Lisa Linn Kana'e. Photo courtesy Bamboo Ridge

New short story collection beams up local style

By Liza Simon / Ka Wai Ola

Psychologists say that something they call "mirroring" is the essence of good parenting. Recall from your own hanabata days seeing yourself reflected in the eyes of Mom and Pops, not only in the looks they gave you but the everyday comments they made, even if it was something as simple as: "Plenny rice you wen' eat with your hamburger" – serving notice that two, not four, scoops of rice is the norm.

Mirroring is no less the essence of regional fiction. Like the name suggests, this is a genre that delivers a sense of place through the eyes of an insider. The results are not always flattering. As with the parenting equivalent, the mirror of regional fiction cuts both ways, providing validation but also depicting hard-to-swallow truths. Ultimately, good regional fiction is also healthy, creating a communal memory that resonates beyond far beyond the author's locality with distant audiences, who see something that good literature of any genre delivers—an original reflection on human nature.

Lois Ann Yananaka was Hawai'i's first acclaimed regional fiction writer, placing the sound of pidgin and images of old plantation life on both local high school reading lists as well as in the pages of the New York Times book review. Locally, some objected that the notoriety hung out dirty laundry or stereotypes for all to see, but the naysayers were outnumbered by fans who plumbed the depths of Yamanaka's writing and found both pathos and pure fun.

Islands Linked by Ocean, by Lisa Linn Kana'e.

Lisa Linn Kana'e is one of many young local literati heirs of Yamanaka. Kana'e's newly published short story collection Islands Linked by Ocean doesn't have the edge of Yamanaka's work, though this doesn't necessarily mean it's any less a dead-on affirmation of locality with far-reaching resonance. Kana'e's particular strength is that her characters are so in the middling range of drama; they neither soar high nor fall hard, so they don't need redemption—just some tenderness will do. And tenderness is the overall esprit of Kana'e's tales.

Take, for example, the story "Sassy". Here, the jilted heroine doesn't find Prince Charming—in fact, the boyfriend she brings home to the annual 'ohana Christmas day dinner dumps her on the holiday in a 7-Eleven store parking lot. But in the end, she is blessed and buoyed by some golden advice from a chain-smoking auntie. You'll recognize this eccentric kupuna as your own, someone who paid her dues for always telling the truth, but no matter….. Her weirdness has survived the test of time and proven to be wisdom.

Fans of contemporary fiction who value portraits of post-modern conflict and chaos may not like that Kana'e's work does not provide the teeth-grinding tension equivalent to a double espresso. Kana'e has effectively mirrored the tenderness of island life by crafting characters in high resolution, like her portrait of Hattie, the tita protagonist of "Break Room Divas", who knows exactly how to keep her dignity while under assault from a pretentious just-out-of-college-boss named Jayne—make that spelled with a "y", puh-leese. Now a writer of real cliché would let this Jayne wench get her just desserts in the end and indulge the reader's lust for comeuppance. Not Kana'e. She wants us to look deeper into the mirror and see a forgiving part of human nature—that by any other name is aloha.

Admittedly, aloha like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder. The ultimate test to your receptivity of Kana'e's portrayal of our locality lies in her handling of the theme of post-Hawaiian renaissance native identity, a heady A-list topic for Hawai'i's academic writers, but how would a fiction writer make it, well, entertaining? Kana'e takes the struggle to reconcile Hawaiian ancestry with Hawaiian nation-building and brings it home to the 'ohana.

Her story "Born Again Hawaiian" depicts a married couple trying to make it in a Honolulu high-rise apartment. The woman is hip to a new day for Hawaiians; the man is satisfied with the status quo—symbolized by whatever UH Warrior game he is glued to on the tube. The story ends without a judgment against either. If you were looking for a political statement in this plot from the part-Hawaiian Kana'e, sorry. She is good enough of a fiction writer to avoid didactic stances and instead she goes with the messiness of the human heart. If you see in this story a reflection of your own lucky-you-live-Hawai'i feeling, then strike up the scoreboard one more time for the value of fiction as mirror.

Some more good news, too: Kana'e teaches writing at Kapi'olani Community College. If her own writing style is any indication, she's probably helping students that have been traumatized by bad English teachers to see writing as a joyful means of reflection. So perhaps we can look forward to grads of Kana'e's class proffering more literary mirrors upon mirrors-- mesmerizing as a funhouse or, like Kana'e's Islands Linked by Ocean, a whole lot of fun.