Tao Lin
Taipei, a novel by Tao Lin, stands as one of his most cited works, tracing a young writer's experience across shifting locations and relationships in the register of autofiction that defines much of his prose.
Born on July 2, 1983, in Alexandria, Lin is an American writer, poet, novelist, essayist, artist, and film director who works in English. He attended Lake Howell High School before enrolling at New York University. His writing engages with autofiction and the essay as primary forms, genres that draw directly on personal experience as their raw material. Among his notable works are the novel Richard Yates and Bed, both of which, alongside Taipei, established him as a writer working across fiction and other modes. His practice extends further to poetry, essays, and art, and he has worked as a film director as well, making him a figure whose output moves across several disciplines.
Leave Society is a later notable work, adding to a body of writing that spans multiple genres and forms. Lin's commitment to autofiction and the essay runs through his career, giving his work a consistency of approach even as it ranges across different subjects and formats. The Library of Congress catalogs him under the authorized label "Lin, Tao, 1983—," a designation that acknowledges a body of work extending from his early fiction through Leave Society and the other titles that have marked his career as a novelist, poet, essayist, artist, and film director.
Quotes by Tao Lin
Tao Lin's insights on:
Thousands of years from now they will use my fossil remains as an example of a mistake in the evolutionary process.
He wished his mom had stayed in Taiwan. Raised him here, native. He wished his mom had died early, leaving him to do things for himself. Neil wished for 10 percent increases in kindness, tolerance, social skills, confidence and attractiveness and then felt cheated in life by 10 percent.
A world without right or wrong was a world that did not want itself, anything other than itself, or anything not those two things, but that still wanted something. A world without right or wrong invited you over, complained about you, and gave you cookies. Don’t leave, it said, and gave you a vegan cookie. It avoided eye contact, but touched your knee sometimes. It was the world without right or wrong. It didn’t have any meaning. It just wanted a little meaning.
I’d like to disappear one day... I get the feeling sometimes that I can do that. It’s like there’s some place I really want to go to, and I’m not sure where, but I can still go. I think I’d really like that. I’d sit down one afternoon. I’d say, “Okay now, Susan, time to go.” Clasp my hands or something. Then I’d do it. I’d just be gone then. No one would know. I wouldn’t even know.
He asked if there were more things she had lied about. She said she had to think. She said she was still thinking. After about two minutes she said she was still thinking.
I think Bret Easton Ellis has said that he doesn’t completely identify with his characters. And I think he has referred to them as immoral before.
The gate has a secret passcode. Sara has a secret passcode. She should. Andrew would stand there for years trying combinations. He wouldn’t keep track or develop a strategy but just continue trying different combinations and then Kafka would rise from the grave and write a novel about him.
Sam looked at the sky to see if there were a lot of stars. There seemed to be a normal amount of stars.
