Jul 31

Jul 31 IN MEMORIAM: Tân Lûi 陳雷 (Dr. Chin Yu Wu 吳景裕), 1939-2025

Written by So Chèng-hiân & Kí Phín-tsì

Edited by Matthew Mucha & Kí Phín-tsì

Photos: Tiong-siong Oo

On June 27, 2025, the Taiwanese literary community lost one of its prolific overseas writers. Author Tân Lûi (陳雷), writer of numerous works in Taiwanese, passed away in Burlington, Ontario. On July 20, 2025, a memorial lunch was held in his honour in Hamilton, Ontario. This piece features two eulogies in tribute, shared here with the authors' kind permission.

Remembering Dr. Wu (By So Chèng-hiân - Translated from Taiwanese by Pi-Ling Lin)

Dr. Chin Yu Wu (吳景裕), pen name Tân Lûi (陳雷), was born in 1939 in Madou, Tainan, Taiwan. He graduated from Tainan First High School and National Taiwan University Medical School. In 1965, he went to the US and completed a one-year internship at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. After that, he completed a doctorate in immunology at the University of Toronto. In 1971, he went to the UK to do research for a year and a half. From 1974, he was a family doctor in Hamilton, Ontario, and retired in 2023.

Dr. Wu has exceptional literary talent. He started writing poems and literary essays in his youth. In his 20s, he published two Mandarin poetry collections and one Mandarin essay collection. From 1982 to 1985, he wrote the first novel about Taiwan's 228 Incident in Mandarin, Bai Jia Chun (百家春). Halfway through, he felt that writing in Mandarin was too restrictive and could not fully express the Taiwanese culture, nor correctly describe the characters of the Taiwanese people.

In 1986, Dr. Wu began creating Taiwanese literature. He used a combination of Chinese characters and Romanization to write his first Taiwanese short story, “Beautiful Camphor Forest” (美麗ê樟腦林), which was published in the magazine “Taiwan Culture” (台灣文化), edited in California, USA. Dr. Wu considered Taiwanese literature written in Mandarin to be a form of translated literature and believed that only the Taiwanese language should be the primary medium of Taiwanese literature, allowing it to express the art of Taiwanese literature fully.

Dr. Wu was a prolific writer. His works were rich and diverse, encompassing poetry, prose, novels, plays, translations, and opinion pieces. His major works were fiction. In total, he wrote 135 short stories, seven novellas and one novel. Most of his novels were based on actual people and events in Taiwan, and his concern for his homeland was reflected in his writing. The language he used was lively and authentic Taiwanese. His works retained the integrity of spoken language, embodying a humanitarian spirit that often criticized social disorder, protested against violence and oppression, and became classics of Taiwanese literature.

Dr. Wu had written more than 60 Taiwanese poems, 20 Taiwanese plays, and 80 essays. The range of essays was broad, encompassing topics such as Taiwan nostalgia, short stories, languages, interesting scientific facts, philosophy, and life. In addition to writing in Taiwanese, he sometimes wrote in English.

Dr. Wu published 13 books, including short story collections, selected essays, drama anthologies, novellas, and novels. His novel, “The Untold Story of My Homeland[1],” (鄉史補記) was the first socio-historical novel featuring the Plains Indigenous Siraya tribe in Taiwan as its theme, and it received many excellent reviews.

Many of his works have been translated into English, some by himself and some by others. His novella “To Kill a Dog” (Thâi 狗) was translated into Dutch by Joren Pronk who had been to Taiwan. Many Taiwanese masters and doctoral students have used his works for academic research and writing papers, and some short stories have been adapted into radio dramas. His Taiwanese poem “Forever My Homeland” (永遠ê故鄉) was adapted into beautiful Taiwanese songs by Professor Tyzen Hsiao, Ông Bêng-tiat and Lîm Sim-tì.

In addition to writing, Dr. Wu also worked hard to teach and promote the Taiwanese language. Starting in 1994, for over a decade, he would drive over an hour to Toronto every month to guide the Taiwanese Language Class, regardless of the weather. He was a great teacher who taught the Romanized Taiwanese writing system, Taiwanese literary composition, Taiwanese literary appreciation. He also trained a few Taiwanese language teachers. He led efforts to promote the Taiwanese language within the Taiwanese community, providing Taiwanese language programs for various events, including reading Taiwanese poetry and performing Taiwanese dramas. He also conducted Taiwanese language workshops and lectures on Taiwanese literature. He also guided Taiwanese language classes for teenagers and the Taiwanese language club at the University of Toronto. Due to his efforts, Toronto has gradually become a hub for promoting the Taiwanese language overseas.

Dr. Wu was the co-publisher of Tâi-bûn Thong-sin (台文通訊) (TBTS - also known as the Taiwanese Writing Forum) and authored the most articles. The Taiwanese Writing Forum is an important publication of the Taiwanese language movement. It was founded in Los Angeles in 1991. In September 1999, it was moved to Toronto. Dr. Wu was the soul of the editorial team, personally involved in planning, manuscript selection, revision, and proofreading. Under his leadership, the content of this publication has become more prosperous and more diverse. TBTS was edited in Toronto for twelve years, publishing 144 issues, until it moved to Taiwan in December 2011. Dr. Wu devoted a significant amount of his time and energy during this period.

A few years ago, Dr. Wu co-founded the “World Taiwanese Culture Forum” (世界台灣文化論壇). He frequently participated in discussions of various topics in the forum, providing in-depth responses and comments. He also taught the Taiwanese language online. He also accepted the invitation of the Taiwan Literature Reading Clubs in Taiwan and Switzerland, and held discussions on Taiwan literature and composition, and led group readings of his novel “The Untold Story of My Homeland” online.

Dr. Wu was enthusiastic about participating in overseas Taiwanese affairs. He joined the Taiwanese Human Rights Association in Canada and the Formosan Association for Public Affairs (FAPA) Canada as a member. He was a long-time member of the World United Formosans for Independence (WUFI) Canada. He felt that, in addition to political movements, Taiwan's independence and nation-building also needed to establish the subjectivity of Taiwanese culture. He believed that the modern Taiwanese language movement overseas was part of a larger movement of cultural nation-building among the Taiwanese diaspora.

In 2022, Dr. Wu was awarded the “Taiwanese Canadian Community Contribution Award” by the Taiwanese Canadian Association (TCA). In 2023, the organizer of the first "Tan Lui Taiwan Literature Festival" awarded the Lifetime Contribution Award to Dr. Wu. Before his passing in June this year, Professor Chiúⁿ Ûi-bûn of the “Hoat-ki Taiwanese Language and Education Foundation” (發枝台語文教育基金會) came to Canada and presented him with the “Hoat-ki Taiwanese Heritage Award” (台語薪傳終身貢獻獎) in the hospital ICU. The Ministry of Culture of the Executive Yuan in Taiwan issued a Certificate of Commendation to recognize his contributions to Taiwanese literature.

Dr. Wu was one of the most important representative figures in Taiwanese literature. His works will continue to be passed down, and he will always be remembered.

Eulogy for Tân Lûi (By Kí Phín-tsì)

My name is Phín-chì, and I’d like to say a few words in memory of Dr. Wu—better known to many of us by his pen name, Tân Lûi. I first met Tân Lûi at a Taiwanese-language workshop, and I was lucky enough to work closely with him over the past nine years—through language teaching, literary gatherings, and helping to edit and publish his latest works.

He was a “man of letters”—not only in the modern sense of a literary figure, but also in the older sense: a literate man—one who could truly read and write in Taiwanese.

Though most Taiwanese people grew up speaking the language as their mother tongue, they were only taught to read and write in the so-called “national language” of colonial rule—first Japanese, then Mandarin Chinese.

Tân Lûi once said that writing about Taiwan in Japanese or Chinese always felt like a kind of translation—never quite real, never close enough to the heart. So in 1986, after completing his novel Bai Jia Chun (百家春) in Chinese, he made a decision: from then on, he would write in his native language, Taiwanese.

He often said he had two homelands: Taiwan and Canada. But the source of his creative energy, he said, mostly came from the lives of ordinary people in Taiwanese society.

Even after decades abroad, he never stopped writing about Taiwan—and his words reached, moved, and healed so many readers. I think, for him, this literary mission was just as meaningful as his work caring for patients in Canada.

He loved understanding the world around him—and telling stories that made that understanding come alive. You could really feel that same curiosity and empathy in the way he lived. He was once asked how to become a good writer. He said: “First, be a good person.” And he lived by that. As a person, Tân Lûi was gentle, wise, and deeply humane. As a writer, he brought insight and brilliance—but also warmth, compassion, and a sense of humour.

I remember he wrote a poem after undergoing prostate surgery, called “Men’s Chestnuts”—a short, funny piece that made many of us chuckle. Just a few weeks ago, a group of us visited him at his son’s home, where he was mostly confined to his bed. Even then, he hadn’t lost his sense of humour. When someone asked, “Should we keep our masks on for the photo?” he immediately pointed to the phone and said, “Not a problem—this camera can see through masks.” And just like that, the whole mood in the room lifted.

His stories often make you laugh through your tears—and cry with hope. Even his satire carries tenderness. He kept writing until the very end. Over his life, Tân Lûi wrote eight novels—including his magnum opus, A Supplementary History of My Homeland, a 270,000-word historical novel sequence he spent fifteen years on. An English translation is on the way. He also published over a hundred short stories, plus poems, essays, plays, and commentaries. His most famous poem, Forever My Homeland, has been set to music by at least two composers—it’s the song many of you just heard.

So what was his secret for writing so much? He woke up every morning at 4 a.m. to write, before going in to see patients. Some of you here may have been his patients. I’m not saying he always put his writing before your health—well, maybe just a little—but he really loved writing. And he was able to do it thanks to the support of his wife, Bêng-bí, his family, and fellow comrades in the Taiwanese language movement—like Mr. So Chèng-hiân and Ms. Tiuⁿ Siù-boán, who are with us today.

You might not expect it, but there are some surprising ways in which Tân Lûi and William Shakespeare were alike. Just as Shakespeare gave English its literary soul, Tân Lûi brought modern Taiwanese literature to remarkable heights. As a curious coincidence, both men passed away on their birthdays—although Tân Lûi lived 34 years longer than Shakespeare. Still, it wasn’t long enough. Because the Nobel Prize only goes to living authors.

But maybe that’s not the point. For a writer, what matters most is that the work is read, remembered, and passed on. That is the real legacy. Great authors like Tân Lûi are given a kind of second life—one that carries on through their words.

I’m deeply grateful to have been Tân Lûi’s reader and friend. Because of his trust, I was able to walk beside him for part of his creative journey. And reading his words now, I feel as if he’s still here with me.

Not long ago, we were preparing his final novel for publication. One of its characters—a mythical figure—carries a heavy stone on his back and runs without stopping. This figure symbolizes someone who bears the weight of memory, language, and cultural heritage. Just like Tân Lûi did.

Shortly before his passing, Tân Lûi asked me and Mr. So Chèng-hiân to take on the responsibility of his manuscripts and files. In response, I adapted a verse from that novel and wrote to him:

God gave you strength and time,

To do many things,

To run with a stone upon your back.

Now our eyes see what you saw,

Our ears hear what you heard,

And we hope to understand your heart.

Now, Tân Lûi has finally put down his stone. He’s free from the burdens of this world, no longer bound by time or space. But, through his words, his spirit remains with us—in our language, and in our hearts.