Description
Reading Blood Work and Other Stories feels like being handed a map of Hawai‘i no tourist will ever see. Donald A. Carreira Ching takes you beyond the beaches and resorts and into the homes, streets, and memories of real people—locals dealing with the fallout of life in a place being swallowed by climate change, colonial legacies, and economic pressure.
One story that hit especially hard for me was “Closing Costs.” It follows Kailen and his partner Lindsey, a couple trying to find a home they can actually afford. When Kailen ends up urinating on the carpet of a high-priced open house and later stuffing dog poop into the vents, it’s both hilarious and deeply telling. The mix of frustration and absurdity is real. At one point, they consider buying his deceased parents’ house, only to see it sold off and re-listed at a higher rent with military discounts. It’s brutal, and it captures the disconnect locals face when the places they grew up in are commodified.
Then there’s “Search the Waters,” which I found haunting. Ka‘imi, an ex-firefighter, is searching the flooded ruins of Waikīkī for survivors, or maybe for closure. The scene where he confesses, “She’s my daughter,” after days of searching anonymously through wreckage, hit me like a punch. It’s not a disaster story in the Hollywood sense; it’s more personal, more intimate, and that’s what makes it unforgettable.
Another standout is “What We Forget,” a quiet but powerful piece about memory, guilt, and family. Jas returns to Hawai‘i to help her mother, who’s struggling with dementia. The scenes where she unpacks her mom’s cluttered apartment are a metaphor for all the emotional baggage between them. When her mom insists, “I may be losing some things, yeah? But I know what I get,” you just feel the weight of everything left unsaid between generations.
The stories are diverse in plot but thematically tight: loss, displacement, memory, and resilience. Ching writes with a lot of heart but keeps it grounded. He doesn’t romanticize Hawai‘i or the people in it. Instead, he captures the tension of being both proud and tired of a place that’s constantly changing, sometimes for the worse.
This collection isn’t just a window into Hawai‘i, it’s a mirror for anyone navigating family struggles, housing insecurity, or cultural identity. Ching’s writing is sharp but never showy. He trusts you to feel things deeply without forcing it, and that makes the stories linger long after you put the book down.
