Rebutting the Tiger Mother: Chapter 1
Tomorrow Amy Chua is doing a Q&A at Time Inc. for Asian Pacific American Heritage Month. I already have many strong opinions about Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother from media coverage alone, but I know I'm not being truly fair until I've read the actual book myself. Fortunately, Google Books has most if not all of it online, so herein, my chapter-by-chapter reactions.
Chapter 1: The Chinese Mother
A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereo-typically [sic] successful kids.... Well, I can tell them, because I've done it.
Nope. Your first-born is graduating from high school this year. A real Chinese mother knows her job isn't done until either she or her kid stops breathing.
Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:
I'm using the term "Chinese mother" loosely.
Then stop using the term "Chinese mother."
The Chinese mother believes that... you must never compliment your children in public.
Not that that other breakthrough Asian-American author Amy necessarily got it all right, but a lot of the drama in The Joy Luck Club was fomented by Chinese moms bragging about their daughters in front of each other. It was not a rare occurrence in Amy Tan's books, and neither is it in real life.
Overall thoughts so far
Chapter 1 was short and startlingly unsubtle. Its blanket statements (... roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt [that parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun]) are not excused by Chua's disclaimer that she is using the terms "Chinese mothers" and "Western parents" loosely. Hers are the kinds of lazy, broad generalizations I would make in cultural studies papers the night before they were due, and I'm surprised the precision and discipline she must employ as a professor at Yale Law does not seem to have influenced the writing of this memoir.
Some passages made me wonder if Chua is going for satire: My Western friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their instruments thirty minutes every day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the first hour is the easy part. It's hours two and three that get tough. But Chua, at least so far, lacks the artistic finesse, the natural comedic instinct, to make that clear. I guess that's the type of thing one learns from being in a school play, one of the activities a Tiger Mother forbids her children to do.
Chapter 1: The Chinese Mother
A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereo-typically [sic] successful kids.... Well, I can tell them, because I've done it.
Nope. Your first-born is graduating from high school this year. A real Chinese mother knows her job isn't done until either she or her kid stops breathing.
Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:
- ...
- get any grade less than an A [Weaksauce. Any grade less than an A+, or 100 percent, should be unacceptable. An A- is an Asian B. A B is an Asian Fail.... Okay, Chua makes that point a page later: the Chinese mother believes that... an A-minus is a bad grade]
- ...
- play any instrument other than the piano or violin [This is just dumb. Like languages, learning multiple instruments can only enhance your mastery of each one. And isn't Yo-Yo Ma the Original Chinese Musical Prodigy? He isn't exactly playing the banjo at Carnegie.]
I'm using the term "Chinese mother" loosely.
Then stop using the term "Chinese mother."
The Chinese mother believes that... you must never compliment your children in public.
Not that that other breakthrough Asian-American author Amy necessarily got it all right, but a lot of the drama in The Joy Luck Club was fomented by Chinese moms bragging about their daughters in front of each other. It was not a rare occurrence in Amy Tan's books, and neither is it in real life.
Overall thoughts so far
Chapter 1 was short and startlingly unsubtle. Its blanket statements (... roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt [that parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun]) are not excused by Chua's disclaimer that she is using the terms "Chinese mothers" and "Western parents" loosely. Hers are the kinds of lazy, broad generalizations I would make in cultural studies papers the night before they were due, and I'm surprised the precision and discipline she must employ as a professor at Yale Law does not seem to have influenced the writing of this memoir.
Some passages made me wonder if Chua is going for satire: My Western friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their instruments thirty minutes every day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the first hour is the easy part. It's hours two and three that get tough. But Chua, at least so far, lacks the artistic finesse, the natural comedic instinct, to make that clear. I guess that's the type of thing one learns from being in a school play, one of the activities a Tiger Mother forbids her children to do.