What do you think?
Rate this book
My Sad Republic
(From back cover)
Winner of the Centennial Literary Prize in 1998, My Sad Republic is a story of love, obsession and loss, set against the epic background of the Philippine revolution against Spain and the Filipino-American War. loosely based on the life of a faith healer who declared a schism from the oppressive Spanish government and proclaimed himself the Pope of the republic, the novel includes a memorable cast of characters: Tomas Agustin, whose ambition to rise in society compels him to fight his own people; Isio, the folk hero who becomes his lifelong nemesis; Asuncion, the woman for whose affestion the two men wage a brutal war; and her son Felipe, who tragically attempts to unite his family and country. Gamalinda takes us to a world of relentless savagery and eerie beauty, seen through the eyes not of victorious colonizers but of the vanquished people who lived through it: people portrayed with humor, sensuality, intelligence and dignity
Winner of the Centennial Literary Prize in 1998, My Sad Republic is a story of love, obsession and loss, set against the epic background of the Philippine revolution against Spain and the Filipino-American War. loosely based on the life of a faith healer who declared a schism from the oppressive Spanish government and proclaimed himself the Pope of the republic, the novel includes a memorable cast of characters: Tomas Agustin, whose ambition to rise in society compels him to fight his own people; Isio, the folk hero who becomes his lifelong nemesis; Asuncion, the woman for whose affestion the two men wage a brutal war; and her son Felipe, who tragically attempts to unite his family and country. Gamalinda takes us to a world of relentless savagery and eerie beauty, seen through the eyes not of victorious colonizers but of the vanquished people who lived through it: people portrayed with humor, sensuality, intelligence and dignity
393 pages
Published January 1, 2000
12 people are currently reading
374 people want to read
About the author
Eric Gamalinda
23 books53 followersBorn and raised in Manila, Eric Gamalinda first published in the Philippines four novels: Planet Waves, Confessions of a Volcano, Empire of Memory, and My Sad Republic; a short story collection, Peripheral Vision; and a collection of poems, Lyrics from a Dead Language. All were written and published in the last decade of the twentieth century to literary acclaim and recognized with National Book Awards and the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards many times over, on top of his nonfiction and plays. His fifth novel, The Descartes Highlands, was shortlisted for the Man Asian Prize. His other US publications include the poetry collections Zero Gravity, winner of the Asian American Literary Prize, and Amigo Warfare; and a short story collection, People are Strange.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
December 1, 2024
Finally, a Filipino novel that tells the Visayan side of the Spanish and American wars. In Manila, war is fought with pen and paper, Mass and lectures. Beyond, it is waged with blood, magic, toil, sex, and dirt. This felt like our version of One Hundred Years of Solitude, our own magical realism masterpiece.
Reading it made me wonder (and as the title suggests), is there any truly happy Filipino story? Everything seems tinged with a wistfulness at best, tragedy at worst. Still, we go on writing, reading, (how Manileño of me) and hoping for our country.
Reading it made me wonder (and as the title suggests), is there any truly happy Filipino story? Everything seems tinged with a wistfulness at best, tragedy at worst. Still, we go on writing, reading, (how Manileño of me) and hoping for our country.
Read
July 29, 2021- I have a very big problem with this book. The way female characters are portrayed in this book is alarmingly sexist. Every woman who is young is depicted as ethereally beautiful and I feel like 80% of the times that a beautiful woman is depicted, there is a sex scene. So yeah women are portrayed as sex objects in this novel. If they aren’t a young and ethereal woman, they’re ugly with bad manners, which is so shallow and two-dimensional. Of course this male author would vilify every woman who isn’t beautiful and use a beautiful woman to act as the hero’s motivation because of the mere fact that she’s beautiful.
- However, I will say that this isn’t the first time a male author has depicted women in their novel in this way. It’s been a problem for many centuries so you can’t really only blame the author. It’s just frustrating to read and demeaning to consume as a woman.
- Put everything aside, Gamalinda captured Filipino magical realism in this novel very well. I feel like Filipino folklore is so rich and interesting and mystical, and it has a distinct essence that distinguishes Filipino culture from other cultures. It was refreshing to view it in a context wherein magic is depicted as reality within a historical fiction novel and I think more Filipino works such as this should be made. But sans the puke-worthy female objectification please.
- So plus point in the message of equality and the subversion of hierarchization in terms of class and race but minus for not including gender equality or just mere respect for women.
- However, I will say that this isn’t the first time a male author has depicted women in their novel in this way. It’s been a problem for many centuries so you can’t really only blame the author. It’s just frustrating to read and demeaning to consume as a woman.
- Put everything aside, Gamalinda captured Filipino magical realism in this novel very well. I feel like Filipino folklore is so rich and interesting and mystical, and it has a distinct essence that distinguishes Filipino culture from other cultures. It was refreshing to view it in a context wherein magic is depicted as reality within a historical fiction novel and I think more Filipino works such as this should be made. But sans the puke-worthy female objectification please.
- So plus point in the message of equality and the subversion of hierarchization in terms of class and race but minus for not including gender equality or just mere respect for women.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 17, 2025
insert hormona lisa aka sadness
November 8, 2023
For a story about revolution, this novel is not very revolutionary. It surprised me to note that this book was first published in 2000, given that the writing style and values are very 1920s.
Exhibit A: This book tells the fictionalized tale of Isio, the sugarcane farmer turned Pope of Negros, during the Philippine Revolution. As expected, it is not fully faithful to the real-life historical figure, who called for the removal of foreigners from Negros. This story's Isio is friendly with the Americans, thinking them a better alternative to the Spaniards. (Reminds me of State of War, which is also American-friendly.)
Exhibit B: Where real-life Isio's revolt ties itself to agrarian reform, this fictional revolt fails to visualize a society in which the land is divided among and managed by natives. The way the hacienda system and farmers' experiences are penned is so superficial that it is hard to buy into the author's idea of uprising, unless the reader is already well-immersed in agriculture and farmers' struggle.
Exhibit C: It puts in place multiple strong male characters (complete with messianic complexes), but falls short in establishing female characters. The main female character, Asuncion, only seems to exist as Isio's love interest and a catalyst of war between him and his lifelong adversary (in the style of The Great Gatsby's Daisy Buchanan.) She and many of the other female characters are written as objects of the male gaze, the young ones made to perform in unnecessary rape and sex scenes and the old ones in religious, ritualistic scenes.
I expected more from this book, since a few have dubbed it the next great Filipino novel, and it was published the year I was born (so I thought it would be a more refreshing take on the revolution.) A sad read for a sad republic, I suppose. If you're wondering when it is best to read this, I'd say monsoon season.
Exhibit A: This book tells the fictionalized tale of Isio, the sugarcane farmer turned Pope of Negros, during the Philippine Revolution. As expected, it is not fully faithful to the real-life historical figure, who called for the removal of foreigners from Negros. This story's Isio is friendly with the Americans, thinking them a better alternative to the Spaniards. (Reminds me of State of War, which is also American-friendly.)
Exhibit B: Where real-life Isio's revolt ties itself to agrarian reform, this fictional revolt fails to visualize a society in which the land is divided among and managed by natives. The way the hacienda system and farmers' experiences are penned is so superficial that it is hard to buy into the author's idea of uprising, unless the reader is already well-immersed in agriculture and farmers' struggle.
Exhibit C: It puts in place multiple strong male characters (complete with messianic complexes), but falls short in establishing female characters. The main female character, Asuncion, only seems to exist as Isio's love interest and a catalyst of war between him and his lifelong adversary (in the style of The Great Gatsby's Daisy Buchanan.) She and many of the other female characters are written as objects of the male gaze, the young ones made to perform in unnecessary rape and sex scenes and the old ones in religious, ritualistic scenes.
I expected more from this book, since a few have dubbed it the next great Filipino novel, and it was published the year I was born (so I thought it would be a more refreshing take on the revolution.) A sad read for a sad republic, I suppose. If you're wondering when it is best to read this, I'd say monsoon season.
June 12, 2025
Triangle of Sadness | My Sad Republic by Eric Gamalinda
20 years before the inception of the Academy Award, the independence of the country was declared. Using the same vantage point, almost a century later, Dolly de Leon starred in the nominated film “Triangle of Sadness.” Almost a century later, we still kneel, beg, and ask for our colonizer’s validation. Such sadness perpetuates within myself for we are not yet truly free from the hands of our colonizer turned allies. Where does our history of sadness even begin?
Gamalinda’s “My Sad Republic” highlights our history of sadness, akin to Marquez’s “Hundred Years.” If it was not such a funny coincidence that both countries were occupied by the Spaniards. But, the novel is far from funny, it is sorrowful. This novel follows Isio, a farmer turned revolutionary leader from the Negros Island, and it chronicles the Negros Revolution during the Spanish era at the turn of the 20th century. However, this is a fictionalized retelling based on notes and research, so we beg to ask if the sadness highlighted is also fiction? It does not matter, to say the least, because sadness as an emotion cannot be fictionalized. Sadness is reality.
Sadness, in the novel’s context, can be divided into two: sadness brought by the love between Isio and Asuncion, and sadness brought by the suffering of the peasants under the ruling class. Sadness between Isio and Asuncion evolves from longing to anger and finally, into regret. Sadness fuels love for Isio and Asuncion. Throughout the story, both characters long for the youthful love they had before. But we see this transform into anger for both when Isio feels Asuncion has defected over to Tomas Agustin’s side, and Asuncion feels rage as well when Isio has become too self-absorbed to have become the pope. In this sadness that has evolved into anger, their love for each other has faded out of the limelight. But, beneath it all, their love for each other lingers as when Asuncion protested her disagreement with her husband, and for Isio to defend Asuncion from his comrade Martinez. This love fueled by sadness comes to a full circle with Asuncion on her deathbed, screaming her lungs out, telling Isio the curse of not being able to love, but for Isio, that was not the case. For Isio, Asuncion had loved– loved her son, loved the people, and loved the future. For Isio, he had loved. Anger for both of them has transformed into sorrow, or perhaps, back to longing.
As for the peasants, their sadness came in the form of suffering under the ruling class, the hacienderos and hacienderas. Their suffering was intensified by a caste, a triangle, enforced in order to justify the brutality they have received. Yet, as Isio became gifted with the ability to read, write, and understand, it became inevitable that he is the “savior” they were all waiting for. For the peasants, he was Christ, an angel sent from heaven, a miracle worker. True enough, he was. The peasant’s sadness through suffering underwent a transfiguration, similar to Jesus on Tabor. Now, their sadness fueled a desire for a republic where everyone is equal. Ironically, their idea for an egalitarian republic was patterned after the U.S. constitution, which friars have labeled a document from the devil. Not long after, this desire turned into fear and trauma brought by the Americans’ betrayal. The peasants were now, once again, victims. And this trauma, up to the present, has still not healed because we are still under a government masquerading as free from the strings of the wealthy, but is still a marionette in reality.
Sadness has etched itself into the very fabric of our history, even in this small yet significant revolution in Negros. Yet, sadness also haunted the history of our characters who belonged to the ruling class. For Asuncion, sadness existed in the loss of her son and the abuse she felt from Agustin, in parallel to the state of the motherland and the marginalized today. For Felipe, their son, it was sadness brought about by the love he yearns from Santa Regina, a sadness that amplified the loneliness felt in an individualistic society. For Agustin, it was sadness brought by the loss of purpose, akin to how this country strips every bit of being from us, feeling no sense of progress. To be more precise, sadness has woven itself in the history of its characters, including ourselves.
Gamalinda’s novel provides the reader a challenge to conjure up premonitions that will describe the history of sadness and madness of our country. It enables you, as a citizen, to reflect on the path we, as Filipinos, are heading towards. It is Pigafetta’s mirror that we are holding in front of our faces, not texts nor ideas. And as we look into this mirror, 100 years of independence has gone by, and that same sadness still lingers in our hearts. This sadness has now taken the form of hopelessness, as we watch eighteen devils from the Goetia protect and serve their god, a beast that ravages and plague this country to death. However, foresight should be a talent we aim to attain for only our sadness can transform into a light that can prosper in stopping a raging beast slouching towards the capital. More than 100 years of independence have gone by, and even though we, the peasants, have already cut down tonnes of sugarcanes, our sweet aspirations are still far from reality. Because the triangle still exists, our land is still dry, and only the second coming of the pope can demolish this pyramid. The triangle still exists, on our flag, with three stars, and a sun that hides its face for it must be ashamed to weep.
20 years before the inception of the Academy Award, the independence of the country was declared. Using the same vantage point, almost a century later, Dolly de Leon starred in the nominated film “Triangle of Sadness.” Almost a century later, we still kneel, beg, and ask for our colonizer’s validation. Such sadness perpetuates within myself for we are not yet truly free from the hands of our colonizer turned allies. Where does our history of sadness even begin?
Gamalinda’s “My Sad Republic” highlights our history of sadness, akin to Marquez’s “Hundred Years.” If it was not such a funny coincidence that both countries were occupied by the Spaniards. But, the novel is far from funny, it is sorrowful. This novel follows Isio, a farmer turned revolutionary leader from the Negros Island, and it chronicles the Negros Revolution during the Spanish era at the turn of the 20th century. However, this is a fictionalized retelling based on notes and research, so we beg to ask if the sadness highlighted is also fiction? It does not matter, to say the least, because sadness as an emotion cannot be fictionalized. Sadness is reality.
Sadness, in the novel’s context, can be divided into two: sadness brought by the love between Isio and Asuncion, and sadness brought by the suffering of the peasants under the ruling class. Sadness between Isio and Asuncion evolves from longing to anger and finally, into regret. Sadness fuels love for Isio and Asuncion. Throughout the story, both characters long for the youthful love they had before. But we see this transform into anger for both when Isio feels Asuncion has defected over to Tomas Agustin’s side, and Asuncion feels rage as well when Isio has become too self-absorbed to have become the pope. In this sadness that has evolved into anger, their love for each other has faded out of the limelight. But, beneath it all, their love for each other lingers as when Asuncion protested her disagreement with her husband, and for Isio to defend Asuncion from his comrade Martinez. This love fueled by sadness comes to a full circle with Asuncion on her deathbed, screaming her lungs out, telling Isio the curse of not being able to love, but for Isio, that was not the case. For Isio, Asuncion had loved– loved her son, loved the people, and loved the future. For Isio, he had loved. Anger for both of them has transformed into sorrow, or perhaps, back to longing.
As for the peasants, their sadness came in the form of suffering under the ruling class, the hacienderos and hacienderas. Their suffering was intensified by a caste, a triangle, enforced in order to justify the brutality they have received. Yet, as Isio became gifted with the ability to read, write, and understand, it became inevitable that he is the “savior” they were all waiting for. For the peasants, he was Christ, an angel sent from heaven, a miracle worker. True enough, he was. The peasant’s sadness through suffering underwent a transfiguration, similar to Jesus on Tabor. Now, their sadness fueled a desire for a republic where everyone is equal. Ironically, their idea for an egalitarian republic was patterned after the U.S. constitution, which friars have labeled a document from the devil. Not long after, this desire turned into fear and trauma brought by the Americans’ betrayal. The peasants were now, once again, victims. And this trauma, up to the present, has still not healed because we are still under a government masquerading as free from the strings of the wealthy, but is still a marionette in reality.
Sadness has etched itself into the very fabric of our history, even in this small yet significant revolution in Negros. Yet, sadness also haunted the history of our characters who belonged to the ruling class. For Asuncion, sadness existed in the loss of her son and the abuse she felt from Agustin, in parallel to the state of the motherland and the marginalized today. For Felipe, their son, it was sadness brought about by the love he yearns from Santa Regina, a sadness that amplified the loneliness felt in an individualistic society. For Agustin, it was sadness brought by the loss of purpose, akin to how this country strips every bit of being from us, feeling no sense of progress. To be more precise, sadness has woven itself in the history of its characters, including ourselves.
Gamalinda’s novel provides the reader a challenge to conjure up premonitions that will describe the history of sadness and madness of our country. It enables you, as a citizen, to reflect on the path we, as Filipinos, are heading towards. It is Pigafetta’s mirror that we are holding in front of our faces, not texts nor ideas. And as we look into this mirror, 100 years of independence has gone by, and that same sadness still lingers in our hearts. This sadness has now taken the form of hopelessness, as we watch eighteen devils from the Goetia protect and serve their god, a beast that ravages and plague this country to death. However, foresight should be a talent we aim to attain for only our sadness can transform into a light that can prosper in stopping a raging beast slouching towards the capital. More than 100 years of independence have gone by, and even though we, the peasants, have already cut down tonnes of sugarcanes, our sweet aspirations are still far from reality. Because the triangle still exists, our land is still dry, and only the second coming of the pope can demolish this pyramid. The triangle still exists, on our flag, with three stars, and a sun that hides its face for it must be ashamed to weep.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 3, 2025
Picked this one up at the Solidaridad bookshop in Manila, as Gamalinda was on my shortlist for Pinoy authors to read. I got a bunch of books there, and "My Sad Republic" chronologically takes place during/after Rizal's "Noli me Tangere" and "El Filibusterismo," so it seemed like a natural progression of my literary journey here in the Philippines.
After finishing Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "The General in his Labyrinth" I yearned for a historical fiction Philippine magical realist novel. Enter "My Sad Republic." The novel was alright — you can tell that a lot of the narrative choices and surreal, haunting scenes were inspired by Borgesian/GGM Spanish magical realism. But it also read a little clunky and didn't quite have "the sauce" like the greats — Murakami, Borges, and GGM — do. IMO (as one who enjoys magical realism) the novel shines the most during the scenes with Isio doing prophet guerilla shit, talking to ghosts, and doing miracles. Historical fiction aspects of politicking and the progression of colonialism from the Spanish to the Americans were cool. Falls flat with the love triangle and the boring female deuteragonist in Asuncion.
4 stars because Philippines.
After finishing Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "The General in his Labyrinth" I yearned for a historical fiction Philippine magical realist novel. Enter "My Sad Republic." The novel was alright — you can tell that a lot of the narrative choices and surreal, haunting scenes were inspired by Borgesian/GGM Spanish magical realism. But it also read a little clunky and didn't quite have "the sauce" like the greats — Murakami, Borges, and GGM — do. IMO (as one who enjoys magical realism) the novel shines the most during the scenes with Isio doing prophet guerilla shit, talking to ghosts, and doing miracles. Historical fiction aspects of politicking and the progression of colonialism from the Spanish to the Americans were cool. Falls flat with the love triangle and the boring female deuteragonist in Asuncion.
4 stars because Philippines.
Read
August 26, 2022https://chopsueyngarod.wordpress.com/...
Gamalinda’s “My Sad Republi()” reeks of the end of the world. Right at the onset, you may remember this harried, overused Heneral Luna line: The new invaders, our “Big Brother” from the West, from William Howard Taft to Obama to Trump to Biden “say we are a people at war among ourselves. When they realize we are united as one—insurgents and landlords alike—they themselves will stop the war.” HAHAHAHA! A moment of rowdiness, a minute of drowsiness to laugh at that allusion, that illusion. Have we plunged into our histories deep enough, how these new invaders fomented the war to their advantage. They did not help us against Spain; they paid Spain dollars and dollars and liberally used armalites and guns against the resistant Filipinos, those fighting for national freedom.
Gamalinda’s “My Sad Republi()” reeks of the end of the world. Right at the onset, you may remember this harried, overused Heneral Luna line: The new invaders, our “Big Brother” from the West, from William Howard Taft to Obama to Trump to Biden “say we are a people at war among ourselves. When they realize we are united as one—insurgents and landlords alike—they themselves will stop the war.” HAHAHAHA! A moment of rowdiness, a minute of drowsiness to laugh at that allusion, that illusion. Have we plunged into our histories deep enough, how these new invaders fomented the war to their advantage. They did not help us against Spain; they paid Spain dollars and dollars and liberally used armalites and guns against the resistant Filipinos, those fighting for national freedom.
October 4, 2022
Heartbreaking story about love, war, revolution, peace, and the longing for freedom in the island of Negros in the Philippines, a country in the shackles of oppression for god-knows-how-long; but compelling at the same time. I hope that this book gets translated into Filipino (and as much as possible in many other local languages).
January 15, 2020
One of the best historical fiction I've read
December 1, 2020
Awesome
July 15, 2021
Napakaganda, easily one of the best pieces of historical fiction I've ever read. The Philippine Revolution as seen through the eyes of the commonfolk and the sugarcane farmers of Negros.
August 18, 2021
haunting
March 1, 2024
Actual Rating: 4.75/5.0
July 26, 2024
😭😭😭 that past page made me cry
August 22, 2025
lovely prose
January 18, 2023
A drawn out study on superfluousity (yes, that’s not a word).
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 2, 2014
Impressively written. Poignant and moving..by far one of my most favorite novels.
Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews