Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
Welcome
Book Reviews
~
Well, here I go again—disturbing your feed with another one of my “book reviews.” I put that in quotes because I don’t follow traditional formats. I write based on how a book makes me feel, not by dissecting its structure, prose, or form. I recently shared a version of this review on the FLIPS forum and received one thoughtful response. I wish I could post that reply here, but it’s increasingly difficult these days to share articles due to copyright concerns. So this space remains a one-man show.
Reading American Son made me realize just how little I truly understand Filipino-American (Fil-Am) culture, especially from the perspective of bi-racial children raised in the United States. As a native Filipino who immigrated as an adult, I’ve never experienced their kind of identity struggles. Their cultural confusion, pain, and longing are different from mine.
So I ask you, dear reader: please don’t judge this book solely through the lens of my emotional reaction. American Son is a powerful book. Make no mistake about that. It opens a window into the minds of our Fil-Am youth—at least some of them—and that alone makes it worth reading. I would deeply appreciate hearing your reactions too. It’s through shared dialogue that we begin to understand each other better.
As for the idea of a “correct” book review—I don’t believe in that. Reviewing a book is like responding to art: it’s deeply personal, subjective, and driven by emotion more than rules.
My Personal Take
Christmas is around the corner. And perhaps surprisingly, I’m enjoying the season more these days. Middle age has made me more forgiving of quirks, more grounded in who I am. I now write freely, uncaring of whether people read or applaud. I’ve learned to say “no,” to let go, to pursue my freedom, to value my individuality. Maybe I’m becoming more “American”—but then again, values like freedom and individualism aren’t just American; they’re also Filipino, and ultimately universal.
These days, I divide my time between web design and reading fiction. I recently finished American Son and am halfway through Holthe’s When the Elephants Dance. I’m also enjoying Anne Rice’s Blackwood Farm.
American Son is written in a simple, direct style. But I struggled with it—particularly with the portrayal of the Filipino mother. She’s depicted as painfully naïve and submissive, to the point of absurdity. I haven’t encountered a single Filipino mother like that in my decades in America. The mothers I know—whether immigrants or long-settled—are strong, sharp, and fiercely protective of their children.
I get that fiction reflects reality as perceived, and that some Fil-Am writers may carry shame or unresolved tensions about their roots. But I do wish there was more effort to portray Filipino characters with dignity and complexity, rather than to pander to what American readers might expect. There’s a risk in reinforcing stereotypes just to sell stories or validate inner conflict.
For instance, a Filipina character with a background from Forbes Park being mistaken for a maid? That’s hard to swallow. And when that same character bows her head in silent humiliation while being screamed at by an American woman? I had to put the book down and mutter, “Come on now.” The Filipino mothers I know wouldn’t take that kind of treatment without standing up for themselves—or their children.
Of course, I recognize this is fiction. And good fiction doesn’t always depict ideal scenarios—it often exposes painful truths or uncomfortable possibilities. But it’s also important to distinguish between presenting a reality and promoting a caricature.
Reading American Son made me uneasy. Maybe because I’m a native Filipino, and I couldn’t relate to the world it portrayed. I had several moments where I just shook my head and muttered, “This couldn’t happen,” or “Really?”
But stepping back, I tried to read it through a different lens: that of an American-born reader. Viewed this way, the novel becomes a coming-of-age story—a tale about an American teenager trying to define himself in a fractured world. Unfortunately, the journey ends violently, almost like a scene out of a vigilante movie. I worry that this is not the path we want for our Fil-Am youth, but the fact that the story exists means it's at least plausible.
American Son represents the beginnings of Fil-Am literature in the U.S.—and it deserves attention for that reason alone. Alongside films like The Debut, which also centers on a Fil-Am character ashamed of his roots, it paints a picture of a generation wrestling with dual identities. I just hope that shame is not the defining theme of Fil-Am culture. Because there is absolutely nothing shameful about being Filipino.
There’s much to love, respect, and celebrate in our heritage. I hope future writers will show that side too.
Next up for review: When the Elephants Dance by Tess Uriza Holthe. Stay tuned.
2025-07-18 01:55:58
bookreviews
American Son by Brian Ascalon Roley
Well, here I go again—disturbing your feed with another one of my “book reviews.” I put that in quotes because I don’t follow traditional formats. I write based on how a book makes me feel, not by dissecting its structure, prose, or form. I recently shared a version of this review on the FLIPS forum and received one thoughtful response. I wish I could post that reply here, but it’s increasingly difficult these days to share articles due to copyright concerns. So this space remains a one-man show.
Reading American Son made me realize just how little I truly understand Filipino-American (Fil-Am) culture, especially from the perspective of bi-racial children raised in the United States. As a native Filipino who immigrated as an adult, I’ve never experienced their kind of identity struggles. Their cultural confusion, pain, and longing are different from mine.
So I ask you, dear reader: please don’t judge this book solely through the lens of my emotional reaction. American Son is a powerful book. Make no mistake about that. It opens a window into the minds of our Fil-Am youth—at least some of them—and that alone makes it worth reading. I would deeply appreciate hearing your reactions too. It’s through shared dialogue that we begin to understand each other better.
As for the idea of a “correct” book review—I don’t believe in that. Reviewing a book is like responding to art: it’s deeply personal, subjective, and driven by emotion more than rules.
My Personal Take
Christmas is around the corner. And perhaps surprisingly, I’m enjoying the season more these days. Middle age has made me more forgiving of quirks, more grounded in who I am. I now write freely, uncaring of whether people read or applaud. I’ve learned to say “no,” to let go, to pursue my freedom, to value my individuality. Maybe I’m becoming more “American”—but then again, values like freedom and individualism aren’t just American; they’re also Filipino, and ultimately universal.
These days, I divide my time between web design and reading fiction. I recently finished American Son and am halfway through Holthe’s When the Elephants Dance. I’m also enjoying Anne Rice’s Blackwood Farm.
American Son is written in a simple, direct style. But I struggled with it—particularly with the portrayal of the Filipino mother. She’s depicted as painfully naïve and submissive, to the point of absurdity. I haven’t encountered a single Filipino mother like that in my decades in America. The mothers I know—whether immigrants or long-settled—are strong, sharp, and fiercely protective of their children.
I get that fiction reflects reality as perceived, and that some Fil-Am writers may carry shame or unresolved tensions about their roots. But I do wish there was more effort to portray Filipino characters with dignity and complexity, rather than to pander to what American readers might expect. There’s a risk in reinforcing stereotypes just to sell stories or validate inner conflict.
For instance, a Filipina character with a background from Forbes Park being mistaken for a maid? That’s hard to swallow. And when that same character bows her head in silent humiliation while being screamed at by an American woman? I had to put the book down and mutter, “Come on now.” The Filipino mothers I know wouldn’t take that kind of treatment without standing up for themselves—or their children.
Of course, I recognize this is fiction. And good fiction doesn’t always depict ideal scenarios—it often exposes painful truths or uncomfortable possibilities. But it’s also important to distinguish between presenting a reality and promoting a caricature.
Reading American Son made me uneasy. Maybe because I’m a native Filipino, and I couldn’t relate to the world it portrayed. I had several moments where I just shook my head and muttered, “This couldn’t happen,” or “Really?”
But stepping back, I tried to read it through a different lens: that of an American-born reader. Viewed this way, the novel becomes a coming-of-age story—a tale about an American teenager trying to define himself in a fractured world. Unfortunately, the journey ends violently, almost like a scene out of a vigilante movie. I worry that this is not the path we want for our Fil-Am youth, but the fact that the story exists means it's at least plausible.
American Son represents the beginnings of Fil-Am literature in the U.S.—and it deserves attention for that reason alone. Alongside films like The Debut, which also centers on a Fil-Am character ashamed of his roots, it paints a picture of a generation wrestling with dual identities. I just hope that shame is not the defining theme of Fil-Am culture. Because there is absolutely nothing shameful about being Filipino.
There’s much to love, respect, and celebrate in our heritage. I hope future writers will show that side too.
Next up for review: When the Elephants Dance by Tess Uriza Holthe. Stay tuned.
2025-07-18 01:55:58
bookreviews