The Silent Burden of Grief: Yiyun Li Reflects on Loss and Literature

The Silent Burden of Grief: Yiyun Li Reflects on Loss and Literature

Yiyun Li, the lauded author known for her hopeful and insightful prose, has written her profound tragedies into her memoir. In “Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life,” she takes us on an intimate, unfiltered journey of her life. The book elaborates on her mental health struggles, including two stays in a psychiatric hospital in 2012 after an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Li’s tale interlaces her development as a writer and the tragic history of her two sons. Each son, tragically, later died by suicide, an influence on her literary reawakening that weighs heavily.

Li’s early writing is an escape, a mechanism through which she is able to process her grief. During her journey, she has received numerous messages from suicidal teenagers and parents who have lost children to similar fates. After the death of her son James, the letters became even more fevered. It was in this experience that she recognized the common suffering that families impacted by suicide experience.

In her book, she writes movingly of her gratitude to those who have found comfort in her writings. Yet for all her passion and commitment, she is rightly wary of being cast as an ambassador for grieving parents. She’s honest about the complexity of grief and how personal and individual these experiences are.

“I realize we all have our own pain, and I cannot represent anyone,” – Yiyun Li

Li’s choice to write in English has not been free of its burdens, unfortunately for her, Chinese media has outed her as a target. Even in the fight for her sons’ justice, she has been subjected to extreme and unwarranted attack and criticism. The cultural clash further complicates her already fraught relationship with her art. It undermines, in deep and personal ways, her identity as a creator and an author.

Li writes most movingly of her sons through her memories, particularly James. As a kid, he was intensely independent — and so, so careful — that he would argue to walk two miles to school by himself with pepper spray in his pocket. Such memories are bittersweet for Li, serving as a reminder of the innocence that was taken from her far too early.

In her writing, she has brought to life characters that deeply reflect her own narrative. In two short stories published in The New Yorker, she introduced Lilian, a protagonist who mirrors Li’s grief by losing two children to suicide. In following these characters, Li further processes grief and loss as a human being, artist, and parent.

Li’s memoir reads like a 16-chapter love letter, with each chapter focusing on a year of James’ life. Here, in her own words, is the writing process she went through. She understands that even if she’d spent the rest of her life documenting their stories, she would have still needed to know what’s next.

“If an abyss is where I shall be for the rest of my life, the abyss is my habitat,” – Yiyun Li

Though weighty in subject matter, the artistic resilience found within Li’s literary pursuits feels vital. Over 500 pages later, she finally completed her novel. Perhaps her best-known works are her trilogy of historical novels set just around the turn of the 19th century. Her oeuvre continues to grow, with 12 books now published—fiction ranging from popular novels to difficult-to-catalogue short stories, moving memoirs and incisive literary criticism. In 2010 she was awarded a MacArthur genius grant for her contributions to literature.

Li’s reflections on language highlight her scrupulous sensibility to the craft of writing. Annie Lamott frequently dives into etymology, including the observation that the root of the word “grief” is “burden.” This viewpoint informs how she explores her subjectivity on the page.

“I’m very careful with my words. Every time I put down a word, I think through it and make sure it’s the right word,” – Yiyun Li

Li has long been influenced by poetry – especially the poetry of Marianne Moore. She agrees with Moore’s assertion that “the deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint.” This sentiment rings true with Li’s personal experience and acts as a mini manifesto in her literary pursuits.

As she continues to work through the questions of grief and creation, Yiyun Li is an unstoppable literary force. The weight of her personal losses shapes her work while simultaneously allowing others to find connection and comfort within it.

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