Soledad

Soledad’s Sister

By: Jose Dalisay

Introduction:

There comes a time is one’s life when reading books spontaneously, just for the heck of it, becomes something of a chore. For some people, it is at an early age when reading is both foreign and difficult. For others, it is a constant part of their academic lives. For me, it started in the last half of my university studies, when I became increasingly preoccupied with catching up with readings and other academic requirements. At that time, I thought I was being conscientious, telling myself that I could learn to love the assigned readings not unlike how I learned to love being around people all the time when I would rather be by myself. Of course, some of them I did love, but not most. I have a feeling that, if these novels and short stories and authors were not in the syllabus, I would have enjoyed perusing them more.

But now is not the time for ifs and might’s. I have realized that most students in my degree program felt this way, have felt this way in the past or are feeling this way now. And it wasn’t just my friends or classmates, lest someone say this weariness for reading is a symptom of laziness in a generation or batch. I remember finally mustering the resolve to read The Hunger Games, a trilogy of post-apocalyptic novels written by Suzanne Collins because of all the hype it was receiving on the internet. I thought it was just another teenaged fantasy-romance. I ended up getting sucked in because it had exceeded these expectations immensely, figuring as a strong successor to books such as Animal Farm and Brave New World. Anyway, I recommended it to an undergrad in my degree program, who promptly wrinkled her nose and said, “’Di ba pang-teen lang ‘yon?” As if studying literature was an excuse for snobbery.

This said, I wasn’t excited to go through Butch Dalisay’s second novel, Soledad’s Sister. It wasn’t because of anything particular such...