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nathan's Reviews > Stay True
Stay True
by
by
*3.5 rounded up
โ๐๐ฉ๐� ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐ค๐บ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฉ๐ช๐ฑ [๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ณ๐ช๐ฅ๐ข] ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐จ๐ฏ๐ช๐ป๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ, ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ต ๐ถ๐ด. ๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ธ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ถ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ, ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ถ๐ด. ๐๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐บ ๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐บ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ. ๐๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฉ๐ช๐ฑโฆโ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐� ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ถ๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ.โโ�
Itโs hard to imagine hope in a hopeless place. But itโs the company we keep that make the times last us for the little while we have on earth. Hsu dives deep into the teen angst of the late eighties and early nineties through music and zine culture in the Bay Area to ring true a depth that all teens feel. Wanting to be noticed. Wanting to be loved. In all the right ways. But when loss hits us at a time of possibility and change, we see the smoke and mirrors of the greener grass and are left with less of a desire to hope, but a drive to persist.
How we persist is beauty and truth to the embellishments in the stories we tell, so that they could, one day, keep up with the kindness we want in other people, in other days.
Poignant, yet jaded with Hsuโs confused relationship of emotional distance and the adolescent voice. Itโs a tricky tightrope he walks on that fumbles with the magic of being young and reckless, which makes the last part of the book crumble a bit. Hsu lacks anything to say about himself, acting only as an NPC in his own past to relay a story perhaps better suited for the trauma dump to any of the few lonely folk who are still at the house party that shouldโve ended an hour or two before. But alas, we are here and the guy with the acoustic guitar is strumming away, waiting for the insomnia to die out with the night. We are here because itโs a promise to be present.
โ๐๐ฉ๐� ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐ค๐บ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฉ๐ช๐ฑ [๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ณ๐ช๐ฅ๐ข] ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐จ๐ฏ๐ช๐ป๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ, ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ต ๐ถ๐ด. ๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ธ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ถ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ, ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ถ๐ด. ๐๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐บ ๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐บ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ. ๐๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฉ๐ช๐ฑโฆโ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐� ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ถ๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ.โโ�
Itโs hard to imagine hope in a hopeless place. But itโs the company we keep that make the times last us for the little while we have on earth. Hsu dives deep into the teen angst of the late eighties and early nineties through music and zine culture in the Bay Area to ring true a depth that all teens feel. Wanting to be noticed. Wanting to be loved. In all the right ways. But when loss hits us at a time of possibility and change, we see the smoke and mirrors of the greener grass and are left with less of a desire to hope, but a drive to persist.
How we persist is beauty and truth to the embellishments in the stories we tell, so that they could, one day, keep up with the kindness we want in other people, in other days.
Poignant, yet jaded with Hsuโs confused relationship of emotional distance and the adolescent voice. Itโs a tricky tightrope he walks on that fumbles with the magic of being young and reckless, which makes the last part of the book crumble a bit. Hsu lacks anything to say about himself, acting only as an NPC in his own past to relay a story perhaps better suited for the trauma dump to any of the few lonely folk who are still at the house party that shouldโve ended an hour or two before. But alas, we are here and the guy with the acoustic guitar is strumming away, waiting for the insomnia to die out with the night. We are here because itโs a promise to be present.
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Reading Progress
August 9, 2022
– Shelved as:
to-read
August 9, 2022
– Shelved
November 17, 2024
–
Started Reading
November 19, 2024
–
Finished Reading
