In this episode of NPR's Book of the Day, author Sara Nović discusses her memoir Mother Tongue, which examines her relationship with language, identity, and the deaf experience. Nović shares how losing her hearing at age 12 and learning American Sign Language shaped her sense of self, and explores the complexity of "mother tongue" for deaf individuals—particularly given that most deaf children are born to hearing parents who never learn to sign fluently.
The conversation covers Nović's experiences raising two sons with different deaf and hearing profiles, the role of language in understanding children's emotional needs, and the history of deaf education in America. Nović also discusses the diversity within the deaf community, the invisible nature of her deafness to others, and how she has evolved from navigating her deaf identity to becoming a disability rights activist and professor of deaf studies.

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Sara Novic's memoir, Mother Tongue, explores her complex relationship with language, identity, and communication after losing her hearing at age 12. Learning American Sign Language (ASL) at that age became a turning point, granting Novic access to the Deaf community and supporting her journey of self-understanding. Beyond ASL, English, and Croatian, Novic considers music her fourth language—initially a form of denial about her deafness, it evolved into a physical form of expression based on vibration and sensation.
For Novic, the concept of "mother tongue" is particularly complex. She points out that 90% of deaf children are born to hearing parents, yet only about 8% of those parents learn enough sign language to hold real conversations with their children. This means ASL was not Novic's first language, complicating her sense of linguistic belonging. When writing her memoir, Novic first signed her thoughts to herself, then translated those expressions into written English—a bilingual practice that reflects her engagement with linguistic identity and primary language.
The memoir's title itself raises questions, as "mother tongue" doesn't straightforwardly translate in ASL. Instead, Novic combines signs for priority, naturalness, and family connection to convey the nuanced concept. This linguistic ambiguity mirrors her broader exploration of how deaf people must navigate language systems that weren't designed for them.
Novic's experience as a mother is shaped by her two sons, who have markedly different deaf and hearing profiles. Her older son, Kay, adopted from Thailand, is deaf and learned ASL at age four. Now, with hearing aids, he prefers verbal communication and loves making noise. Her younger biological son, S, is hearing but grew up with ASL as his first language, fluent in both signing and speaking. Both boys move fluidly between Deaf and hearing worlds—a comfort level Novic notes took her many years to develop.
Language proved essential in understanding her children's emotional needs. When Kay expressed fear of the dark and monsters, Novic wondered if the orphanage caregivers had mistaken his silence for fearlessness, when in reality he lacked the language to express his fears. She reflects that "language is everything," highlighting how communication is critical for expressing complex emotions and for caregivers to truly understand a child's needs. Motivated by motherhood, Novic consolidated scattered Deaf history into her memoir as a resource for her sons and an examination of their cultural heritage.
Elissa Nadworny explores deaf history by visiting the abandoned Old Pennsylvania School for the Deaf with Novic. The deteriorating campus symbolizes the decline of dedicated educational institutions for deaf children. Novic observes that such closures have been occurring nationwide, undermining not just educational infrastructure but eliminating crucial cultural spaces where the deaf community could gather and transmit their culture across generations.
Nadworny explains that safe spaces for deaf people have long endured a fraught history in America. Ableist perspectives, both historical and contemporary, frame deafness as a deficiency rather than a cultural identity. Today, similar attitudes persist in practices like promoting cochlear implants to "cure" deafness instead of respecting and accommodating deaf individuals as part of a vibrant community.
Novic explains that her deafness often remains invisible to others, who interpret her lack of immediate response as aloofness or rudeness. She describes feeling exhausted by inauthentic self-presentation, wearing hearing aids around hearing people and removing them immediately upon arriving home—a relief she compares to taking off a bra at the end of the day, "like that times 10."
The variation in deaf experience becomes apparent in her relationship with her son Kay, who eagerly wears his hearing aids, even wanting them on in the bath—the opposite of Novic's experience. This difference underlines the diversity within the deaf community and how the deaf experience cannot be reduced to a simple narrative. Through her book, Novic traces her evolution from navigating deaf identity to becoming a disability rights activist, professor of deaf studies, and mother, continually challenging and redefining what it means to be deaf while emphasizing the complexity and diversity of the broader deaf experience.
1-Page Summary
Sara Novic’s memoir, Mother Tongue, explores her complex relationship with language, identity, and communication after losing her hearing at age 12. Her story traces how she uses multiple languages—ASL, English, Croatian, and even music—for distinct communicative and emotional purposes, revealing the nuanced intersections between language and self-understanding.
Novic learned American Sign Language (ASL) at 12, which became a turning point by granting her access to the Deaf community and supporting her journey of self-understanding. Although her grandparents’ Croatian added another layer to her linguistic repertoire, ASL provided a vital link to identity for her and many deaf individuals.
Music, in addition to ASL, English, and Croatian, is considered Novic’s fourth language. When she first lost her hearing in middle school, music became a facade—a way to convince herself and others that her deafness wasn’t truly happening. Over time, music evolved from a symbol of denial to a form of expression based mainly on sensation and vibration. Novic notes that now, “most things for me is vibration related,” describing an intimacy with music that is more physical than cognitive.
For Novic, the concept of a “mother tongue” is complex. She points out that 90% of deaf children are born to hearing parents, but only about 8% of those parents learn enough sign language to hold real conversations with their children. This dynamic means that, like most deaf people, ASL was not Novic’s first language, complicating her own sense of linguistic belonging.
When writing Mother Tongue, Novic first signed much of her thoughts to herself, then sat at her computer and translated those signed expressions into written English. This process reflects a bilingual practice and highlights her engagement with both her linguistic identity and her primary language.
Novic’s fascination with primary language—“What is a primary language and how do you get one?”—runs throughout her writing. She also observes how her own children, more comfortable in the space between ASL and English, move fluidly between the hearing and Deaf worlds, an ease she her ...
Language and Identity
Sara Novic’s experience as a mother is shaped profoundly by her two sons, who have markedly different deaf and hearing profiles. This family dynamic informs her understanding of identity, language, and emotional development.
Novic’s older son, whom she calls Kay in her memoir, is adopted from Thailand and deaf. At his orphanage, Kay was mostly deprived of language and perceived as fearless—he would do whatever he wanted with no signs of fear, according to the caregivers. When Novic and her husband adopted him, Kay learned American Sign Language (ASL) from them at age four. Now, with hearing aids, he prefers verbal communication and loves to speak, yell, and make noise.
Her younger, biological son, S, is hearing. He grew up with ASL as his first language and is fluent in both ASL and spoken English. Both boys move fluidly between signing and speaking, navigating the in-between space of Deaf and hearing worlds. Novic observes that her sons are much more comfortable in this dual existence than she was growing up, stating it took her many years to become comfortable “teetering” at the crossroads of these worlds. She admires the unique linguistic journeys each boy has taken and the ways they have come to embrace both cultures.
Motivated by motherhood, Novic took on the task of consolidating Deaf history, which she felt was scattered across various sources, into a single book for her sons’ benefit. Her memoir serves not only as a resource for her children but also as a project that allowed her to examine the past and provide a framework of their cultural and linguistic heritage.
Motherhood and Raising Children
Elissa Nadworny explores deaf history by visiting the Old Pennsylvania School for the Deaf (PSD) with Sara Novic. The abandoned and deteriorating campus now sits mostly empty, symbolizing the decline of dedicated educational institutions for deaf children. Novic observes that the closure of such state schools for the deaf has been occurring across the country. This trend undermines the educational infrastructure for deaf students and eliminates crucial cultural spaces where the deaf community could gather, form bonds, and transmit their unique culture across generations.
Nadworny explains that safe spaces for deaf people have long endured a fraught history in America. In the 1800s, ableist laws explicitly excluded deaf people from public participation, emphasizing their supposed deficiency rather than recognizing their dist ...
Deaf History and Education in America
Sara Novic explains that most people’s first impressions rarely identify her as deaf. Instead, they interpret her lack of immediate response as aloofness or even rudeness. This highlights how deafness often becomes an invisible identity to others. Novic describes feeling exhausted by the need for inauthentic self-presentation and explains that she wears her hearing aids around hearing people, removing them as soon as she gets home. She likens this relief to taking off a bra at the end of a long day, saying the sensation is “like that times 10.”
The variation in the deaf experience becomes even more apparent in Novic’s relationship with her son, Kay. Unlike Novic, who finds hearing aids an uncomfortable imposition, Kay eagerly wears his, even wanting to keep them on in the bath. Novic constantly finds herself trying to remove the devices from him. This difference underlines the diversity within the deaf community: the deaf experience cannot be reduced to a simple narrative of hearing loss or fixed relationships with technology. The role of language and technology in shaping her son’s childhood continues to leave Novic with more questions than answers.
The Broader Deaf Experience
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