It would be impossible to talk about this book without first talking about my own mixed feelings with my culture. I’ve always been a bit self-conscious about my upbringing. I grew up in a mostly white neighborhood and in the schools I attended, there were very few Filipinos. I was never taught Tagalog (the language of the Philippines) and the Filipino dishes that I had to eat were when I was at parties for my extended families or when my grandma would come to visit.
For most of my life, I’ve wrestled with the feeling of not being Filipino enough, and not necessarily being encouraged to pursue that side of me. It wasn’t until college that I joined a Filipino club and a sudden relief came upon me. I remember being welcomed in immediately by other Fil-Ams and being known without necessarily having to explain myself. Then I spent a summery month with my grandma in the Philippines, and though it was such a short time, it inevitably left a mark on me.
I’ve been searching for a Filipino community ever since, trying to find friends or aunties. I think that’s why I was so comforted by Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala . I think I found myself in those pages. It was incredibly affirming to see that I did identify with a lot of the nuances in the text. How my grandma has an affinity for instant coffee, or that I also call anybody who might be close to the family, a relative honorific, even if they are not blood-related.
The first Filipino book I ever read was America is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan, and from my quick survey of the internet, it’s a Filipino classic. A must read. And while it is a harrowing tale of immigration, racism, and the American Dream (an important staple of what it meant to be Filipino in the 20th century and what it still means to be Filipino), it was an incredibly difficult book to read.
In a very intimate way, I felt connected to history. It felt traumatic to me in a way that I hadn’t expected it to be. I felt this immediate sense of loss and empathy for Filipinos who had moved to the United States. But after reading it, I was very much hesitant to read any other Filipino book. If I felt this much empathized trauma after reading THE quintessential Filipino book, then how would I feel reading other Filipino books?
I waited a couple of years before I picked up another Filipino book. I’d just finished my first writing conference, where I’d been told by multiple people that we needed more Filipino voices. On the BART ride home from the conference, I’d made a promise to myself that I did want to be a voice for other Filipinos, yet I was painfully aware of how un-Filipino I felt.
At Barnes and Noble, I bought Arsenic and Adobo. It was a spur of the moment decision, ravenous desire to be connected to my culture. Mind you, the first couple of chapters were upsetting to me. There were so many dishes and Tagalog words that I didn’t understand. Yet, I pushed through and eventually, I was surprised to find how much I connected with this book and more so, how much it meant to me.
Arsenic and Adobo is a cozy mystery in which Lila’s family is accused of murder, by way of arsenic. Mixed with intrigue and investigative hijinks, at the heart of it was a family that felt very familiar to me. The titas reminded me of my own. Some of the dishes were familiar to me, but others left my mouth watering. I found myself in those pages, more than I had anticipated. The guilt, the food, the sense of community of being Filipino. Reading this book felt like how it was when I joined my Filipino club in college — that there was this community of people who immediately accepted me and seemed to know me already.
The book is by all means cute, a cozy mystery. I thought that it did justice to different cultures and all the characters had agency. Also side note: for the longest time, I had the biggest craving for ube crinkle cookies so much so that I bought some from the Filipino bakery in my town. I was worried that I had somehow built up the taste in my mind, yet I didn’t. It was just as delicious as I had imagined it.
Books like America is in the Heart are important to Filipino literature. However, we can’t forget that cozy mysteries like Arsenic and Adobo are equally important. It makes people like me feel welcome and wanted. It lifts up our hearts and reminds us that heritage needs to be something more than trauma and colonial history. It makes people like me inspired to read more and coaxes us to learn more about a culture that still is a stranger to us.
I’m very grateful to writers like Mia P. Manasala. Though I think I have to prepare to read her other books by buying ube crinkle cookies in advance.