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Scroll.in
04-07-2025
- General
- Scroll.in
Yiyun Li lost both her sons to suicide. Her new memoir reveals her as a very special writer
'My husband and I had two children and lost them both,' writes Yiyun Li early in her latest book, Things in Nature Merely Grow. And then, with harrowing directness, 'Both chose suicide'. Such loss might seem at odds with the title of growth, but as she explains in her deeply thoughtful, rigorous account of a family tragedy, it reflects insights developed through the practice of gardening. 'Things in nature merely grow until it's time for them to die' – and gardeners must learn to develop patience, flexibility and openness to what may come. Such capacities are very useful for writers, and Li is a prolific author who brings to her writing a forensic, incisive perspective, along with a marvellous deployment of language and tone. Born and raised in China, Li migrated to the United States in 1996 with the intention of completing a doctorate in immunology. But, she says, 'I wanted to do something I loved'. That turned out to be writing. In 2005, she added a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) from the University of Iowa to her Bachelor of Science and research master's in immunology. I imagine these qualifications, along with her nuclear physicist father, provided deep immersion in the scientific method – and led to her writing style, imbued with systematic observation and analysis. Li's first book, the short-story collection A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, was the inaugural winner of the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award. In 2010, she was included in the New Yorker's 20 best writers under 40 and won a MacArthur 'genius' grant. Since then, she has received cabinet of further awards. Across her work, Li consistently explores difficult issues – as writers generally do. In many cases, the topic and content draw on her experiences as the child of an abusive mother, and as a young woman living under the strictures of China in the post-Tiananmen Square period. Years after her migration, she experienced a major depressive episode and was hospitalised following suicide attempts. Out of this experience, she wrote her first memoir (in essays), Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life (2017). Her collection explores what it means when one finds, or feels, that 'all the things in the world are not enough to drown out the voice of this emptiness that says: you are nothing'. It is a deeply moving book, while managing to avoid becoming bleak or sentimental. She writes in ways that illuminate what reading can do for a person who is suffering, offering techniques for living well – or well enough. Improbably, impossibly cruel But when she wrote Dear Friend, she had not yet experienced how much sorrow was to come. Just months after its publication, her elder son, Vincent, then 16, died by suicide. She responded by writing a novel, Where Reasons End (2019), which takes the form of a conversation between a mother and the son who, like Vincent, had decided not to remain among the living. Anthony Cummins writes, 'its tone is both astringent and faintly mischievous': an extraordinary achievement under such circumstances. Six years later, in what seems an improbably, impossibly cruel event, her second son James, aged 19, also died by suicide. Again, Li turned to reading and to writing. This time, she selected nonfiction, resulting in Things in Nature Merely Grow. She explains this decision: Vincent lived feelingly. James lived thinkingly. When Vincent died, I was able to conjure him up in a book by feeling, but I knew, right after James died, that I would not be able to do that for him. James would not like a book written from feelings. This book is James' story; but it is also the story of Vincent, his beloved older brother – and of Li herself and her husband, and their life in the permanent absence of their sons. A very special kind of writer It is not an easy book. I had to take a break after each chapter or two, to reset my emotional state so that I could read it as a reviewer, and not as a parent. The first line of the first chapter warns readers: 'There is no good way to say this'. A bit further into the volume, she writes: This book is about life's extremities, about facts and logic, written from a particularly abysmal place where no parent would want to be. This book will neither ask the questions you may want me to ask nor provide the closure you may expect the book to offer. What she does provide is clarity, precision, close observation. Despite the 'extremities', she reports on the situation – from the moment of the police arriving to announce James' death, right through to her arriving at a 'radical acceptance' of how she must now live. This approach reminds me forcibly of Joan Didion's account of the sudden death of her husband, in The Year of Magical Thinking (2005). Robert McCrum argued this book changed the pattern of grief writings, which evolved from 'misery memoir' to literature. He observes, 'you have to be a very special kind of writer to find the detachment to examine a devastating personal loss'. Li is, like Didion, that 'very special kind of writer', and it is her capacity to observe and examine that makes this volume such a significant contribution to the literature on mourning. Is it detachment? The tone is thoughtful; in a way, both scientific and analytical. In an interview, Li noted both she and Didion 'focus on their thoughts, rather than their feelings'. This is, I imagine, a useful way of getting by, rather than collapsing from the overburden of feelings. But I suspect the voice both Li and Didion use models detachment, rather than in fact being detached or aloof. They attend to the 'what is' of where they find themselves – and this choice affords a clarity of seeing and writing. There seems to me a deep investment in such writing: not striving to 'make sense' of something that exists outside sense, but rather finding a way to look at it directly. It is, perhaps, akin to Graham Greene's ' splinter of ice in the heart of a writer': a splinter that provides a standpoint from which one can build at least temporary stability in the midst of turmoil. A primer for mourning The terms very much in my own mind as I read this book were 'clarity' and 'precision'. Li applies both as she lays out the way such losses alter the world; or rather, alter one's being in the world. She reads copiously and cites widely – Euclid, Shakespeare, Euripides, Montaigne, C.S. Lewis, Albert Camus, Henry James, Wallace Stevens. And while she observes there may be consolations in writing and reading, she does not offer either as treatment or panacea. Instead, she writes: Writing, offering a transient refuge, is an approximation of salvation, nothing more. Who among us stands a chance facing an abyss? There are no empty consolations, no promises of resolution. But there is a great deal of wisdom and discussion of how one might come to understand and accommodate loss. Manifestly, she loved and continues to love her sons. But 'more important than loving', she writes, 'is understanding and respecting my children, which includes, more than anything else, understanding and respecting their choices to end their lives'. In this respect, the book is something of a primer for those who mourn. She models how she came to the point of radical acceptance, and offers insights and advice to the freshly bereaved. For example: get enough rest, eat, and exercise, work, and find ways to live in this new state. Because she writes: If an abyss is where I shall be for the rest of my life, the abyss is my habitat. One should not waste energy fighting one's habitat. The book also offers advice for those seeking to engage with mourners. If you're sending flowers, she suggests, deliver them in a vase – the mourner will lack the energy to find a vase and trim and arrange the flowers. Also: don't offer advice; don't avoid the mourner; do talk about the person they have lost. Not consoling, but wise Things in Nature Merely Grow is an essay as much as it is a memoir. An essay on what death can mean, and does mean, and might be. An essay on suicide; on the loss of a child or children; the complexities of parenting; the joys of loving. It unfolds the paths that emerge from initial shock through to the capacity to reflect on what this entails. It is – and I use the term advisedly – wise. It draws on literature, philosophy, maths: all that deep knowledge we humans have been collecting over centuries and millennia. Do they provide consolation? Probably not. But they provide context. And context can bring at least an intellectual understanding – and hope that an emotional understanding, or at least an accommodation, might follow.
Hindustan Times
23-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Kerala Crime Files actor Arjun Radhakrishnan: People know I'm an outsider but they have been supportive too
For actor Arjun Radhakrishnan, who had starred in Amitabh Bachchan's Jhund, Mammootty's Kannur Squad and essayed APJ Abdul Kalam in Rocket Boys, his latest Malayalam web series Kerala Crime Files Season 2 is special for several reasons. The most notable of these being that the series presented him the opportunity to play his first-ever lead role, something he grabbed with both hands and aced too - based on the reception. Arjun Radhakrishnan in Kerala Crime Files S2 Stream Arjun Radhakrishnan's performances in Rocket Boys, Jhund and more on OTTplay Premium On the feedback for the series, which is currently streaming on JioHotstar, the actor says, 'It's been great. It's almost similar to what you would get for a theatrical release. It's not something that I expected because web series are still at a nascent stage in Kerala where we have only had a handful of OTT series.' Arjun Radhakrishnan on Kerala Crime Files S2 This season of the Ahammed Khabeer directorial, which is scripted by Kishkinda Kaandam writer Bahul Ramesh, revolves around Kerala police's efforts to track down one of their own. Rookie officer Noble, played by Arjun, leads the case which takes a shocking turn with every episode. Also read: Kerala Crime Files S2 actor Arjun Radhakrishnan on playing his first lead role: 'There's a definite arc' Arjun also attributes the response to the previous season, which also had Aju Varghese and Lal. 'So, there was an anticipation for this. This season came out well in terms of the look and feel; there was a certain quality to the show,' he says. The actor is one of the few younger stars, who have managed to catch the attention of the audiences as well as those in the industry with each of his films - starting from Pada and Dear Friend in 2022. Arjun Radhakrishnan on whether it's difficult to get opportunities in Malayalam Being a Malayali actor, who was not raised in Kerala, was it tougher for him to get opportunities in the State? 'I have been absolutely lucky in terms of the people I have been able to work with. Right from Pada and Dear Friend to Kannur Squad and Ullozhukku, every one is aware of the fact that I came from outside. I didn't grow up here. But the people I have worked with have been really supportive and patient, sometimes to the extent of me feeling guilty,' Arjun explains. 'Even for Kerala Crime Files S2, the amount of time that Ahammed and Bahul spent with me, from the shoot to the dub, has been immense. Every director I have worked with has done this with me, and I feel very lucky.' That said, the actor confides that 'the fear (of being an outsider), is always there'. 'I thought Pada was a one-off thing and then I thought Dear Friend was another blip. But I am grateful for the kind of response and support the industry has given me,' he says. Arjun is currently working on National Award-winner Salim Ahamed's next.
New Indian Express
20-06-2025
- General
- New Indian Express
‘Radical acceptance': Yiyun Li lost both her sons to suicide. Her rigorous memoir reveals her as a very special writer
'My husband and I had two children and lost them both,' writes Yiyun Li early in her latest book, Things in Nature Merely Grow. And then, with harrowing directness, 'Both chose suicide'. Such loss might seem at odds with the title of growth, but as she explains in her deeply thoughtful, rigorous account of a family tragedy, it reflects insights developed through the practice of gardening. 'Things in nature merely grow until it's time for them to die' – and gardeners must learn to develop patience, flexibility and openness to what may come. Such capacities are very useful for writers, and Li is a prolific author who brings to her writing a forensic, incisive perspective, along with a marvellous deployment of language and tone. Born and raised in China, Li migrated to the United States in 1996 with the intention of completing a doctorate in immunology. But, she says, 'I wanted to do something I loved'. That turned out to be writing. In 2005, she added a master of fine arts (MFA) from University of Iowa to her bachelor of science and research masters in immunology. I imagine these qualifications, along with her nuclear physicist father, provided deep immersion in the scientific method – and led to her writing style, imbued with systematic observation and analysis. Li's first book, the short-story collection A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, was the inaugural winner of the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award. In 2010, she was included in the New Yorker's 20 best writers under 40 and won a MacArthur 'genius' grant. Since then, she has received cabinets of further awards. Across her work, Li consistently explores difficult issues – as writers generally do. In many cases, the topic and content draw on her experiences as the child of an abusive mother, and as a young woman living under the strictures of China in the post-Tiananmen Square period. Years after her migration, she experienced a major depressive episode and was hospitalised following suicide attempts. Out of this experience, she wrote her first memoir (in essays), Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life (2017).
CBC
22-03-2025
- CBC
From New Brunswick to Scotland: A 75-year friendship endures between these pen pals
Social Sharing When an ad in a magazine prompted young Canadians to become pen pals with a girl in Scotland, 11-year-old Roberta Gorham jumped at the opportunity. She penned a letter to her new friend, writing about how she had recently got her tonsils out and spent time in the hospital — not a great way to spend the spring of Grade 5. She stamped the letter and sent it off and waited excitedly for a response. That was sent 75 years ago. Now known as Roberta MacKenzie, she received the latest letter from Pat Cunningham in Scotland in February. As the world and their lives changed, the two kept in touch — sharing stories and photos, updates on their lives, using pen and paper. Through marriages, children, grief and even the advancement of technology, their friendship has never wavered. "Having Pat as a pen pal is one of the most important things of my entire life," MacKenzie said. "It's just a love match." Some things have changed over the long decades of letters flying back and forth across the Atlantic Ocean, especially the price of a stamp. "In those days, a letter was about four cents," said MacKenzie. "Now to send a letter to her is $3.55." Over the years, she has visited Scotland five times and Cunningham has been to Canada twice. WATCH | 'It's a dear thing between us': Dear Friend: Pen pals' friendship flourishes for 75 years 35 minutes ago Duration 2:38 And it all started with that ad in the Family Herald, a Canadian publication that ran until 1968. MacKenzie's family lived on a small farm near Crystal Beach, the Kingston Peninsula. Every week, a copy of the Herald would arrive at the family's home and when her mom and dad finished with it, MacKenzie would flip through to the Maple Leaf Club, a section of the magazine for young people to find pen pals. MacKenzie wrote to the girl in the ad, but instead, received a response from someone else. The ad had attracted so many Canadians that the original girl started giving the letters to her friends to respond to. That was the start of a long friendship between MacKenzie and Cunningham. They would write often, sometimes even sending little trinkets or treats to the other. As they grew, their lives followed similar paths, both got married in 1959 and later gave birth to girls around the same time. "Her birthday is in April and she'll be 86 and mine's in July and I'll be 86," said MacKenzie. After years of writing back and forth, never having had a conversation in person or on the phone, MacKenzie decided to make the trip to Scotland in 1968 to visit her pen pal, who lived in Edinburgh at the time with her husband, Robert. Cunningham made arrangements to take MacKenzie to Gleneagles, a luxury estate and golf course in Auchterarder. MacKenzie recalls her excitement as the pair checked into their well-appointed room and ate in the dining room at tables covered by pristine, white tablecloths and only the best cutlery and wine glasses. Years later, when Cunningham visited New Brunswick, MacKenzie knew she had to take her to the Algonquin in Saint Andrews to repay her. MacKenzie's visits to Scotland were always filled with new adventures. They picnicked at Smuggler's Cove in Aberdeen, went swimming in the North Sea, explored Inverness and drank beer, whiskey and stout at Melville Castle. Her last trip to Scotland, in May 2024, was an extra special one. Cunningham's husband had come home after a two-month stint in hospital. "They made us a beautiful lunch and sat and talked to us, and we took lots of pictures, and I gave Robert a great big kiss and I was so glad I did," said MacKenzie. "And you know, within six or eight months, he was gone." MacKenzie's most recent letter to Cunningham expressed her sympathy for Robert's passing. Cunningham wrote back — 138 people showed up to share condolences at his funeral. It's the type of message that could have been sent through Facebook, email or even communicated over the phone. But for MacKenzie and Cunningham, a handwritten letter can do so much more. "It's a dear thing between us," said MacKenzie. "She can still write, even though it's a little scratchy, and mine isn't perfect, but it's just something we have always done — hundreds of letters back and forth."
