"Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s memoir, The End of San Francisco, opens by recounting her visit with her father as he approaches death. Sycamore is asking for something from him that will help her live—she’s the one who’s going to keep living, after all—but he won’t give it to her, and as readers we are right there, in the moment, all of us—author, words, readers—in the present tense. And then the memoir skips and jumps, taking us from place to place, party to party, need to need to need. There is an intimacy to Sycamore’s writing that makes reading it feel like getting right next to her skin, sniffing, touching, feeling, and opening up ourselves. It is really, really good, and it is all about cultivating precisely this vulnerability, hers and ours, together. For Sycamore, this shared vulnerability might be what we need to survive, to cope, together, holding on to queer dreams in a world that wants queers to disappear."