I Was Upset: Review of Cecilia Manguerra Brainard’s Selected Short Stories

Cecilia Manguerra Brainard’s Selected Short Stories

Much have been written about most of the pieces collected in Cecilia Manguerra Brainard’s Selected Short Stories. As I have zero plans on sounding like a jargon-drunk academic, and since what the reader feels is just as important as what the reader should read into the text, let me thus begin with three words to sum up the book’s effect on me: I was upset.

The book has 39 stories, divided into three sections: Part 1 being set in Ubec (a thinly veiled iteration of the author’s hometown, Cebu), Part 2 in the other parts of the Philippines (mostly Vigan), and Part 3 the rest of the world (e.g. Acapulco, Los Angeles, visions of the Vietnam War, Paris, etc.). There is much to rejoice about this feast of a book: the range in terms of form; the weaving of past and present between the pages; and that reassuring sense of being in the hands of a writer—an artist—whose mark transcends the boundaries of time, place, and historical conflicts. 

But still: I was upset. 

Melancholy keeps on seeping into the lives of Brainard’s characters. That is a blanket statement, and it is meant to be one. Almost all the stories have loss and longing for their themes. From the opening salvo of “The Black Man in the Forest,” to the closing thoughts of a beloved in “Melisande in Paris,” there appears to be this relentless need to zoom in on the most sobering parts of the characters’ lives. Or deaths. A good number of the pieces have characters grieving for a dead sibling, parent, or lover. The reader will sense this early on, in the Ubec stories, how the writer weaves plots to form a tapestry of lives at the brink of desolation. Sometimes, some of them tip over and tumble into darkness. This is true for certain stories on Parts 2 and 3.

There is much to rejoice about this feast of a book: the range in terms of form; the weaving of past and present between the pages; and that reassuring sense of being in the hands of a writer—an artist.

The ninth story hit me the hardest. “The Virgin’s Last Night,” is about Meding Santiago, an old woman who had to let go of her beloved when she was young. The man was called Mateo, and he was dead by the time the story begins. Mateo pays a visit to Meding. That’s how the piece begins. It is something one has to read, to feel. The title is a dead giveaway, at least I thought it was when I started reading. But then as I flipped through the seven-paged piece, I began to understand better the reasons why the old virgin is what she is, and what she thinks and sees during this titular final night.

Having identified with Meding, her losses and grief, by the end of her tale I was unable to begin with the next one at once; I just stared at a wall, at nothing in particular, because I, as a reader, was left with a literal ending to a life choked up by longing; a life redeemed, ultimately, by the illusion of a lover.

What do you do when you’re upset? You might clam up, let the world close in on you, perhaps surround yourself with illusions, like Meding does. Or you might tell a friend about what ails you. I did that. When I caught up with a friend much later, I told him how a piece of fiction had stalled me from moving forward with my day. But then I had the chance to tell him that I felt unwell. I said, “It’s because of this story…”

Author Cecilia Manguerra Brainard

That is the power of Brainard’s story. Not that I almost clammed up, but because I had no choice but to share it with someone else. Perhaps this is the reason we tell stories: because in doing so we begin to accept and process the things that hurt us. My friend simply agreed that Meding’s was indeed a sad story, but by my sharing it with someone, I somehow felt relieved. I found the will to continue reading, to go on with my day.

Brainard’s Selected Short Stories make me upset. And I am only happy to be upset by her fiction. Literature is nothing if it doesn’t shake the core of our being, if it only gives us a kind of bliss.

The volume also has few stories to make the reader feel joyful. But they are scarce, like stabs of light in a somber afternoon grayed by storm clouds. We have stories here worth telling as the rain pummels the roof above our heads.


George Gonzaga Deoso is the author of The Horseman's Revolt and Other Horrors (USTP, 2020), a collection of dark short fiction. He is currently residing in Quezon City with his family and two dogs named Kidlat and Hi-Ho.


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