pagninilay; A review of Forgiving Imelda Marcos by Nathan Go | Many thanks to NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for giving me a copy in exchange for an honest review.
"[Perhaps] we've been so poor for so long that we can no longer afford to be virtuous? For what is honesty or virtue, when you're watching your son or daugher or father or mother waste away and starve?"
"With all due respect, what makes you think you have the right to forgive Imelda Marcos?"
Forgiving Imelda Marcos follows Lito Macaraeg, former driver to an imagined Cory Aquino, who writes long missives to his estranged son in the United States. He has promised something of an exclusive to his journalist offspring: a confession on a journey taken with the former president to meet Imelda Marcos, half to the pair of the conjugal dictatorship. The letter-writer is front and center, contextualized with tangents on his childhood, his experience in the mountains with a rebel group, and life with the Aquinos. As a meditation on life during and post-Martial Law—and as a last-ditch effort from a father to connect with his son—this is a beautifully written novel that boasts of its Filipinoness. But as a cultural product in this specific context, it suffers from its vacillation.
On a technical level, the language in the novel is its strength. Go, in the voice of Macaraeg, has a gift for breaking words down to deliver a gut punch. In one instance, he talks about the rice terraces in terms of what its name sounds like, "hagdang-hadgang palayan" as the very space upon which "you can really hear the clip-clop of someone's feet ascending or descending." This attention to rhythm is an homage to the beauty of language in Filipino hands, and the way it is used here to add depth to the character is brilliant. Yet for all that it's beautiful, it also distracts. The writer is ever in the room, and it wars for attention with his driver-protagonist. (Lito is a learned man, the text makes clear, but some of the word choice points to translation. It is obvious he is talking to an American audience. You wonder then, whether it is Lito speaking, or his journalist son and his editors.)
The story itself is interesting. The narrator has a colorful past, and he can be forgiven for his decisions, his stubbornness, his thoughts on matters. The episode in the mountains, for example, justifies his politics as an adult. (Something I appreciate is that the novel never asks us to agree with him.) His interactions with the fictional former president are warm. If this were only about him, this would easily have been five stars. But the entire premise makes it harder to evaluate this as a story solely about one man.
Coming into this, I was expecting some level of sympathy for the Marcoses. I was delighted to learn that, despite some humanizing on the part of Lito, they were not made out to be sympathetic figures. This is important, even the novel concedes, when false narratives brought them back to power. However, I do feel that it props up the Aquinos too much. The central conceit reveals this. It falls prey to the myth that Martial Law was between two families and their allies, instead of the Marcoses against the Filipino people. Lito asks, "what makes you think you have the right to forgive Imelda Marcos?" And Go answers that question when he reveals his cards. At any other time, if this were about any other subject, this would have been so good. Alas, we are in the now.
This is a good debut. It could have been great. For all this, I look forward to what Go writes next.