The Philippine Online Chronicles

I’ve always felt it was strange that there is such an abundance of horror stories (or at least horror story anthologies) that use ghosts as the element intended to strike fear into the heart of the reader. While the Philippines, as with most other cultures, certainly has its share of urban legends involving restless shades and malevolent mansions, most of these stories are given only the slightest veneer of fact: the storyteller heard it from an acquaintance, or a friend-of-a-friend-of-an-in-law, or it’s simply circulated for years in a particular school or area. But when the tales shift to those experienced by the immediate family of the storyteller, or by the storyteller him/herself, the tales that are told take on a different tenor.

Visit most any wake in the country, and you’ll realize that many of the bereaved not only treat ghostly visitations (or instances of pagparamdam on the part of the deceased) not only as expected phenomenon, but as a desirable experience—it’s not uncommon for ill feeling to arise if one of the family is favored with such a communication from beyond the veil, while another is not. When relating personal experiences of encounters with loved ones who have passed on, the stories are not those of horror, but rather of comfort and of nostalgia, of gratitude and of home. This is the sort of story which J. Torres and Elbert Or present to us in Lola: a Ghost Story, the story of a young Filipino, raised in Canada, who must return to his home province in the Philippines upon the death of his grandmother.

Published by Oni Press, a respected American comic book/graphic novel publisher (their most recent success being the terrific Scott Pilgrim series), Lola is distributed worldwide and will likely be read by audiences from one of two distinct contexts: those familiar with the Philippines and its mythology, and those who are not. For the sake of the latter, terms such as lola, lechon, kuyaand (appropriately) bulaga are explained, whether in parenthetical captions or within the narrative itself. Other than these terms, the rest of the comic is in English, even the dialogue, which avoid the sometimes jarring and confusing effect of switching between complete English and Filipino sentences. Creatures of Philippine mythology are also defined when they make their appearances, with stalwarts such as the kapre, tiyana kand manananggal popping up (only the tikbalang is missing from the usual fare), and giving those unfamiliar with Filipino culture a glimpse at our rather unique population of the supernatural.

While such creatures may be nothing new or notable to Filipino readers with more than a basic knowledge of our folklore, but that is precisely because the appeal of Lola to that section of the market is not found in how well it renders the new, but in how accurately it portrays  the familiar. Given the number of Filipinos now working for major international comics publishers, it’s not surprising that the country and its people have made frequent cameo appearances in comics like Iron Man and Secret Invasion, but—while not on the level of a Marvel or DC comics release—Lola represents the first internationally published/distributed comic book that is not only set in the Philippines, but is about the Philippines.The creators, J. Torres and Elbert Or, are two of the most skilled Filipinos working in the comics industry today (Torres was nominated for the prestigious Eisner award), and in their careful (if simplified) reconstruction of a archetypical Philippine province, they capture the little details that conjure a sense of familiarity in the Filipino reader (even a city mouse like me): the mosquito bites; the sad-happy wakes;the hollow block walls and corrugated metal awnings; the way Roman Catholicism has seeped into every aspect of our daily lives,even infiltrating our pre-Hispanic folklore. Torres is particularly adept in evoking the silence—both that of the countryside and that of inarticulate emotion—with many panels free of any dialogue or exposition. (The translations of Filipino terms are also clumped together in an early part of the book, subtly emphasizing the culture shock of the protagonist.) In the absence of words, Or’s sepia toned artwork (well received by critics) is able to speak loud and clear, with facial expressions (though some reviewers aren’t as happy with those as I am), creative paneling, and light-shadow contrasts conveying both strength and confusion of emotion. (Credit must also go to Jonas Diego and Robo Monkey Pixel Fighters for his assistance with inks and toning.)

(Warning: Spoiler Alert)

My only real issue with the work was the ending, which seemed to barter resolution and completion in favor of shock value and ambiguity. While there was sufficient foreshadowing to explain the last page phenomenon within the context of the character of the protagonist, it is in such stark contrast with the texture and format of the rest of the book that it left me mystified. While there is certainly a school of thought which prefers an open-ended story to the sometimes trite resolution where all threads are tied off in a neat package, the ending just did not seem appropriate, especially since the impression given by the packaging and title of the comic is that Lola is a stand alone volume. Note, however, that other reviewers believe that the ending suited the story perfectly.

Concerns with the ending aside, however, Lola is a book worth picking up—even at the rather hefty hardcover price tag. In its tightly crafted art and narrative, it paints a portrait of a setting that has something to offer everyone—for non-Filipinos, a sense of rural life in the Philippines; for Filipinos (in body or in spirit), a taste of home, and of ghosts familiar and well-loved.

Lola is available at Comic Odyssey, Sputnik, and Fully Booked (note that in some branches it is located in the children's graphic novel section, alongside Tintin and Bone comics).

(Image source: Munimunistories.com)