Henry Lien is a writer of speculative fiction based in Los Angeles. His debut middle-grade novel, Peasprout Chen, Future Legend of Skate and Sword, is set in a city of pearl one must traverse on skates. Peasprout presents one of the most vivid and complete fictional worlds I have ever encountered—Henry has even created wu liu, the deadly sport of martial-arts figure skating. The novel is also innovative in its portrayal of animals suffering for the sake of human “culture.” Through her friendship with the tenderhearted Hisashi, Peasprout becomes increasingly aware of the cruelty implicit in all that she once took for granted.
You’re a vocal believer in the ability of animals to help humans evolve into…well…less terrible humans! You somehow had to change in order to go vegan, of course, but how did veganism transform you—personally and creatively?
Yeah, it was totally seismic for me personally and creatively. I’m sure other contributors to this book can list in better detail some of the ways that going vegan is transforming. The most surprising thing about going vegan for me as a person and as an artist is learning that joy is contagious. On social media, I deliberately try to emphasize how much happiness veganism brings to me in my daily life and in my writing. I present it as associated with kindness, light, health, sexiness, and a call to our better selves. That call can be powerful. Many people, most of them more or less strangers, have written to me and told me that they went vegan or started moving in that direction because my social media posts were so full of joy, and they wanted a piece of that. As well as maybe a bit more sexiness <sexy winky emoticon>.
I would describe Peasprout Chen as a joyful novel—the reader can tell on every page just how much you reveled in the writing of it. I also got the sense that you’ve drawn on a deep well of imaginative and cultural experience. As a white, straight, middle-class female—the stereotypical vegan, in other words—I’m very interested to hear how your identities as a gay Taiwanese American vegan author inform and enrich one another.
Ooh, neat question. I think intersectionality is important because most of us have multiple identities that overlap. Being Taiwanese American, being gay, and being vegan give me equal amounts of joy, and I’m particularly interested in ways that they intersect. Being Taiwanese and vegan is easy. There is a long tradition of Taiwanese vegan cuisine that is so delicious, you cry like a shameless baby for more. Further, Taiwanese people are much less hostile to veganism, in my opinion. Most of the objections to veganism that I’ve heard from Taiwanese people basically agree with the concept, given that we have a long tradition of it founded in religious practice, but say that it constitutes too much of a lifestyle sacrifice. I’ve never heard a Taiwanese person get bent out of shape about veganism the way that socially progressive non-vegan folks in the West do on a regular basis. Regarding being gay and vegan, that’s trickier. I think the thing is that many socially progressive non-vegan folks in the West base their sense of identity on a commitment to social justice. They find veganism threatening because it suggests that they’ve missed something massive in their construction of their sense of self, so they get upset and lash out. So being Taiwanese and vegan is easier than being gay and vegan, in my experience.
I want to talk more about food and culture. You once saved a man’s life by performing the Heimlich at a wedding reception, but you had to shield what you were doing from the other guests so the Taiwanese gentleman in question wouldn’t feel shame! That social mores could supersede the survival instinct in that situation astounds me. When it comes to eating and wearing animals as a matter of tradition, how do you find your way through that tension as someone who still desires to participate in the culture in a way that feels ethical? How can one person play a role in helping a culture evolve into a more compassionate version of itself?
I don’t think there is a one-size-fits-all answer to that question. I think that living by example is the form of activism that I get the most mileage from, and that feels like the best long-term fit for me. I never, ever censor my veganism when in Taiwanese company. It’s easy in that, as I said, Taiwan and many largely Buddhist countries have a long tradition of veganism or vegetarianism anchored in religious practice, so I’m not received with the kind of bafflement or derision that vegans who come from some other cultures might. I do make it clear that my veganism does not rise from religious practice but is simply due to the fact that I love animals. I think that secular veganism born out of a love of animals is something that strikes many Taiwanese people as new and strange but positive and admirable, and I feel a sense of ambassadorship for that. I think it makes an impression. Actually, I know it does because strangely, every Taiwanese person I meet who learns I am vegan remembers it the next time we meet and is respectful about it.
I find you endearing in somany respects, Henry, but it always makes me smile in particular when you practice the Taiwanese art of self-effacement. When you refer to Peasprout Chen as “this worthless novel,” I like to interpret this tongue-in-cheek dismissal of your own work as a humility practice. Has veganism helped you with what I like to call “ego management”?
I prostrate myself before you in gratitude for your undeserved compliment of this worthless one’s humility. Regarding ego management, I’m a pretty confident guy and the lobe of my brain responsible for humility function is damaged. I think that veganism has been helpful in making me realize that if I emphasize how much I love something, be it my own writing or the animal I’m not eating, it comes across not as boastfulness or self-righteousness but as something more joyful and positive. When people hear me talk about how much fun I’m having working on the Peasprout Chen books, okay, maybe it merits a little to moderate eye-rolling, but I think people generally see that this guy’s doing what he loves and he’s just expressing that love, rather than being boastful. Same thing with veganism. When I talk about how much I love animals, people don’t go, “Here comes that self-righteous vegan guy, is it me or did it suddenly get scold in here?” Instead, they go, “Hey, look at that sweet tenderhearted guy showing his love. And OMG, look at his baby parakeet!!” So yeah, being vegan has helped me focus on centering that love slightly outside myself, and that’s been a graceful way to manage my own ego.
I so admire your ability to write ethical vegan characters without coming across as having an authorial agenda. (So far, I’ve erred on the side of subtlety, myself.) Do you feel a responsibility as a vegan artist to address these issues in your work?
Responsibility isn’t the right word. I feel a strong compulsion to bring in vegan and animal welfare issues into my work because I’m writing from the heart, and I write for myself first and for all others second. I also feel strongly that we need reminders of what sheer goodness looks like. It’s easy to write bleak or cynical depictions of humanity. I like to include in every work at least one character who makes noble decisions, and one of the truest ways for the characters to do that is to show consciousness of the value of the lives we share the planet with. I often feel ashamed to be part of the human race. Thus, I often like to write characters that make me proud to be part of the human race, as a way to say, “Wow, look! We can be beautiful. And who wouldn’t want to be beautiful?”
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