A LIGHT IN THE CANE FIELDS - review by Ron Askew
When I got to the end of A Light in the Cane Fields I felt sad - sad that the read was over, that I'd finished the book.
The book put it's arm round my shoulder from the outset and made me its friend.
We can't stay with a book forever, but a book can stay in us forever. And A Light in the Cane Fields will always be in me from now on.
Why?
Because it is a moving story expertly and at times beautifully written.
Set in the Philippines during a violent time in the its history, the story is as much set in the heart and soul of the country as in its villages and mountains, drawing as it does on the country's historic struggles against the Spanish and then the Americans and the Japanese.
But perhaps the worst struggle of all is the civil war between the exploitative and politically-powerful rich and the repressed poor - a universal and timeless theme. Strongman Ferdinand Marcos presides over a state based on despotic nepotism.
Jando is a young boy who gets caught up in the mounting terror of the moment and whose life as the son of a small landowner is throw up in the air as revolutionary rebels battle it out with big landlords, local militia and bandits.
His story is that of all the millions of children whose innocence has been stripped from them.
A Light in the Cane Fields gives us an insight into Jando's place in his rural backwater, where life has a traditional feel to it, with everything and everyone is more or less in their place. Yes, there are stresses, but people seem to get along for the most part. There is a beauty in the setting, too, and the people are close to it.
But events are afoot and the story gradually gathers pace as everything is turned on its head during an escalating cycle of violence, blood and death.
There is great cruelty and great tenderness. Hatreds and friendships are deep and strong, as is the pervading sense of futility.
The second half of the book is a fast-paced series of increasingly violent events which produce some surprising shifts of loyalty as Jando, a bright and charming boy, finds a new family.
Above all, the story's boy soldiers are a tragic indictment of the way adults can foul things up, through selfishness and doctrine. On an individual level though, not all is lost, quite the opposite as you will see when you get to the end of Enrico Antiporda's compellingly woven story.
The language bossed my eye also. To quote a callous character about to watch a ritual crucifiction, 'This is the best part.' The author's prose paints some vivid characters, beautiful, if at times harsh, settings, with a natural poetry, zipping along like a dragonfly, its 'transparent wings throwing prisms in the sun.' Magical stuff.
Above all though, I got a sense of being from Jando, who likened the fragmenting of a guerilla band to the 'breaking up of a family', and whose dream was to be, 'living a normal life with a normal family.'
A Light in the Cane Fields reminded me of two other great reads: Lord of the Flies because of the way humans tend to split into warring tribes; and Vasily Grossman's majestic Life and Fate because of this quote, which seemed to direct the reader's eye back into the lighter side of the human spirit, 'But I could not help myself. I felt so hopeful.'
And it doesn't half have a cracking front
cover!
The book put it's arm round my shoulder from the outset and made me its friend.
We can't stay with a book forever, but a book can stay in us forever. And A Light in the Cane Fields will always be in me from now on.
Why?
Because it is a moving story expertly and at times beautifully written.
Set in the Philippines during a violent time in the its history, the story is as much set in the heart and soul of the country as in its villages and mountains, drawing as it does on the country's historic struggles against the Spanish and then the Americans and the Japanese.
But perhaps the worst struggle of all is the civil war between the exploitative and politically-powerful rich and the repressed poor - a universal and timeless theme. Strongman Ferdinand Marcos presides over a state based on despotic nepotism.
Jando is a young boy who gets caught up in the mounting terror of the moment and whose life as the son of a small landowner is throw up in the air as revolutionary rebels battle it out with big landlords, local militia and bandits.
His story is that of all the millions of children whose innocence has been stripped from them.
A Light in the Cane Fields gives us an insight into Jando's place in his rural backwater, where life has a traditional feel to it, with everything and everyone is more or less in their place. Yes, there are stresses, but people seem to get along for the most part. There is a beauty in the setting, too, and the people are close to it.
But events are afoot and the story gradually gathers pace as everything is turned on its head during an escalating cycle of violence, blood and death.
There is great cruelty and great tenderness. Hatreds and friendships are deep and strong, as is the pervading sense of futility.
The second half of the book is a fast-paced series of increasingly violent events which produce some surprising shifts of loyalty as Jando, a bright and charming boy, finds a new family.
Above all, the story's boy soldiers are a tragic indictment of the way adults can foul things up, through selfishness and doctrine. On an individual level though, not all is lost, quite the opposite as you will see when you get to the end of Enrico Antiporda's compellingly woven story.
The language bossed my eye also. To quote a callous character about to watch a ritual crucifiction, 'This is the best part.' The author's prose paints some vivid characters, beautiful, if at times harsh, settings, with a natural poetry, zipping along like a dragonfly, its 'transparent wings throwing prisms in the sun.' Magical stuff.
Above all though, I got a sense of being from Jando, who likened the fragmenting of a guerilla band to the 'breaking up of a family', and whose dream was to be, 'living a normal life with a normal family.'
A Light in the Cane Fields reminded me of two other great reads: Lord of the Flies because of the way humans tend to split into warring tribes; and Vasily Grossman's majestic Life and Fate because of this quote, which seemed to direct the reader's eye back into the lighter side of the human spirit, 'But I could not help myself. I felt so hopeful.'
And it doesn't half have a cracking front
cover!
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