The Translator's Daughter: A Memoir

by Grace Loh Prasad

A Taiwanese American writer unfurls themes of memory, dislocation, language, and loss to tell a unique story about reclaiming one’s heritage while living in a diaspora.

Born in Taiwan, Grace Loh Prasad was two years old when the threat of political persecution under Chiang Kai-shek’s dictatorship drove her family to the United States, setting her up to become an “accidental immigrant.” The family did not know when they would be able to go home again; this exile lasted long enough for Prasad to forget her native Taiwanese language and grow up American. Having multilingual parents—including a father who worked as a translator—meant she never had to develop the fluency to navigate Taiwan on visits. But when her parents moved back to Taiwan permanently when she was in college and her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she recognized the urgency of forging a stronger connection with her birthplace before it was too late. As she recounts her journey to reclaim her heritage in The Translator’s Daughter, Prasad unfurls themes of memory, dislocation, and loss in all their rich complexity. The result is a unique immigration story about the loneliness of living in a diaspora, the search for belonging, and the meaning of home.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, China, Travel, Asian American, Biography Memoir, Asian Literature

268 pages, Paperback

First published March 5, 2024

Reviews

[Rashaun · Rating 5 out of 5]

Before reading The Translator’s Daughter by Grace Loh Prasad, I imagined it might be about her relationship with her parents. Maybe neither spoke English. Maybe all of them immigrated to the United States. However, it was a memoir named after Prasad's father’s career as a bible translator. (He was fluent in multiple languages including English.) Throughout it, she attempted to bridge the ocean-wide gap between her upbringing as a Taiwanese American with fleeting memories of her earliest years in Taiwan and a never-wavering longing to connect to her ancestral home through language, kinship, and curiosity.

I guessed that the title spoke to what’s lost when words are translated and what goes unspoken when there is no way to translate that difference. Ironically, since Prasad’s well-educated and accomplished parents fled Taiwan for the U.S. as a child, she doesn’t speak fluent Taiwanese. Additionally, her parents were devoted Christians, therefore, many of the Taiwanese holidays and celebrations were not embraced by her family. These two aspects created gaps in her understanding of Taiwan. For Prasad, a central question of her memoir was, “What does it mean to be Taiwanese when you don’t grow up in Taiwan and the culture and language are foreign to you?”

I felt the memoir would be great by the first few pages (less than ten). Initially, I thought it was due to the clear detail and the ability of the author to place herself. But in fact, it was the beginning’s tension. The reader is drawn into Prasad’s chaos between working as a freelance writer in California and forgetting her new passport as she catches a red-eye flight to Taiwan.

Structurally, I wondered if the entire memoir would carry this tension. If so, would the story be told linearly to pull it off? No, the tension was replaced with stronger and lasting emotions like longing for Taiwan and kinship. Moreover, Prasad utilized different methods to convey her memoir in a non-linear way. How does one make writing non-linear make sense? In Prasad’s case, she constantly clarified what point of her life she referenced in a particular chapter. There was a bit of repetition behind the loss of her loved ones and the longing for connection. But both were thematically essential to the story. The tension and chaos around her passport hiccup from the first chapter doesn’t pick back up until the fourth chapter. The second chapter utilized pictures to introduce the reader to her family. Two other chapters are written with numbers as subheaders and one chapter was from the third person point of view. She gently swayed through different writing styles while writing about the issues that weighed heaviest on her heart.

Prasad dived into the health conditions that altered and ended her mother’s, brother’s, and father’s lives. But she doesn’t share the story of how she and her husband don’t have a working relationship with her mother-in-law. Striking a healthy balance is key to writing a successful memoir for the writer and reader. Therefore, I was left wondering how she gauged this boundary.

But I don’t have the feeling that I wish I would’ve known more about any aspect of the story. Prasad does a great job showing how vast her kinship is with Taiwan and even being able to trace her family to the first Christian convert in Taiwan. I could see myself sharing this memoir with my students. It could show them despite one’s different culture many people go through the same highs and lows.

[Grace · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this beautiful, lyrical memoir. I’m also Taiwanese American, but the gorgeous prose and themes of longing, language loss, and the enduring ties of family will cross many cultures. Because of its hybrid structure, this is a book that can be read in small bites or in one greedy gulp.

[Jan Stinchcomb · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a lovely and heartbreaking memoir, a chronicle of our modern age of endless migration, and the best account I've ever read of the strange and painful reality of belonging nowhere. Most of all it is a story of the struggle to preserve family ties and establish community.

[thebookybird]

𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄
The Translator’s Daughter by Grace Loh Prasad

I don’t read many memoirs and I think I need to remedy that.

Prasad opens the memoir with a memorable anecdote about not being able to enter the country of her birth. It’s a simple story but sets the tone for what will become a personal examination of identity, immigration, belonging and heritage.

I love memoirs like this because it is so far from my own experience and I mean that in the best way possible, representation is important, learning about another persons story not only creates empathy but a greater understanding. I really felt Prasad’s dilemma, she was intuitive and self aware and wanting to discover her place in her homeland and her new country. By talking about her families past and her future I really felt the full circle realizations and lessons, the emotions of it all. Looking at her own parents through a new lens and thinking about personal history Prasad excels at encompassing heritage with reality.

Beyond the diaspora of immigrants, Prasad makes this story relatable to anyone searching for the meaning of home and what it means to belong and have roots. These are universal themes told in the most personal of stories and I really loved it.

[Brittany · Rating 5 out of 5]

Growing up third culture, this hits hard.

[Alice Lee · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a beautifully written memoir. It hit close to home in certain aspects as I myself am the daughter of a language interpreter. Though I have not lost my mother tongue, I could put myself in the author’s shoes and found myself weeping. There is a lot to unpack and I am looking forward to the discussions I will have with my students for the spring AAPI book club this year.

The last chapter is something I hope to receive from my own parents. And even if I don’t… this is why I keep the cards, notes, and letters I receive from my parents and grandparents.

Content warning: illness, death

[Tony Tian-Ren · Rating 5 out of 5]

My reviewed on https://www.christiancentury.org/book...

"Through a collection of beautifully written and moving essays, Prasad combs through her memories to wrestle with the consequences of migration, grief, and identity. It is a universally relatable experience from a unique perspective."

[Julian · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not a big fan of this memoir. It's very honest and vulnerable, but I honestly found it kind of a drag. I'm Taiwanese-American myself, but somehow it didn't grab me. Some parts just felt like someone telling me facts about things that happened (getting stuck in the airport, family members being sick, etc etc) which were sad, and emotional, but kind of boring to read through. Other musings on diaspora and identity resonated with genuine truth, yet felt kind of nebulous and a little hackneyed. Like, the recurring contemplations of home and Taiwanese-ness and family just kept going and going without resolving. Maybe I've read too much Asian-American literature (shoutout to my pals at the Third Culture Book Club... let's hope we revive someday).

I will say I can relate VERY much to her shame/embarrassment about not knowing Taiwanese or Mandarin. I am embarrassed about it too and I feel like I can never make the time to get better. But at least I can get around and communicate on some level. I wish that, rather than continually bemoaning her feelings of isolation and alienation due to the language barrier, she would invest tangibly into crossing that divide, through language classes or immersion or whatever. (Sorry, this is kind of mean, but it hits close to home since I myself feel a lot of these shared feelings.)

Finally, I think a lot of trouble comes from the structure of this book as a set of many short essays. The problem is that most of them seem to have been written to be self-contained, and indeed many of them have appeared in journals and other publications. However, this means the author often re-treads similar or the same topics regarding her childhood, her family, etc. There were always new details to appear, but events such as her parents' and brother's illnesses and deaths repeated several times, as well as the topical themes. It gave the book a sense of repetitiveness - yet also a lack of cohesion. There was certainly a progression from her 2000 trip to the final letter, which I did somewhat enjoy, and many of the essays shared themes and ideas, but I didn't feel like things really progressed anywhere besides temporally. It just felt like a bunch of thoughts.

Overall, I appreciate how genuine and strongly-feeling this book is, but I did not find it a fulfilling literary experience as a reader.

[Alyson · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a beautiful book about family, language & connection. The author writes so honestly about the complications of growing up far away from her extended family and then living an ocean away from all of her family of origin as an adult. Community and support are essential and how do we do that when we can’t just default to family? Great book!

[Natalie · Rating 3 out of 5]

This isn’t a memoir in the classic sense. The author doesn’t necessarily talk about growing up and a coming age. It’s really a series of short stories about her family, and experiences as someone in the capital d “Diaspora”. I enjoyed the overall theme of this book which talks about what it means to bridge that gap between where you come from and where you are - in terms of language, place, and traditions. There was a parallel of this disconnect with the stories about her ailing parents which I thought really brought it all together.

But overall this was not for me. The author more than once mentions Indonesian housekeepers in a questionable way. There’s a moment where her and her father hide her mother’s jewelry in a safe because an Indonesian caretaker is moving in - and the author even mentions she thought it was a “good idea”. ??? Also, personal taste, but no one should be using the term “plantation” anymore, I don’t care if it’s a Southern U.S. one or an “oolong tea” one. Another issue with this memoir is that it is clear these chapters were written as separate stories at one point. Which means, as a collection, they’re extremely repetitive.

[Angela · Rating 3 out of 5]

I really wanted to like this book because there aren’t many books about life in Taiwan or being an emigrant from Taiwan, however the narrative and ability to create a cohesive story just didn’t hold. The author jumps around a lot in time, a few years forward, a few years back, without a clear explanation why, some chapters are long, while others are short. It just felt like it could have used a bit more editing

However, there were some parts of the book that were really memorable for me: her moment being stuck in the old Taoyuan airport and smelling some of the mustiness from being there. I traveled back to Taiwan every year and so it triggered som strong sensory memories, especially since Taipei airport now has been completely renovated.

Some of her sentences about being Taiwanese but also not growing up or speaking Taiwanese also stuck with me: “the eternal ache is what it means to live in diaspora. Home, for me, is not an answer but a question” or “My diasporic position of standing outside and looking in, of being denied access to something that was familiar but just out of reach”.

Overall, would love to read more of the author’s books but think some of the writing can be tightened up.

Another book about Taiwan that I would recommend is green Island, though that’s a fiction book more focused on the impact of historical events with 2/28 and intergenerational impact from that.

[Alexandra A. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loh has written a moving story about a daughter’s deep love for her family and struggles to find a lasting sense of belonging, self, and home as a “third culture kid” growing up in the Asian diaspora. As the daughter of a translator, growing up in New Jersey, and then the American expat community in Hong Kong, the children learning Taiwanese language and culture was not a priority for Loh’s parents. This becomes a problem as her parents move back to Taiwan and begin their slow decline. Loh feels helpless—and hopelessly “American.” Many adult children of declining parents will relate to the stresses of long distance parental care, but trying to manage it from a continent and an ocean away, with language and cultural barriers to boot, Loh finds herself wondering the devastating question: “Am I too little, too late?” This is a beautiful and heartfelt memoir, told in short personal essays, with intriguing dips into jungian psychology and myths and examples from the animal kingdom (e.g., Orca and Spider) as allegory. It’s a lovely journey to self-acceptance, and to the radical acceptance of the possibility that the word “home,” for her, might forever be an elusive, and ever-shifting concept.

[Julia Kuo · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a great example of why representation in literature matters. I felt such a kinship with Grace’s experiences, whether it was experiences that we share, experiences that could have been, or milestones that I have yet to encounter.

Some of her stories are my current reality. As a Taiwanese American with parents in Taiwan, I have covered a lot of the same ground. We go to the very same hospital, night markets and mountain in Taipei. I also deal with the complexity and stress of knowing that my parents are aging so far away, out of the reach of my daily life.

Other stories felt like manifestations of my travel anxiety. Back in the pre-smart phone era, I knew there were a few low-likelihood, hi-risk things that could happen after landing in Taipei and before meeting my family. Well, now I know what it looks like when these things do happen!

And some feel like I’m reading about my own future. It’s such a gift to preview, imagine and process by briefly standing in someone else’s shoes. It’s the shared experiences and understandings that make this possible, and I’m grateful that Grace was willing to make these parts of her life available to readers like me!

[Virginia Brackett · Rating 5 out of 5]

This wonderfully written memoir holds one's interest well, while informing readers not only about Taiwanese family traditions, food, and relationships, but also about Taiwan's politics in a readable and relatable way. It is much more than an immigration story in its focus on the author's struggle to fit in and feel rooted in either or both cultures in which she thrives. She poignantly relates her parents' story to the overarching theme of the importance of family mythology, concluding with letters to her own son to guide his future experience of heritage and family. From her description of a colorful pig festival to the sad loss of her brother to cancer and her mother to Alzheimer's, she ranges widely but in a tight narration in which the term "translation" assumes many meanings. I highly recommend.

[Yvonne · Rating 5 out of 5]

Prasad's father worked in Bible translations. He was also her bridge -- linguistic, and in all other ways -- to the country they are from, but when he passed away, she became like an island unto herself. I think the part that touched me the most was how Prasad described her grief as she lost her nuclear family one by one: her mother, her brother, and her father. I saw my parents go through that and it was so affirming to see someone narrate that experience. It's really hard losing family, and even more so when you couldn't be there during their last days (weeks, months). I also like that Prasad didn't embellish. Death never happens the way we think it will. It's a lot of logistics and awkwardness and discomfort, and Prasad honestly captures those uncomfortable feelings here.

[Marisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a scene in Grace Loh Prasad's memoir, The Translator's Daughter, in which the author is sifting through the items left behind in her parents' apartment, deciding which ones she will keep. This essay, like much of the rest of the book, is poignant not just for all that is said but what is left unsaid. For the memories and stories Prasad has chosen to include, as well as those she only alludes to.

This painstaking selection: of items to remember loved ones by, of reflections to share on living in the diaspora, is what makes this memoir in essays so powerful. Prasad is a thoughtful and poetic curator and as a fellow citizen of liminal spaces, I could relate to much of this book while at the same time seeing the world through new eyes. Thank you, Grace.

[Ethel Rohan · Rating 5 out of 5]

As a longtime fan of Grace Loh Prasad's essays, I was eager to read this recently released interconnected essay collection from Ohio State University Press. The Translator's Daughter, skillfully and tenderly written, exceeded my expectations.

The pain of not belonging and in-betweenness, the loss of place, time, and family, of an entire country, culture, and language, are crushing. And yet there's so much ferocity and love in these pages, this is ultimately a reclamation and an insistence on taking up our rightful, integrated space in this fractured world and making our presence and identity fully our own.

[Kperrymn · Rating 5 out of 5]

A unique take, from a linguist's perspective, on a unique family story of immigration--a story dependent upon the shifting political winds of Taiwan. At the same time, a compelling universal family story of the search for love, understanding and home.

To tell her unusual story, Grace Loh Prasad makes interesting craft choices. One reviewer calls the book "..a mediation. on the languages, places, and landscapes that make us." (See Vika Mujumdar's review in "Full Stop," September 9, 2024.)

As a writer, a reader, and a student of languages, I was intrigued, engaged, and entertained, throughout Prasad'a book.

[Wren · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ugh I feel so torn! I liked a good chunk of this book, but then I got bored in the middle and didn’t get as invigorated with the writing at the end. A lot of these almost short story collection memoirs have the same waning in the middle.

The beginning was so interesting in its discussion of language and identity, and some parts of this discussion re-emerge at the end, but I had a hard time connecting with the writing style in the middle with lots viewing topics through specific lenses like fairy tales. Just not my vibe.

I also resonated a lot with this identify of not being X enough because you don’t speak the language. It’s the same for me.

[Belinda · Rating 5 out of 5]

I thoroughly enjoyed this memoir. I found resonance in the themes the author explores - the homeland being familiar yet foreign, the deep and lasting ache of losing (and longing for) someone/something embedded in your DNA, the question of belonging and feeling othered when you fail to meet expectations, the limitations of language, grief, loneliness, etc. - and that she conveyed these themes in such a consistently artful way, what an accomplishment! I hope this book reaches all the people who need to read it.

[Laura Nyswonger · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved Grace’s book. Once I started reading it I didn’t want to put it down. I found myself entranced by her journey. She so beautifully weaves a tale that enlightened me as to how difficult it was for her to try and overcome her sense of frustration when visiting family in Taiwan due to the language barrier. Her story is fascinating. I had tears in my eyes when I finished the book but they were happy tears.

[Isla McKetta · Rating 5 out of 5]

How can you not love a book that starts with a note about how much culture changes even as the author herself is growing and changing? Grace is one of the voices I miss most from my Twitter days, and I loved traveling with her as she explored her experience as a third culture kid and how that shaped her. I laughed, I wept, I thought deeply about my own life. Very relatable for anyone who has lived abroad or even just farther from the people who feel like home than you might want.

[Sophie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I once read a memoir about a woman who lost her father at a young age and wished that her father could have left a secret letter for her helping her navigate her life. The last chapter in this book, a letter from the author guiding her son to navigate Taiwan, their roots, and memories, reminds me of that memoir I had read, and I was deeply touched and felt it was a heartwarming end. Parents will gone, but their love always exists in their children.

[Joycie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoyed reading The Translator’s Daughter. The author put into words thoughts and feelings that I had but didn’t know exactly how to express. As an American-Born Taiwanese, I haven’t always fully appreciated my cultural background and have lost a lot of my Taiwanese language skills. I’ve only visited Taiwan twice but have an immense love for the country and feel connected despite not being fluent in the languages spoken there. Thank you for your story, Grace!

[Rajpreet · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a tender memoir that captures the longing and displacement of third-culture kids, as well as the grief of losing close family members. I really enjoyed the pacing and how well we got to know each character. I appreciated the passages about the isolation that comes with not knowing the language of your loved ones. Huge congratulations, Grace, on your beautiful memoir.

[Ashley Pun · Rating 4 out of 5]

A true story of resilience. As an Asian American, i felt a sense of relatability to her struggles in not feeling the sense of belonging. Grace stitches together her such a unique life story in The Translator’s Daughter. I really like her detailed and quite somatic metaphors but felt confused with having to use context clues to figure out what times of her life she was talking about.

[Beth Winegarner · Rating 5 out of 5]

A beautifully written memoir told through essays, examining what it means to be a Taiwanese-American who feels like she doesn't really belong anywhere, and what it's like to always feel like you're on the outside of culture, language, and understanding.

[Rahadyan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I found Grace Loh Prasad's memoir very moving. I was the primary caregiver of my Filipino mother and Indonesian father towards the end of their lives, so this was very relatable, though there were significant differences between my journey and Ms. Prasad's.

[Campbell · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very heartbreaking

[Britta Esmail · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a beautiful and emotional memoir. Highly recommend!