Manila Noir Review mentions The Unintended, novel in progress
Bibliolepsy in nyc. This is a different thing I created, mainly about being a Filipino in NY, because nyc fascinates me: the city to me is like a novel in progress. It provokes desire. and ennui. and hunger. and art. and shopping.
Gun Dealers’ Daughter now has the interesting distinction of being picked up by the longstanding neocon journal Commentary early in the summer (its first mention) and by the great radical newsletter, CounterPunch, started by the late great Alexander Cockburn (also of the The Nation). I heart CounterPunch.
Charles R. Larson, emeritus professor of literature at American University, Washington, DC, says of the novel:
“And that complex narration is, in fact, one of the major strengths of this classic example of madness and trauma, repression and guilt. Gina Apostol’s Gun Dealers’ Daughter is a haunting study of misplaced actions by corrupt governments and the naifs who believe they can make them accountable.”
I’d choose it for my playlist, on largeheartedboy (see post below), if I had not been in such a rush to write the piece (because I was packing). Great stuff for Gun Dealer’s Daughter playlist, if only I had remembered. The incident linked to The Jam would be when I was out of school and had no work, no apartment and was looking for a job, and a friend from the movement said, we have an apartment, we have room, stay with us for a while, and I did. It was a nice, lovely place in Quezon City, close to Diliman. Very burgis, no rats, haha, I would never have been able to afford it, and no one ever asked me for rent; I just helped with the chores, helping out with another housemate, who it turns out was pregnant. Another of my Kalayaan (freshman dorm) friends. I think we were 20 or 21 at the time. Anyway, turns out, her lover was underground, and he’d come up from the hills to visit her every so often. I’d just stay away and go out to parties when he was around, to give them privacy—I’d go dancing to The Jam or similar ilk. I told this story recently to my friends from those days and they said, OMG, Gina, I can’t believe you were living in Blabla’s safe house! I said, no I wasn’t. Yes, you were, you were living in a UG safe house. Oh my god. I realized more than 2 decades after, I was living in a goddamned UG safe house, and I had no clue. No wonder they never asked for rent. So that’s my playlist anecdote—there I was, dancing to The Jam while the guy who had actually gone underground got it on above ground. Yeah. “Going underground! But I don’t care what society thinks, going underground!” Oh, the 80s. I’m so ignorant.