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ʻEwa Which Way
‘EWA WHICH WAY is a coming-of-age novel set in the early 1980s, around the time of Hurricane ‘Iwa. The DeSilva family, in economic straits, has suffered the setback of having to move from town to ‘Ewa Beach, and the dissonance between parents impacts the lives of their young sons, Landon and Luke. In addition to humorous moments depicting growing up local, Portuguese, and Catholic, there are serious under-lying themes regarding religion, ethnic tensions, assimilation issues, domestic violence, and the reality that children sometimes need to find their own way in the world at a very young age. With problems in the home and at school, the two brothers are forced to find ways to survive. The economic, ethnic, and family violence issues dominating their lives make for provocative reading relevant to similar contemporary issues of today.
- GenresFiction
302 pages, Paperback
First published April 19, 2013
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
June 4, 2022
“Tide always got the stains out. Well, almost.”
Despite sixth-grade Landon DeSliva’s commitment to cleaning up his life— doing chores, turning in schoolwork, going to church, protecting his younger brother, trying to avoid his parents’ failing marriage and heavy hands, and putting up with poverty, heat, and environmental devastation on Oahu’s leeward side— the only option might be to fly… “just once”— a “final” flight.
If Jack Daniels can’t aid Landon’s constant fight against the current, could jumping into the ocean during a hurricane? In ‘Ewa Which Way, Tyler Miranda masterfully presents the brutal contemplation between fleeing or surviving a “dying family”— abusive parents, religious standards and shame, cultural chasms, and an unrecoverable lost grasp at the American dream.
It’s the most honest, brave, raw story I’ve been lucky enough to get eyes on. A masterpiece in #own voices with dialogue in Hawaiian Creole (pidgin), it’s gritty and real, a no-turning-back look into a profoundly struggling household.
At once, ‘Ewa Which Way is overwhelmingly helpless and hopeful. Through pieces of memories stacked like Legos, Miranda’s novel has the elements of iconic literature— lyrical, searing— a boy on the very edge of growing up under his mom’s critical eye, caught in a vicious family cycle of guilt, race, class, disappointment, abuse and addiction. In the vein of 2022 Booker Prize-winner Shuggie Bain, the story highlights the desperation of a mom polishing the surfaces as her fatal flaws consume her. Bucking against going to counseling for fear of “airing dirty laundry all over
‘Ewa Beach,” Landon’s mom hides her issues, disownment, and disgrace behind spotless “Portuguese ephemera.” Caring more for plants than people, she loyally tends her roses— while she hits, berates and neglects Landon, his brother, and their dad. “How was something both good and evil, both light and dark at the same time?” Landon wonders about Star Wars, about Jesus. The reader knows his subconscious extends the question to his mom: “She never wanted me to be born.”
“All you have to do is reach for the stars and your dreams can come true.” So says Landon’s best friend’s mom, Mrs. Ka’ea.
Wise enough to know he can’t get there on an X-Wing or Tie Fighter, Landon surfs, scrubs, and slugs whiskey to escape. Can Mrs. Ka’ea help? Can Landon’s teacher, Mrs. Kato? In the lesser-known but deeply rich western part of Oahu, where the Portuguese settled among fishponds to work the plantations, Landon comes of age in the rain— finding his first love, deciding what he wants his life to be— or whether it’s even worth living.
What actually matters? Landon navigates what he has and doesn’t have control over. That’s the ‘ewa part— “crooked… ill-fitting,” “unequal.” Miranda’s Pupu Street, 1982, is a microcosm of America today— inequitable, vulnerable, teetering between endurance and collapse, its working class forgotten, scraping by with minimal resources.
This is a perfect book that should be widely shared, studied— and treasured. Severely under-read, it’s impossibly unforgettable. Through Landon’s narration, Miranda thrashes the human heart like a tropical storm, opening the sky above with a beautiful thin blue break.
Despite sixth-grade Landon DeSliva’s commitment to cleaning up his life— doing chores, turning in schoolwork, going to church, protecting his younger brother, trying to avoid his parents’ failing marriage and heavy hands, and putting up with poverty, heat, and environmental devastation on Oahu’s leeward side— the only option might be to fly… “just once”— a “final” flight.
If Jack Daniels can’t aid Landon’s constant fight against the current, could jumping into the ocean during a hurricane? In ‘Ewa Which Way, Tyler Miranda masterfully presents the brutal contemplation between fleeing or surviving a “dying family”— abusive parents, religious standards and shame, cultural chasms, and an unrecoverable lost grasp at the American dream.
It’s the most honest, brave, raw story I’ve been lucky enough to get eyes on. A masterpiece in #own voices with dialogue in Hawaiian Creole (pidgin), it’s gritty and real, a no-turning-back look into a profoundly struggling household.
At once, ‘Ewa Which Way is overwhelmingly helpless and hopeful. Through pieces of memories stacked like Legos, Miranda’s novel has the elements of iconic literature— lyrical, searing— a boy on the very edge of growing up under his mom’s critical eye, caught in a vicious family cycle of guilt, race, class, disappointment, abuse and addiction. In the vein of 2022 Booker Prize-winner Shuggie Bain, the story highlights the desperation of a mom polishing the surfaces as her fatal flaws consume her. Bucking against going to counseling for fear of “airing dirty laundry all over
‘Ewa Beach,” Landon’s mom hides her issues, disownment, and disgrace behind spotless “Portuguese ephemera.” Caring more for plants than people, she loyally tends her roses— while she hits, berates and neglects Landon, his brother, and their dad. “How was something both good and evil, both light and dark at the same time?” Landon wonders about Star Wars, about Jesus. The reader knows his subconscious extends the question to his mom: “She never wanted me to be born.”
“All you have to do is reach for the stars and your dreams can come true.” So says Landon’s best friend’s mom, Mrs. Ka’ea.
Wise enough to know he can’t get there on an X-Wing or Tie Fighter, Landon surfs, scrubs, and slugs whiskey to escape. Can Mrs. Ka’ea help? Can Landon’s teacher, Mrs. Kato? In the lesser-known but deeply rich western part of Oahu, where the Portuguese settled among fishponds to work the plantations, Landon comes of age in the rain— finding his first love, deciding what he wants his life to be— or whether it’s even worth living.
What actually matters? Landon navigates what he has and doesn’t have control over. That’s the ‘ewa part— “crooked… ill-fitting,” “unequal.” Miranda’s Pupu Street, 1982, is a microcosm of America today— inequitable, vulnerable, teetering between endurance and collapse, its working class forgotten, scraping by with minimal resources.
This is a perfect book that should be widely shared, studied— and treasured. Severely under-read, it’s impossibly unforgettable. Through Landon’s narration, Miranda thrashes the human heart like a tropical storm, opening the sky above with a beautiful thin blue break.
May 8, 2025
A world through a child's eyes.
I grew up in Hawaii, and reading this book definitely took me back. However, as Landon was telling his story of his home life. I wanted to take him and care for him myself. He is a very smart young man with careless parents and no sense of love from either of them. I will admit this book took a long time to read. There were a lot of situations in the book that I felt did not need to be in the book. But after reading it, I understood how it all tied together. Landon who has been through a lot in his little life. Taught me a lot about life and death. The last chapter got me to think hard about death and life and what it truly means.
I grew up in Hawaii, and reading this book definitely took me back. However, as Landon was telling his story of his home life. I wanted to take him and care for him myself. He is a very smart young man with careless parents and no sense of love from either of them. I will admit this book took a long time to read. There were a lot of situations in the book that I felt did not need to be in the book. But after reading it, I understood how it all tied together. Landon who has been through a lot in his little life. Taught me a lot about life and death. The last chapter got me to think hard about death and life and what it truly means.
July 9, 2013
‘Ewa Which Way by Tyler Miranda peels back the bandage of what adults think adolescence is like to expose the raw, oozing strawberry of reality. I loved this book for its ability to show all the complicated rules, expectations, and entanglements of being a 12 year old boy trying to make sense out of adult behavior. Set in ‘Ewa Beach, Hawaii in 1982, Landon DeSilva and his brother Luke know that lickins can fall from the sky like lightning, that a certain side-eye from a parent means a storm’s coming, and that sometimes no matter how long you hold your breath you can’t escape, but have to endure the wave to the end.
For Landon, things are bad at home, but not bad enough. Not enough for child protective services to swoop in and spirit Landon and Luke to a new home, not enough for the cops to do more than show up when his parents’ fights wake the neighbors, and not enough for his mother to realize her marriage is over. Throughout the novel Landon tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do when there’s really nothing he can. His parents’ troubles are deep—there’s guilt, prejudices of class and race, loss, alcohol abuse and valium popping coping mechanisms, unfulfilled expectations, and sheer dysfunction. Landon sees it all with the clarity of a twelve year old and his reactions and understandings are heartbreaking and true. Adult readers will read not only the story, but all the words and character motivations between the lines. It’s powerful, immediate, and like a bloody scrapped knee, painfully evocative of the transition between childhood and adulthood.
Tyler’s lyrical writing hit so many of the details of growing up in Hawaii pitch perfect—the politics of school bullies and teachers, the endless hours of chores (I so remember scrubbing toilets with Comet and Scott towels and weeding Saturday mornings in heat that felt like standing in a clothes dryer), frustration with siblings who seem to glory in amplifying the problems instead of flying under the radar, conflicting messages between Catholic church teachings and family actions, and the blessed escape an hour in the ocean can be. I particularly enjoyed Tyler’s description of surfing and futzing around in the shore break as a kid. It’s some of the most evocative passages about being in the ocean I’ve ever read.
There’s an argument in literary circles about the difference between books about kids and books for kids, with the educational conceit that kids will read stories about characters their age and a little older, but not younger. While Landon begins the novel as a sixth grader, (well, technically looking back to sixth grade), this book is not for the fourth–seventh grade crowd. My recommendation is for readers grade eight to adult for several reasons.
‘Ewa Which Way is finely crafted as literary fiction and by that I mean it’s rich in symbolism, allegory, metaphor, and has well-developed themes. As entertaining as it is, it’s also perfect for deconstruction in a literature class for kids old enough to appreciate the nuances in the writing. There is much for readers to explore in this novel that goes beyond a simple analysis of plot, character development, and setting. Like To Kill a Mocking Bird, Huck Finn, and The Chosen, ‘Ewa Which Way is a peek into a world few readers know and understand with a storyline that feels universal. (And yes, I do consider ‘Ewa Which Way a Pacific Lit equivalent to Huck Finn. Thanks for asking.)
Another challenge is the language—there’s a lot of Pidgin English construction in the dialogue, mainly dis, dat, an’ da oddah ting kind of phrasing. This version of Pidgin is common on ‘Oahu public school playgrounds, and I think ultimately easier for the non-Pidgin speaker to understand than a more a hard-core version of Pidgin liberally sprinkled with words like hammajang, lolo, and pau. In telling his story Tyler used an authentic interpretation of Hawaiian Pidgin English’s sounds and rhythms that native Pidgin speakers will have no trouble reading, but it requires a little more decoding for English-only speakers. I think this extra work puts it out of the range of most mainland elementary and intermediate readers.
A final red flag that it’s for older kids is the occasional swearing, which might make parents and teachers of younger readers uncomfortable. Don’t worry, the language isn’t a gratuitous Sopranos-bar-of-soap-on-the-tongue fest and it’s used to good effect. Yes, I understand kids know, hear, and use these words, but parents and teachers are the ones who buy the books, and in their eyes, there’s a big difference between what’s appropriate for sixth and eighth grade. It’s the only reason I mentioned it.
I loved this book and can’t recommend it too highly. It’s the kind of novel that makes you think about all the Landons in the world and the DeSilvas next door. Readers looking to remember growing up in Hawaii or wanting to experience life as an island kid are in for a real treat.
For Landon, things are bad at home, but not bad enough. Not enough for child protective services to swoop in and spirit Landon and Luke to a new home, not enough for the cops to do more than show up when his parents’ fights wake the neighbors, and not enough for his mother to realize her marriage is over. Throughout the novel Landon tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do when there’s really nothing he can. His parents’ troubles are deep—there’s guilt, prejudices of class and race, loss, alcohol abuse and valium popping coping mechanisms, unfulfilled expectations, and sheer dysfunction. Landon sees it all with the clarity of a twelve year old and his reactions and understandings are heartbreaking and true. Adult readers will read not only the story, but all the words and character motivations between the lines. It’s powerful, immediate, and like a bloody scrapped knee, painfully evocative of the transition between childhood and adulthood.
Tyler’s lyrical writing hit so many of the details of growing up in Hawaii pitch perfect—the politics of school bullies and teachers, the endless hours of chores (I so remember scrubbing toilets with Comet and Scott towels and weeding Saturday mornings in heat that felt like standing in a clothes dryer), frustration with siblings who seem to glory in amplifying the problems instead of flying under the radar, conflicting messages between Catholic church teachings and family actions, and the blessed escape an hour in the ocean can be. I particularly enjoyed Tyler’s description of surfing and futzing around in the shore break as a kid. It’s some of the most evocative passages about being in the ocean I’ve ever read.
There’s an argument in literary circles about the difference between books about kids and books for kids, with the educational conceit that kids will read stories about characters their age and a little older, but not younger. While Landon begins the novel as a sixth grader, (well, technically looking back to sixth grade), this book is not for the fourth–seventh grade crowd. My recommendation is for readers grade eight to adult for several reasons.
‘Ewa Which Way is finely crafted as literary fiction and by that I mean it’s rich in symbolism, allegory, metaphor, and has well-developed themes. As entertaining as it is, it’s also perfect for deconstruction in a literature class for kids old enough to appreciate the nuances in the writing. There is much for readers to explore in this novel that goes beyond a simple analysis of plot, character development, and setting. Like To Kill a Mocking Bird, Huck Finn, and The Chosen, ‘Ewa Which Way is a peek into a world few readers know and understand with a storyline that feels universal. (And yes, I do consider ‘Ewa Which Way a Pacific Lit equivalent to Huck Finn. Thanks for asking.)
Another challenge is the language—there’s a lot of Pidgin English construction in the dialogue, mainly dis, dat, an’ da oddah ting kind of phrasing. This version of Pidgin is common on ‘Oahu public school playgrounds, and I think ultimately easier for the non-Pidgin speaker to understand than a more a hard-core version of Pidgin liberally sprinkled with words like hammajang, lolo, and pau. In telling his story Tyler used an authentic interpretation of Hawaiian Pidgin English’s sounds and rhythms that native Pidgin speakers will have no trouble reading, but it requires a little more decoding for English-only speakers. I think this extra work puts it out of the range of most mainland elementary and intermediate readers.
A final red flag that it’s for older kids is the occasional swearing, which might make parents and teachers of younger readers uncomfortable. Don’t worry, the language isn’t a gratuitous Sopranos-bar-of-soap-on-the-tongue fest and it’s used to good effect. Yes, I understand kids know, hear, and use these words, but parents and teachers are the ones who buy the books, and in their eyes, there’s a big difference between what’s appropriate for sixth and eighth grade. It’s the only reason I mentioned it.
I loved this book and can’t recommend it too highly. It’s the kind of novel that makes you think about all the Landons in the world and the DeSilvas next door. Readers looking to remember growing up in Hawaii or wanting to experience life as an island kid are in for a real treat.
September 7, 2013
‘Ewa Which Way by Tyler Miranda peels back the bandage of what adults think adolescence is like to expose the raw, oozing strawberry of reality. I loved this book for its ability to show all the complicated rules, expectations, and entanglements of being a 12-year-old boy trying to make sense out of adult behavior. Set in ‘Ewa Beach, Hawaii in 1982, Landon DeSilva and his brother Luke know that lickins can fall from the sky like lightning, that a certain side-eye from a parent means a storm’s coming, and that sometimes no matter how long you hold your breath you can’t escape, but have to endure the wave to the end.
For Landon, things are bad at home, but not bad enough. Not enough for child protective services to swoop in and spirit Landon and Luke to a new home, not enough for the cops to do more than show up when his parents’ fights wake the neighbors, and not enough for his mother to realize her marriage is over. Throughout the novel Landon tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do when there’s really nothing he can. His parents’ troubles are deep—there’s guilt, prejudices of class and race, loss, alcohol abuse and valium popping coping mechanisms, unfulfilled expectations, and sheer dysfunction. Landon sees it all with the clarity of a twelve-year-old and his reactions and understandings are heartbreaking and true. Adult readers will read not only the story, but all the words and character motivations between the lines. It’s powerful, immediate, and like a bloody scrapped knee, painfully evocative of the transition between childhood and adulthood.
Tyler’s lyrical writing hit so many of the details of growing up in Hawaii pitch perfect—the politics of school bullies and teachers, the endless hours of chores (I so remember scrubbing toilets with Comet and Scott towels and weeding Saturday mornings in heat that felt like standing in a clothes dryer), frustration with siblings who seem to glory in amplifying the problems instead of flying under the radar, conflicting messages between Catholic church teachings and family actions, and the blessed escape an hour in the ocean can be. I particularly enjoyed Tyler’s description of surfing and futzing around in the shore break as a kid. It’s some of the most evocative passages about being in the ocean I’ve ever read.
There’s an argument in literary circles about the difference between books about kids and books for kids, with the educational conceit that kids will read stories about characters their age and a little older, but not younger. While Landon begins the novel as a sixth grader, (well, technically looking back to sixth grade), this book is not for the fourth–seventh grade crowd. My recommendation is for readers grade eight to adult for several reasons.
‘Ewa Which Way is finely crafted as literary fiction and by that I mean it’s rich in symbolism, allegory, metaphor, and has well-developed themes. As entertaining as it is, it’s also perfect for deconstruction in a literature class for kids old enough to appreciate the nuances in the writing. There is much for readers to explore in this novel that goes beyond a simple analysis of plot, character development, and setting. Like To Kill a Mocking Bird, Huck Finn, and The Chosen, ‘Ewa Which Way is a peek into a world few readers know and understand with a storyline that feels universal. (And yes, I do consider ‘Ewa Which Way a Pacific Lit equivalent to Huck Finn. Thanks for asking.)
Another challenge is the language—there’s a lot of Pidgin English construction in the dialogue, mainly dis, dat, an’ da oddah ting kind of phrasing. This version of Pidgin is common on ‘Oahu public school playgrounds, and I think ultimately easier for the non-Pidgin speaker to understand than a more a hard-core version of Pidgin liberally sprinkled with words like hammajang, lolo, and pau. In telling his story Tyler used an authentic interpretation of Hawaiian Pidgin English’s sounds and rhythms that native Pidgin speakers will have no trouble reading, but it requires a little more decoding for English-only speakers. I think this extra work puts it out of the range of most mainland elementary and intermediate readers.
A final red flag that it’s for older kids is the occasional swearing, which might make parents and teachers of younger readers uncomfortable. Don’t worry, the language isn’t a gratuitous Sopranos-bar-of-soap-on-the-tongue fest and it’s used to good effect. Yes, I understand kids know, hear, and use these words, but parents and teachers are the ones who buy the books, and in their eyes, there’s a big difference between what’s appropriate for sixth and eighth grade. It’s the only reason I mentioned it.
I loved this book and can’t recommend it too highly. It’s the kind of novel that makes you think about all the Landons in the world and the DeSilvas next door. Readers looking to remember growing up in Hawaii or wanting to experience life as an island kid are in for a real treat.
For Landon, things are bad at home, but not bad enough. Not enough for child protective services to swoop in and spirit Landon and Luke to a new home, not enough for the cops to do more than show up when his parents’ fights wake the neighbors, and not enough for his mother to realize her marriage is over. Throughout the novel Landon tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do when there’s really nothing he can. His parents’ troubles are deep—there’s guilt, prejudices of class and race, loss, alcohol abuse and valium popping coping mechanisms, unfulfilled expectations, and sheer dysfunction. Landon sees it all with the clarity of a twelve-year-old and his reactions and understandings are heartbreaking and true. Adult readers will read not only the story, but all the words and character motivations between the lines. It’s powerful, immediate, and like a bloody scrapped knee, painfully evocative of the transition between childhood and adulthood.
Tyler’s lyrical writing hit so many of the details of growing up in Hawaii pitch perfect—the politics of school bullies and teachers, the endless hours of chores (I so remember scrubbing toilets with Comet and Scott towels and weeding Saturday mornings in heat that felt like standing in a clothes dryer), frustration with siblings who seem to glory in amplifying the problems instead of flying under the radar, conflicting messages between Catholic church teachings and family actions, and the blessed escape an hour in the ocean can be. I particularly enjoyed Tyler’s description of surfing and futzing around in the shore break as a kid. It’s some of the most evocative passages about being in the ocean I’ve ever read.
There’s an argument in literary circles about the difference between books about kids and books for kids, with the educational conceit that kids will read stories about characters their age and a little older, but not younger. While Landon begins the novel as a sixth grader, (well, technically looking back to sixth grade), this book is not for the fourth–seventh grade crowd. My recommendation is for readers grade eight to adult for several reasons.
‘Ewa Which Way is finely crafted as literary fiction and by that I mean it’s rich in symbolism, allegory, metaphor, and has well-developed themes. As entertaining as it is, it’s also perfect for deconstruction in a literature class for kids old enough to appreciate the nuances in the writing. There is much for readers to explore in this novel that goes beyond a simple analysis of plot, character development, and setting. Like To Kill a Mocking Bird, Huck Finn, and The Chosen, ‘Ewa Which Way is a peek into a world few readers know and understand with a storyline that feels universal. (And yes, I do consider ‘Ewa Which Way a Pacific Lit equivalent to Huck Finn. Thanks for asking.)
Another challenge is the language—there’s a lot of Pidgin English construction in the dialogue, mainly dis, dat, an’ da oddah ting kind of phrasing. This version of Pidgin is common on ‘Oahu public school playgrounds, and I think ultimately easier for the non-Pidgin speaker to understand than a more a hard-core version of Pidgin liberally sprinkled with words like hammajang, lolo, and pau. In telling his story Tyler used an authentic interpretation of Hawaiian Pidgin English’s sounds and rhythms that native Pidgin speakers will have no trouble reading, but it requires a little more decoding for English-only speakers. I think this extra work puts it out of the range of most mainland elementary and intermediate readers.
A final red flag that it’s for older kids is the occasional swearing, which might make parents and teachers of younger readers uncomfortable. Don’t worry, the language isn’t a gratuitous Sopranos-bar-of-soap-on-the-tongue fest and it’s used to good effect. Yes, I understand kids know, hear, and use these words, but parents and teachers are the ones who buy the books, and in their eyes, there’s a big difference between what’s appropriate for sixth and eighth grade. It’s the only reason I mentioned it.
I loved this book and can’t recommend it too highly. It’s the kind of novel that makes you think about all the Landons in the world and the DeSilvas next door. Readers looking to remember growing up in Hawaii or wanting to experience life as an island kid are in for a real treat.
June 4, 2022
“Tide always got the stains out. Well, almost.”
Despite sixth-grade Landon DeSliva’s commitment to cleaning up his life— doing chores, turning in schoolwork, going to church, protecting his younger brother, trying to avoid his parents’ failing marriage and heavy hands, and putting up with poverty, heat, and environmental devastation on Oahu’s leeward side— the only option might be to fly… “just once”— a “final” flight.
If Jack Daniels can’t aid Landon’s constant fight against the current, could jumping into the ocean during a hurricane? In ‘Ewa Which Way, Tyler Miranda masterfully presents the brutal contemplation between fleeing or surviving a “dying family”— abusive parents, religious standards and shame, cultural chasms, and an unrecoverable lost grasp at the American dream.
It’s the most honest, brave, raw story I’ve been lucky enough to get eyes on. A masterpiece in #own voices with dialogue in Hawaiian Creole (pidgin), it’s gritty and real, a no-turning-back look into a profoundly struggling household.
At once, ‘Ewa Which Way is overwhelmingly helpless and hopeful. Through pieces of memories stacked like Legos, Miranda’s novel has the elements of iconic literature— lyrical, searing— a boy on the very edge of growing up under his mom’s critical eye, caught in a vicious family cycle of guilt, race, class, disappointment, abuse and addiction. In the vein of 2022 Booker Prize-winner Shuggie Bain, the story highlights the desperation of a mom polishing the surfaces as her fatal flaws consume her. Bucking against going to counseling for fear of “airing dirty laundry all over
‘Ewa Beach,” Landon’s mom hides her issues, disownment, and disgrace behind spotless “Portuguese ephemera.” Caring more for plants than people, she loyally tends her roses— while she hits, berates and neglects Landon, his brother, and their dad. “How was something both good and evil, both light and dark at the same time?” Landon wonders about Star Wars, about Jesus. The reader knows his subconscious extends the question to his mom: “She never wanted me to be born.”
“All you have to do is reach for the stars and your dreams can come true.” So says Landon’s best friend’s mom, Mrs. Ka’ea.
Wise enough to know he can’t get there on an X-Wing or Tie Fighter, Landon surfs, scrubs, and slugs whiskey to escape. Can Mrs. Ka’ea help? Can Landon’s teacher, Mrs. Kato? In the lesser-known but deeply rich western part of Oahu, where the Portuguese settled among fishponds to work the plantations, Landon comes of age in the rain— finding his first love, deciding what he wants his life to be— or whether it’s even worth living.
What actually matters? Landon navigates what he has and doesn’t have control over. That’s the ‘ewa part— “crooked… ill-fitting,” “unequal.” Miranda’s Pupu Street, 1982, is a microcosm of America today— inequitable, vulnerable, teetering between endurance and collapse, its working class forgotten, scraping by with minimal resources.
This is a perfect book that should be widely shared, studied— and treasured. Severely under-read, it’s impossibly unforgettable. Through Landon’s narration, Miranda thrashes the human heart like a tropical storm, opening the sky above with a beautiful thin blue break.
Despite sixth-grade Landon DeSliva’s commitment to cleaning up his life— doing chores, turning in schoolwork, going to church, protecting his younger brother, trying to avoid his parents’ failing marriage and heavy hands, and putting up with poverty, heat, and environmental devastation on Oahu’s leeward side— the only option might be to fly… “just once”— a “final” flight.
If Jack Daniels can’t aid Landon’s constant fight against the current, could jumping into the ocean during a hurricane? In ‘Ewa Which Way, Tyler Miranda masterfully presents the brutal contemplation between fleeing or surviving a “dying family”— abusive parents, religious standards and shame, cultural chasms, and an unrecoverable lost grasp at the American dream.
It’s the most honest, brave, raw story I’ve been lucky enough to get eyes on. A masterpiece in #own voices with dialogue in Hawaiian Creole (pidgin), it’s gritty and real, a no-turning-back look into a profoundly struggling household.
At once, ‘Ewa Which Way is overwhelmingly helpless and hopeful. Through pieces of memories stacked like Legos, Miranda’s novel has the elements of iconic literature— lyrical, searing— a boy on the very edge of growing up under his mom’s critical eye, caught in a vicious family cycle of guilt, race, class, disappointment, abuse and addiction. In the vein of 2022 Booker Prize-winner Shuggie Bain, the story highlights the desperation of a mom polishing the surfaces as her fatal flaws consume her. Bucking against going to counseling for fear of “airing dirty laundry all over
‘Ewa Beach,” Landon’s mom hides her issues, disownment, and disgrace behind spotless “Portuguese ephemera.” Caring more for plants than people, she loyally tends her roses— while she hits, berates and neglects Landon, his brother, and their dad. “How was something both good and evil, both light and dark at the same time?” Landon wonders about Star Wars, about Jesus. The reader knows his subconscious extends the question to his mom: “She never wanted me to be born.”
“All you have to do is reach for the stars and your dreams can come true.” So says Landon’s best friend’s mom, Mrs. Ka’ea.
Wise enough to know he can’t get there on an X-Wing or Tie Fighter, Landon surfs, scrubs, and slugs whiskey to escape. Can Mrs. Ka’ea help? Can Landon’s teacher, Mrs. Kato? In the lesser-known but deeply rich western part of Oahu, where the Portuguese settled among fishponds to work the plantations, Landon comes of age in the rain— finding his first love, deciding what he wants his life to be— or whether it’s even worth living.
What actually matters? Landon navigates what he has and doesn’t have control over. That’s the ‘ewa part— “crooked… ill-fitting,” “unequal.” Miranda’s Pupu Street, 1982, is a microcosm of America today— inequitable, vulnerable, teetering between endurance and collapse, its working class forgotten, scraping by with minimal resources.
This is a perfect book that should be widely shared, studied— and treasured. Severely under-read, it’s impossibly unforgettable. Through Landon’s narration, Miranda thrashes the human heart like a tropical storm, opening the sky above with a beautiful thin blue break.
August 10, 2016
Coming of age/slice of (non tourist) Hawaiian life book. Two brothers in ʻEwa Beach, Oʻahu, family falling apart. Good to recommend to high school students. Good discussion book: racism, class prejudice, family violence, bullying, honesty, friendship. Lively pidgin and some strong language (the f word) in appropriate places and not offensive. Covers all the issues: death and sex too (but more by suggestion and no graphic descriptions). And no, unlike Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time NDN no mention of masturbation neither. Strange in a book about teen boys....but there you have it.
June 22, 2014
Landon and Luke are brothers growing up in Ewa Beach. Their parents are constantly arguing and sometimes taking out their frustrations on the kids. When everything else is falling apart around them, the brothers know that all they really have is each other, so they need to stick together.
Some parts were uncomfortable or frustrating to read, especially when Luke kept doing stupid things, but it made sense later on.
Some parts were uncomfortable or frustrating to read, especially when Luke kept doing stupid things, but it made sense later on.
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