Interview: Grace Loh Prasad
Grace Loh Prasad is a literary sister of mine in many ways. She is a good friend, fellow memoirist, and neighbor. We are both members of The Writers Grotto and The Ruby communities in San Francisco, and alumnae of the same MFA program. We are also press-mates, and I was ecstatic to see her memoir, The Translator’s Daughter, join my own in the catalog of Mad Creek Books, an imprint of The Ohio State University Press.
Grace’s book is a gorgeous hybrid memoir crafted as a kaleidoscopic collage of narratives. It interweaves a photo album, film and art critique, mythology, epistolary narrative, Taiwan’s political history, and more. The Translator’s Daughter is at once compellingly readable and refreshingly unique. It is a story of belonging and not-belonging, of being part of a loving family as well as experiencing devastating losses. Grace’s memoir has earned an important place in the canon of Taiwanese-American (and, indeed, Asian-American) literature, as a piece of work that echoes and resonates with many others and yet which stands alone both on a craft and narrative level.
What does it mean to be a daughter over oceans of distance? To belong to a country whose language doesn’t flow easily? To build one’s own family in isolation? Through this poignant, lyrical story of involuntary and irrevocable migrations, Grace explores these questions with heartbreaking and heart-expanding transparency.
—Susan Kiyo Ito
Susan Kiyo Ito: Grace, thank you so much for your exquisite, honest memoir. I know that many of these individual pieces were written, and some also published, over many years. When did you realize you had created a book, or was this always your intention?
Grace Loh Prasad: When I first started writing, it was mostly journal entries that were purely for myself. These evolved into essays, and while there was much I wanted to write about, a book seemed like an impossibly distant and unreachable goal. I had no idea how to write a book, so I wrote individual pieces centered around specific topics or episodes and eventually amassed hundreds of pages. My first version of the manuscript was my MFA thesis, but it turned out I had a lot more living to do, and my experiences since then ended up forming the bulk of the book. The challenge with memoirs like mine is that I’m not writing about a specific thing in my life that has a beginning and end, but an ongoing condition and identity as a Taiwanese person in the diaspora, and that journey continues. The thing that is now “the book” went through many iterations and I was adding chapters to it right up until my proofs were due back to the publisher!
SKI: I was so inspired by the wide diversity of forms you used to tell this story, many of the pieces circling back and echoing each other, but from a fresh perspective. From a reader’s perspective, it left a deep impression, to read of the losses of your family members, of illness and death from new angles as the book progressed. Each telling brought a new understanding, and also deepened the impact. What was it like for you, as a writer, to revisit the main themes of the book over and over again, but in different ways?
GLP: Ever since I started writing, I struggled to figure out the “right” way to tell my story. I tried numerous approaches and ultimately couldn’t settle on just one. In a way, I was starting over each time, and I learned something new or gained a new perspective with each attempt. Like, how do you write about something as enormous as grief in just one essay? For me, it’s a topic I’m never done with. I wrote about the specific grief of losing my brother, mother, and father in just a few short years, along with the more generalized, ambient grief of being an immigrant distanced from my original culture and language, and how that loss colors all of my experiences and the way I relate to the world.
Another thing that’s revisited several times in the book is what I consider the inciting event—the circumstances leading my family to leave Taiwan in 1971. Everything points back to this pivotal moment when my parents made a decision that changed the course of my life forever. It’s taken on an almost mythical symbolism for me, which is why I’m repeatedly drawn back to it.
SKI: I feel the same way about World War II, which feels pivotal for my family in similar ways. I have heard you talk about not having any models for your complicated identity. This idea resonates deeply for me, as a biracial adoptee raised by Japanese-American parents. Even though our experiences are completely different, I feel a kinship with you in our “complicated identities.” Since publishing your book, have you found others whose experiences mirrored yours in some way, or for whom there were surprising resonances? What has it been like to encounter readers and their responses to your book? Have you found that you are less alone than you thought?
GLP: The most rewarding thing about publishing The Translator’s Daughter has been hearing from individual readers who said that my writing really resonated with them and then shared a bit about their own experiences. I have heard from people who’ve lost a parent or had to care for someone with dementia; who also grew up as third-culture kids with an international upbringing that set them apart from their peers; who experienced profound feelings of not-belonging but in very different circumstances; who have struggled with language attrition and maintaining relationships across distance; and even someone who had a relative that was a missionary in China. A bookstagrammer said that my book “unlocked core memories I didn’t even know existed.” I think almost every memoir writer has the abstract idea that they are writing their truth so that others like them will feel less alone, and then when the book reaches actual readers it feels almost miraculous to hear that exact sentiment.
SKI: The cover of your book is striking and beautiful. Can you tell us about its significance?
GLP: Thank you. The wonderful cover design is by adam b. bohannon. The design is basically a grid of my signature chop—that’s my name in stylized Chinese characters. I got the chop during the summer I lived in Taiwan with my parents, and there’s a whole chapter in the book about it, called “Gaining Face.” My dad, who was a connoisseur of chops, fountain pens, and other accoutrements of a scholarly life, took me to a shop in his hometown to get my chop, and it represented a moment when I felt proud of my name and heritage, and also connected to the history of that community through my dad.
SKI: I’m struck by the many approaches you take in writing your memoir and how you’ve woven in art and film references, music, mythology, dreams, and more. Can you talk about your strategy and intention in including them?
GLP: I get my inspiration from many sources, and as I’ve said, I tried multiple techniques and ways to frame my story. My mom was an art lover and professor of Christian art, so I’ve always been interested in the symbolism and metaphors that are expressed through art. It also occurred to me, as I was editing this book, that I’m fascinated by symbols because they are another kind of language—and in a way, they are stand-ins for the language I’ve lost, substitutes for what I can’t express in the language I was born with.
SKI: You completed an MFA program and have also been part of several writing communities and groups where you are an engaged and generous writer. How did being part of these communities influence the writing of this book?
GLP: I love my writing communities so much. From my writing group, Seventeen Syllables, to The Writers Grotto, to the many writers I’ve met online or at conferences, writing communities are absolutely one of the best parts of being a writer. There’s a lot to be said for the support, feedback, and advice you get through these communities. I’ve learned so much from my fellow writers that it would be impossible to quantify it, from what to read and where to submit, to how to build your career and break through. Writing can be very lonely, so it’s crucial to build connections and friendships with others who are pursuing this path and have figured out how to live a satisfying creative life.
SKI: When a book is published, the editing and tinkering, which takes so long, must at one point come to an abrupt halt. Tell us about the process of choosing the pieces to include in this book, about editing individual pieces or crafting the structure as a whole. Are there any pieces that were not included that you wish had been part of the memoir—either pieces that were already written, or perhaps yet unwritten?
GLP: It took awhile for me to arrive at the final shape of my memoir and consider it “done.” I knew more or less how the book would open and how it would close, but there was a lot of messy stuff in the middle, and I had to make sure there was enough of a through line. My editor took a very light touch with her editing, but she did suggest a couple of cuts. I had included in my manuscript a creative nonfiction piece written from my dad’s point of view that was about his decision to adopt a dog and name it Teddy after my brother Ted passed away. This particular story was an exercise in empathy for me, in which I really tried to put myself in my dad’s shoes and understand his profound sadness after his son died, and how lonely he was in his grief because my mom was by then pretty far into her dementia. Although I love this story, I ultimately agreed with my editor that the sudden change from my voice to my dad’s voice for just one chapter would be too confusing, so it got cut. Toward the end of my editing process I actually added two new essays to the book including the final chapter, a letter to my son, which felt like a perfect way to close.
SKI: Not unlike parenting, putting a book—especially a memoir—out into the world is something that we can try to prepare for, but for which the reality is so different from what we might have ever anticipated. What are some aspects about publishing your book that have been different from what you had imagined?
GLP: For the most part, publishing the book has been a positive experience, and I’ve felt very supported by my publisher and my writing communities. What has surprised me is that once the book was accepted for publication, I thought more doors would open for me. But there is still a lot of rejection even after the book comes out. Some bookstores have been incredibly welcoming and supportive when I’ve contacted them about events, while others have completely ghosted me. I also learned there’s a very narrow window for trade reviews, which are often secured months in advance, and by the time the book comes out, it is too late to pitch, which is frustrating. On the other hand—I’ve also been given opportunities that I would never have expected, such as being interviewed on podcasts and invitations to teach, which I’m very grateful for.
SKI: Do you have any advice for your younger writer self, or for others who are navigating the complex journey of memoir writing?
GLP: I would say, don’t worry so much about fitting in. Have a healthy skepticism when people try to convince you that there’s only one right way to write your book. Believe in the originality of your vision and know that what makes you different from everyone else isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength.
SKI: Now that this book is out in the world, do you have other writing projects you are dreaming about next?
GLP: I started writing a novel a long time ago that I’d like to get back to, plus I have an idea for a new one. It’ll be fun to write fiction for a change.
SKI: Oooh, I can’t wait to read these new projects. As a memoirist myself, I can understand the pull of fiction! It is gratifying to finish and publish a memoir, but now it is very compelling to turn to imaginary worlds. Grace, thank you so much for taking the time and care to answer these questions. I know that your beautiful book will resonate with so many. I have the feeling that it will have a long, long life, and your readership will ripple out as more and more people discover it and feel the echoes within their own experiences.
SUSAN KIYO ITO is the author of the memoir, I Would Meet You Anywhere, published by The Ohio State University Press, and a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. She coedited the literary anthology A Ghost at Heart’s Edge: Stories and Poems of Adoption. Her work has appeared in The Writer, Literary Mama, Catapult, Hyphen, Bellevue Literary Review, AGNI, Guernica, and elsewhere. She has been awarded residencies at MacDowell, Mesa Refuge, Hedgebrook, and Blue Mountain Center. Her theatrical adaptation of Untold, stories of reproductive stigma, was produced at Brava Theater. She teaches at the Mills College campus of Northeastern University. Find her @thesusanito on all social media platforms.
GRACE LOH PRASAD is the author of The Translator’s Daughter (Mad Creek Books/The Ohio State University Press, 2024), a debut memoir about living between languages, navigating loss, and the search for belonging. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, Literary Hub, Longreads, Guernica, Brevity, The Offing, Oldster Magazine, KHÔRA, and elsewhere. A member of The Writers Grotto and the AAPI writers collective Seventeen Syllables, Prasad lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Find her on Twitter @GraceLP.
