In "Fierce Heart," writer, surfer and ecological activist Stuart H. Coleman states his premise from the start: "Makaha is the heart of Hawai'i."

Does he prove it? He certainly makes a case, profiling key figures in Makaha's contemporary history — waterman Buffalo Keaulana, the late musician Israel Kamakawiwo'ole and the late women's surfing pioneer Rell Sunn — and painting a picture of a community that embodies both what's most precious in Hawaiian and local cultures, and what's most troubling.

But Coleman's argument is marred by a clear bias and also by a few admittedly niggling errors that cause one to question his research skills (e.g., misspelling kaona, "hidden meaning," as kauna, "a type of plant").

When Coleman is talking story in "Fierce Heart" (Makaha means "fierce"), he's as engrossing as sitting backyard with a group of voluble uncles, cackling over small-kid times, practical jokes and skin-tingling escapes from danger.

But when he gets political and interprets history, as he often does (since this book is partly aimed at offshore audiences who lack the background most here have), he loses his balance. He indulges himself in such time-worn aphorisms as "the missionaries came to do good and did very well" (not all missionaries were greedy, and they and their descendants are one reason we have a written history of many aspects of pre-contact Island life).

And he repeats such questionable assertions as the idea that haole is really ha'ole, literally, "without breath," even though many scholars, including Hawaiian dictionarists Mary Kawena Pukui and Samuel H. Elbert, reject that interpretation, defining haole as stranger or foreigner.

Setting these aside, however, the story is enjoyable, offering background on figures most of us know only as legends — photos in magazines, figures glimpsed from a distance at surf competitions or concerts, voices in TV soundbites or on our CD players.

Give him this: Coleman knows a story when he sees it, as attested by his previous local best-seller, "Eddie Would Go," about surfer Eddie Aikau, tragically lost during an early voyage of the canoe Hokule'a.

Coleman, a former schoolteacher who recently became regional coordinator for the Surfrider Foundation here, originally set out to do a biography of the Keaulana clan, famed for their water skills (as lifeguards, surfers, bodyboarders, spear fishermen, innovators in water rescue techniques and stand-up surfing).

But as he researched, he became more and more aware of Makaha's unique place in 20th-century surfing history and of interconnections between the Keaulanas and other well-known public figures and events. The story became, like Makaha itself, a loosely woven tapestry, one person influencing another, dynasties intermarried, light-hearted fun inextricably intertwined with trouble, easy living alongside poverty.

To those who would argue that the North Shore is the "soul of Hawaiian surfing," Coleman answers with stories that suggest that Makaha has a greater right to the name. He points out that the coastal community is known for such low-key, noncommerical, family-friendly surfing events as Buffalo Keaulana's Big Board Classic and Rell Sunn's Menehune Contest; that its surfers tend to be well-rounded "watermen," who dive, fish, swim, sail and bodysurf with equal skill and relish when the surf is down, and that many families there still consider "the ocean their supermarket" and "the beach their living room," in contrast to "townside" folk.

And if he can't convince us that the entire community is united in its commitment to Hawaiian values and doing the right thing, he does at least show how some, particularly the Keaulanas, Kamakawiwo'ole and Sunn, have striven for such commitment, serving as inspirational mentors.

"Let's do something that makes us proud of who we are," says Bunky Bakutis, speaking of Buffalo Keaulana's counsel to Makaha's rough element, urging them to show Hawaiian hospitality to those attending the Buffalo Big Board Classic in the early days.

Though there's been some controversy about its portrayal of Makaha as "The Wild West," Coleman's book spreads the reach of his subjects' example and message.