Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
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Book Reviews
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"I Don't Love You, But You've Got Great Boobs, Tita"
A Reader’s Journey Through Eric Gamalinda’s Planet Waves
by Alex Maskara
Here I go again...
Dear reader—whoever you are—I present to you the debut novel of Eric Gamalinda. But let me confess right away: I'm not a literary scholar. I wasn’t trained to critique fiction, and my life’s calling lies in caring for the sick, not dissecting prose. Reading is my passion because it offers a window into lives beyond the routine I’m either blessed or cursed to live. And yes, I’m getting dramatic. Go ahead—cry me a river or laugh like a cow’s belch.
In truth, I hold only a flimsy license to comment on fiction. But not every reader is an English major, and if I share my opinion, it’s purely personal, speculative—and perhaps worthwhile if you're wondering: What does one ordinary reader think about Planet Waves by Eric Gamalinda?
Well, here goes...
I just finished reading Planet Waves. Once I flipped through the opening pages, I couldn’t stop. Thank God I had a free weekend. So, what’s this novel all about? A lot. Each chapter brought surprising echoes of other authors and styles—Gabriel García Márquez, Kafka, Genet, Camus, even Dostoevsky—each whispering their influences without overpowering Gamalinda’s own voice.
At first, I thought it was a historical novel. Then fantasy. Then mystery. Then magical realism. Even science fiction with a moral edge. It’s all of the above. I reserved judgment while reading, devouring it in one sitting. When I finished, I pressed the blue, black-and-white, man-with-wings cover to my chest and sighed, “Aaaah.” I rarely do that. No, I didn’t masturbate or ejaculate—nothing like that. But let me tell you, it was better. The book filled me with what I can only call orgasmic pride. Pardon the metaphor. Call it the Filipino surprise: this local author summoned a literary symphony with one novel.
But this isn’t a sentimental book. It doesn’t follow the old Dickensian or Jamesian route. It centers on Joaquin Alfonso, a young Manileño raised in dull, ordinary circumstances—until he discovers his dead grandfather’s secret writings about planets and the sun. Soon after, he sees his mother performing in a porn film. With his rich friend Bart (who hires goons to beat up gym bullies and gets off watching Joaquin with a hooker), Joaquin navigates a world of eccentric family members, unorthodox relationships, and the slow, spiraling undoing of what we might call Filipino family values.
Nothing traditional here. This is a world of extramarital affairs, dominated by a transsexual bastard child, a stepmother whose nipples are bitten by her stepson, and that unforgettable line: “No, I don’t love you, but you’ve got great boobs.”
Reminiscent of One Hundred Years of Solitude, the novel unfolds in an aging Manila house threatened with demolition—it stands on public land, and the original title deeds died with grandfather Miguel Tomas de Andrade, crushed in an elevator. The quest for these papers becomes the central plot, while subplots whirl around it: Joaquin’s mother leaves and ends up in bomba films; part of the house is rented to Eileen and her alluring daughter Melissa; Joaquin falls for Melissa, so does Bart—and guess who wins?
Joaquin fails at love, family, and self. He lifts weights, becomes ripped, and is seduced by his father’s mistress-turned-wife Rachel Guzman—who wears kabuki makeup and wields three dozen eyeliners like weapons. Her gay son Lester (Joaquin’s stepbrother, born the same day by a different woman at their father's wedding) is a fashion-savvy hustler with a taste for neighborhood boys.
It’s wild. It’s tragic. And it’s brilliant.
Characters get pinned down and pinned apart. Joaquin, unwittingly, smuggles his father’s guns. Rachel enforces her reign with cruelty and lipstick. Grandmother Amiranta reads the stars and claims knowledge of her destiny. Joaquin, now in his twenties, struggles to find a job. He writes freelance articles for peanuts and trains for a bodybuilding contest with a 1,500-peso prize. Then—something strange: two painful lumps sprout on his back. Feathers. Wings. But he never flies. Two thugs snip the wings, and Joaquin is grounded once more, transformed but still trapped.
The novel doesn't shy away from darkness. Gamalinda describes, in graphic detail, Lester's throat being slashed, Joaquin’s father getting shot in bed post-stroke, Eileen run over by a truck, Melissa becoming a prostitute, Bart attempting to strangle another. Each death is grotesque but deliberate. Characters collapse, disintegrate, and vanish. Gamalinda paints their destruction not out of cruelty, but to point us to life’s transience—life is a wave: dancing, rising, fading.
There’s a poignant dream scene: Joaquin meets his grandfather, and in that ephemeral moment, Gamalinda hints at something profound—maybe about time, memory, or the persistence of dreams. I can’t fully explain it here. Planet Waves offers more than I can capture.
What makes this novel unforgettable are the sudden shifts, the emotional detours, and the surreal turns. Gamalinda pulls us into a dream within a dream, only to snap his fingers and whisper: “It’s all make-believe.” But then he shows us another reality—another illusion. That, dear reader, is the alchemy of fiction.
The final image lingers: a fight erupts in Quiapo. Amid the chaos, a child picks up a stray apple, bites it, and chews while watching the world with firm, defiant eyes.
This is a story of human defiance. Of survival. Of madness and meaning. Thank you, Eric, for making me believe in the Filipino author again.
About the Author
Eric Gamalinda, born in 1956, studied at the University of Santo Tomas and the University of the Philippines. He won the Centennial Literary Prize for Novel, and his works include Popular Delusions, Fire Poem/Rain Poem, and numerous award-winning plays and poems. He has received the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards and a Focus magazine award, and his work has appeared in Frank, a Paris-based journal. He is an associate fellow of the Philippine Literary Arts Council.
—Alex Maskara
Volume 1
2025-05-14 01:54:55
bookreviews
Planet Waves
"I Don't Love You, But You've Got Great Boobs, Tita"
A Reader’s Journey Through Eric Gamalinda’s Planet Waves
by Alex Maskara
Here I go again...
Dear reader—whoever you are—I present to you the debut novel of Eric Gamalinda. But let me confess right away: I'm not a literary scholar. I wasn’t trained to critique fiction, and my life’s calling lies in caring for the sick, not dissecting prose. Reading is my passion because it offers a window into lives beyond the routine I’m either blessed or cursed to live. And yes, I’m getting dramatic. Go ahead—cry me a river or laugh like a cow’s belch.
In truth, I hold only a flimsy license to comment on fiction. But not every reader is an English major, and if I share my opinion, it’s purely personal, speculative—and perhaps worthwhile if you're wondering: What does one ordinary reader think about Planet Waves by Eric Gamalinda?
Well, here goes...
I just finished reading Planet Waves. Once I flipped through the opening pages, I couldn’t stop. Thank God I had a free weekend. So, what’s this novel all about? A lot. Each chapter brought surprising echoes of other authors and styles—Gabriel García Márquez, Kafka, Genet, Camus, even Dostoevsky—each whispering their influences without overpowering Gamalinda’s own voice.
At first, I thought it was a historical novel. Then fantasy. Then mystery. Then magical realism. Even science fiction with a moral edge. It’s all of the above. I reserved judgment while reading, devouring it in one sitting. When I finished, I pressed the blue, black-and-white, man-with-wings cover to my chest and sighed, “Aaaah.” I rarely do that. No, I didn’t masturbate or ejaculate—nothing like that. But let me tell you, it was better. The book filled me with what I can only call orgasmic pride. Pardon the metaphor. Call it the Filipino surprise: this local author summoned a literary symphony with one novel.
But this isn’t a sentimental book. It doesn’t follow the old Dickensian or Jamesian route. It centers on Joaquin Alfonso, a young Manileño raised in dull, ordinary circumstances—until he discovers his dead grandfather’s secret writings about planets and the sun. Soon after, he sees his mother performing in a porn film. With his rich friend Bart (who hires goons to beat up gym bullies and gets off watching Joaquin with a hooker), Joaquin navigates a world of eccentric family members, unorthodox relationships, and the slow, spiraling undoing of what we might call Filipino family values.
Nothing traditional here. This is a world of extramarital affairs, dominated by a transsexual bastard child, a stepmother whose nipples are bitten by her stepson, and that unforgettable line: “No, I don’t love you, but you’ve got great boobs.”
Reminiscent of One Hundred Years of Solitude, the novel unfolds in an aging Manila house threatened with demolition—it stands on public land, and the original title deeds died with grandfather Miguel Tomas de Andrade, crushed in an elevator. The quest for these papers becomes the central plot, while subplots whirl around it: Joaquin’s mother leaves and ends up in bomba films; part of the house is rented to Eileen and her alluring daughter Melissa; Joaquin falls for Melissa, so does Bart—and guess who wins?
Joaquin fails at love, family, and self. He lifts weights, becomes ripped, and is seduced by his father’s mistress-turned-wife Rachel Guzman—who wears kabuki makeup and wields three dozen eyeliners like weapons. Her gay son Lester (Joaquin’s stepbrother, born the same day by a different woman at their father's wedding) is a fashion-savvy hustler with a taste for neighborhood boys.
It’s wild. It’s tragic. And it’s brilliant.
Characters get pinned down and pinned apart. Joaquin, unwittingly, smuggles his father’s guns. Rachel enforces her reign with cruelty and lipstick. Grandmother Amiranta reads the stars and claims knowledge of her destiny. Joaquin, now in his twenties, struggles to find a job. He writes freelance articles for peanuts and trains for a bodybuilding contest with a 1,500-peso prize. Then—something strange: two painful lumps sprout on his back. Feathers. Wings. But he never flies. Two thugs snip the wings, and Joaquin is grounded once more, transformed but still trapped.
The novel doesn't shy away from darkness. Gamalinda describes, in graphic detail, Lester's throat being slashed, Joaquin’s father getting shot in bed post-stroke, Eileen run over by a truck, Melissa becoming a prostitute, Bart attempting to strangle another. Each death is grotesque but deliberate. Characters collapse, disintegrate, and vanish. Gamalinda paints their destruction not out of cruelty, but to point us to life’s transience—life is a wave: dancing, rising, fading.
There’s a poignant dream scene: Joaquin meets his grandfather, and in that ephemeral moment, Gamalinda hints at something profound—maybe about time, memory, or the persistence of dreams. I can’t fully explain it here. Planet Waves offers more than I can capture.
What makes this novel unforgettable are the sudden shifts, the emotional detours, and the surreal turns. Gamalinda pulls us into a dream within a dream, only to snap his fingers and whisper: “It’s all make-believe.” But then he shows us another reality—another illusion. That, dear reader, is the alchemy of fiction.
The final image lingers: a fight erupts in Quiapo. Amid the chaos, a child picks up a stray apple, bites it, and chews while watching the world with firm, defiant eyes.
This is a story of human defiance. Of survival. Of madness and meaning. Thank you, Eric, for making me believe in the Filipino author again.
About the Author
Eric Gamalinda, born in 1956, studied at the University of Santo Tomas and the University of the Philippines. He won the Centennial Literary Prize for Novel, and his works include Popular Delusions, Fire Poem/Rain Poem, and numerous award-winning plays and poems. He has received the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards and a Focus magazine award, and his work has appeared in Frank, a Paris-based journal. He is an associate fellow of the Philippine Literary Arts Council.
—Alex Maskara
Volume 1
2025-05-14 01:54:55
bookreviews