Amado V. Hernandez’s novel “Mga Ibong Mandaragit” (Birds of Prey) is required reading for third year students in the school that my daughters go to. When my younger daughter first brought home a library copy of the book, the author’s name struck me as familiar. I did a little research and found out that the author was the defendant in the landmark case People versus Hernandez, a required reading for first year law students in Constitutional Law and Criminal Law. Hernandez was charged with “Rebellion with Murder, Arson and Robbery” during the height of the crackdown against communists in the 1960s. No such thing, the Supreme Court said. Common crimes like murder, arson and robbery are naturally absorbed in the rebellion.

But enough about why the name Amado Hernandez rang a bell. This is about “Mga Ibong Mandaragit”, the concept of creative writing and the effectiveness of words in relaying a message.

To put it simply, my daughter was having a hard time comprehending Hernandez’s novel on the Japanese occupation. I tried to help but discovered that I was having as much difficulty as she did. We enlisted the help of her father and, trust me, the expletives that followed cannot be reproduced here. And we all speak and write Filipino fluently. In fact, it is our first language.

I have heard it often said that literature and conversational language are not the same. Creative writing, that which defines a literary work, is meant to elevate the use of language to heights and depths that the straight-to-the-point everyday language cannot do. It is steeped in symbolism and figures of speech. It is often enigmatic, sometimes cryptic and, occasionally flowery. It isn’t uncommon to find oneself needing to read a piece of literature more than once to find its meaning or meanings.

Still, to my mind, the complexity of an idea or a plot can be relayed in language that is understandable to readers. Otherwise, one might as well be writing for oneself alone. Take Hemingway, for instance, especially the much celebrated “The Old Man and the Sea.” No unusual words, no paragraph-long sentences. Just simple language evoking a symbolism that will be discussed and pondered upon for ages to come.

But “Mga Ibong Mandaragit” is of another genre. Had it been written in English, the reader would easily get the impression that the writer had a Thesaurus by his side and he intentionally sought unfamiliar synonyms for the more familiar words in order to sound profound. A case of substance muddled by incomprehensible form.

Is it a matter of style? Is it a matter of training and background? Hernandez worked as a journalist for a significant part of his life and one would think that “language as a tool for communication” would be the benchmark of his writing. I can understand the popularity of “Mga Ibong Mandaragit” when it first came out. It was the 1960s and the anti-Japanese sentiment was still very much pronounced. The rising tide of socialist ideas turned revolutionaries and guerillas into larger-than-life figures. And Hernandez was not only an ex-guerilla, he was a labor leader and a fierce newspaper writer.

It is 2008. None of us must ever forget the atrocities that the Filipinos suffered under the Japanese (and Spanish and American) rule but if we are to benefit from first-hand narratives, even in dramatized form like Hernandez’ novel, we need to be able to understand them. While I acknowledge the shortfalls of our Filipino language education, it does not help if writers use a writing style that makes it even more difficult for us to appreciate their stories.

What is so objectionable about the use of simple language in literature? Is literature naturally elitist and meant to be appreciated only by a few? Is it what makes it special? Is that what makes it good?

Is literature a form of snobbery or a concept invented to make a few chosen men sound important? My English literature teacher in my second year in college sparked a class debate once when, in an attempt to define literature, she cited the poem of a highly-celebrated Filipino writer. The title, if I remember correctly, is “The Lonely One” and the poem consists of dots and a single comma. Is that the kind of crap budding writers should look up to? Is that an example they should all hope to emulate if they want to be considered as serious and talented artists?

I have a friend, his name is Jay David, he is the blogger more popularly known as Batjay and, a few weeks ago, he launched his second book, “Mga Kwento ng Batang Lamig.” Jay is a humorist who writes about his life experiences. His writing style is raw and what many would consider crass. He uses strong, sometimes foul, language and his references to the male genitalia is are legend in the Filipino blogging community.

Not literature, if based on the high-brow standards of people whom society regards as authorities on the subject. But Jay’s writing is required reading in some Filipino classes in the University of the Philippines. Not as an example of bad writing but as an effective writing form, as an honest chronicle of the life of a Filipino overseas worker and as a no-nonsense look at culture, society and ourselves. In the book’s introduction, writer Jun Cruz Reyes says, “May nagsusulat at may nagbabasa. Din na si Darna at Batman ang bida. Tayo na ang bida.”

Is it just the difference between classic literature and popular literature? Just what is the difference between the two if not old age? Language evolves. Culture evolves. If we keep on defining literature based on the number of obsolete words used, literature will always be something for the enjoyment of men who like to shut themselves up in a room dissecting letters. It is us who should define literature based on what we consider good, effective and beautiful. A handful of so-called authorities do not have the right to do so. They are not all of us.

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