Taking a Moment…

It’s late morning, yesterday. I’m catching up on the morning papers, eyes growing heavy…I doze off. What’s better than a late morning nap on a long weekend…in an absolutely silent house.

45 minutes later, my sleep is broken with wet kisses. The puppies are back from their walk with Susan. Sully settles himself on my chest, drops his head and sleeps. Wally watches from the caboose position, not sure what to make of his Brother on his Dad’s chest in his rightful spot.

I watch both of them, and think of the movie Cavalry, loved it btw. Father James shows more grief for the death of his dog than for humans subject to abuse he has witnessed. The punchline of the movie, injects a pause into the routine of the long weekend.

The next thought, and what a leap it was — to this day, Memorial Day — where my wiring somehow, some way connected this sacred day, to those humans that reached out to Yiyun Li after her second son committed suicide. She spoke of the clichés: “I know how you feel.” “It will get easier.” “This too will pass.” Some were certainly most well intentioned. Many, however, were clueless at the level of despair and loss, and the abyss that Li finds herself as her new lifelong habitat. “Life is stubborn. So am I. I have conceded to make this abyss my habitat, every single day, for the rest of my life. But I shall live in this abyss only on my terms.”

I look back at the dogs, both resting now, and their unconditional love, and I flutter back to Yiyun Li.

There is a gracefulness, when people know what it means to do things that work. A few days after James’s death, my husband and I met Christiane for lunch, and later went to tea at Bonnie’s house. Do things that work meant that we knew they were precisely the people who had the clarity to meet us where we were: they were not there to console us or to fix our problem; only, to spend a moment with us.”

I can’t comprehend the courage that the men and women who died in their Service for this country. Or, the courage of those who Serve our country today. Nor, could I begin to understand the loss that families of the fallen live with every day.

No. I have no consoling words.

I sit. I sit quietly, in their honor, in this moment, and on this day, thinking of their ultimate sacrifice, and my gratitude.

Lightly Child, Lightly.

When life is full of tasks, obligations, and events, time carries us, too swiftly it seems, for is it not our perpetual protest about life that there is not enough time for this or that? But those who complain about that—myself at different phases of my life, too—forget how fortunate they are: Life does not guarantee that time has the capacity to carry us. Time flies, time is fleeting, but then there comes a moment when time, no longer nimble-footed, no longer winged, is for us to carry.”

Yiyun Li, Things in Nature Merely Grow (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, May 20 2025)


Notes:

  • 50% of the way in. Tough subject (losing two sons to suicide) but beautifully written.
  • NY Times Book Review (May 21, 2025): “Writing Into the Abyss After the Death of Two Sons.” In “Things in Nature Merely Grow,” the novelist Yiyun Li endures the aftermath of unthinkable loss.”
  • Guardian Book Review: “‘Things in Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li review – a shattering account of losing two sons”
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

There is something about churning through books that induces envy and even admiration, never more than at this time of year when piles of finished tomes are splashed across social media. Bragging rights seem to go to those who have read lots of books and read them quickly – how many times have you seen someone boast about finishing 10 books in a year? What about five?

But there is power in reading slowly, something the Chinese-American author Yiyun Li tells her creative writing students at Princeton University. “They say, ‘I can read 100 pages an hour’,” she says. “But I say, ‘I don’t want you to read 100 pages an hour. I want you to read three pages an hour’.”

That’s the speed Li is happy to read at, even if she is re-reading a familiar text. “People often say they devoured a book in one sitting. But I want to savour a book, which means I give myself just 10 pages a day of any book.” On an average day, Li, best known for her novels A Thousand Years of Good Prayers and Where Reasons End, reads 10 different books, spending half an hour on each title.

At that pace it can take Li up to three weeks to finish a novel. “When you spend two to three weeks with a book, you live in that world,” she says. “I think reading slowly is such an important skill. Nobody has ever talked about it, or taught me that. I’m a very patient reader. Even if it’s a very compelling book. I don’t want to rush from the beginning to the end.”

Elizabeth Strout, the Booker-shortlisted author of Olive Kitteridge and the Lucy Barton books, is also taking books at a more tranquil pace. “I was never a fast reader [but] I think I read more slowly than I used to. This is partly to savour every word. The way a sentence sounds to my ear is so important to me in the whole reading experience, and I always want to get it all – like when you read poetry.”

These words hit a nerve because I am an archetypal impatient reader, desperate to have finished a book as soon as I start. I want to know what happens – now. Ever since I started keeping track of the books I read (because I was sick of forgetting what I’d read) I’ve wanted to read more, to read faster.

So, in an effort to follow Li’s advice, I resolve both to linger and to juggle more than one book […]

Taking my time with multiple books at once feels liberating; as if I have permission to pick up books I’ve spent years meaning to tackle. I’m not promising never to cane something again but I really think Li is on to something. Oh, and I’m at 85 books for the year, not that I’m counting.

, from ‘I want to savour every word’: the joy of reading slowly‘ (The Guardian, December 2, 2022). Bragging rights seem to go to people who devour books, but, as this impatient reader found, turning the pages over many days or even weeks can immerse one deeper in the writer’s world

Running. With Incongruity.

Friday. Early afternoon. A crack between conference calls.

I run.

I’m up a whopping seven pounds since being sheltered in place. There are no barriers to entry, to the Fridge, to the pantry, to the potato chips. Or the counter tops, which on alternative days are lined with Susan’s Chocolate chip cookies, Zucchini loaves and Banana Bread.

I flip her an article: “Forget the Sourdough. Everybody’s Baking Banana Bread” and highlight the punch line:

Nervous about venturing into markets, many people are making do with ingredients at hand, including the moldering bananas. In the past month, banana bread beat out pancakes, brownies and pizza dough as the No. 1 searched-for recipe in the U.S. and world-wide, according to Google. The humble loaves are taking a star turn on Instagram and Twitter…. “The isolation stages of grief,” another said, are “denial, anger, banana bread.”

But I feel little of this. No grief. No denial. Little isolation. OK, maybe anger, ever-present, on slow boil.

And yet again, I’m out of step with the Pack, feeling none of the isolation, feeling none of the mid-winter-like cabin fever others are swamped in. Continue reading “Running. With Incongruity.”

T.G.I.F.: Freedom

“I was reading Kierkegaard while waiting to pick up my children from school. I wished I could wave some mother out of her idling vehicle and show her the passage. Reading, however, is a kind of private freedom: out of time, out of place.”

~ Yiyun Li, Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life

 


Photo: Elena with Reading