In Transplants, author Daniel Tam-Claiborne vividly weaves a tale of two young women — Lin, a Chinese college student who struggles with socializing with her peers, and Liz, a Chinese-American who is searching to reconnect with her Asian identity. Sharing an ethnicity yet coming from drastically different worlds, their paths cross at a university in Qixian, China, where their shared feeling of being outsiders brings them together and changes the course of both their futures.
Tam-Claiborne first introduces Lin via her love of animals. Much to the distress of her mother, Lin prefers interacting with her pets over befriending others her age. Although her test scores would’ve allowed her to go to a higher tier university, she chooses instead to study veterinary sciences at a local agricultural college. Her decision is motivated by her desire to be close to her mother and her pets, and she even brings along a few of her smaller animals (gerbils, two snakes, and a cat) with her to school. For many freshmen, the first year of college presents the opportunity to build new friendships, but Lin finds herself once again somewhat of a pariah among her classmates. Interestingly, she finds herself drawn more to her English teacher, a young white American named Travis. Their interactions first start off as mere friendship, with Travis helping house her pets, but evolves into physical intimacy, initiated by Lin. Tam-Claiborne bucks the stereotype of the submissive Asian female character with his depiction of Lin. At various points throughout the book, she is shown as socially reticent and sometimes self-conscious, but she is not abashed about sex or even necessarily shy in the traditional sense. While her romance with Travis doesn’t last, the formation and breakdown of this relationship is pivotal to Lin’s growth in confidence. When Travis becomes increasingly dismissive of Lin, ignoring her in front of his other American friends, she confronts him directly via text. Still, she struggles to let go of Travis, the one companion she has at school, until Liz steps in.
Liz is first shown experiencing a dilemma many Chinese-Americans can resonate with — perceived as “too” Chinese in America but not Chinese enough in China, never quite feeling like they belong in either world. After her parents divorced when she was young, Liz was raised by a single mother who essentially cut her children’s ties with their Chinese side. When her mother passes away, Liz decides to go to China on a self-discovery mission. She only manages to find a teaching position in a small college because her Chinese last name made many universities question her English-teaching abilities despite her upbringing and education in the U.S. As Liz begins to settle into her new life in China, she finds herself nervous about being viewed as an outsider by the locals. She is constantly aware of how her accent comes through when speaking Mandarin and how her clothes instantly label her as American. On the bus, she tries to distance herself from Travis’s rowdy group of friends, not wanting the Chinese aunties to think she’s associated with a group of white frat-boy types.
As Travis’s housemate, Liz is frustrated by how he treats Lin, and she falsely informs her that he has a girlfriend back in America. Liz’s intention with this lie is partially to incite Lin to cut ties with Travis for her sake but also to spite Travis. Liz is by no means a flawless character, and her actions are sometimes motivated by a mixture of jealousy, loneliness, and grief. She encourages Lin to break up with Travis and tells the administration about their sexual relationship behind her back, hoping to get him in trouble. However, her plan ultimately backfires, with Lin receiving a failing grade in her English class and getting kicked out of school. Liz, stricken with guilt, knows Lin is likely unable to continue her higher education in China as a result of this situation and arranges for her to attend college in the U.S., all while hiding the real reason behind her seemingly generous gesture.
Liz and Lin’s intersecting paths diverge a third of the way into the book, with the former heading to Shanghai during the school break and the latter flying to Cleveland, Ohio for community college. The two women have essentially swapped worlds, and while trying to acclimate to their new cultural environment, they soon find themselves both affected by a major event – the COVID-19 pandemic. While the word “COVID” is never mentioned outright, Tam-Claiborne paints the events of the pandemic with historically accurate details, and it’s undeniably the inspiration for this section of the story. By putting these two characters into each other’s element against the backdrop of the pandemic, Tam-Claiborne invites readers into a compelling discourse about the differences between the two countries’ responses to the spread of disease and how they treat foreigners. It was particularly gut-wrenching to read about the onset of violence and hate against Asians that spawned during the pandemic, as reflected in Lin’s personal encounters in Ohio. Genuinely fearing for her life, she sets off on a roadtrip across the midwest to Seattle with another Chinese classmate. The pair have the freedom to travel but must scrape by with barely any possessions or resources. Liz, on the other hand, finds herself quarantined in Shanghai with her new boyfriend she met early on her trip. With a focus on protecting the community over individual liberties, Shanghai’s strict quarantine regulations keep Liz confined indoors for the majority of her days.
While reading Transplants, I recognized that what I was seeing on the pages all felt very real. The events of the pandemic, of course, helps root the story in reality, but Tam-Claiborne also depicts his characters and settings convincingly. Liz and Lin are multi-dimensional women with arcs that aren’t necessarily linear, instead growing and failing as all people do. The descriptions of the scenery, particularly in the chapters set in China, are vibrant and appeal to the senses in such a way that you feel like you’re actually there. One other immersive approach Tam-Claiborne takes is sprinkling in Mandarin words and phrases (written with unaccented Chinese Pinyin) throughout the dialogue. The meanings can generally be picked up via context clues and, for those who do know Mandarin, this mix of languages reflects how many second generation Chinese-Americans sometimes speak in “Chinglish.” The end of the novel does provide some closure, but it’s also easy to imagine Liz and Lin continuing onwards with their lives, a testament to Tam-Claiborne’s ability to create characters that remain alive beyond the physical pages.
