"Your parents will be proud of your grades," a law professor told a group of anxious 1Ls yesterday, "unless they want to be the next Tiger Mother." Indeed, the Tiger Mother as portrayed in Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua has come to symbolize extreme parenting that makes everyone uncomfortable. Her oft-cited Wall Street Journal list of things Chinese mothers never let their children do includes going to sleepovers or getting a grade lower than an A. Americans have generally responded with skepticism and scorn, pointing out that this strict form of parenting doesn't foster the creativity that makes America great. Chinese-Americans have responded by trying to distinguish themselves from Chua. "My parents let me go to sleepovers and I turned out ok," my Asian friends wrote on Facebook.In the few weeks following the initial backlash, people have pointed out that our response might reflect our insecurities about America's decline. Or that Chua is merely pushing our buttons, and that we should just ignore it. Indeed, Tiger Mother, is intentionally polemical, easily leading commentators to read what they want into the book. After listening to Slate Audio Book Club's "definitive" discussion of Tiger Mother, I was left with the impression that Chua is not introspective, fails to admit weakness, and seeks validation from her daughters' musical accomplishments.
Nonetheless, after going ahead and reading the book anyway, I am convinced that all the pundits have got it wrong. Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is not a how-to book; it's not a foreign policy book disguised as a parenting book; it's not even a straightforward memoir. What it is is a hilarious jab at the yuppie holy grail--and those who can't take the joke should keep their mouths shut. The holy grail, of course, is the yuppie offspring. Having gone to a respectable private college, gotten high paying jobs in liberal cities, yuppies' next--and most satisfying--accomplishment is raising little Lelands and Morgans who will be just as successful as they are, except more artistic. This is why--as my boyfriend always points out--any article in the Times or The New Yorker about Ivy League admissions immediate gains most-emailed status. This is why we have dozens of parenting books, classes, and Baby Bjorn stores to promote creativity and child self-actualization. So when someone comes along and pokes holes in our theory of parenting, backlash ensues.
And really "poking fun" of western parenting is what Chua does best. Chua on creative school projects: "there's nothing I hate more than all these festivals and projects that private schools specialize in. Instead of making kids study from books, private schools are constantly trying to make learning fun by having parents do all the work." Chua on Chinese parents' tendencies to compare their children: "The mother told Kathleen [a friend] that her daughter, who was a student at Brown, was probably going to lose [a tennis match]. 'This daughter so weak,' she said...'Her older sister--much better. She go to Harvard." Chua takes shots at herself too. Describing her daughter, Lulu's decision to take up tennis instead of the violin, Chua says, "Had I perhaps chosen the wrong activity for Lulu? Tennis was very respectable--it wasn't like bowling. Michael Chang had played tennis." This last sentence isn't a serious justification for why tennis is respectable, but a facetious characterization of Chua's reasoning. Maybe you have to come from an Asian-American/immigrant background to appreciate it, but I found Chua's descriptions of herself to show an ultimate awareness of her blind areas.
Chua admits that Chinese parenting is very lonely, especially in the US; you have to make up excuses why you're daughters can't go on playdates. So her very act of describing her extreme moments is an invitation for criticism. In one section, Chua displays some unedited "notes" that she left for her daughters to guide their music practices each day. One has the title "Chow Chow LeBoeuf," then goes on to say "HELLO LULU!!! You are doing great. Light!! Light!!!! LIGHT!!!...10 minutes: Kreutzer #32. Work it through YOURSELF, with a metronome. SLOW. Light bows. If you can do this, you rock." These notes embody so much of Chua's personality. Some craziness, some humor, and a lot of dedication. We see her daughters rolling their eyes as they read this, but smiling enough to follow the instructions.
