This is a great collection of thoughts and reflections on the aspects of life that shape us all: love, loss and friendship.

I didn't connect with the writing style at all, it felt off and rushed to me. I didn't really believe in the narrative.

What compels us to read so much? What relationship is formed between the author and reader in the process? How does our understanding of a book change over the course of our lives? I think there are moments in every committed reader's life when they find themselves reflecting upon these and similar questions – caught as we are in the strange alchemy of this intensely private and oftentimes lonely activity which connects us to the rest of humanity. Yiyun Li intelligently and movingly addresses these concerns and many more through recollections about her life and experience as a reader and writer. Probably not since reading Annie Dillard or Antoine de Saint-Exupery have I encountered memoirist essays that speak so profoundly about the experience of living. The title of this book is taken from a line in Katherine Mansfield's notebooks. Li takes this concept of the way written language straddles time and particular existence to reflect on a life in literature.

I took my time reading these essays over a couple of months, dipping in and out, copying lines and spending a lot of time thinking about their meaning. Li packs a lot into each sentence with concepts that frequently comfort, intrigue or provoke. In an afterward to one essay she explains how long she took over writing the book. It shows in the density of the writing that she spent a lot of time fretting over and reworking her ideas. She seems torn about whether she's getting it right or if writing about herself should even be allowed: “I am not an autobiographical writer – one cannot be without a solid and explicable self – and read all autobiographical writers with the same curiosity. What kind of life permits a person the right to become his own subject?” This says a lot about the intensity of her process and the emotionally tumultuous period in which she wrote this book. References are occasionally made to two different times she spent in a hospital and her suicide attempt.

Reading is her anchor and the thing which makes her feel what she most desires which is to be alone and invisible: “If aloneness is inevitable, I want to believe that aloneness is what I have desired because it is happiness itself.” She suggests in this line that what she must believe (without wanting to) is that the human instinct is to connect to others. Reading is the method which provides such contact that takes her out of the immediacy of time and removes others from witnessing her. Contact with others causes intense self-consciousness: “The indifference of strangers is not far from that of characters, yet the latter do not make one feel exposed.” Although writing provides a more comfortable one step of removal from people she also feels that “to write betrays one's instinct to curl up and hide.” But the process is a necessary one because it assuages her from the sense that existence is pointless: “Often I think that if writing is a futile effort; so is reading; so is living. Loneliness is the inability to speak with another in one's private language.”

In these essays Li considers the writing and interactions between authors such as Elizabeth Bowen, Graham Greene, Thomas Hardy, John McGahern, Vladimir Nabokov, Ivan Turgenev, William Trevor and Virginia Woolf. The essays focus upon subjects such as relationships in literature (between reader/writer, writer/writer, teacher/prodigy), the role of melodrama in our lives and literature, writing exclusively in a second language, creating characters in fiction and the way we mentally turn real people into characters and the challenges of the writing process. She recounts her state as a Chinese immigrant to America, her conviction to become a writer over her profession as a scientist, disturbing/poignant encounters with readers of her own writing and her connections with other writers. Li is beautifully adept at teasing out contradictions between her instincts and logic. For instance, she believes that “A writer and a reader should never be allowed to meet. They live in different time frames. When a book takes on a life for a reader it is already dead for the writer.” So she fully realizes the irony in successfully seeking out a friendship with William Trevor whose writing she worships.

“Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life” inspires that special kind of feeling of being so personal to its author, yet it feels like it was written especially for you. A connection which is more meaningful than ever meeting in person is that contact through the page. Yiyun Li beautifully articulates that special kind of intimacy. It's a book I know I'll permanently keep on a nearby shelf to return to - like a friend I don’t necessarily want frequent contact with but who I want to know is near beside me.

Sincere
This is a book that is not for everyone. Li writes of her life, the choices she's made, for example why she chose to leave medicine and start writing. There are also harder subjects, such as suicide, her mental health, and the criticism she's faced as a writer for her refusal to write in Chinese or have her work translated in Chinese.

I had never heard of this author before reading this book, so a lot of her words didn't touch me as they would if I were a dedicated reader of her work. This is partially the reason for my rating. The other reason is that she writes of literature she's read, literature that has influenced her. The fact that I wasn't familiar with some of these writers again, meant that I couldn't appreciate this book as much as I'd have liked.

Aside from all that, I did like that Li refused to write in that autobiographical, chronological, prose that has become so common. She adapts a more casual, conversational, tone as though she is, like all of us, still figuring things out. She still has questions. And lessons she wishes to share such as, perhaps the most crucial, don't make quick judgements without understanding.

I did like this book for the issues Yiyun Li raises and for her willingness to share her reasons for writing, publicly. It's a difficult choice to make, that of abandoning one career for one that is nothing short of uncertain. I admire her courage and, I do plan to read her other work.

I received this book through NetGalley.

The title gives intimation and hope of a two way conversational thread developing between friends, but that's not how this book works. It's a memoir in the traditional sense, with the twist of suggesting the author could be speaking to her younger self, when she struggled with suicidal thoughts and spent time in a mental health facility. With the benefit of hindsight, she is detached enough to befriend and view her experiences more dispassionately and compassionately.

It appears to be written partly as an ode to writing influences, being littered with literary references to such an extent it had me checking out the original sources of several of them, and downloading a sample of their books. Such is an avid reader's response to the power of words!

There's also an ongoing monologue on the art and craft of writing itself. These snippets, plus those from various writers' books, diaries and letters, which spoke to the author during her challenging journey—and reveal where this book's title originates from—were what intrigued and interested me the most.

Some books captivate from the start. This one is more of a slow burning imprint on the mind and a gradual warming to the necessarily disjointed narrative. It took me a while to fully appreciate the nuances of Yiyun Li's pared back prose and poetic phraseology. But once I did, I began to truly admire her elegant writing style and the cleverness of its execution. Rather like fine wine, this is a book to savour slowly and devour in small doses to appreciate its superb flavour and finer qualities.

I struggled with this book, returning to it several times over the last two weeks and I have finally conceded defeat. I found the writing style, which is in the form of a personal memoir about her time spent battling with several bouts of depression, very difficult to read.

The book receives some very impressive reviews and I feel that it is perhaps just too heavy a subject for my present mind set.

My thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for providing a digital review copy.

Yiyun Li has spent two years writing her essay which appeared in the collection I write to you in your life. Topics which affected her as a writer as well as her as a Chinese woman living and working in America. Yet, it is not only theoretical essays on different subjects such as suicide, the role of writers, connection between language and identity etc., it is much more a kind of biography, a very personal insight into Yiyun Li's thoughts and feelings.

Some of her thoughts I found not only remarkable, but they gave me a lot of food for thought. E.g. when she writes that she does not trust her past since her memory could be tainted. It is true, we cannot have something like a neutral remembrance, it is all within. The co text of what was before and what came after. At times, big catastrophes which seem to destroy our lives are considered just minor events a couple of months or years later. So we do not keep the memory of that specific moment but the classification made afterwards.

She also explains the title which is actually a quote from Katherine Mansfield' notebooks. At first, I was wondering about the idea, but slowly I could understand what she was referring to. Of course, as a writer, you aim at entering somebody's life, at being important and relevant for a reader. You also might write to express yourself, but what worth does it have to write something which neither read by anybody nor relevant for anybody?

Her analysis of suicide comes to a convincing conclusion: one never kills oneself from knowledge or understanding, but always out of feelings." (Position480). Since those feelings can never be fully felt by somebody else, so who are we to judge suicide? No matter the individual explanation, it is the person's decision which has to be accepted.

When she reads in other writers' notes, she has the feeling of entering into conversation with them. She enters into others' lives, follows their train of thoughts and in this ways advances herself. Since you can never trust what somebody writes, you can at least build a broader picture of the writer since you can never write without also offering something of yourself

Her most interesting aspect for me, however, was the thoughts on the impact of the language. Yiyun Li writes in English which is not her mother tongue. Yet, this is quite natural for her, she rejects writing in Chinese and does not feel limited by her capacities in English. It is also her relationship with China that forbids her writing in Chinese.

All in all, I have the impression of a very personal book which wants to enter into conversation with the reader. It does not provide definite answers to anything, it raises many questions and thus enters into conversation with you.

Such an unusual book written poetically. It's very sad, and quiet at the same time, and her writing style makes this book a great experience.. It's more than a journal or a diary, rather an insightful and moving experience. I appreciated the writer's touching openness able to share the inner sufferings so often ignored, overlooked or unaccepted. I will remember this book for a long time. I read it during a difficul time of my life: my father died this year in February and I identified so much with the writer's inner experience and sadness.

A totally delightful book about love, friendship, truth - an excellent read for everyone, although women will probably relate more than men.

A startling collection of thoughts on life. I very much enjoyed the depth of this memoir, it always shows when author pours emotions to her book and those emotions and the raw truth behind them made this a very special read.

I probably should have picked something more lightweight after finishing Affinity Konar's devastatingly moving "Mischling". As it was, I dove headfirst into this, Yiyun Li's musings on life and death.
Focusing more on the latter, Li delivers an autobiographical tale of her years spent battling depression and seeking solace in literature.
While I don't doubt the veracity of her struggles, for me it was all a little too self absorbed and self pitying to connect with. While I can associate with the beauty of literature as a guiding light through the darkness, Li's tendency to turn to the maudlin at every available opportunity was too much for my sunnier disposition.
The detailed passages around the authors she finds solace in were too dry for my liking - I felt if there was an author I wasn't aware of, I could have just googled them and found out the same information.
All in all, a strange blend of literature lessons and life lessons that failed to combine into something that connected with me.

This memoir is a string of thoughts, unanswerable questions, philosophical explorations and personal pain.

The author tells us of her own misunderstandings and attempts to understand life. It's written in an eloquent, flowing way- nothing jars and this makes it easy to read, even though the material is so dense.
There is no spiritual thread, rather, the author draws on the works of those authors she has most loved. Some of these authors she knew personally, or made deliberate contact with so that she could meet them and she writes about these encounters in the book.

Many of the authors she was drawn to battled with mental illness and a number of them took their own lives. Pretty much all of them wrote about existential problems and the pain and futility of life - at least, that's how I interpreted it, since (with the exception of Hardy) I have not read Li's long list of favourite authors myself.

In this memoir, some passages are highly personal and these are the ones which worked best for me. In particular, I liked to read about Li's childhood in China and her troubled relationship with her mother and her ultimate abandonment of her mother tongue.
Li has a rare insight into the soul of others and the troubles of a nation, be that America or China.
I also liked to read of her early memories of America and life as a new immigrant.
What worked less well for me were the lengthy passages where she quotes the works of other authors.

I found this a touching book, though ultimately, it wasn't really for me.
I received a copy of this book from NetGalley.