Sunday, February 02, 2025
9:00 AM |
Why We Read Together
Once a month since last July, we arrive—mostly quietly—with our books at the Arts and Design Collective Dumaguete along E.J. Blanco Drive, home of Libraria Books. One by one, we come—all of us readers in Dumaguete—some early, and some late; we settle, we say hello; we nod, and smile. We filter into some cozy corners of the old house, or on fluffy chairs, or on the floormat, each of us carrying a book. Some bring fiction, some poetry, some nonfiction. Once in a while, some even bring college textbooks. [Not kidding. For our January session, someone brought Nigel Benson’s The Psychology Book.] Most would bring actual books, although some are content with electronic devices, like a Kindle. Some would first go to Fermentina Café to get drinks, or to Mister Saigon to grab a quick bite.
And then, when 6 PM comes, Libraria’s Gayle Acar welcomes everyone. She is the host. She reminds us of a few rules to begin the session—you can bring any book of your choice; you need to keep your phones on mute; you will read in two 30-minute blocks of reading time [with a 10-minute break in between]; you don’t have to expect a book discussion because this is not required.
And then a shared silence takes hold. A novel opens, a page turns, a deep breath is taken, and then we read. It is a ritual as simple as it is profound: a group of people choosing to read together, not for discussion, not for obligation, but simply for the joy of reading.
This is a fairly new thing in Dumaguete, even though the city has always had the rhythm of a literary town that it is. It is a place where the written word is as much a part of daily life as the sea breeze that drifts in from the Rizal Boulevard. Writers and readers, students and teachers, artists and dreamers all find a kind of quiet solace here, whether in the century-old halls of Silliman University, in the pages of a book borrowed from someone’s personal library, or in the unhurried conversations that unfold over coffee in one of the city’s many small cafés. Literature thrives here—not just in the texts produced by its poets and novelists but also in the way people live with books, in the way reading itself is woven into the city’s fabric.
It is no surprise then that Silent Book Club has found its place in Dumaguete. This global movement has grown into a phenomenon spanning cities and continents, and in a place like Dumaguete—where reading is already an everyday act—it feels like a natural fit. Unlike traditional book clubs that revolve around assigned readings and structured discussions, Silent Book Club offers something more flexible, more personal. Readers gather in a chosen space, settle in with their books, and read in shared silence. There is no required novel to analyze, no expectation to articulate a critique. Just the simple joy of reading, alone but together.
Dumaguete’s literary reputation is deeply rooted in its history. The Silliman University National Writers Workshop, the oldest of its kind in Asia, has shaped generations of Filipino writers, drawing emerging voices from across the country to engage in critical discussions about craft and storytelling. Beyond the workshop, Dumaguete has long been a hub for literary gatherings, from poetry readings to book launches, from late-night conversations about writing to impromptu storytelling sessions in quiet corners of cafés. [Last year, we initiated the first Dumaguete Literary Festival, and its second edition is slated on April 2025.]
Silent Book Club, in its own way, continues this Dumaguete literary tradition while offering an alternative space for local readers who simply want to immerse themselves in books without the weight of critique. It acknowledges that literature is not just about discourse but also about presence, about companionship in solitude. And for a city that already embraces literature in all its forms, this quiet movement feels like an extension of an already thriving culture.
The concept of Silent Book Club was born out of a simple need: to create a reading community without the pressures of traditional book clubs. Guinevere de la Mare and Laura Gluhanich, two friends in San Francisco, started meeting in 2012 in a wine bar with their books, realizing that they enjoyed the presence of others who were similarly engaged in quiet reading. What began as a small gathering soon spread across cities worldwide, with each chapter adopting its own unique approach to hosting reading sessions. In the Philippines, beyond Dumaguete, there are Silent Book Clubs in Manila, in Iloilo, in Baguio, and in Cagayan de Oro City.
Unlike structured book clubs that require a commitment to specific titles, Silent Book Club welcomes all kinds of readers. It is inclusive in its simplicity: anyone can join, bringing whatever book they are currently reading, staying as long as they like. There is no need to finish a chapter by a deadline, no obligation to offer insights—only the act of reading itself.
I think this stance is perfectly right in the kind of word we live in, which constantly demands engagement—whether through social media, work, or the general busyness of life. Silent Book Club, in a way, offers a kind of resistance to this expectation of contemporary life. It is a reminder that reading can be a slow, deliberate act, and one that does not need to be productive or performative. It is merely enough to sit with a book, to lose oneself in its pages, to turn the act of reading into a shared but deeply personal experience.
For Dumaguete’s readers, this is particularly significant. The city has always been a refuge for those who seek quiet contemplation, and Silent Book Club reinforces that legacy. It provides a space where reading is not just a solitary pleasure but a communal one, where book lovers can gather without the need for conversation, simply enjoying the presence of others who share the same love for the written word.
I asked Ina Tizon why she comes every month. “John and I both decided to join Silent Book Club 6200 so we can finally get around to reading our backlog of books,” she says. “Though to be honest, our main purpose was to go out of the house and socialize with our friends and other like-minded individuals. And we got to tick both of those boxes when we attended, we also get to meet new people and have long chats afterwards.”
I asked Pia Villareal the same question. “I joined because it was an excuse to read somewhere silent that wasn’t just the same four walls of my room,” she says. “It’s also easier not to get distracted when there’s outside pressure to keep doing the thing you want to do, which in this case is reading. And lastly, it’s just a really convenient way to be among people who appreciate books and have the decency to stay quiet while you read.”
From Tara de Leon: “I sadly suffer from what is referred to as ‘brain rot.’ It has made reading books difficult but it hasn’t curbed the desire to hoard. When I’m surrounded by people who enjoy what they’re doing, I get caught in the current of their excitement. I joined the Silent Book Club 6200 in the hope that by osmosis, I can rekindle my love for reading—and also tackle my mounting to-read tower!”
From Leah Navarro: “As someone who used to read a lot but now has difficulty doing so, I have hoped joining the Silent Book Club will spark my desire to consume books again. Which, apparently, after many sessions, has immensely helped me read the books I just put on the shelf after buying them. It’s like rekindling an old flame—and for me, having a community that read together for an hour is quite inspiring. I look forward to each month, to seeing new [and old] faces, to talk about their progress on the books that they have chosen to read.”
From Dominique Roleda: “I mainly joined because I needed an excuse to read. I had been in such a huge reading slump for the past two years, where I’d start a new book, then forget about it and then start another. I just could not finish reading a book! And then I’d make excuses that it was because I was busy, and I had other things to do. When I heard that there was a book club though, I figured that I’d give it a shot. Silent Book Club gave me an excuse to actually go out and read, so that was hitting two birds with one stone. I didn’t really think that it would be for me, because I didn’t think reading in silence would be very engaging, but just being around people reading and mirroring them did help me get out of my reading slump. It also feels comforting to silently be a part of a community, even though there isn’t much talking involved, just a shared love of books. I feel like whenever I was part of online book clubs before where there were discussions, it just pressured me into putting up a persona so that I didn’t seem dumb, and I was rushing to read so I had something to talk about—but missing the enjoyment of the book actually sucked, and that got tiring real quickly. Just silently existing in a room to read with other people [who also love reading books as much as I do] is comforting in its own way. And I’d also get some good recommendations for my next read just by looking around! And if I really want to start a conversation, asking about books at the Silent Book Club is pretty much a free ice-breaker.”
I do hope Silent Book Club becomes a firm fixture in Dumaguete’s literary landscape, much like the workshops and readings that have come before it. I love its simplicity. I love that it requires no grand gestures and no elaborate discussions—just a group of people reading together, in silence, finding comfort in the shared stillness of books.
Silent Book Club 6200 [ Instagram: @silentbookclub.6200 ] meets once a month, usually on a Wednesday night, at Libraria Books at 58 EJ Blanco Drive. The event is free and open to the public.
Labels: books, city of literature, dumaguete, literature, silent book club
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Saturday, February 01, 2025
2:23 AM |
I'm Outta Here
Walter Salles’ I’m Still Here [2024], which is up for Best Picture at the Oscars, is basically the Brazilian Dekada ‘70 [2002], with Fernanda Torres taking on the Vilma Santos role. Torres as Eunice Paiva is a stalwart saint from beginning to end, and while the role is acted to brilliant pieces, it doesn’t make for good characterization, or propulsive storytelling because she has no arc. [And what is up with that ending? Sure, that's Fernando Montenegro, whom I love in Central Station, swapping in for the role with her real-life daughter, but what is that ending?] Meanwhile, Santos’ Amanda Bartolome goes from mousy and uncaring-about-current-events housewife and mother to fierce activist in the course of the film, which actually make for good cinema, and a good arc, enriched in a way only the late Lualhati Bautista could conjure a complex female character. I think I like Chito Roño’s film better. And I wish Philippine cinema had a better PR machine even then to get similar acclaim worldwide.
P.S. I think I will stop watching movies for a few days. I’m just annoyed at everything that I see. September 5 and Nickel Boys were immense disappointments, Conclave and A Complete Unknown were nice but underwhelming. I don’t like Emilia Perez, and I found Anora brilliant and funny but ultimately empty and glib without a real awareness of how the real world works. The only Best Picture nominees I really liked are Dune Part 2, The Substance, and Wicked. I also really love A Real Pain, but they didn’t nominate that one for the big prize. And, no, The Brutalist does not exist. [Is it even out?] The only fantastic category at the Oscars this year is Best Animated Feature. Walang patapon: Flow, The Wild Robot, Memoir of a Snail, Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl, and Inside Out 2 — and would you believe the last one is the least of them all.
Labels: film
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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