Six book covers arranged in two rows on a colorful gradient background. Titles include Himawari House, Little Fires Everywhere, Babel, What My Bones Know, First Love Language, and The Poppy War.

A Chinese adoptee’s journey through literature

For National Adoption Month, Sara Conway shares some books that have helped her understand herself and shape who she is as a Chinese adoptee

The books that helped Sara Conway in her journey as a Chinese adoptee.

Words by Sara Conway

Growing up, I rarely found my experience as a Chinese American in the pages of a book—much less my identity as a Chinese American adoptee. When I was 11 months old, I was adopted by a white couple and grew up in a very white suburb of New York. It was only in college when I started coming out of the "adoptee fog," as it’s known as within the adoptee community, that I began to understand how being adopted has affected my life.

Once I learned that I didn’t have to hide certain pieces of myself, I (slowly) learned to take pride in the layers of my story. Sure, there were (and still are) moments of almost suffocating feelings of loss, uncertainty in whether my life began when I was born or when I was adopted, and refusing to really look. However, these moments were always buoyed by gaining a deeper understanding, and that understanding often took shape because of a book. 

Here are six books that have shaped me as an adoptee—specifically as a Chinese American adoptee—and my understanding of what being adopted means.

A young child in a pink sweater sits on the floor by a window, playing with stacking cups and a counting book. The child has short dark hair and appears focused and curious.

Sara Conway as a baby.

Courtesy of Sara Conway

Book cover for The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang, showing an illustration of a person with a bow and arrow against an orange background, with smoky, dark brushstrokes. The tagline reads, War is just the beginning.

The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang (2018)

Who knew a fantasy book about war and a thinly veiled reimaging of Mao Zedong, would essentially kickstart better understanding myself as an adoptee? Kuang’s story expanded my measly knowledge of my birth country—albeit a fantastical version of it. I wrote a review of the novel on my old book blog, noting honestly, “It has hit me over and over again that while The Poppy War is fantastical, Kuang draws heavily on history—a reality and history that most do not know of—which means that it is part of my history. It is a history I can not [sic] ignore.” After reading The Poppy War, I no longer wanted to keep my identity as a Chinese American tucked away and out of sight.

Book cover for Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, featuring an aerial view of a suburban neighborhood at dusk. The title and author appear in large letters, with a #1 New York Times Bestseller label on the right side.Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (2017)

Once again, shoutout to 2019 Sara’s book blog and her in-depth review there. I never knew how strongly I thought about adoption until I was faced with it again—this time through a novel. In Little Fires Everywhere, Ng cracks open conversations I’d wanted to have in my life. Ng’s slim novel might have been one of the firsts I read featuring the adoption of a Chinese American infant. From changing names and erasing heritage, to debating what constitutes a “family,” this novel was relatable in a way I had never experienced before. While reading Little Fires Everywhere, I realized just how strong my opinions about adoption actually are.

Book cover of What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo. The title is overlaid on a bouquet of colorful flowers and two crossed bones, all set against a dark background. Subheading reads: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma.What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing From Complex Trauma by Stephanie Foo (2022)

When I first saw Stephanie Foo’s memoir What My Bones Know, I did a double take at the title. Because, yeah, what do my bones know that my brain doesn’t remember? One of the most interesting aspects was Foo’s discussion of intergenerational trauma. Foo references a study with mice, the scent of cherry blossoms, and electric shocks. As Foo points out, this study showed that trauma is literally inherited and baked into our bodies. This piece of the memoir—and What My Bones Know as a whole—completely reframed how I think about the trauma of adoption and how that trauma exists in my body today.

Illustration of a girl with long dark hair and freckles gazing forward as a person kisses her on the cheek. White flowers surround them. Text reads “First Love Language” and “Stefany Valentine.” Chinese characters appear in the background.

First Love Language by Stefany Valentine (2025)

Although Valentine is Taiwanese American and I am Chinese American, First Love Language came out when I most needed it. At that time, I was also reclaiming my birth language (Mandarin), just like Catie, the protagonist. Not understanding Mandarin as someone with an Asian face has also been a sore spot for me. While I attempted dipping a toe into the language again in college, I was surrounded by white people in my Chinese classes. I felt even more out of place then. Fast forward six years, and now I can discuss topics ranging from adoption (I even did a presentation on this in my class!) to Taiwanese history. Through this critical and deeply rewarding experience was First Love Language—every step of the way.

Three young people stand on a sunny balcony with drinks, looking surprised. Title text reads Himawari House by Harmony Becker. A gold award sticker is on the cover. Plants and laundry are visible in the background.

Himawari House by Harmony Becker (2021)

In this sweet yet emotionally resonating graphic novel, Nao, Tina, and Hyejung live in a Japanese sharehouse called Himawari House. Although they are from different places—Nao is Japanese American, Tina is Singaporean, and Hyejung is South Korean—the three teenagers struggle together while learning Japanese, laugh together, and support each other. I especially related to Nao: the hesitancy, the overthinking, the self-conscious part of relearning a language you feel like you must’ve known before—and the guilt for no longer knowing it—ran deep. Throughout the pages, the three learn to be comfortable with not knowing as well as being undefinable.

Black and white book cover for Babel: An Arcane History by R.F. Kuang, featuring a towering, round building above a gothic cityscape with flying birds and a starry sky. Review and author credits are visible at the top.

Babel by R.F Kuang (2022)

In this dark academia fantasy work, a professor at Oxford finds a boy named Robin in the illness-torn Canton and brings him back to the university. The purpose? Shaping Robin into a translation tool to help power the silver bar magick system that exists in this England-parallel world. But as someone from Canton, Robin speaks Cantonese not Mandarin. Yet, Oxford shapes him into becoming the resident translator of the latter language.

The 800-page tome is no joke, but reading it aided me in thinking more deeply about the political elements behind adoption. Similar to Robin’s story, adoptees rarely have a choice between being displaced or staying in their birth countries. Loss colors our life before it’s even begun—and a large part of that loss stems from colonialism and empire. It’s an uncomfortable truth to confront, but Babel and its questions caused me to consider my own story through a different lens.

Published on November 4, 2025

Words by Sara Conway

Sara Conway is a Chinese American writer based in New York and Taiwan. A lover of a good story and a good song, Sara is the creator behind the bookstagram Lyrical Reads and the digital editor at EnVi Media. She also has published her writing in places like Timid Magazine, GRAMMY.com, and Clash Music. Although books are her number one love, you can always find her learning Mandarin, listening to K-pop, heading to another concert, or petting all the cats she sees.