Eduardo Santiago
Six days ago, listening to Hua Hsu speaking at the Santa Fe International Literary Festival, I found myself thinking: what a beautiful human being. An hour after that I got to watch him in the hallway, interacting with fans and other invited writers, demonstrating patience and kindness and grace; initial impression confirmed. Of all the books I bought that weekend, his was the first I launched into. In hindsight it was a poor decision: the better decision would've been to read <i>Stay True</i> when it first came to my attention a year and a half ago.
This is a book about friendship and loss and wisdom, and it will only really make sense to anyone over forty. Even then, probably only a certain subset of that cohort: the quieter, nerdier, introspective ones. Hsu writes with gentleness and humility toward his teenage self, reminding us of some of the absolute certainties we held at that age; of the ease with which we came up with opinions and how ill-informed those were. The details of his youth made no impression on me—I still have no idea what a zine is nor do I know any of Nirvana's music—but the soul is completely recognizable.
Six days ago, listening to Hua Hsu speaking at the Santa Fe International Literary Festival, I found myself thinking: what a beautiful human being. An hour after that I got to watch him in the hallway, interacting with fans and other invited writers, demonstrating patience and kindness and grace; initial impression confirmed. Of all the books I bought that weekend, his was the first I launched into. In hindsight it was a poor decision: the better decision would've been to read <i>Stay True</i> when it first came to my attention a year and a half ago.
This is a book about friendship and loss and wisdom, and it will only really make sense to anyone over forty. Even then, probably only a certain subset of that cohort: the quieter, nerdier, introspective ones. Hsu writes with gentleness and humility toward his teenage self, reminding us of some of the absolute certainties we held at that age; of the ease with which we came up with opinions and how ill-informed those were. The details of his youth made no impression on me—I still have no idea what a zine is nor do I know any of Nirvana's music—but the soul is completely recognizable.