Around six years ago, Lakan Umali was featured in the fourth anniversary issue of Scout Magazine, alongside the likes of artists Donny Pangilinan and UNIQUE, photographer JL Javier, and fashion designer RJ Santos, touted as “leaders of the new cool,” who “challenge convention in hopes of foreseeing a future unrestricted and unfiltered.”

Asked about her main goal in life, Umali said “I just really want to teach until I can’t teach. I want to be able to participate in discussions. I want to study history and literature until hopefully they find something I didn’t realize until they teach me. And to write also, of course.” 

Umali seems on track towards the fruition of these intentions, if not already there. Then a substitute instructor at the University of the Philippines Mindanao, she now teaches literature and creative writing at UP Diliman, the state university’s main campus, where she also completed her bachelor’s degree in anthropology. 

Under her belt are recognitions at the 2017 Maningning Miclat Awards and at the inaugural Kokoy F. Guevara Poetry Competition, including publications in SOFTBLOW, Kritika Kultura, Philippine Speculative Fiction Volume 10, and Likhaan: The Journal of Contemporary Philippine Literature.

Umali’s penchant for history and the letters finds another vessel in The Ferdinand Project, her soon-to-debut novel, which copped the Grand Prize, in her first try, at this year’s Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature. The country’s highest literary award hands out the Grand Prize for Novel only every two years.

Developed as part of Umali’s masteral degree, The Ferdinand Project locates its story in Baguio, where the author grew up, tracking the fraught lives of seven children raised to serve the Marcos family. “Ang question doon, ‘kaya mo bang palampasin ang pinanggalingan mo?’” Umali said in a podcast called TALK BAKS! that she’s hosting with community journalist Neil Eco.

The historical novel, in many ways, functions as a continuity of Umali’s active, tireless work — especially now as a member of the Congress of Teachers/Educators for Nationalism and Democracy (CONTEND) — in upholding fundamental human rights and bettering the conditions of the disenfranchised.

“Collaborating with her for the podcast, I get the sense that her work is deeply rooted in her activism and her desire for a better, kinder world,” Eco said of Umali. “She has this ability to reach varied audiences, which I believe is a result of her talent in connecting political topics to personal experiences.”

True to Eco’s words, Umali describes the book as an attempt to imagine worlds beyond, considering the state of present-day Philippines, which is now witnessing an ongoing rift between its two highest leaders and two biggest political dynasties.

“I think that my ultimate goal with this novel is to make readers ask: how did we get here? And how do we make a world that’s better for everyone?” Umali said. 

She continued, “I hope that my novel helps demystify people in power: not just the Marcoses, but really any politician or figure. I think the majority are just petty, squabbling, fallible rich kids whose money and access to several methods of violence accord them an air of invulnerability.” 

Following her win at Palanca, I spoke to the eminent writer about genre, alternatives, and the books she’d like us to read. The conversation has been edited for flow.

Of all genres, why historical fiction?

I chose historical fiction because I wanted to explore a radically different era but still draw comparisons with the present day. I wanted to explore the circumstances and problems that led us to where we are today. It forced me to follow certain historical constraints, which I felt was helpful in letting me imagine scenes and situations which I wouldn’t have otherwise imagined without those constraints.

You said in a previous interview with Altermidya that the book is an attempt to arrive at some form of alternative. What do you make of that struggle towards achieving an alternative, despite the state of the Philippines now?

I think struggling for an alternative is really one of our most urgent tasks for today. I notice that there’s a general pessimism which is settling upon people, especially younger people, which is understandable. They see people like Trump and Marcos Jr. and Duterte rise to the highest positions of power and gain millions of adoring followers, so it’s understandable for young people to think that good behavior and having a decent soul won’t be rewarded.

However, I don’t think this kind of society will last, this world where we reward unfettered greed, accumulation, and hubris. The climate crisis alone will destroy us if we don’t right now think of an alternative way of living.

You grew up in Baguio, which also serves as the setting of the novel. Did you have to visit the city again while writing? And what was it like having to recount a life you used to live?

I spent two years of my childhood in Baguio, and those were some of the best years of my life. I have visited the city occasionally since then. However, I mainly relied on historical sources, like Chiva: A Reader on Ibaloy History and Culture and The Baguio We Know, because I wanted to reconstruct a Baguio during a specific political and social context.

What were the necessary conditions for you to complete the book?

In addition to reading a lot of books on Cordilleran culture (for the historical aspects) and a lot of Latin-American literature (for the sensibility), I needed a lot of pressure to write, because this was my MA thesis and I was already very, very delayed.

Content nowadays is so fast and bite-sized. How do you think that bodes for longform narrative? Can you say that its audience is declining?

I do think that audiences tend to patronize short-form content right now, because of the ease and the accessibility of this kind of content. However, I do think that, when they learn about an interesting book or any other kind of long-form work, audiences will veer towards it. We’re all looking to strengthen our attention spans and expand our minds, especially when we’re exposed to so much fast-food content online.

Does it help that you teach literature at UP Diliman, while working on your own book? If so, what was that experience like?

I think teaching in UP Diliman really gave me the opportunity to work in an environment that actively supports my writing. I don’t just learn from my colleagues, but from my students and from the very vibrant community in the university, which still maintains the level of social concern and engagement that UP is historically known for.

As a follow-up to that, how do you think artificial intelligence factors into the state of literature today, locally or even globally? Do you consider AI as literature?

No.

The book is now under revision. Did you land a publisher yet?

Not yet. I need to focus on editing first!

Any books from local or foreign authors this year that you’d like to recommend?

Gosh. So many. For local, Eliza Victoria, Douglas Candano, John Bengan, Glenn Diaz, Vicente Garcia Groyon, Luna Sicat-Cleto. For foreign, the authors which most influenced this book were Alejo Carpentier, Clarice Lispector, Maria Luisa Bombal, Mariana Enriquez, and other Latin-American masters. – Rappler.com