Paz marquez benitez dead stars short
•
Paz Márquez-Benítez
Filipino writer (1894–1983)
Paz Márquez-Benítez (March 3, 1894 – November 10, 1983) was a Filipino short-story writer, educator and editor.[1][2][3] Her career as a woman educator as well as her contributions as a writer are seen as an important step within the advancement of women in professional careers as well as in the development of Philippine literature.[3] She was also a beauty queen.
During her career as a writer, Marquez-Benitez wrote short stories critical of American Imperialism. She is most known by her short story Dead Stars (1925) in which the two main characters are displayed as allegories to American imperialism in order to portray the slow decay of Philippine heritage.[3][4] Her only other known published work is A Night in the Hills (1925). Even though she had only two published works her writings would be regarded as the first steps of Philippine literature moving into the
•
This is a story that I encountered way back in high school. A friend asked me to post this here. It was a lot longer to type than I had anticipated and getting down the first five pages took me almost an hour. Like the "Wedding Dance", I got this from the book "Fourteen Love Stories" edited by Jose Dalisay Jr. and Angela R. Lacuesta.
This is a story written way back in 1925, and declared as the first Filipino modern short story in English. The author had only two published short stories, but that didn't stop her from becoming an icon in Philippine literary history.
However, the reason why I chose to post this story is not because it is an icon, but rather, because I found that it touched the hearts of people--some of them, quite dear to me. Even as it was written in a time when culture still restrained affection and passions were still frowned upon, there is something about it that is distinctly Filipino that a lot of us can relate to despite the difference in time.
Read about th
•
Dead Stars (Paz Marquez Benitez)
Through the open fönster the air – steeped outdoors passed into his room, tyst enveloping him, stealing into his very thought. Esperanza, Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to come even now beginning to weigh down, to crush – they lost concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of conversation issued from the brick – tiled azotea where Don Julian and Carmen were busy pattering away among the rose pots.
“Papa, and when will the ‘long table’ be set?”
“I don’t know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but inom understand Esperanza wants it to be next month.”
Carmen sighed impatiently. “Why fryst vatten he not a bit more decided, I wonder. He fryst vatten over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must be tired waiting.”
“She does not seem to be in much of a hurry either,” Don Julian nasally