“To read John Jack Wigley’s works feels like falling under the stealthy spell of a born

storyteller.” – Ian Rosales Casocot

John Jack G. Wigley shines with his trademark wit, unique insight, and irrepressible humor
in his every works of creative non-fiction narratives he delights in this memoir where he
reconstructs scenes from his boyhood well into adulthood. However you are starting out on
the whole enterprise of reading, you will inevitably be taken in by that inimitable voice— part
dramatic, part humorous— usually reserved for campfire stories, or gossip. That voice has
the bewitchment of hooks. This was also the case with Wigley’s first book, “Falling Into the
Manhole” (2012), The first volume of memoirs give compelling stories about Wigley growing
up only a few meters away from Clark Air Base, where he was the illegitimate offspring of
an American G.I., and soon learning to deal with the hardships of biracial existence and
growing up being called “mestisong bangus,” among other things. That particular
biographical detail or authorial context was what led him to write in the first place, which
means issues of race is very much a part of his writerly identity. Wigley’s reveal a complex
mind, keenly aware of the many ironies of his duality and hybridity… and offers a portrait of
marginalization that is sensibly nuanced.

Honesty is brutal. So, in writing a memoir, one should not be kind to oneself. Memory, if the
writer chooses not to lie about it, should be brutally honest. Wigley commonly writes
memoirs as his piece. Despite using his humorous style and the use of defamiliarization, his
hardships is prevalently shown in his works. “Falling Into The Manhole” is a memoir in brief
chapters portraying revealing slices of the author’s life. It is a collection of memories that not
only lays out his difficult growing-up years but also his travails and joys amid a society that
was also experiencing difficult transitions. In one of the essays, Wigley reveals the
inspiration of the book’s title: He, indeed, had fallen into a manhole, a public humiliation
whose humor and pathos—and meanings—he continues to mine in his funny conversations
with students, colleagues, and friends. Once he started writing down his memories, he
became frank and open about his past. This is where the book stands out. In the 16 essays
that comprise the book, Wigley has fully revealed his strengths and shortcomings. He has
no hesitancy disclosing his struggles for personal identity; the bittersweet life of a young
bastard living in a harsh society; and the enlightening life as a university professor. The
essays about his realization of his past and identity are engaging works that show the
different facets of the author as he matured, overcoming problems connected to his gender
and identity and coming to terms with his experiences growing up as an impoverished
Amerasian in Pampanga to University dona based in Manila.

Home of the Ashfall is another delightful, engaging read from John Jack G. Wigley. This memoir
starts with the author's getting lost, and ends with his finding home, the sacred space where he finds
joy and fulfillment. Between getting lost and finding home, Wigley's journey takes us to all regions--
places in the world and places of the heart--that shaped him, making the story emotional as well. He
makes us laugh at his own jokes and sarcasm, weep over his narratives of loss and betrayal, hope that
life gets better because his did, and still does. Mr. Jack Wigley write the book during his insights and
experience on the eruption. He uses a first person view to speak directly to the readers. His book has
reflected the culture in the area of Mount Pinatubo and the attitude of the Filipinos after the eruption. It
show hat no matter how destructive the calamities are, Filipinos always smile and help each other.
Filipinos call it “Bayanihan”, which is a very good lesson that the book can reflect. Home of the Ashfall
does not only continue the author's exploration of memory's hidden layers, but also moves
deeper down, almost touching bedrock. However, more than the deftly rendered humor in his
narratives, Jack Wigley's insights—d r a w n f r o m h i s k e e n e m p i r i c a l o b s e r v a t i o n o f
h i m s e l f a n d o t h e r s i n g i v e n situations—go deep into the human core in all of us, our
exasperating, endearingimprefections. As Wigley's stories exemplify and evoke, we could
rekindle theembers that light up the maze of memory. And we could track our way back to the core
inhabited by the hopeful aspect of the persons we are: not perfect, but totally vulnerable to its human
possibility.

Beginning in “Manhole,” there is, of course, the “Miss Saigon”-worthy story of Asian mother
and American father, a G.I. who soon leaves for America, but not without leaving traces of
hope and resentment in a son he has not seen which strongly suggest the biographical
context of his works which clearly represents his life. Just like in the story of manhole, John
Wigley himself is a G.I. Then there are, finally, the loves and consuming passions of Jack’s
life: his DVD collection, music, Nora Aunor, Meryl Streep, beauty pageants, and, finally, the
young man who broke Jack’s heart.

Three essays into the book, and we know we are getting Philippine literature’s equivalent of
Pedro Almodóvar’s “All about My Mother.”

The best of the essays is a distillation of the uncommon grace Wigley’s mother has gone
through, and endured—from the harried life of being a single parent, to the painful battle
with dementia that ultimately claimed her life.

Twist in shared fate

One must take note of the narrative whiplash that occurs regularly in his essays. You think
Wigley is talking about one thing specifically—and then you realize he’s actually leading us
to a revelation of a different sort.

This is clearly demonstrated in “The Admired Classmate,” where Wigley rhapsodizes the
memory of an impeccably dressed, well-spoken classmate in grade school, only for us to be
amused by the twist in their shared fate.

But this tendency is subtler in such pieces as “The Choice,” where he seems to recount the
joyful occasion of a class excursion—only to spring on us a dark, sad punch coming from
out of the blue.

Yet, despite the seriousness of his themes, Wigley remains a funny storyteller. His
punchlines, often punctuating a heart-rending tale, are both deadly and welcome, as if to
remind us that there is a certain freedom in choosing bemusement as a stance, and accept
life for the cruel comedy that it is.
Jack Wigley is not only a gifted writer who can keep you turning the pages, but one with a high level
of self-awareness who compels you to pause time and again, no matter how much you want to know
what happens next, to savor his insights and reflect. What Wigley has accomplished in the end is
being a connoisseur of moments in memory. His words are succulent pieces of life’s all-
seeing videogram, and the pictures he takes for us become universal images of our own
recollections.

Gay attraction, pop icons

Also appealing are Wigley’s first-hand observations of “Pinoy pop culture”—music icons,
movie stars, “beauty pageants” and fast-food.

He provides vivid description of a young boy’s first experience of movie magic.

His writings on movie stars (Nora Aunor and Meryl Streep); music icons (Madonna and Lea
Salonga); and beauty queens (Chat Silayan) are not just perorations of a youth fan, but the
experiences of a person’s growing maturity coming to terms with pop idols.