Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Things in Nature Merely Grow
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Finalist for the National Book Award for Nonfiction
Yiyun Li’s remarkable, defiant work of radical acceptance as she considers the loss of her son James.
“There is no good way to say this,” Yiyun Li writes at the beginning of this book.
“There is no good way to state these facts, which must be acknowledged . . . My husband and I had two children and lost them both: Vincent in 2017, at sixteen, James in 2024, at nineteen. Both chose suicide, and both died not far from home.”
There is no good way to say this―because words fall short. It takes only an instant for death to become fact, “a single point in a time line.” Living now on this single point, Li turns to thinking and reasoning and searching for words that might hold a place for James. Li does what she can: doing “things that work,” including not just writing but gardening, reading Camus and Wittgenstein, learning the piano, and living thinkingly alongside death.
This is a book for James, but it is not a book about grieving or mourning. As Li writes, “The verb that does not die is ‘to be.’ Vincent was and is and will always be Vincent. James was and is and will always be James. We were and are and will always be their parents. There is no now and then, now and later; only now and now and now and now.” Things in Nature Merely Grow is a testament to Li’s indomitable spirit.
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Book Details
ISBN:
9780374617318
EAN:
0374617317
Binding:
Hardcover
Pages:
192
Authors:
Yiyun Li
Publisher:
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published Date: 2025-20-05
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Thoughtful and thought-provoking novel about motherhood, grief, and guilt. This is so beautifully written and I much admire the author for allowing us to experience her vulnerability up close. There are no extraneous words or vignettes. Just a simple and heart wrenching tale of a woman who lost both her children to suicide. A slim, powerful book.
Writing a book is one of the most impressive things a person can do and I admire Li forb doing so. I don't writen reviews of books because writing is an art and art is deeply personal. Who am I to judge? Someone will love this book but I do not.The author sounds like a hauty academic. She attempts to describe intense emotions in cold, clinical language that's feels so distant and removed from the experience. I want to shake her and wake her up but I doubt it would help. She's as hard as a diamond.I don't care where you went to college. I don't care where your children went to college. But of course we learn all about the family's ivy League credentials in the first chapter, as casually as my Stanford friends drop that tidbit into the first few sentences of every conversation.This subject matter deserves empathy and humanity, not clipped, matter of facts chilly sentences sprinkled with erudite quotes from philosophers and famous literature.Li attempts to describe her emotions but I wonder if she actually feels anything. Even the descriptions sound forced and inauthentic. She sounds cold and devoid.It is difficult to imagine that Li really she knew her children because she doesn't seem to knows herself, except the self she wants to protray. It doesn't ring true. She never lets anyone in.Again the book is a remarkable feat of artistic accomplishment and I applaud her for this talent. But still I have no idea what she really feels.
The depth the authenticity the intelligence the humility… just blew me away with this book. Must be read. Must be shared
This is a book that I don’t really have the capacity to describe. I cannot relate to anything in it. And yet I have been changed by the mere reading of it. It’s not sad but matter of fact. We, especially we in the United States, do not deal well with death, especially death from suicide. I feel a strong compassion for the author.
Warning: this memoir includes deaths by suicide and attempted suicide. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number is 988.Life is hard. Li acknowledges suffering is a very large part of life. It is difficult to imagine anything more difficult than suffering the loss of your children. I absorb Li’s love for Vincent and James and feel richer myself for coming to know them through her written words. Surely such writing and reading, though about things suffered, are themselves part of life’s rarer moments cherished, not suffered.
