Immigration, a lexicon. You're a 'migrant' when you're very poor; 'immigrant' when you're not so poor; and 'expat' when you're rich.

In some ways, I think it's the closest that we come to the truth — is in the form of fiction.

I [read] "The Book of Unknown Americans," which is by a friend of mine, Cristina Henriquez, and is about two Latino, immigrant families who live in Delaware. I'm interested in reading things from different perspectives.

A name is precious; it carries inside it a language, a history, a set of traditions, a particular way of looking at the world. Losing it meant losing my ties to all those things too.

The universe had an odd sense of fairness; it took away things one did not want to give up, and then gave things one did not ask for.

Historical novels, in particular, allow us to relive the past without the neatness of history, and with all the complexity of the present.

There is a insularity within American fiction even for adults. It's very tough for books in translation in the US.