Poet and novelist Ha Jin is the author most recently of a book of short essays, The Writer as Migrant, focusing on authors who left their home countries and their native tongues, like Joseph Conrad, Vladimir Nabokov, and Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn. Jin’s own journey would fit into the book, though he only briefly discusses it: the Chinese-born Jin served in the People’s Liberation Army during the Cultural Revolution, moved to the U.S. for graduate study in literature at Brandeis, and decided to stay in the country after watching the Tiananmen Square massacre on TV. Here, he began writing fiction in English. He chatted by phone with Zócalo about the book, writing, and his migrant life.

Q. What prompted you to write The Writer as Migrant?
A. It was kind of an obligation. Rice University invited me to give three lectures, the Campbell lectures, and the context of these lectures became a book, published by the University of Chicago. I said I can talk about individual writers, I can talk about three writers, and I can talk about just the immigrant experience, because I taught a class called migrant literature. They liked this best.

Q. How do you think adopting English has affected your prose, your subject matter, and your work?
A. It is a different approach for me, because my tradition had to be changed. In English there has been a tradition in which non-native speakers became very important authors. I had to be aware of that tradition. Because it is about the language, and that is very hard to obtain. That means we have had to be aware of the disadvantages and advantages as well. I must be aware and find my own way. It’s not just to write a book, but to find a place where you can work in the language.

Q. What are some of the disadvantages and advantages of being a migrant writer?
A. The biggest disadvantage is the uncertainty. I just don’t know, I couldn’t tell whether I would be able to survive in the language. There’s a sense of being crippled, as I mentioned in the lecture on Nabokov. He said he felt like he had lost eight fingers, and had to learn how to handle things afterwards. That is a very accurate picture. It is very traumatic. But there are advantages, because you have different kinds of resources. Your sense of the language is different. That’s why I think there is a sense of amazement, to play with it, once you aren’t afraid of making mistakes. Nabokov very often used this notion, this fragmentation to create a new style. Everything must be based on the mastery of language. It depends who can really master this language, and it’s such a big language.

Q. What are some of the advantages beyond language — perhaps a keener observational eye?
A. There’s a different perspective, a different feeling. Also sometimes because you are a non-native speaker, you are an outsider. You have to step aside and look askance instead of facing everything. That is necessary, being more objective an observer. And also a person from my background, from China, where most writers are part of the state power, as a writer living in the West I can say that I’m independent. I think that’s very important. In China it’s very hard to be an independent author. It is almost impossible. Even if you are economically independent, artistically, you can’t be. You don’t have that type of freedom.

Q. You mention A Bend in the River by V.S. Naipaul, a fellow migrant writer, as having changed your life. What other books have had such a profound impact for you?
A. Other books really didn’t have that impact. I like [Naipaul’s] writing. I don’t share his political views. I was surprised by a lot of his ideas. But I really respect the ideas…. It helps me understand the baggage [of being a migrant writer], the actual weight. There is no way for you to carry everything. Part of it must be gotten rid of. Part of the past can be a source of energy. That is where you are from, it’s part of you. That should be used to facilitate the journey.

Q. You discuss a few Chinese writers writing in English in your book, along with Conrad and Nabokov and Solzhenitsyn. Can you discuss any peculiarities Chinese writers experience when switching languages, because the languages are so different?
A. I’m not sure. There are Chinese writers who have been writing in English and French. But it is relatively new. In the older generations there were people who wrote quite well, but I don’t think they have found a place in this language. Among non-native speakers who could write in English, Nabokov has a place. We can’t take him out of the tradition. That is very important. Very few authors have achieved that. For Asian writers, it is more difficult because the linguistic structures are so different. But eventually the difficulty doesn’t justify anything. It’s only the work. That is the final word, it decides everything.

Q. Do you still write in Chinese at all? How does it feel?
A. Personally, for letters, sure. Sometimes I write essays in Chinese. But for creative work usually I have to write in English. It’s possible to write creatively in Chinese. If I work hard, I can do it. I do feel more at home in Chinese. But as time goes on, the kind of excitement in creating a piece of work in Chinese might be defused. As Nabokov said in his later years, he didn’t have the passion for using the Russian language anymore. It hasn’t happened to me yet, though.

Q. What evolution led you to set your latest novel, A Free Life, in the U.S.? Did you feel compelled to write about the immigrant experience? Did you consider it a duty, or a transition to something else?
A. Both. I do have the sense that every book is a departure. As the last lecture indicates, even if you go ahead, you cannot separate yourself from your past. I don’t write about China anymore, but I do have the freedom to go to another place.

Q. Do you think you could ever write a story focusing on a native-born American, an American story that does not involve immigration at all?
A. It depends on from what angle. Each person has his or her own angle. To discuss it like a native person-that is hard. To write with a full sense of an American, with that certainty, that is very hard.

Q. Why did you decide to adopt a pen name?
A. When I published my first poem, it was political by nature. My teacher edited the poem over the phone, and said we had to put a name to the poem. I decided to use a pen name instead of a real name. From that moment on I’ve been using it. Jin is my family name. But Ha is the first letter of the city Harbin, the first character. I went to college there and very much liked that city.

Q. How are your works received in China?
A. One book, Waiting, was published there. I think by a fluke. It was published by a provincial press. The other books were not allowed. But on the other hand, all my fiction has been translated into Chinese and published by a Taiwanese publisher. The books have been read by the Chinese diaspora.

Q. Do you ever participate in the translations of your work?
A. Usually I read the draft. But it’s very hard to make everything polished and refined. That’s why I am reluctant to do translation. My wife and I did translate one book, Ocean of Words, my first book of short stories. In the future I might translate my own work as well. It depends on time and opportunity.

Q. Where is home for you now?
A. Home is something to be created. It’s part of my work now. I really try to live on the page, to produce good work. That is kind of a home. Ideal or not, that is the way it is for writers.