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"...the not very successful publishing history of Filipino writers in the U.S." “Excerpt From An Editorial On The Implications of the Controversy over Lois-Ann Yamanaka’s novel, Blu’s Hanging (criticized for its adverse portrayals of Filipino Characters)
In the publishing industry, “remaindering” means the publisher is not reprinting the book, which means the book will eventually no longer be available. Remaindered books are often seen on the sale/discount shelves in bookstores, selling for a low percentage of their original retail price. The books of such Filipino/a writers like Ninotchka Rosca, Hagedorn, Carlos Bulosan, Jose Garcia Villa, Cecilia Manguerra Brainard and Arlene Chai have been remaindered. Newly-published novelist Bino A. Realuyo has told me that he was informed several times by those involved in mainstream publishing that it is difficult to publish novels referencing the Philippines or Filipino culture because such books are not commercial, based on previous sales histories of such works. Brainard, author of When The Rainbow Goddess Wept which was (released in hardbacks and paperbacks and) remaindered earlier this year by Dutton, explained, “It’s a matter of economics. Storing the books in their warehouses costs money, and once the sales decline, they get rid of them. For the large ’commercial’ houses, we are talking of thousands of copies, unlike the 1,000 copies or so that smaller presses publish. The small/medium presses have smaller printruns (1,000-3,000 copies) and are more willing to keep the book going, reprinting when needed. Still, they do want to sell their books and would not pick ‘losers’ to publish.” Brainard, who is also a partner in a bookstore that specializes in Filipino and Filipino-American literature, adds, “The situation extends to bookselling. The reason mainstream booksellers like Crown, Barnes and Noble, Borders, etc. do not carry Filipino books, is because they perceive little market for such books.” I raise this matter because in the media coverage of the Blu’s Hanging dispute, some posited that negative portrayals of Filipinos are exacerbated by the fact that it is not easy to find other material that would balance those portrayals because Filipino writers are not well-published. This may assume falsely that Filipino authors would provide more positive or acceptable portrayals for its community (I will not address here the fact that Hagedorn’s Dogeaters offended some Filipino readers — except to suggest that Hagedorn is an example of why one should question preconceptions about whether certain people are more appropriate than others in writing about the stories of a ”community”). More to the point on reading, Filipino-Americans seem to provide insufficient support to its writers by not buying their books. Releases by commercial publishers start from 5,000 to 10,000 books, versus nearly three million Filipino-Americans. Is this community contributing to its own marginalization? As regards the question of whether one can balance the need to develop a character versus a community’s desires, I think that it is appropriate when writers choose not to make that their concern. Perhaps the balance should not be provided by individual works which must reflect a writer’s “truth” that (as Yamanaka noted) is only one of many views. Perhaps the balance may be provided by those who teach the works, such as Candace Fujikane of Hawai’i who says that to accompany negative portrayals of Filipino characters, she uses stories like Virgilio Menor Felipe’s “Chapter I. Once in the First Times From What You Like Know? An Oral Biography of Bonipasyo.” Fujikane says, “Students find this first person account of a Filipino family’s resistance to Spanish oppression in the Philippines very empowering.” However, how can there be other “empowering” accounts by Filipino/Filipino- American authors (how may, as Francia put it, “a hundred Filipino-American novels bloom”?) in a conservative publishing industry and when Filipino- American authors are not supported by their own “community”? Obviously, no one is obligated to buy/read anything simply because that person shares the same ethnicity as the author. But for those Filipinos/Filipino-Americans who lobbied against the AAAS award to Blu’s Hanging, have you ALSO bought a book recently by a Filipino/Filipino-American author? Do you also engage in the political act of buying the books written by members of your “community" if you are politicking for a "balanced" portrayal of Filipino characters in ”literature”? Brainard speculates that Filipinos don’t buy books as much as other communities do because they are steeped in the “oral tradition.” I don’t know, but would like not to leave the matter there. To those bemoaning the lack of available works by Filipino/Filipino-American writers, I simply note such recent releases as The Umbrella Country by Realuyo, forthcoming in March 1999 from the Ballantine ReaderÌs Circle collection by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House (and excerpted in the “Back Page” section of the Fall/Winter issue of The Asian Pacific American Journal) and The Lowest Blue Flame Before Nothing by Lara Stapleton, a short story collection involving several Filipino(a)-American protagonists recently released by Aunt Lute Press. Indeed, I would like to present a challenge to Filipinos worldwide. In 1999, let us define “Filipino” partly as someone who BOUGHT Realuyo’s book, The Umbrella Country. Obviously, I would suggest that it would be nice if you read it, too. It would be nice if you bought books by other Filipino/Fil-American authors as well (another recent release being Peter Bacho’s award-winning Dark Blue Suit and Other Stories from the University of Washington Press). But, at a minimum, let us BUY Realuyo’s book because the stakes are high — high for Filipino writers and high for those in the Filipino/Fil-American community who would like to have their stories represented in publishing, particularly mainstream publishing. (Three million, two million or even one million books sold of one title — that surely will open the door to other Filipino/Fil- American writers — and there are plenty, of which too many are writing in obscurity.)
Based on reading excerpts (including those previously published in The APA Journal) by Realuyo, also a poet whose awards include the 1998 Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from Poetry Society of America, I believe The Umbrella Country is a book to be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of that reader’s ethnicity. But to all Filipinos and Filipino-Americans, I say: On behalf of my fellow Filipino writers, on behalf of those desiring accessible stories about Filipinos, on behalf of those who seek balance in the portrayal of Filipino characters in literature, buy The Umbrella Country. Let Filipinos themselves be the ones to prove the publishing industry wrong in assuming there is no demand for the stories of its “community.” The full essay will be published in the Fall/Winter Issue of |
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