Da Ling: Finding the Self in the Deep Wells of Japanese Literature
Guest: Da Ling
Interviewer: Xiao He
Mother of Success Interview
Self-Introduction: From China Foreign Affairs University, to Waseda, to Yale
MOS:
Hi Da Ling, could you start by introducing yourself?
Da Ling:
My name is Da Ling. I majored in Japanese at China Foreign Affairs University, spent my junior year on exchange at Waseda University, and then received my first master’s degree from Yale University in the East Asian Studies program. After graduating from Yale, I went through a difficult year—my job offer was rescinded, and all my PhD applications failed.
But during that period of confusion, I also explored many new things: freelancing as a writer, working as a UXR at Information Tracer — a startup building media monitoring software — and learning some coding. These experiences made me rethink my career path, so I decided to fully pivot into tech. This August, I enrolled in the CS program at UIUC.
But in truth, my academic path from undergrad to master’s was always consistent: Japanese literature and film. I studied in three countries, but my intellectual interests always centered on this field. If I look back even further, I fell into the “well” of Japanese literature around age fourteen or fifteen. It was the golden age of early internet literary culture — Baidu Tieba, QQ groups — people passionately shared books, thoughts, and emotions.
Japanese culture, in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s words, is the aesthetics of shadow. It touches something very essential in my life.
“I always knew I needed freedom.”
Da Ling:
I’ve always known I had to be financially independent. I can’t accept being controlled by my parents; I need freedom. So even though I love literature, I knew I had to find a way to make a living through it.
In my freshman and sophomore years, I set a goal for myself: push toward a PhD, then go for a tenure-track job. That was my baseline. If academia couldn’t give me a stable career by middle age, I would switch to something else.
But when I went to Japan in junior year, I realized the academic job market there was terrible. Many people struggled in unstable, low-paying positions. Some PhD students had to self-fund for many years… I thought: absolutely not. It wasn’t about whether my family could afford it — it was that I could not accept still living off my parents at thirty.
So I came to the U.S. — and to be realistic, I came for money: for scholarships, for fully-funded PhD programs. But for that very reason, I couldn’t fall in love with American academia. I had no motivation to assimilate into it. That was one of the reasons I gradually lost the desire to create.
Many things I wrote weren’t what I truly wanted to write — they were adjustments to trends, to professors’ preferences. I couldn’t maintain that mental state long-term.
Objective Success vs. Subjective Suffering
MOS:
From the outside, you seem to have done extremely well in Japanese literary studies — Yale, multiple scholarships. How do you see the difference between “objective achievement” and “subjective experience”?
Da Ling:
I’m very capable of succeeding while being miserable. In fact, the more miserable I am, the more successful I tend to be.
Objectively, to achieve anything, you have to push yourself.
Subjectively, I’m actually a very free-spirited and emotional person. I’m someone who gets struck by art, overwhelmed by feelings. That’s both my pain and my strength.
But that kind of inward exploration — especially immersing yourself for long periods in dark, aestheticized emotions — easily leads you to confront the abyss of the self.
“To me, Japanese literature is a mirror that reflects the self.”
MOS:
Japanese literature is a broad field — how do you define it?
Da Ling:
If we’re speaking generally, then of course it’s Mishima Yukio, Kawabata Yasunari, Dazai Osamu, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, etc.
But if you’re asking what Japanese literature means to me—
Japanese literature brings you into yourself.
It’s a form of art that helps you see yourself and understand yourself through language.
I especially love diary-form or autobiographical novels — the idea of treating one’s life as an artwork resonates deeply with me. I believe that writing is merely a by-product of the passions of living. You have to live intensely first; only then can you create good work.
Language Training: Reading Is Turning Blurry Thoughts Into Clarity
MOS:
What is academic training in literature like? Can you give an example?
Da Ling:
Many people have this experience when reading: a vague feeling suddenly gets expressed by the writer with precise words, and you think—“Oh, that’s exactly it.”
Academic training is essentially repeating that process endlessly:
turning vague feelings into clear concepts, then turning concepts into expressible language.
Language and Freedom: English Is a Professional Language
Da Ling:
When I write in English, I enter a professional mode: cold, precise, formulaic.
But when I read Japanese literature in the original, I can actually see the flow of emotion. Japanese has a naturalistic quality — subtle grammar choices that capture tiny shifts in the inner world. It’s a very “observational” experience, like watching your own stream of consciousness.
What restricts me isn’t language.
What restricts me is the academic climate — the need to please professors, trends, identity politics, fashionable narratives.
“Suppressing myself to follow authority”
Da Ling:
When I was an undergrad, I didn’t yet know what ideas I wanted to pursue. I only knew that to survive, I had to please academic authorities, even though I didn’t want to.
So I forced myself, suppressed myself, wrote the papers they wanted. That got me many scholarships.
Until one day, I realized: these authoritative narratives had holes.
I awakened to something: I can’t be carried by external voices anymore.
I want to create things that I find meaningful.
The outcome was: all my PhD applications failed.
But I understood something important —
If what I write is not accepted by academia, then so be it. I don’t need their acceptance.
I will write what I want to write.
Does a Life in the Study Kill Vitality?
Da Ling:
The last academic paper I wrote was on Terayama Shūji, an artist with multiple identities. One of his literary theories shocked me:
A life spent in reading can erase your vitality.
He said some people read so much that eventually they get absorbed into the world of books and literally "become" a book rather than a person.
Reading makes people think they grasp truth, but it can also make them narrow-minded and arrogant.
The real world is outside of books.
That made me realize: I must leave the study and experience the actual world.
Pivoting from Literature to Computer Science
MOS:
Why computer science?
Da Ling:
First, it’s intellectually fun. Algorithms are like logic puzzles — like a more advanced version of 2048.
Second, CS overlaps a lot with philosophy and linguistics.
For example, in discussions about generative AI, there’s a recurring question:
Does AI truly understand, or does it only appear to understand?
This is ontology’s “understanding” vs. phenomenology’s “understanding.”
Many CS people ask great questions, but without theoretical training, they struggle to dive deeper. I feel I can bring my literary and philosophical training into this space.
Film Recommendation: Hong Sang-soo’s On the Beach at Night Alone
Da Ling:
Recently I watched Hong Sang-soo’s On the Beach at Night Alone. I really love Kim Min-hee’s sense of story and vulnerability. His films have ordinary budgets, ordinary locations, ordinary equipment — but the moment Kim Min-hee appears on screen, the “story feeling” becomes alive.
Epilogue
MOS:
Da Ling, whatever you choose to do in the future, I hope you continue creating. Your sensitivity is rare and precious.
Your understanding of Japanese literature is so deep — if you ever choose to write for a broader audience and let people see the world you see, I think it would be incredibly beautiful.
Chloé Zhao said in a recent interview:
“If a building doesn’t let you in, it’s okay.
You can build your own building somewhere else.”
Da Ling:
For me, I think it’s not building a building. It’s jumping off a sinking ship and constructing your own Noah’s Ark.