In his Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir Stay True, Hua Hsu crafts an exploration of coming-of-age, identity, and sudden loss. The narrative centers on Hsu’s time as an undergraduate at UC Berkeley, specifically his unlikely friendship with Ken. Hsu, a zine-making son of Taiwanese immigrants who defined himself by alternative tastes, contrasts sharply with Ken, a Japanese American fraternity brother who loved Dave Matthews Band and Abercrombie & Fitch. Despite these superficial differences, the two forge a deep, formative bond—one that is tragically cut short when Ken is killed in a carjacking.
As a reader, one of the most striking—and perhaps challenging—aspects of Stay True is its structure. If you approach this book expecting a traditional, propulsive plot, you might find yourself feeling a bit lost. There are long stretches where the narrative seems to meander without a clear destination, capturing the aimless, slow-moving reality of college life. At times, the book reads less like a story told to an audience and more like an intimate, unguarded journal entry that makes the most sense to the author himself.
Yet, this very formlessness is where the book’s quiet power lies. Hsu is not trying to wrap his grief in a neat, digestible storyline. Instead, he gives us the messy accretion of memories: late-night conversations over cigarettes, long drives along the California coast, and the relentless passage of time. The sprawling, journal-like quality invites us into the raw process of a man desperately trying to preserve the details of a friend he lost too soon.
Stay True might not pull you forward with a gripping plot, but it lingers with you through its emotional resonance. It is a beautiful, if occasionally wandering, meditation on how the people we love shape who we become, and how art and memory can offer solace in the wake of senseless tragedy.