Cebu City — circa 2025

• Title: Po-on/Dusk
• Series: The Rosales Saga (Book 1)
• Author: F. Sionil Jose
• Language: English
• Publication date: 1984
• Page count: 231
• Place: Ilocos, Philippines
• Time: Late 19th century (Spanish colonial period)
• Historical Context: Decline of Spanish rule; pre-Revolutionary Philippines
• Verdict: Highly recommended
• Bought from: Lost Books Cafe, Cebu

The late F. Sionil José left us with a wealth of literature that demands to be read. I’m glad I finally did.

You may know him as that controversial old man who supported Duterte’s brutal crusade against drugs or as the writer who criticized Maria Ressa’s Nobel Prize win. Understandably, many have chosen to avoid his works because of that.

But as someone who avoided Filipiniana for the longest time—fearing boredom and harboring prejudice against our own writers (thanks to TV teleseryes)—I went in blind and came out in love. Po-on is a novel filled with unexpected action, the kind that makes the heart race and the mind engage.

Words can hardly capture the hours of delight this book has gifted me—the emotional ebb and flow I felt following Istak and his kin as they journeyed from Ilocos to Pangasinan through the dusty roads, plains, mountains, jungles, and rivers of Hispanic Philippines.

The novel is set sometime after the GomBurZa execution. A single act of aggression early in the story sets off a chain of events that shape the rest of the novel. It excites yet is never predictable—imaginative but still grounded—unlike the formulaic drivel that clogs much of our modern Philippine entertainment.

Beyond its narrative energy, Po-on is also a meditation on what it means to be Filipino during the birth of our nation. It is a record of the struggles endured by our ancestors—their relation to the land and their simple aspiration to till it and enjoy the fruits of their labor: the Filipino dream. In my opinion, Po-on stands equal to—if not greater than—Rizal’s two novels. I dare say it’s a must-read for every Filipino.

There was one chapter that felt like a separate and stand-alone short story. It told of the wanderings of Istak’s younger brother, and as I was reading it, it felt like a horror story. Like most horror tales, I was certain it wouldn’t end well. The way F. Sionil José narrated it carried all the hallmarks of the genre: the brother’s naivete, his uncertainty as he followed men he barely knew, and the early foreshadowing about the savages of the Cordilleras, who shrank the heads of the men they hunted and displayed them with pride. This part of the novel thrilled me; it felt like a break in the middle of the story—an eerie, well-deserved breather. It also made me want to read more about the lore and tales from the Cordilleras; the history and landscapes of that place would surely make a great novel.

There’s a quote later in the novel that jumped out at me. It reads: “...a nation which has people who can think, that nation already has strength. It is the mind which rules...” But seeing how the Philippines has turned out—held hostage by political dynasties, the modern masters, would-be “nobility,” untouchables, nepo babies, clowns, shameless thieves, and swine running the government, voted in by people who, truth be told, seemingly don’t think—you begin to understand old Sionil José’s later frustration and disillusionment. Perhaps he once believed Duterte’s promised “cure” could save us. It did not.

If, because of this, you’ve never read him—or still refuse to—you’re missing out on a vast body of stories deeply rooted in our national soul, spanning generations of our history. They read like the country’s own diary, our collective memory told by one of the nation’s finest writers. And Po-on is where that diary begins.

As for Filipiniana, this book decisively popped my cherry—legs open, eyes dazed, toes curled, mouth gaping, lips wet, dripping, throbbing, longing for more.

I’m still breathless—yet aching for another round. Mass, may you not disappoint.