Celebrating a Literary Luminary: Gregorio Brillantes and His Unforgettable Legacy
Oh, my darlings, there are some losses that just hit different, aren’t there? The news that reached us from San Francisco, USA, about the passing of Gregorio Brillantes last Friday, September 26, at the grand age of 92, truly sent a ripple through the literary world, and certainly through my heart. He was often described, beautifully and simply, as a “Catholic writer.” But trust me, he was so much more than just a label.
My dear friend and former colleague, Juaniyo Arcellana, who has always had a way with words, didn’t mince them when he called Greg the country’s most Catholic of writers.
And di ba, he really hit the nail on the head? It affirmed what many of us who admired Greg profoundly believed in our souls: this man should have been named National Artist for Literature decades ago. It’s a sentiment that resonates deeply, even now.
The Enigma of the “Catholic Writer”: A Deeper Look
Juaniyo penned something truly poignant last year when The Collected Stories of Gregorio C. Brillantes finally graced our bookshelves. He questioned, and rightfully so, For a country that prides itself with being the last bastion of Catholicism in Asia, it’s a mystery why the prime literary prize has not been bestowed on its most Catholic of writers.
Isn’t that a rhetorical question that makes you pause and really think?
Greg once gifted a book to someone, writing in the dedication, Best wishes in this life and hereafter.
The book? What Is God Like?, written by a Jesuit, which Greg himself hailed as one of the best books on the subject.
Talk about classic Greg! When Melanie, another dear friend, and I chatted about his passing, she perfectly summed it up: How very Greg.
But she also raised a brilliant point, one I wholeheartedly agreed with: But I don’t think he proselytized in his work — di ba (isn’t it)?
And she was right. His faith wasn’t a hammer; it was a gentle, guiding light.
Melanie reminded me of a feature Greg wrote for Midweek about Saint Bernadette Soubirous. And that’s when it clicked for me. Being a “Catholic writer” for Greg wasn’t about preaching. It was about exploring the profound Catholic themes that transcend religion itself: compassion, empathy, and social justice. It was about seeing the divine in the everyday human experience, the quiet struggles, and the soaring hopes.
Beyond the Altar: Gregorio Brillantes and the Pulse of the Philippines
Now, while you wouldn’t typically label Greg as a “political writer,” to box him in like that would be a disservice to his genius. His stories, though not overtly partisan, took on and engaged with the political and social realities of his time with a subtle yet potent power. In many ways, his political insights were deeper, more nuanced, and infinitely more compelling than those of writers who were louder, more openly political.
Take, for instance, “The Flood in Tarlac.” It’s a haunting narrative that plunges into the dark waters of feudal violence, a stark reflection of our own societal woes. And then there’s “The Apollo Centennial,” set in the far-off year of 2069, complete with high-tech weapons and flying saucers. But don’t mistake it for just another science fiction romp! This story was a chilling exploration of a terrifying future, born from a very real fear many of us harbored in the 1980s: the dreaded thought that the Marcos dictatorship might just last forever. It was a mirror, reflecting our collective anxieties and resilience, wrapped in a futuristic guise.
The Gentle Giant: Remembering Greg, the Person
Beyond his formidable writing, what kind of man was Greg? Melanie’s words paint a beautiful picture. He was fun to be with,
she recalled, a warmth in her voice. He was not boisterous and didn’t joke like Nick Joaquin — iyong bumabangka ika nga (who would make a splash, as they say) — but he was fun.
It speaks volumes about his quiet charm and genuine presence.
I remember a particular anecdote from Melanie, back in 1990. She invited our staff to her oldest son’s baptism party at their home in Quezon City. Guess who was the only one who showed up? Our very own Greg! I was really surprised that he made it a point to come,
Melanie shared, still touched by the memory. He was game, chatting with Collegian (the UP student newspaper) and college barkada (friends) who were then ‘young’ and ‘aspiring’ writers compared to someone of his stature then.
Imagine that – a literary giant, humble and approachable, engaging with wide-eyed young writers. It’s a testament to his character, a reminder that true greatness often comes with genuine humility.
A Call to Action: National Artist for Literature!
With his passing, the chorus of voices advocating for Greg to be named National Artist for Literature grows louder, more urgent. It is, quite simply, long overdue. Ateneo Press did our country an immense favor last year by publishing The Collected Stories of Gregorio C. Brillantes. It’s a treasure trove that allows new generations to discover his brilliance and reminds us of the profound impact he had on Philippine letters.
I had secretly hoped to find a new foreword by Greg in the collected stories, a fresh glimpse into his mind. But perhaps, by then, he was already too frail to pen one. He did, however, write a moving foreword for his very first short story collection, The Distance to Andromeda and Other Stories, way back in 1960. And oh, what a foreword it was!
My Prized Possession and a Writer’s Reflection
I remember so clearly how surprised, and even amused, Greg was when I proudly showed him my copy of The Distance to Andromeda back in 1987. Of course, I asked him to sign it! It remains one of my most prized possessions today, not just for its literary merit, but for the personal touch he added. And honestly, I still get a kick out of his apparent image of me as some sort of “rabble-rousing radical kid.” He dedicated my copy to a progressive journalist and ideologue who bridges the distances between manifestos and multitudes. Write/Right ON!
How cool is that?
After signing, he didn’t just hand the book back. He reread the preface, a journey back in time, reflecting on his own path as a writer when that collection was first published. The essay began with a profound question: Why do you write?
Greg recalled this being asked by a colegiala (schoolgirl) named Ditas at a party when he was just a teenager, starting his writing career. Later, he learned she had passed away, and that encounter, that simple question, continued to echo in his reflections.
He wrote: These stories which are now to me both familiar and strange like old friends whom one has not seen for a long time… A good record of a young man’s passage through a particular time when girls like Ditas were 18 asking their sudden questions amid the music and the voices, unmindful of the dark outside the indiscriminate and implacable future.
He wrote that essay in his 30s. He reread it in his mid-50s when I stood before him. Before finally returning my book, Greg scribbled another note at the end of that very preface: How true! How true!
A full-circle moment, wouldn’t you say?
Farewell, Pareng Greg: Your Words Live On
Nalulungkot naman ako (I am saddened),
Melanie confessed, her voice tinged with grief. I should offer mass for him.
She then looked at the book Greg had given her, the one about what God is like, and offered a thought that brought a quiet comfort: Now, he will know for himself what God is like.
And so, Paalam at salamat (Farewell and thank you), Pareng Greg. Farewell, and thank you for everything you taught us, for the worlds you opened, and for the wisdom you so generously shared. Your words, like stars, will continue to shine brightly in the firmament of Philippine literature.
Benjamin Pimentel is a writer and journalist based in the San Francisco Bay Area. He is the author of U.G. An Underground Tale: The Life and Struggle of Edgar Jopson.