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A large reason for my high rating is the relatability of this book. I resonated with the photos and descriptions of college life and growing up in California, and appreciated the sociocultural context on 1990s Bay Area. Of course as a San Diegan, Ken, with his endearing support for the Padres, was my favorite character. I loved the depiction of Asian American friendship, especially the male perspective, and the way that Ken and Hua bounced ideas off one another despite their contrasting affinities.
The incessant musings on media and culture did not irk me—For me as well as many other young adults, especially first generation immigrants, media is central to our coming-of-age. Our taste at this point in our life undergoes rapid changes as we mature and are exposed to new people with different interests. I related to the effort to find yourself in what you consume and to figure out your opinions on scholarship you are introduced to for the first time. Hsu's need to create and document was a relatable throughline in the memoir—transitioning from his zines before the memoir's central incident, to attempts to eulogize his friend after.
What did bother me about this memoir was the pretentiousness of the narrator. He is often condescending to his friend—casting aside his writing and book recommendations for example—and fails to condemn his own attitude.
The book is also quite unfocused—While the tangents about media, music, and politics are acceptable given Hsu's background as a staff writer for The New Yorker, Ken is introduced far too late and even then, is peripheral to the story. The title, referencing an inside joke with Ken, suggests that the book is a tribute to him, but he only becomes central to the memoir after his death. In a way, that mirrors the experience of grief—We notice the importance of certain figures in our life only once they are absent.
But is Hsu's memoir an attempt at expressing truth or memory? Through frequent citations of Derrida and Carr, including in the epigraph, he seems to accept the inadequacy of language and the subjectivity of history-writing, but his intent with this book still remains unclear. At minimum, the sudden shift in the memoir is emotionally manipulative to readers, who are sidelined by the death and the (in my opinion, unnecessary) gruesome details of similar incidents. It is a disservice to Ken as well—Hsu ponders whether they were even as close as he remembers, and as a result, his already superficial depiction of Ken becomes seriously suspect.
The incessant musings on media and culture did not irk me—For me as well as many other young adults, especially first generation immigrants, media is central to our coming-of-age. Our taste at this point in our life undergoes rapid changes as we mature and are exposed to new people with different interests. I related to the effort to find yourself in what you consume and to figure out your opinions on scholarship you are introduced to for the first time. Hsu's need to create and document was a relatable throughline in the memoir—transitioning from his zines before the memoir's central incident, to attempts to eulogize his friend after.
What did bother me about this memoir was the pretentiousness of the narrator. He is often condescending to his friend—casting aside his writing and book recommendations for example—and fails to condemn his own attitude.
The book is also quite unfocused—While the tangents about media, music, and politics are acceptable given Hsu's background as a staff writer for The New Yorker, Ken is introduced far too late and even then, is peripheral to the story. The title, referencing an inside joke with Ken, suggests that the book is a tribute to him, but he only becomes central to the memoir after his death. In a way, that mirrors the experience of grief—We notice the importance of certain figures in our life only once they are absent.
But is Hsu's memoir an attempt at expressing truth or memory? Through frequent citations of Derrida and Carr, including in the epigraph, he seems to accept the inadequacy of language and the subjectivity of history-writing, but his intent with this book still remains unclear. At minimum, the sudden shift in the memoir is emotionally manipulative to readers, who are sidelined by the death and the (in my opinion, unnecessary) gruesome details of similar incidents. It is a disservice to Ken as well—Hsu ponders whether they were even as close as he remembers, and as a result, his already superficial depiction of Ken becomes seriously suspect.
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
I overall enjoyed this book It was interesting reading the authors perspective of his own story and how important is to look at other peopls perspectives.
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
emotional
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
More like 3.75, but let's round up.
Parts of this felt like nothing and others hit me like a brick. Overall I enjoyed it, but there were times where I was wondering where this was all going. The true emotional meat of this book is devastating when it occurs though. I guess that's a lot like life. Oh God, now I'm getting introspective. Goodnight.
Parts of this felt like nothing and others hit me like a brick. Overall I enjoyed it, but there were times where I was wondering where this was all going. The true emotional meat of this book is devastating when it occurs though. I guess that's a lot like life. Oh God, now I'm getting introspective. Goodnight.
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
reflective
sad
slow-paced
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
crying at 9am but here we are.
This memoir is more than just friendship, it’s about identity and race, and staying true to yourself (and what staying true even means).
Hua is incredibly articulate and artistic and it shows in his writing. The insights on his parents and being a first generation immigrant are really enlightening, and his general approach and description of his adolescence is done incredibly well.
It’s an injustice that Ken was taken when he was, and this book captures that.
On a side note this is a book that isn’t chapter delimited. For me personally it meant I was slower to read it then most as I struggle without that structure
This memoir is more than just friendship, it’s about identity and race, and staying true to yourself (and what staying true even means).
Hua is incredibly articulate and artistic and it shows in his writing. The insights on his parents and being a first generation immigrant are really enlightening, and his general approach and description of his adolescence is done incredibly well.
It’s an injustice that Ken was taken when he was, and this book captures that.
On a side note this is a book that isn’t chapter delimited. For me personally it meant I was slower to read it then most as I struggle without that structure
emotional
reflective
slow-paced