Pidgin and Humor: Shark Dialogues vs. Reality

It is difficult to properly imitate a dialect on paper – to do so requires a lot of research and a fierceness to remain true to its idioms. Hawaiian Creole English (HCE), or pidgin as the locals call it, is a unique and rhythmic dialect that began as a “medium” through which various races communicated with each other as a result of being forced to work together on Hawai‘i’s historic plantations (Furukawa 29). Since then, HCE has been spoken by subsequent generations – children grow up knowing HCE as their first language. Locals recognize each other based on whether someone speaks pidgin (29). It is a sign of whether one is really local – as far as growing up in Hawai‘i and having roots back to plantation days. Therefore, accuracy is crucial because it is such a symbolic language. If an author does not capture the syntax of a dialect perfectly, the best way to write it is not at all. Some of the characters in Kiana Davenport’s Shark Dialogues speak HCE and the result is less than accurate. The inconsistencies of Davenport’s HCE demonstrates her lack of knowledge towards it and want of protection for it.

Another aspect of local culture that Davenport fails to replicate is the ability of local people to find humor in all things. Throughout Shark Dialogues, tragedy, anger, bitterness, and confusion are portrayed as the normal attributes of the characters with nary a glimmer of humor to relieve their suffering. This absence defies the reality of local culture. In attempting to showcase her writing prowess and research skills, Davenport overlooks the essence of Hawai‘i’s local language and people. The following critiques may appear petty but I adhere to the notion that if one wishes to emulate the vernacular and disposition of a people, make damn sure to get it right.

To compare, contrast, and analyze Davenport’s interpretation of pidgin, excerpts from Shark Dialogues and stories written by local authors are examined. The following excerpt is spoken by Run run in Shark Dialogues – a second-generation Japanese woman who takes care of Pono, the main character, and is her confidant:

Everyt’ing I say not true. Who always need da truth? Sometime we just need

stay sane. Dis part you bettah believe, foah shoah. Dis part fall from sleeve of

truth like sweat. Pono one wahine widdout extra emotions. She love. Or hate.

She also one wahine always doing what fear most – t’row herself in spots where

can’t always touch bottom. (Davenport 176)

I grew up speaking and listening to HCE from my brothers, cousins, and uncles. While there are different interpretations of pidgin, they all share a certain rhythmic flow to the conversation. Davenport’s rendering of HCE is choppy and dissimilar to any I have heard. In contrast, below is an excerpt from an article in which the introduction is written by local comedian and actor, Paul Ogata:

Ho, get tree good tings, dis book. Going make you tink, sometimes you going

laugh, and da odda times going make you nene. Da haole buggah who wen write

'em no live heah, but. Bymbye we tell you what we tink a him… dis is what I went

tink of da guy who wen write em. Da guy should get da Peace Prize. Cuz I wen try

read em, and da buggah wen put me to sleep. Nah nah nah, only joke. (Mindess

177,199)

Ogata’s HCE is musical and as I read it aloud, I can visualize any of my uncles speaking in the same way. Although Ogata grew up on another island in a different generation than my uncles and brothers, and some terms might be different, the rhythm is the same.

The biggest issue with Davenport’s rendition of HCE is inconsistency. Sometimes characters say, “foah,” and other times, “for”; some words end in “-ah” like “befoah” while others end in “-er” as in, “after” (Davenport 428, 433). Her intermingling of “de” and “da” (the) is inaccurate – in any local rendition of HCE, “da” is the sole article of “the” that pidgin calls for (Tonouchi 10-47; “Ha Kam Wi Tawk Pidgin?” 2009; Simonson 1981). She unnecessarily omits words from a pidgin-ridden conversation and causes the speaker to sound as if s/he is trying to speak English although this is not the case.

Although there is controversy over whether HCE has any place in education or business due to its rearrangement of Standard English grammar and lack of thorough enunciation, HCE is an actual dialect of a language not an attempt at one (Tonouchi 75-82). Locals are not trying to speak English, they are merely speaking a certain version of it. For example, when Lloyd, the local Hawaiian-Chinese driver helping Vanya and Toru with their cause, tells them of his cousins’ whereabouts, he says, “Where highway starts again, is like big parking lot where church was…” (Davenport 428). In reading that sentence, the sense I get is that Lloyd is from an outside country whose first language is not English but is stumbling his way through it, however, as Lloyd is just another local braddah speaking HCE as he has his entire life, the sentence would sound more like, “Wea da highway starts again, get one big pahking lot wea da church was…” One may argue that those unfamiliar with HCE will not understand what is being said but there is evidence of pidgin being written and understood by audiences unfamiliar with it (Tonouchi 2004; Murayama 1975). Authenticity can and should be prized and striven for when penning a language that is the binding connection between so many cultures and peoples.

Another inaccuracy of local culture in Davenport’s book is the absolute lack of humor. Spend time around any local family, Hawaiian or otherwise, and one evident quality is the ability to endure life’s ups and downs with good-natured teasing and humor. Circumstances can be grave, attitudes discouraged and yet, there will be that one uncle or aunty that interjects with an amusing anecdote or hilarious one-line zinger that will make everyone around smirk, if not laugh, at the absurdity of life (Mindess 197). The racial slurs vehemently cast in Shark Dialogues is in actuality a source of jokes for many locals – and one that is predominantly taken amicably (Mindess 186; Blake 7). Being able to laugh while suffering through the trials of human existence is one of most admirable attributes of the indomitable human spirit. From early days of contact, the Hawaiians have shown a propensity for laughter with chiefs and natives playing jokes on the unsuspecting newcomers (Daws 58). Davenport does the Hawaiians and other minorities a disservice when she withholds the gift of laughter from her characters and storyline.

Shark Dialogues is not a comedy but it follows the lives of a discombobulated family, weaving paths and relationships in and out of each other, in such a way that the presence of a comical moment would have added realism and relief to the story. Davenport captures the solemnity and gravity of Pono’s life and those of her granddaughters. She conveys the tragedy of the Hawaiian people losing their kingdom, their culture, their land, and their identity; along with showing the hardships of the minorities brought to Hawai‘i to start over again. However, as in every person’s journey, life is made up of tragedy, drama, and comedy. When Davenport tries to write from the perspective of local people and their language, the result is an embarrassingly inaccurate representation of who we really are, for through our trials and tribulations, we remain good-naturedly resilient.

To think that Shark Dialogues could be an introductory book about Hawai‘i for anyone is a disappointing notion. Our language of HCE is so much richer, vibrant, and musical than Davenport conveys, and our interactions with each other so much warmer, more loving, and humorous than she portrays. The disconnection in her writing is apparent when she attempts to write it from a local perspective because she misses out on the beloved peculiarity of the language and the locals’ never-ending capacity to find humor in tragic situations.