After Lambana – Myth and Magic in Manila

By Martha Cornog

In this magical realist fictional tale set in Manila, a young man struggles against a parasitic illness. Conrad’s X-ray shows a tiny bud invading his heart—a parasitic growth that will flourish like a cancer to become full-bloom flower within his body that kills him. But in this folklore-driven urban noir from award-winning speculative fiction novelist Victoria (Dwellers), such fantastic “spontaneous diseases” can be cured only by magical beings. Yet soliciting their help can be even more convoluted than getting Medicare to cover some unusual, deadly condition. And not just convoluted but illegal. Twenty-something Conrad will die unless he gets supernatural help in defiance of the authoritarian human government’s Magic Prohibition Act. His apparently new friend Ignacio promises to guide him to the Diwata, occult beings of the forbidden magical realm known as the Lambana from whence came his disease. (In Filipino mythology, Diwata are nature spirits.) But who is this older Ignacio, and why is he reaching out so generously?

After Lambana is a very convoluted story. Gradually in flashbacks, we learn that Ignacio is Diwata himself—and of high rank—with a backstory of sadism against hapless humans, including Conrad as a child. This apparent “savior,” Ignacio, is both connected to and estranged from his lineage, while expecting favors from other Diwata such as his sister whose magic exceeds his own. Ultimately, Ignacio must mend fences with the most powerful of all: his queen and mother who was supposedly dead but actually in hiding. Involved also are Serenas, pretty human-looking beings who can morph into mermaid-like fishtailed creatures that have their own agendas. Conrad, however, has no memory of his past encounter with Ignacio. But as he trots after his savior through visits to other powerful Diwata, he gains pain relief, a terrifying replay of a childhood crisis, and finally a cure for his heart. In the process, Ignacio as well finds a sort of solace in helping Conrad, one small remedy to redeem himself from past mistakes that damaged the Diwata and the Lambana in general as well as humans. In fact, it appears that Ignacio’s past impetuousness was what ultimately triggered release of spontaneous diseases into the human world.

Filipino artist Malonzo’s (Tabi Po; Alternative Alamat) brilliantly hallucinogenic neon-washed hues suggest a realistic drugged dream with uncertain outcome, indicating different time periods and parallel realities with different color schemes. Characters can tumble through suddenly-appearing doors, exist at 45-degree variance from the horizontal, and change shape disturbingly. The night streets of Manila appear supernaturally compressed between colorful signs, posters, and graffiti. Both creators live in the Philippines, and the story integrates modern cell phones and social media in with the Filipino folkloristic elements.

It is not difficult to read this drama partly as a magical realist satire of the 21^st century medical establishment. This may not have been intentional, but similarities hover at the edge of the story. Unexpected medical crises also blossom in us naïve 21^st century normies, who flail and grasp for remedies following recommendations from seeming saviors (medical providers) who can escort us over bureaucratic minefields—perhaps to actual palliatives or even cures. And while debunkings and counter evidence descend from the CDC, pockets of misinformation continue through social media and sensationalist press stories.

We can realize that real-life doctors have flaws and make mistakes. Further, we witness uncomfortably the breakdown of health care in countries experiencing authoritarian control, war, or civil unrest. We also read in the news about dysfunctional human families that lose health, status, and respect because of internal squabbling. To what degree is disease the fault of the patient, the clinician, the environment, or the broader structure of society? To what degree is disease our own fault, individually or collectively?

Thus, Victoria and Malonzo deliver a gripping and socially relevant, magical realist mystery, embodied in gorgeous, high-tension visuals that propel the nasty yet satisfying plot towards a complex ending. Those in and outside the medical system who appreciate socially-relevant speculative fiction will find much to chew on.

After Lambana includes male and female nudity, and some violence. Recommended for ages 17 up.

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A retired librarian, Martha Cornog (MA, MLS) has been reviewing graphic novels for Library Journal since 2006 and coedited two books about comics. She adapted some of Katsu Aki’s Manga Sutra for Tokyopop; served as an Eisner and Glyph awards judge, and moderated comics panels at conventions, including the Graphic Medicine Conference. She is currently creating Comic Troika, a comics adaptation of three Russian satires.