secondary to the real heart: relationships tested at the edge of disaster. While there’s humor, and moments that made me grin (“Don’t make fun of miracles, Inday!”), it’s the honesty about being lost—physically and spiritually—that landed hardest. I recommend this book for anyone looking for myth that feels truly lived, or for those who need a reminder that help sometimes arrives in prayers, not miracles.

[Michael Lee · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading "A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping" was like wading into the surf—calm at first, then suddenly swept off my feet. The opening set-piece raised my heart rate with its stormy realism, but it was Leklek’s internal monologue—her desperation, her childlike reasoning, her clinging to family prayers—that lodged deep. The themes of belonging, generational love, and how our names tie us to ancient stories lingered long after. The prose is tactile, the dialogue sparkling with tension and affection. Rarely do fantasy stories give such weight to both the mundane (fishing trips, sandwiches) and the numinous (visions, ancestral rituals). The looming sigbin is a shadowy promise, but the real magic lies in survival and intergenerational memory. I walked away pondering how sometimes sinking leads to transformation, and how the things that frighten us may also be what saves us.

[Robert Adams · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book didn’t just tell me a story—it sang. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” uses rich, musical prose that ebbs and flows like the tides around Siquijor. The supernatural elements entice, but the real poetry is in the everyday: Leklek’s mother’s warnings, her Lola’s rituals, the banter and tenderness at the kitchen table. Reading Leklek’s near-drowning, I was adrift with her, suspended between light and shadow. The text is unafraid to dwell in darkness, yet bursts with humor and the gentle lamp-light glow of home. The authors balance fantastical creatures and palpable danger with a wise, knowing wink. I recommend this for those who love stories about coming-of-age in places straddling myth and memory. This book reminded me that sometimes, magic is just another word for surviving long enough to remember who you are.

[Kayla Renfrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

With “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping,” what amazed me was how much heart is packed into every scene. The book moves with the speed of a summer squall, but never loses sight of intimate details: the scent of ocean brine, the ache of lost breath, the worried wisdom in a mother’s warnings. I was most touched by the way Leklek’s ordeal is interlaced with prayers and childhood stubbornness—voices from her past forming a lifeline when all else is lost. The writing is unsentimental but deeply compassionate; it asks what it means to descend (literally and figuratively), and what it takes to return. I found myself reflecting on my own reliance on family and tradition in moments of crisis. I absolutely recommend it for readers who long for fantasy rooted in real emotion and lovingly rendered place.

[Tyler Nelson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” felt like sitting beside a flickering campfire, listening to a cousin spin tales that are half warning, half love letter. The book shines in its rendering of Filipino familial rhythms, with every scolding and prayer weighted with meaning. What truly stood out to me was how it framed fear—both the supernatural and the everyday—as seeds of transformation. The prose is confident, conjuring memories and monsters with equal deftness. The spiritual undertones, the glimpses of rituals and ancestral wisdom, gave the narrative a palpable soul. I recommend this book for anyone fascinated by the liminal: stories that trace the blurry lines between land and sea, life and beyond, old world and new. It’s a tale I’ll remember whenever waves bite the shore at night.

[Avery O'Malley · Rating 5 out of 5]

A storm at sea is a classic motif, but I’ve rarely read it rendered with such breathless immediacy. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” is immersive, dragging me beneath the waves alongside Leklek, making her fear my own. But what lingers isn’t the terror; it’s the quiet afterward—the peace, the mysterious voices, the remembered prayers. I found the writing spare and elegant, unafraid to dwell in discomfort without sensationalism. The themes of identity, generational trauma, and cultural pride stand tall, never forced. The familial love threading through every page ultimately kept me afloat. This book changed my understanding of what cozy fantasy can achieve: it can comfort, but also confront. I’ll be giving copies to friends who need a reminder that sometimes salvation comes in the form of memory and myth.

[Justin Coleman · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a ride. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” took me deeper than most fantasies dare, into the riptide of family responsibilities, ancient heritage, and primal fear. At first glance, the book’s playful premise—the practicalities of caring for a mythical beast—seems whimsical, but its true strength is in the exploration of being adrift, both literally and culturally. I resonated with the anxiety of never quite belonging, of being warned against dangers you half-believe in. The language is crisp and evocative, especially in dialogue; the tension between generations plays out with warmth and sting. I recommend it most to those who love fantasy with roots, stories that look backward in order to move forward. Lessons learned? Sometimes, the prayers that save us are ones we never meant to remember.

[Scarlett Quinlan · Rating 5 out of 5]

“A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” is, at its heart, a story about finding safety in unlikely places—buoys on a storm-tossed sea, ancestral prayers uttered by frightened lips, playful bickering at the kitchen table. The authors sketch both peril and comfort with painterly precision—imagining Siquijor’s wonders and terrors in cinematic detail. But the true genius lies in the narration: how Leklek’s fear is not diminished by magical intervention, but rather transformed by memory, by family, by the rituals passed down through generations. This is a fantasy that refuses easy answers, instead inviting us to dwell in uncertainty and awe. The prose is confident, lyrical, humble—it respects its readers as much as its characters. I recommend it to anyone who’s ever felt lost and wondered if the stories they were told as a child might save them after all.

[Alyssa Roscoe · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sometimes a book finds you at exactly the right time. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” was that gift for me. The terror of Leklek’s sea ordeal is not just about survival—it’s about the reckoning that comes when family stories and unspoken fears converge. The authors have a knack for balancing levity and dread. I laughed at family teasing (“Did the angel have a secret handshake?”) even as I shivered through the storm. The fantasy is anchored in reality—a child’s fear, a parent’s regret, ancient prayers spoken out of desperation. By the end, I wasn’t just rooting for the characters; I felt changed, reminded to see the magic in daily kindness and the strength to keep breathing even when surrounded by darkness. I recommend this book unreservedly.

[Jason Ortiz · Rating 5 out of 5]

Never has a book so perfectly married folklore and the fretfulness of modern adolescence. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” finds its voice in contradiction—where ancient prayers meet text alerts, and legends flicker beneath the fluorescent light of daily life. The authors’ playful prose drew me in, but what floored me was the emotional accuracy: the agony of Leklek’s panic, the comfort in her mother’s voice, the final peace even as hope seems lost. Lesson learned? Our survival sometimes depends on the oldest stories we carry, half-remembered but potent when we are truly lost. I recommend this for readers looking for a fantasy that feels rooted, not merely escapist, and for those wishing to honor the ghosts in their own homes.

[Sofia Nethercott · Rating 5 out of 5]

I devoured “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” in one sitting—hungry, then sated, then oddly melancholy. The lush setting of Siquijor is a character all its own, alive with mystery and quiet longing. What amazed me is how the narrative is propelled as much by the forces of family and history as by any supernatural peril. The pacing is taut, the characters sharp with affection and flaws. The themes—grief, bravery, cultural inheritance—surface like tides, subtle yet impossible to ignore. The writing is accessible yet gorgeous, with a gentle humor that softened even its darkest moments. This book left me with renewed appreciation for the lies we tell to protect ourselves, and the truths that set us free. Highly recommended, especially for anyone who feels caught between worlds.

[Chloe Pennington · Rating 5 out of 5]

Here is a book that dares to show how ordinary lives brush up against the extraordinary. “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” balances sparkling humor and genuine peril—one moment a child’s shriek of delight, the next, gripping fear as the ocean turns. I was particularly moved by the moments of intergenerational connection—how Leklek clings to her grandmother’s prayer when every muscle begs her to surrender. The authors honor the quirks of Filipino superstition while grounding everything in love and loss. The writing has a buoyant energy, never wallowing in despair, yet never skimming over the stakes. I closed the book with a deep gratitude for ancestral wisdom, and a hope that I’ll remember it when things get dark. I recommend this to anyone looking for meaning in family stories.

[Eric Hayes · Rating 5 out of 5]

From the dedication onwards, “A Practical Guide to Sigbin Keeping” pulses with reverence for heritage and for the women who shape us. I was especially awestruck by how gracefully the book blends fantasy tropes—monsters, rituals, transformation—with keen observations on how families learn to breathe after crisis. The narrative voice is tender, thrilled with life, unafraid of pain. Leklek’s name becomes a living thread, connecting diaspora anxieties to island magic. The writing is full of care, every detail lovingly chosen. I finished the book teary-eyed, convinced that the stories we inherit are not only shields, but lanterns. I recommend this book to anyone in search of luminous, specific wonder, and for those who want a reminder that

[Marie Sinadjan · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5⭐️, full review to come!