I don’t own comic books—except for a few volumes of Pugad Baboy that my brother bought years ago. I wanted text-y materials - something I could read for at least three nights, a full novel that would keep me company. But then maybe comic books were created for more than just that.
What I think about it
I had never heard of Magtira Paolo before—maybe I haven’t attended enough book events where I might have come across his work. His Liryo is a heartbreaking, illustrated narration of the senseless war on drugs, where innocent lives are lost and nothing is gained. While an author could have explored this theme in a full-length novel, Liryo delivers its impact through striking visuals and sparse dialogue, allowing readers to experience the depth of Celso’s (main character) despair as his story represented countless faceless men executed without due process.
The narrative also highlights Marcy’s struggle, not just as someone trying to survive in a brutal environment but as a person torn between fear and the hope for something better. One notable aspect of the story is how it subtly conveys that people, when given the chance, can change and will want to change for the better. It avoids heavy-handed moralizing and instead presents this theme naturally within the characters’ arcs, making it all the more affecting.
Visually, the comic book’s art style plays a crucial role in its storytelling. So much unfolds in a single panel or two, often without words that's so reminiscent of a silent film. This minimalistic approach adds to the weight of the story, making every scene more powerful.
Should you read it?
Yes. Aside from supporting local authors, Liryo offers a nuanced perspective on the war on drugs. It’s a story that doesn’t just narrate events. It makes you feel their consequences.
Where to get it
I picked up Liryo on a whim at National Book Store in Shangri-La, on my way to Ateneo to see Dekada ‘70 the musical. Kim convinced me to add it to my cart because the cover was striking. I ended up leaving with three books that day—but hey, they were all on sale, and I needed a little consolation after being told Dekada ‘70 was pulled out. (Or maybe the staff just didn’t want to fetch it from the stockroom. Wouldn’t be the first time—days earlier, I asked for another book, was told it was unavailable, and yet I found it sitting on the shelf when I came back.)
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