By Amadís Ma. Guerrero
Most of our national heroes were flawed human beings, as Nick Joaquin so startlingly revealed in his “A Question of Heroes” (Filipinas Foundation, 1977). But I submit that Apolinario Mabini—due to his intellect, uprightness and uncompromising stand—was the least flawed.
On October 1, the School of Humanities of Ateneo de Manila University, Ateneo Fine Arts, Lyric, and Tanghalang Ateneo are mounting “Contra Mundum: A Devised Reading of ‘A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino.’”
By Pablo A. Tariman
Forty-one years ago, on Sept. 22, I reported to the pre-martial law Graphic Magazine office in Port Area only to find it closed.
Cover StoryBy Ruel S. De Vera
There has never been anything like Nick Joaquin’s voice—literally. Whenever friends recall the late National Artist for Literature’s words, they launch into an impersonation that’s so spot-on it verges on the uncanny. “Darling (pronounced daah-ling),” they would say, breaking into a growl that’s sweet and improbably loud. It sounds like Joaquin is speaking through that person. It’s a voice that thunders through the years. It echoes through distinct points in our history. That voice—explosive, garrulous, unforgettable—made Nick Joaquin immortal.
By Nick Joaquin
And it was May again, said the old Anastasia. It was the first day of May and witches were abroad in the night, she said—for it was a night of divination, and night of lovers, and those who cared might peer into a mirror and would there behold the face of whoever it was they were fated to marry, said the old Anastasia as she hobbled about picking up the piled crinolines and folding up shawls and raking slippers in corner while the girls climbing into four great poster-beds that overwhelmed the room began shrieking with terror, scrambling over each other and imploring the old woman not to frighten them…