Yu published more than two dozen books, the fruit of a fascination — and obsession — with writing that spanned 75 years. She so despised Howard Cosell’s distinctive delivery that she once grabbed a jar and wiped peanut butter on the screen. “You should have had someone to hold your hand,” Lena’s daughter, Sophie Mindes, wrote, remembering Yu’s own strong, loving grip. Her mother tells the girl, whom Yu named after herself, of the joy and promise of her pregnancy. “Oh, I am so infinitely happy,” Yu wrote in her red hardcover diary at the time.

Source: Washington Post May 14, 2020 14:03 UTC