Philippine Folklore Stories — Reading Notes
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Quicoy was badly frightened when he heard this, for the Ongloc is a big black man with terrible long teeth, who all night goes searching for the bad boys and girls that he may change them into little cocoanuts and put them on a shelf in his rock house in the mountains to eat when he is hungry.
So when Quicoy went to his bed in the corner he pulled the matting over his head and was so afraid that he did not go to sleep for a long time.
The next morning he rose very early and went down to the spring where the boys get the water to put in the bamboo poles and carry home. Some boys were already there, and he told them what had taken place the night before. They were all sorry that his mother had called the Ongloc, but they told him not to be afraid for they would tell him how he could be forever safe from that terrible man.
It was very easy. All he had to do was to go at dusk to the cocoanut grove by the river and dig holes under two trees. Then he was to climb a tree, get the cocoanut that grew the highest, and, after taking off the husk and punching in one of the little eyes, whisper inside:
"Ongloc of the mountains! Ongloc! Ugly man! I'm a little cocoanut, Catch me if you can!"
Then he was to cut the cocoanut in halves, quickly bury one piece in one of the holes, and, running to the other tree, bury the remaining half in the other hole. After that he might walk home safely, being sure not to run, for the Ongloc has always to obey the call of the cocoanut, and must hunt through the grove to find the one that called him. Should he cross the line between the holes, the buried pieces would fly out of the holes, snap together on him, and, flying up the tree from which they came, would keep him prisoner for a hundred years.
Quicoy was happy to think that he could capture the Ongloc, and resolved to go that very night. He wanted some of the boys to go with him, but they said he must go alone or the charm would be broken. They also told him to be careful himself and not cross the line between the holes or he would be caught as easily as the Ongloc.
So Quicoy went home and kept very quiet all day. His mother was sorry she had frightened him the night before, and was going to tell him not to be afraid; but when she thought of the lubi lana spilled on the ground, she resolved to punish him more by saying nothing to him.
Just at dark, when no one was looking, Quicoy took his father's bolo and quietly slipped away to the grove down by the river. He was not afraid of ladrones, but he needed the bolo because it is not easy to open a cocoanut, and it takes some time, even with a bolo, to get the husk chopped from the fruit.
Quicoy felt a little frightened when he saw all the big trees around him. The wind made strange noises in the branches high above him, and all the trees seemed to be leaning over and trying to speak to him. He felt somewhat sorry that he had come, but when he thought of the Ongloc he mustered up courage and went on until he found an open space between two high trees.
He stopped here and dug a hole under each of the trees. Then he put his feet in the notches and climbed one of the trees. It was hard work, for the notches were far apart; but at last he reached the branches and climbed to the top. The wind rocked the tree and made him dizzy, but he reached the highest cocoanut, threw it to the ground, and then 'started down the tree. It was easy to come down, though he went too fast and slipped and slid some distance, skinning his arms and legs. He did not mind that, however, for he knew he had the cocoanut that would capture the Ongloc. He picked it up, chopped off the husk, punched in one of the little eyes, and whispered inside:
"Ongloc of the mountains! Ongloc! Ugly man! I'm a little cocoanut, Catch me if you can!"
He then chopped it in halves and buried one piece, and, running to the other tree, buried the remaining piece. Just as he finished he thought he heard a noise in the grove, and, instead of walking, he started to run as fast as he could.
John Maurice Miller's Philippine Folklore Stories (1904) opens with a preface that immediately establishes a pedagogical stance: the tales are presented as "legends that have been handed down from remote times," and the teacher is instructed to "impress upon the minds of the children that they are myths." This framing shapes the entire collection, positioning the stories as both cultural artifacts and cautionary examples of credulity. Miller's narrative voice consistently mediates between the oral tradition and a Western educational context, a tension visible in the diction throughout.
The Preface as a Frame for Credulity
Miller's preface does more than introduce; it instructs the reader on how to receive the stories. The warning that "the imaginative minds of the native children would accept them as truth" reveals an authorial anxiety about the power of folklore. This concern shapes the telling: the stories are often punctuated by explanatory asides or moralizing conclusions. For instance, in "The Tobacco of Harisaboqued," the narrative repeatedly emphasizes that the dwarfs "would obey his slightest wish" and that the people "were very grateful"—a pattern that reinforces a benign, orderly supernatural world. The preface thus functions as a lens through which Miller filters the material, prioritizing instruction over immersion.
Repetition and Ritual in Narrative Structure
Several stories employ a repetitive, almost ritualistic structure that mirrors oral storytelling conventions. In "The Tobacco of Harisaboqued," the old man "tapped the ground three times" to summon dwarfs, a gesture repeated at key moments. Similarly, in "The Faithlessness of Sinogo," the pursuit sequence is built on a series of parallel actions: Dalagan and Guidala "flew swiftly northward," then "nearer and nearer they came," then "drew their swords." This triadic pattern—command, action, consequence—gives the prose a rhythmic quality. Miller also uses formulaic phrases like "Long before the strange men came over the water" to anchor tales in a pre-colonial past, creating a consistent temporal frame across the collection.
Vivid Physicality in Supernatural Description
Miller's descriptions of supernatural beings and transformations are notably concrete. In "The Faithlessness of Sinogo," the stolen shell is a "golden shell" with the power to grant rule over "earth and sea." When Sinogo transforms, he becomes a "huge crocodile-shaped Buaya with scales like armor of steel." The physical details are precise: the scales are "heavy," the chase tears up water, and the thunderbolt "stiffening like a bar of iron" pins the monster. This sensory specificity extends to settings: the volcano Canlaon is described as "still active, and smoke and steam rise from its crater." Such details ground the fantastic in tangible imagery, making the supernatural feel immediate and material.
Dialogue as a Marker of Character and Conflict
Dialogue in these stories is sparse but functional, often serving to advance plot or reveal character. In "The Faithlessness of Sinogo," Captan's rage is conveyed through direct speech: "he swore he would kill Sinogo." The gods' commands are blunt and imperative: "Ordered Dalagan and Guidala to hasten." This economy of speech contrasts with the more elaborate descriptive passages, creating a rhythm of action and reaction. Notably, Miller rarely gives lengthy speeches to characters; instead, dialogue is woven into the narrative as a catalyst for events. The result is a storytelling style that prioritizes movement over introspection, fitting for tales meant to be told aloud.
Miller's collection rewards attention to the interplay between his editorial voice and the source material. The preface's cautionary tone, the repetitive structures, and the vivid physical descriptions all reflect a deliberate authorial strategy to present folklore as both entertaining and instructive. Readers may find it useful to compare how different stories handle similar motifs—such as transformation or divine punishment—to observe Miller's consistency and variation in approach.
Reading Miller’s notes on Philippine folktales, I kept noticing how carefully he weighed each word, almost like a translator preserving a fragile spell. It reminded me of another quiet study, Folk Tales from the Russian — A Closer Reading, where the same tenderness for old voices lingered. Both feel like watching someone dust off lanterns, hoping the light still holds.
Grace King
1 month agoSebastian Lee
1 month agoJohn Walker
2 weeks agoCarter Campbell
1 month ago-
Douglas Nicholson - 1 month ago
While Philippine Folklore Stories covers a range of myths, the storytelling feels dated and somewhat flat. The prose lacks the vividness and emotional depth that would truly bring these ancient tales to life. Additionally, the book suffers from a lack of context, as the origins and variations of the stories are not discussed. It may serve as a reference, but it fails to engage the reader on a deeper level. -
Marilyn Davis - 4 weeks ago
This anthology offers a decent overview of Philippine folklore, with tales that are both interesting and culturally significant. The writing is clear and accessible, making it suitable for younger readers. However, the lack of illustrations and some repetitive narrative structures may reduce its appeal for more demanding readers. Still, it serves as a valuable introduction to the subject. -
Jose Weaver - 4 weeks ago
Philippine Folklore Stories is a captivating collection that brings the rich tapestry of Filipino myths and legends to life. The stories are beautifully narrated, preserving the cultural heritage with authenticity and charm. Each tale, from creation myths to heroic adventures, is both entertaining and educational. A must-read for anyone interested in folklore or Filipino culture. The book is a treasure trove of wisdom and imagination, making it a delightful addition to any library.
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Sofia Gonzalez
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