Finalist for the National Book Award for Nonfiction Winner of the Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Nonfiction Finalist for the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award Long-listed for the National Book Critics Circle Award for Autobiography
One of the New York Times Notable Books of the Year
Yiyun Liās remarkable, defiant work of radical acceptance as she considers the loss of her son James.
āThere is no good way to say this,ā Yiyun Li writes at the beginning of this book.
āThere 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.ā
There is no good way to say thisābecause words fall short. It takes only an instant for death to become fact, āa single point in a time line.ā 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 āthings that work,ā 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, āThe verb that does not die is āto be.ā 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.ā Things in Nature Merely Grow is a testament to Liās indomitable spirit.
Finalist for the National Book Award for Nonfiction Winner of the Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Nonfiction Finalist for the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award Long-listed for the National Book Critics Circle Award for Autobiography
One of the New York Times Notable Books of the Year
Yiyun Liās remarkable, defiant work of radical acceptance as she considers the loss of her son James.
āThere is no good way to say this,ā Yiyun Li writes at the beginning of this book.
āThere 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.ā
There is no good way to say thisābecause words fall short. It takes only an instant for death to become fact, āa single point in a time line.ā 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 āthings that work,ā 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, āThe verb that does not die is āto be.ā 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.ā Things in Nature Merely Grow is a testament to Liās indomitable spirit.