Q&A with Author Libby Copeland

Libby Copeland is an award-winning journalist, former Washington Post staff author and editor, and author of The Lost Family: How DNA Testing is Upending Who We Are, published in March 2020 by Abrams Press.

How long did you spend researching and writing The Lost Family?

Altogether, about three years. I first wrote about Alice Collins Plebuch’s fascinating genetic detective story in The Washington Post in early 2017. The response to that story, which was hundreds of emails from other consumers sharing intimate and moving DNA testing stories, convinced me the topic needed to be a book, and I started researching for the proposal soon afterward. But the bulk of the work was done during 2018 and 2019. In The Lost Family, I revisit Alice’s story and tell it much more fully. I was able to travel to Washington State and spend time with her, as well as do historical research going back a hundred years to illuminate her family’s astonishing story. And as I follow her story, I also tell many other tales from people I Interviewed—wrenching, moving stories of how this technology is changing how we see ourselves and how we talk to one another, not to mention how we think about truth and the past.

What so intrigued you initially that you were willing to devote so much time and attention to this issue? Did you realize early on how complex the subject would be?

I was really intrigued by the idea that questions about genetic origins and family could lead individuals, families, and the culture at large to deep explorations of essential human questions about identity, what makes a family, and how we define ethnicity. The science was indeed quite complex, and so were the experiences of people affected by this technology. I got to interview a lot of genetic genealogists about their techniques and the history of the field, and to tour a DNA testing lab and speak with a number of scientists and historians about human genetics and autosomal DNA testing. But really, it was the deeply human stories that moved me most. The emails from readers and the stories I heard from other people I interviewed sometimes moved me to tears. There were stories of adoptees searching for family, of donor-conceived individuals defining and building relationships with half-siblings and donor fathers, of people discovering NPEs and struggling to incorporate that news with everything they’d known before. I was really interested in the idea that this technology was touching the most intimate parts of people’s lives and changing them forever. I was intrigued, too, by the idea that the past is not really over. It’s still very present in people’s lives, and DNA testing—and all that it can uncover—is prompting people to reassess what they thought they knew about things that happened 50, 60, 70 years ago.

Of all the seekers you spoke with, what story touched you most?

There are so many stories! It’s hard to pick one. There’s a very moving story in the book about a foundling who was left on a doorstep in the 1960s and adopted. Years later, she went looking for her biological family in order to know where she’d come from and to understand the context for having been given up. Her name is Jacqui. The genetic genealogist CeCe Moore helped Jacqui and suggested I interview her because she thought Jacqui’s story was so poignant and because she wanted people to see the range of ways that DNA testing stories can play out. Jacqui’s story is reflective of the fact that, as one mental health counselor put it to me, reunions aren’t always “happy” ones, even though those tend to be predominant in news stories.

Jacqui’s sisters on both sides have largely declined to have relationships with her; one set of sisters even decided they don’t believe that she’s their relative, despite clear evidence from DNA results. There are certainly happy reunion stories, and I write about a number of them in the book. But Jacqui’s story is equally important for people to read because she expresses her desire for connection with her siblings in a heartfelt, evocative, and relatable way. And yet, her truth is so threatening to her siblings that they decline and even deny the connection. There’s no easy solution to this kind of problem, and the complexity of it—and the way genetic relations who are essentially strangers can feel themselves to have hugely different interests from one another—illustrates how much we need to grapple with the legacy of what DNA testing is uncovering. I would argue there needs to be vastly better support for the millions of Americans trying to navigate these situations.

As you talk to people about DNA testing (consumers and potential consumers) what have you found to be most misunderstood?

I think if it hasn’t happened to you, it can be difficult to understand just how disorienting it is to discover that your own genetic origins are not what you long believed. From my interviews with people over months and sometimes years, I’ve come to understand that these revelations are not rapidly processed and incorporated into a person’s reality; indeed, the process of understanding a profound surprise go on for years, perhaps for a lifetime. A DNA surprise can pose questions about a consumer’s relationship with her parents, her understanding of her childhood, her sense of where she belongs, and her orientation on the world. These revelations can be traumatic, even if people are ultimately glad to know the truth about themselves. Those two things—experiencing pain as a result of a revelation yet not wishing to un-know it—might appear to be in conflict with one another, but they’re not.

On the other hand, the perspectives of those being sought out—I refer to them as “seekees”—are not told nearly as much, and are not as well understood. Those who don’t want contact with genetic kin and don’t want these revelations uncovered are much less likely to want to tell their stories. There can be happy reunions between parents and children or between siblings, but sometimes there’s a painful clash of interests. A seeker approaching her genetic father may be seen as threatening by that father, or by that father’s wife, or by the children he raised. There may be shame, guilt, and embarrassment on the part of the genetic father or mother. The decision not to have a relationship with a child or to even speak about having had a child may have been made fifty, sixty years ago, in far different and perhaps desperate circumstances. These are such sad and difficult situations for everyone. In a perfect world, there would be family mediators to help with those initial conversations, and mental health counselors to help everyone—those discovering family secrets, and the keepers of those family secrets. I am heartened to see a growing community of mental health professionals specializing in DNA surprises.

See our review of The Lost Family.

BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles about the search and reunion, NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

• Please leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
• Let us know what you want to see in Severance. Send a message to bkjax@icloud.com.
• Tell us your stories. See guidelines. 
• If you’re an NPE, adoptee, or donor conceived person; a sibling of someone in one of these groups; or a helping professional (for example, a therapist or genetic genealogist) you’re welcome to join our private Facebook group.
• Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag.