Some Characteristics of Contemporary

Theory
Contemporary Literary Theory is not a single thing but a collection of theoretical
approaches which are marked by a number of premises, although not all of the
theoretical approaches share or agree on all of the them.

1. Meaning is assumed to be created by difference, not by "presence," (that is,

identity with the object of meaning). As the revisionist Freudian Jacques Lacan
remarks, a sign signals the absence of that which it signifies. Signs do not directly
represent the reality to which they refer, but (following the linguistics of Ferdinand de
Saussure) mean by difference from other words in a concept set. All meaning is only
meaning in reference to, and in distinction from, other meanings; there is
no meaning in any stable or absolute sense. Meanings are multiple, changing,
contextual.

2. There is no foundational 'truth' or reality in the universe (as far as we can know)--
no absolutes, no eternalities, no solid ground of truth beneath the shifting sands of
history. There are only local and contingent truths generated by human groups
through their cultural systems in response to their needs for power, survival and
esteem. Consequently, values and identity are cultural constructs, not stable entities.
Even the unconscious is a cultural construct, as Kaja Silverman points out in The
Subject of Semiotics, in that the unconscious is constructed through repression, the
forces of repression are cultural, and what is taboo is culturally formulated.

3. Language is a much more complex, elusive phenomenon than we ordinarily

suspect, and what we take normally to be our meanings are only the surface of a much
more substantial theatre of linguistic, psychic and cultural operations, of which
operations we are not be fully aware. Contemporary theory attempts to explore the
implications (i.e., the inter-foldings, from 'plier', to fold) of levels of meaning in
language.

4. Language itself always has excessive signification, that is, it always means more
than it may be taken to mean in any one context; signification is always 'spilling over',
especially in texts which are designed to release signifying power, as texts which we
call 'literature' are. This excessive signification is created in part by the rhetorical, or
tropic, characteristics of language (a trope is a way of saying something by saying
something else, as in a metaphor, a metonym, or irony), and the case is made by Paul
de Man that there is an inherent opposition (or undecidability, or aporia) between the
grammatical and the rhetorical operations of language.
5. It is language itself, not some essential humanness or timeless truth, that is central
to culture and meaning. Humans 'are' their symbol systems, they are constituted
through them, and those systems and their meanings are contingent, relational,
dynamic.

6. The meaning that appears as normal in our social life masks, through various
means such as omission, displacement, difference, misspeaking and bad faith, the
meaning that is: the world of meaning we think we occupy is not the world we do in
fact occupy. The world we do occupy is a construction of ideology, an imagination of
the way the world is that shapes our world, including our 'selves', for our use.

7. A text is, as the etymology of the word "text" proclaims, a tissue, a woven thing
(L. texere, to weave); it is a tissue woven of former texts, echoes of which it
continually evokes (filiations, these echoes are sometimes called), woven of historical
references and practices, and woven of the play of language. A text is not, and cannot
be, 'only itself', nor can it properly be reified, said to be 'a thing'; a text is a process of
engagements. Literary Theory advocates pushing against the depth, complexity and
indeterminancy of this tissue until not only the full implications of the multiplicities
but the contradictions inevitably inherent in them become more apparent.

8. The borders of literature are challenged by the ideas

a) that all texts share common traits, for instance that they all are
constructed of rhetorical, tropic, linguistic and narrative elements, and

b) that all experience can be viewed as a text: experience insofar as it is

knowable is consequently symbolically configured, and human activity
and even perception is both constructed and known through the
conventions of social practice; hence as a constructed symbolic field
experience is textual.

While on the one hand this blurring of differentiation between 'literature' and other
texts may seem to make literature less privileged, on the other hand it opens those
non-literary (but not non-imaginative, and only problematically non-fictional) texts,
including 'social texts', the grammars and vocabularies of social action and cultural
practice, up to the kind of complex analysis that literature has been opened to.

9. So the nature of language and meaning is seen as more intricate, potentially more
subversive, more deeply embedded in psychic, linguistic and cultural processes, more
areas of experience are seen as textual, and texts are seen as more deeply embedded in
and constitutive of social processes.
None of these ideas shared by contemporary theories are new to the intellectual
traditions of our culture. It appears to many, however, that Literary Theory attacks the
fundamental values of literature and literary study: that it attacks the customary belief
that literature draws on and creates meanings that reflect and affirm our central
(essential, human, lasting) values; that it attacks the privileged meaningfulness of
'literature'; that it attacks the idea that a text is authored, that is, that the authority for
its meaningfulness rests on the activity of an individual; that it attacks the trust that
the text that is read can be identified in its intentions and meanings with the text that
was written; and ultimately that it attacks the very existence of value and meaning
itself, the ground of meaningfulness, rooted in the belief in those transcendent human
values on which humane learning is based.

On the other hand, 'theory people' point out that theory does is not erase literature but
expands the concept of the literary and renews the way texts in all areas of intellectual
disciplines are or can be read; that it explores the full power of meaning and the full
embeddedness of meanings in their historical placement; that it calls for a more
critical, more flexible reading.

It is the case that Literary Theory challenges many fundamental assumptions, that it is
often skeptical in its disposition, and that it can look in practice either destructive of
any value or merely cleverly playful. The issue is whether theory has good reasons for
the questioning of the assumptions, and whether it can lead to practice that is in fact
productive.

ANALYSIS OF THE BLACK CAT By Yeremia

2. Character The unnamed Narrator The narrator has major issues. This unnamed character is an abusive
bully and a murderer. He made home a living hell for his wife, pets, and himself. He's writing to us from
his prison cell, on the eve of his scheduled death by hanging. In addition to the details of his heinous
crimes, he reveals his psychological transformation from nice-guy to villain.

3. The Narrator's Wife The brief outline the narrator provides us of his wife suggests that she is kind,
giving, loyal, and even heroic at the end. The narrator says she has "in a high degree, that humanity of
feeling which had once been [his] distinguishing characteristic." She is a highly sympathetic character, in
her own right. The fact that the narrator abuses her, and her beloved pets, makes her even more
sympathetic, and makes us think that the man is a complete bad guy.

4. Pluto Pluto is fine specimen of a cat. All black, large, fuzzy, and "and sagacious to an astonishing
degree" (4). (Sagacious is a cool word to know. It means extremely wise, intelligent, and perceptive.)
Over the years Pluto moves from a pampered pet to an abused beast. He is blinded and ultimately
murdered by his owner. The narrator might have us believe that he is actually a witch in disguise.
5. The Other Cat The second black cat looks almost exactly like Pluto. He's big, black, and missing an eye.
The only difference is the white spot. The spot starts off innocently enough, but then grows into an
image of the gallows, if the narrator can be believed.

6. The Policemen Generic characters, without defining characteristics, other than the fact that they are
policeman.

7. Setting The story is written from the narrator's jail cell, highlighting the theme of "Freedom and
Confinement." The narrator writes from a space of confinement, and detailing the events that led him to
prison is one of the few freedoms he has left. This tension between freedom and confinement is
repeated throughout the story, and is particularly intense when we look at some other aspects of the
setting.

8. After the narrator's house burns down, we learn that he and his wife were wealthy people, before
they lost everything in the fire. In the 1840s, when this story was written, people didn't rely on banks as
much as they do now, and insurance was far less common. It's believable that the man had most of his
wealth stored in the house. Of course, we don't know the source of the wealth, or what, if anything, the
man does for a living. We do know he must have had enough tucked away to set the family up in a new
pad, though the narrator's brief description lets us know that the new house is "old" and not what he
and his wife are used to.

9. Both houses seem like prison cells for everyone involved, especially the man's wife and pets. He
seems free to come and go as he pleases, and do to them what he pleases. In both houses, the most
amount of description is given to the walls.

10. Theme Disturbing physical and psychological transformations – often for the worst – are
characteristic of most horror and Gothic tales. In "The Black Cat" some form of transformation occurs in
nearly every paragraph. For the narrator, these changes are psychological. After he gets married, his
personality spirals deeper and deeper toward the dark side, cruelly abusing his pets and his wife. His
initially happy home life is turned upside down, and everyone involved is adversely affected and
changed for the worse. Like many horror stories, "The Black Cat" also offers the possibility of
supernatural change, though this might just be a figment of his imagination, or an excuse to deflect
blame from his crime.

11. Point of View A "first person" narrator is a narrator who is also a person. You know the narrator is a
person because he or she uses pronouns like "I," and "me." By contrast, a "third person narrator" is not
a definite person, but usually a disembodied voice of unknown origin. So, the unnamed narrator of "The
Black Cat" is obviously a "first person" narrator. He's a "central narrator" because he's talking about
things that he did or things that happened to him, rather than things he watched, or heard about.

12. PLOT Initial Situation The first thing we learn is that the nameless narrator is going to die the next
day, and that he wants to write his story, which will be ugly. This story, the narrator says, is going to be
about some things that happened to him at home. The "consequences" of what happened "have
terrified – have tortured – have destroyed" him (1). We don't yet know why he's going to die the
following day, or where exactly he is.

13. Conflict The narrator tells us that as a kid the he was a kind, sensitive animal lover. We also learn
that he and his wife had had "birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat" (3). The cat,
of course, is Pluto. The conflict begins to unfold when the man describes the way his personality
changed for the worse when he started drinking heavily, several years after Pluto became his pet. The
conflict is within the narrator's home, between himself and his wife and pets, who he begins to abuse,
physically and verbally, except for Pluto.

14. Complication When the narrator turns on Pluto, he doesn't do it halfway. First he cuts the cat's eye
out, and then he hangs him from the tree in his garden – leaving the body there when he goes to sleep.
This definitely complicates things for the narrator. He is now a cat murderer, and his once happy home
seems to be more and more nightmarish, especially for the other characters.

15. Climax Somehow, when the narrator goes to sleep that night (after murdering Pluto in the morning)
his house catches on fire. Someone (it's never revealed who) wakes him from his sleep with a warning,
just in time. The narrator, his wife, and "a servant" escape the flames. All the family's financial security
goes up in smoke. Presumably, the birds, gold-fish, […] fine dog, rabbits, [and] small monkey perish in
the flames, though the narrator never mentions them again (3). The climax propels this desperate family
into poverty and into changing residences.

16. Suspense As we discuss in "What's Up with the Title?" we can think of the second cat as either a
modified version of Pluto, or a completely different cat. In any case, the arrival of the second cat marks
the halfway point in this story. It is suspenseful precisely because we aren't sure what the second cat is.
If the narrator can be believed, the cat is not only missing an eye, like Pluto, but also grows an image of
a gallows on his chest (a "gallows" is an apparatus used for hanging people). The cat also seriously gets
on the narrator's nerves. We might see the cat as affectionate, and desperate for affection, but the
narrator sees him as executing some awful plot against him. In the stage we see the narrator getting
worse and worse. And we learn that the narrator is writing from a "felon's cell" (20). Waiting to see what
lands him in jail adds another layer of suspense to the story.

17. Denouement During that fateful trip to the cellar of the family's new residence (an "old building")
the narrator tries to kill the cat with his axe. When his wife intervenes, the axe is turned on her. The
narrator thinks he's successfully hidden the body and bluffed the cops. He isn't upset about killing his
wife, and is happy he has managed to make the cat run away.

18. Conclusion In the conclusion, the cat reappears, and the murder is discovered. The man seems
convinced that the cat exposed him on purpose. The description of the cat's "voice" coming from inside
the wall suggests that if the cat did intentionally allow himself to be walled up, in order to expose the
man, he paid an awful price for it.
 How My Brother Leon
Brought Home A Wife
(American Colonial Literature)
By Manuel E. Arguilla

She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace.
She was lovely. SHe was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and
her forehead was on a level with his mouth.

"You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her
nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning
when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high on
her right cheek. "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much." She
held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang
never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth
more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum.

I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his
forehead now."

She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she
came and touched Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never
stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by
she was scratching his forehead very daintily.

My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He
paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan.
Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca
Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its
forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her.

"Maria---" my brother Leon said.

He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had
always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my
mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name.

"Yes, Noel."

Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself,
thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon
said backward and it sounded much better that way.

"There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward

the west.

She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while
she said quietly.

"You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?"

Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino
real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan
whip against the spokes of the wheel.

We stood alone on the roadside.

The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was
wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the
Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us
the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red
and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang's white coat,
which I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened
like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with
fire.

He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the
earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a
cow lowed softly in answer.

"Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she
laughed with him a big uncertainly, and I saw that he had put his arm around
her shoulders.

"Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it."

"There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another
bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him."

She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across
Labang's neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very
white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high
up on her right cheek.

"If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him
or become greatly jealous."

My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and
it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them.

I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he
was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and
would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several
times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the
cart, placing the smaller on top.

She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to
my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she
had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly
dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running
away.

"Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay
and hold on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand
labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to
the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the
back of labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the
wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears.

She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her
skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were
visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair.
When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt
on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely
shuffling along, then I made him turn around.

"What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said.

I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and
away we went---back to where I had unhitched and waited for them. The sun
had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows
were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many
slow fires.

When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of
the Waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season,
my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly:

"Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?"

His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word
until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig.

"Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do
you follow the Wait instead of the camino real?"

His fingers bit into my shoulder.

"Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong."

Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of
Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still,
he said:

"And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us
with him instead of with Castano and the calesa."

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do
you think Father should do that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you
ever seen so many stars before?"

I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks,
hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of
the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows
had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim,
grayish blur. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The
thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth
mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air
and of the hay inside the cart.

"Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her
voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was
the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky.

"I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said. "Do you remember how I
would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to
Nagrebcan?"

"Yes, Noel," she said. "Look at it," she murmured, half to herself. "It is so many
times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach."

"The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke."

"So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath.

"Making fun of me, Maria?"

She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's
hand and put it against her face.

I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the
cart between the wheels.

"Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and
my heart sant.
Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi
and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead,
the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed
drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart.

"Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked.

"Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him."

"I am asking you, Baldo," she said.

Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly:

"Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is
home---Manong."

"So near already."

I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone
of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone
out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not
saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky
Sown with Stars'---the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the
fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the
song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle
stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big
rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on,
until, laughing softly, she would join him again.

Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the
wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his
steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low
dikes.

"But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and
scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though
indistinctly.
"You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?"
My brother Leon stopped singing.

"Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here."

With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He
was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired. In a little while
we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real.

"---you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the camino real curves around
the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through
the fields because---but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home."

"Noel," she said.

"Yes, Maria."

"I am afraid. He may not like me."

"Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said. "From the way you
talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was
wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered,
gentlest man I know."

We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but
Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with
the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home
and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said
"Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother
Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and
then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the
wheels.

I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down
but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned
Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would
crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time.
There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway,
and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over
the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's
hand were:

"Father... where is he?"

"He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg
is bothering him again."

I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch
Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me.
I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the
kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to
me they were crying, all of them.

There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the
big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He
was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he
saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking.

"Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked.

"No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night."

He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair.

"She is very beautiful, Father."

"Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room
seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving
horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders.

"No, Father, she was not afraid."

"On the way---"

"She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang."

"What did he sing?"

"---Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him."

He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister
Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I
thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He
had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke
waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night
outside.

The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in.

"Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me.

I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn.

"It is time you watered him, my son," my father said.

I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon,
she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the
fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

A Literary Analysis on Manuel E. Arguilla’s

Short Story and Wilfrido Ma. Guererro’s
One Act Play
Posted by Dats on April 10, 2016April 10, 2016
Introduction
We know for the fact that short stories and one-act plays were the fully developed forms of
Literature during the Colonial Period (American Occupation). The short story was to be the
showcase for the skill and art of Filipino writers using English. One of the finest short story
writers during this period was Manuel E. Arguilla (1910-1944) who also covered a broad range
of subject matters and themes drawn from the experiences of Filipinos living in the 1930s. The
sarsuwela was replaced by one-act plays in 1930s. One-act plays which were written by the
students were staged. Wilfrido Ma. Guerrero (1917-1995) was the most prolific of the Filipino
playwrights using English as medium of expression (Lumbera B. and Lumbera C., 2005). In this
period, the English language was used as the medium of instruction in all Philippine schools
because of the imposition brought by the Americans. English opened the floodgates of colonial
values through phonograph records, textbooks, and magazines originally intended for American
children which influenced young Filipinos. There was an establishment of public school system
which marked the beginning of Philippine writing in English. It is said that the University of the
Philippines was founded in 1908 in order to train young Filipinos for tasks in colonial
bureaucracy (Lumbera B. and Lumbera C., 2005). Indeed, there was a spread of American
culture happened during this period. The American style of writing and its subject matters were
incorporated, adapted, and imitated by the Filipino writers. As a result, Philippine literature
became international.
I want to discuss Manuel E. Arguilla’s short story entitled “How My Brother Leon Brought Home
a Wife” and Wilfrido Ma. Guerrero’s one-act play entitled “Wanted: A Chaperon” for this literary
analysis. I have chosen these works because I find them interesting. These two works are
interesting because they give the readers meaningful and moral lessons in life. Even though we
have already discussed these in high school and in college, it seems that the lessons from these
stories are truly unforgettable and valuable.
In order for me to discuss these topics, various methods or literary theories will be used. First, I
will use Formalism which serves as the starting point for the analysis and discussion. The
analysis will also use Marxism to further discuss the chosen topics. I will begin with Arguilla’s
“How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife”. This is to be followed by Guerrero’s one-act play
“Wanted: A Chaperon”. After which, will be the analysis of their similarity and differences.
Analysis and Discussions
The story “How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife” was set during the 1930s in Nagrebcan,
Bauang La Union. The place is a province and we know that the people who are living there
would most likely be the farmers. The story is told in the 1st person point of view and this
narrator is Baldo, the younger brother of Leon. His older brother is Noel but named by Maria as
Leon. As what Baldo realized: “But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and
it sounded much better that way.” Another major character found in the story is Maria who is the
wife of Leon. For Baldo, her name is “sosyal” and it is obvious that she comes from a city.
The conflict shown in the story is centered between Maria and herself, as well as the society by
which Baldo and Leon lived in. We know that Maria is from a city while her husband Leon is
from a province. Maria is concerned if she’s going to be accepted or not by Leon’s family despite
of her social status. She was even tested if she is worthy to be the wife of Leon. This was seen
when Baldo ignored his older brother’s question about why did they have to go to Waig instead
of Camino Real.
I think Maria is a good character in the story. I like Maria not because she’s kind and lovely, but
because she is not the typical “matapobre” as seen in the story. She is indeed a sympathetic
woman. In fact, Maria was a bit anxious because of meeting Leon and Baldo’s parents for the
first time. Maria is worried that she will not be accepted by Leon’s father because she may not
able to adapt their way of living in the province. However, on their way home, she discovered
the differences of the life of the people lived there and the life in the city where she met and fell
in love with Leon. We can see Maria’s response when Leon asked her: “You miss the houses, and
the cars, and the people and the noise, don’t you?” My brother Leon stopped singing. “Yes, but
in a different way. I am glad they are not here.” I appreciate her the most simply because she
accepted and respected Leon for what he really is. She didn’t care what Leon’s life back in
Nagrebcan. She was a supportive and a loving wife to Leon. She was so endearing and kind-
hearted lady. She was very keen to meet Leon’s family. It is somewhat discouraging that the rural
is different from the city but the closer they get to the house, Maria still managed to overcome
any trials. She admits for having some fear, but she also shows clearly it did not stop her. I
believe that social status is not a hindrance if you truly love each other.
The first theme of this story is that no matter what it takes to be with the one you love, you will
do anything to be with that person. I know that having a long and strong relationship with the
person you love is seldom nowadays. People tend to love one another at first but eventually end
up being bitter. Well, that kind of relationship is not a true love after all. If I’m going to apply
this significant theme or message to the life of Filipinos then it can be said that as Filipinos, we
are very emotional when we think of true love. We also care about true love. There are Filipinos
who turn to sacrifice and endure things just to be happy. If you are sacrificing it truly means that
you value and you truly love this person (Adofina et al., 2013). In the story, we can see that
Maria will sacrifice anything just to be happy with Leon, her only love. I can say that this love is
true and genuine. This kind of love then is truly authentic.
Another theme that is portrayed in the story is the saying that “Don’t judge the book by its cover.”
Baldo, when he first saw Maria, was surprised to see that his brother Leon accompanied a
woman who is different from them because of her name, as well as lovely and beautiful
appearance. He said to himself that: “He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew
then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind
I said ‘Maria’ and it was a beautiful name.” It is then obvious for Baldo that Maria came from a
city. As a person living in a province, he has already the belief that people like Maria doesn’t
belong to them and is impossible to adapt their way of living in the province. But despite of the
test ordered by his father, Baldo somehow realized that Maria is also a friend and should be
treated like them knowing that she proved worthy of it.
We can also see Filipino values or traits that are revealed within the story. One trait is the goal to
obtain one’s trust most especially when you want your parents to have a permission to marry
your chosen loved one. Filipino parents are very hard to impress. It is hard to get their trust as
well. But what Maria did in the test that the father of Baldo and Leon gave to her proved that she
really deserved and love Leon. She will sacrifice anything to be happy and be with her only love.
Another value that is revealed within the story is living a life of contentment. Filipinos who live
in the province are very well known to be simple yet they are contented for what they have. They
are happy with small things and appreciate what they have and how they live life.
The one-act play “Wanted: A Chaperon” was set in the living room which was simply furnished
one Sunday morning, at about eleven. It is a comedy. The story is told in the 3rd person point of
view. The characters involved in this play were Don Francisco the father, Doña Petra the mother,
Nena their daughter, Roberting their son, Doña Dolores, Fred her son, Francisco a.k.a. “Francis”
the servant, and Pablo the mayordomo. The play was written in a way that is simple, usual, and
humorous.
The play is all about the traditional way of courting and accompanying women on a party and in
other occasions which means that the portrayal of old customs are seen in that play. Don
Francisco is so strict not just with Roberting during the money conversation, but also with his
daughter Nena because he doesn’t want Nena to go on a party or in any occasions unchaperoned
most especially she’s a lady. We can see this when Don Francisco had a conversation with his
son Roberting: “You young modern people. Do you realize that in my time when I was courting
your mother, her father, her mother, her three sisters, her young brother, her grandmother, five
first cousins and two distant relatives sat in the sala with us?” He also added the reason of what
he said about courting: “Because in those days we were more careful about a woman’s
reputation.” One night, Nena goes out with Fred, her friend. Unfortunately, rumors right after
their date were spread. Many people think that something bad is happened to the two of them.
And for the townspeople, it’s inevitable. Until Doña Dolores, mother of Fred, goes to the house
of Don Francisco insisting that something happened between his son and Nena. It is Doña
Dolores’ plan to insist his son Fred to Nena but nothing really happened in fact. The same
situation is happened to Don Francisco’s son Roberting at the end of the play. So to avoid these
issues Don Francisco and Doña Dolores look for chaperons for their children to guide them
instead of the muchacho (servant) (Casuyon, 2011).
The writer poked fun at middle-class characters grappling with the problem of Americanization
(Lumbera B. and Lumbera C., 2005). To use a Marxism approach for this play, we can see how
Don Francisco wanted to call himself as someone who is high than their servant Francisco. He
even changed Francisco’s name into Francis to avoid confusion. Francis often gets into trouble
and that’s why he was being yelled by Don Francisco.
The message or the theme of the play is that our traditional culture, customs, and ways of living
must always be alive in our heart knowing that these are now fading most especially in the
technological age by which we are living in. We have been adopting other countries’ cultures or
activities that we are not open to our own culture. Don Francisco said that: “Outward things
change, like the styles of women’s dresses and men’s ties, but the human heart remains the
same.” I think the play is a best example on how we should live our life with our own. That is
why there is a saying in Filipino that says: “Dapat nating mahalin ang sariling atin.” We should
then live life in accordance to our original beliefs that our ancestors wants these teachings to be a
mark for us Filipinos.
Another theme in the play is the giving of importance to the reputation of women. As we all
know, most young women nowadays are getting too liberated. They are liberated in terms of their
sexual behaviors or clothing ways that men would easily tempted to them. As a result, they’ll end
up being harassed or raped. They’ll also end up being pregnant in an early age which can also
lead to abortion. However, the play only reminds us that young women should behave in their
daily living. It’s important for them not to be influenced too much by the other cultures most
especially some Westerners and Americans who are sexually liberated. Filipino young women
from the past used to be conservative and modest. They were accompanied and courted by their
parents or relatives whenever they have occasions. We all know, for some reason, that women are
treated equally. But they should also learn and strive to live life carefully and wisely most
especially in the present time.
Also, there are people who tend to be so judgmental nowadays. They easily give comments and
opinions to other people without certain evidences. They are gossipers who make the issues very
complicated (Casuyon, 2011). I think, we have to get rid of this unpleasant attitude as well
because this would definitely causes a lot of trouble.
Now, we can see clearly the differences between the two works above. In terms of their
similarity, Arguilla’s short story and Guererro’s play portrayed the socio-economic problems in
Philippine society. The characters think that social status really defines them. We can see that
Maria is from a city while her husband Leon is from a province. Maria is concerned if she’s
going to be accepted or not by Leon’s family despite of her social status. We can also see that
Don Francisco thinks himself as high than their servant Francisco by treating him immorally. He
has a conflict with that kind of situation.
Conclusions and Insights
The two works are very good pieces because of the elements of fiction used and the way these
stories were defamiliarized. These works are great because of the subject matters and styles of
writing used by outstanding writers and playwrights during the time of American Colonial
period. I can say that we should learn to make a difference in our lives because having a chance
is the greatest gift we can receive. Don’t let things like social status defines us. We should learn
to be sympathetic and understanding persons to others, be able to adopt our old ways of living at
least, be happy, and be wise. In these ways, we can live life meaningfully.