How Does 'Paper Names' Explore Identity And Assimilation?

In 'Paper Names', identity and assimilation hit hard through the lens of the Huang family's struggle. The dad, a former engineer turned doorman, embodies the crushing weight of the American dream—qualified but unseen. His daughter Tammy wrestles with her name, anglicizing it to fit in at school while hating herself for it. The novel nails how assimilation isn't just about language; it's the micro choices—changing your lunch to sandwiches instead of dumplings, laughing at racist jokes to belong. The most brutal moment comes when Tammy realizes she's become the 'model minority' caricature her father warned about: successful but emotionally hollow, accepted but never authentic.

The brilliance of 'Paper Names' lies in its three-generation dissection of identity. Grandpa Huang's staunch Confucian values clash with his son's pragmatic assimilation—one sees America as temporary, the other as home. This generational divide manifests in tiny, heartbreaking details: the grandfather insisting on traditional funeral rites while the son worries about 'looking too foreign' at corporate events.

Tammy's college years showcase assimilation's paradox. She dates white guys who fetishize her 'exoticness' but mock her parents' accents. Her internship at a white law firm forces her to code-switch so severely she develops two separate personalities—office Tammy who jokes about 'tiger moms,' and real Tammy who cries after hanging up with her father.

The novel's masterstroke is paralleling this with the white protagonist's storyline. His obsession with 'ethnic authenticity' mirrors Tammy's internal conflict, proving both sides contribute to the assimilation pressure cooker. The Huang family's journey isn't just about becoming American—it's about what gets lost in translation.

What struck me about 'Paper Names' is how it frames assimilation as performance art. Tammy doesn't just change her name—she choreographs entire personas. At school she's the math whiz (playing into stereotypes), at home the dutiful daughter (hiding her rebellion), and with friends a hybrid creature she doesn't recognize. The novel exposes how second-gen immigrants often feel like walking Venn diagrams—never fully occupying any circle.

The workplace scenes cut deep. Tammy's law firm colleagues praise her 'articulate' English (backhanded compliment much?) while ignoring her actual ideas. Her father's story hits harder—an educated man reduced to being 'the quiet Asian doorman' whose degree collects dust in a drawer. The book's title says it all: paper names on diplomas that don't translate to respect, paper identities that feel temporary no matter how permanent they become.