Here’s a full paragraph from “To Speak Is to Blunder but I Venture” (p.142) in Yiyun Li’s book DEAR FRIEND, FROM MY LIFE I WRITE TO YOU IN YOUR LIFE:
Chinese immigrants of my generation in America criticize my English for not being native enough. A compatriot emailed, pointing out how my language is neither lavish nor lyrical, as a real writer’s language should be; you only write simple things in simple English, you should be ashamed of yourself, he wrote in a fury. A professor in graduate school told me I should stop writing, as English would remain a foreign language to me. Their concerns about ownership of a language, rather than making me impatient like Nabokov, allow me secret laughter. English is to me as random a choice as any other language. What one goes toward is less definitive than that from which one turns away.
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[My two cents: I am totally on her side regarding this. I like her style of writing. When the emailer says "you only write simple things in simple English," and he intends this as negative criticism, I am amused, because, to me, those words are high praise. I love complexity, and I love simplicity, as long as each comes from one's spirit. And foreignness is divine.]