Amy Chua

As a young Asian-American woman, I had heard about and paid close attention to the controversy surrounding this book (see http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/16/fashion/16Cultural.html?_r=1&pagewanted=2 for all to which I will refer). This included having read a blog entry written by a young Asian-American woman whose older sister was driven to suicide due to expectations of perfection from her family; this young woman emailed Amy Chua, who asked her to read the book and ignore the hype show more surrounding it. I decided to take up the author on her advice and despite having read the book, my opinion of Ms. Chua has not changed.

Ms. Chua defended herself in the NYT article that came out following the controversial one, citing the fact that her parenting style has grown a bit more tolerant, that the book is not meant as a parenting manual, and that her husband softened the blows of her "Chinese mother"ing.

All of Chua's defensiveness does not exonerate this book. Firstly, there is no indication in the book that her parenting style had softened. The book is very much about how her second daughter, Lulu, forces her to reconsider her draconian parenting, but the end of the book does not reveal a changed Amy Chua, just a defeated one. Secondly, her book reads like a parenting manual, not a memoir. Throughout the book, she utterly mocks and berates the very parenting style that led her husband to be the man that he is and views the Western/"Chinese" divide as a black-and-white dichotomy. Her attempts to nuance the argument by apologizing for her dichotomization at the beginning and end of the book do not change the fact that the bulk of it is very much us-vs.-them. Last, but not least, the book says very little about the ways in which her husband helped parent; he is reduced to a stammering apologist for their children. Ms. Chua's defense of herself falls flat in the face of the record of her own writing.

In terms of addressing the concerns of the blogger I mentioned, Ms. Chua does not even come close to addressing the very real and pressing issue of the high rate of suicide among American-born women of Asian descent (see http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/08/090817190650.htm). Instead, early on in the book, she makes a mockery of the issue of suicide among Asian youth, claiming that she doesn't want "weird" children who kill themselves over issues as petty as grades. That is her only mention of suicide despite the fact that her own daughters are in the very group that is at such risk for suicide, a careless and indefensible omission.

Social issues aside, Ms. Chua does not fare much better in terms of the literary quality of her book. Many of the sentences in the book are repetitive. I stopped counting the instances of sentences that followed the yawn-inducing and rather obvious formula of "Western parents are [insert horrible decadence here] while Chinese mothers [insert strict punishment here]." She states the obvious in a seeming attempt at humor that is feeble at best and awkward at worst. Worst of all, much of what she thinks is "Chinese parenting" seems to be an extremely high self-regard, plain and simple. I know many mothers (and fathers) who do not follow the less tolerant "Western" style of parenting and who follow the stricter "Chinese" (and I use that word in Ms. Chua's way to mean all non-stereotypical "Western") style of parenting, and none of them berate their children by assuring that they are better than their offspring. Ms. Chua claims to have written the book in eight weeks, and the truth of that statement is clear in the repetitive style and awkward pacing of the book.

Postscript: I downloaded the Audible audiobook, which is read by Ms. Chua herself, in the hopes that I would understand her supposed humor and wryness via the medium of her tone and pitch, but sadly, she reads in a rather stilted and flat style that did not lend me any further insight into her comedic stylings. show less

I read this a few years ago, when it first came out. I'm glad I reread it now that everyone's done screaming about what a horrifying monster Amy Chua is.

All I remember about that first reading is feeling really, really ticked off about something that isn't even Chua's fault. My family homeschools on a single income, and my husband's been laid off twice in the past decade, which made paying off some medical bills we'd racked up even more fun than it already was.

No, that's not what ticked me show more off. At the time I first read "Battle Hymn," I was the editor of the late lamented "Secular Homeschooling Magazine." I'd started the magazine myself and we had almost no advertisers, so basically anything I made was handed straight over to the printers.

As a sort of unofficial spokesperson for weirdos, I had to deal, often publicly, with a lot of silly ideas people have about homeschooling. Top of the list of ridiculous stereotypes is that homeschooling is a "Rich Peeps Only" club.

Right around the time Chua's book came out, I was asked to speak up in response to an online article whose gist was that homeschooling *must be nice if you can AFFORD it*. There was at the same time a *lot* of buzz about whether Chua's ideas about education were intriguing or appalling. Was this good parenting or child abuse?

Which *infuriated* me, because if you've read her book, you know how many buckets of money Chua poured into her children's education. At one point, she had a violin teacher coming to give her younger daughter lessons two or three times a *day.* She paid that same teacher to accompany the family on a trip to an important audition. She paid that teacher by the hour, including transportation time; and to sweeten the deal, she put the teacher and her boyfriend up at a really nice hotel for three nights. That part of the daughter's audition ALONE cost three thousand dollars.

I do not have three thousand dollars. Now that I'm in my forties, I could not get my hands on three thousand dollars on short notice even if the naval base were open and I had the address. And this was by no means the only aspect of Chua's driven, dedicated parenting style that cost a bleep-ton of money.

For the record, seeing money as something you make in order to be able to furnish the best possible education for your children is *admirable.* It's refreshing. Chua mentions being on the verge of cashing in her retirement fund in order to get a really good violin for her younger daughter, even though that daughter had no intention of becoming a professional violinist (and Chua probably would have been very unhappy if she *had* wanted to be a musician). I find that honorable.

But it really bugged me that *nobody* was talking about the money when they discussed the pros and cons of Chua's parenting style even though she made no secret of the fact that she is *seriously* wealthy; but plenty of people wouldn't engage in a genuine debate about the merits and difficulties involved in homeschooling because, hey, that's just for rich people.

I'm not homeless. I'm not in any danger of starving to death. But I'm definitely broke. And so are a LOT of homeschoolers I know.

So I had a bitter taste in my mouth when it came to this book, through no fault of the author. It was just a case of bad timing.

It turns out that reading a controversial book *after* everyone's done shouting about it can be very good timing, indeed. Amy Chua is a brilliant, hilarious writer. She is baffled and often alarmed by her younger daughter Lulu's fierce resistance to being told what to do. Here is Chua's response after a preschool interview is initially almost ruined, but is finally redeemed, by Lulu's insistence on doing things *her* way:

"Thank God we live in America, I thought to myself, where no doubt because of the American Revolution rebelliousness is valued. In China, they'd have sent Lulu to a labor camp."

If Chua had stopped at one kid, her faith in her own ideas about education and parenting would never have been shaken. Sophia was her dream daughter: intelligent, diligent, conscientious yet questioning, obedient with a mind of her own. A recent short article in the New Yorker mentions that Sophia is currently a junior at Harvard, with a double major in philosophy and Sanskrit, and "hopes to be a military prosecutor, with a focus on sexual assault."

I was delighted to see that update. But I also want to know: how's Lulu?

Lulu is the one who shook up Amy Chua's world:

"It's hard to find the words to describe my relationship with Lulu. 'All-out nuclear warfare' doesn't quite capture it. The irony is that Lulu and I are very much alike: She inherited my hot-tempered, viper-tongued, fast-forgiving personality."

This book "was *supposed* to be a story of how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones," Chua explains before the first chapter even begins. "But instead, it's about a bitter clash of cultures, a fleeting taste of glory, and how I was humbled by a thirteen-year-old."

This book's great strength is that Chua's jury still seems to be out when it comes to her parenting ideas. She understands that even her most passionately-held ideals are taken to extremes at times, and she's not afraid to make herself look ridiculous:

"One evening, after another shouting match with the girls over music, I had an argument with Jed [her husband]. While he's always supported me in every way, he was worried that I was pushing too hard and that there was too much tension and no breathing space in the house. In return, I accused him of being selfish and thinking only of himself. 'All you think about is writing your own books and your own future,' I attacked. What dreams do you have for Sophia, or for Lulu? Do you ever even think about that? What are your dreams for Coco?'"

For the record: Coco is their dog.

Jed cracked up, as any sane being would, and then kissed Amy and told her not to worry, because they'd work things out somehow.

This exchange reveals two things about Amy Chua: her humor, and her boundless generosity. She worries about *everyone* in the household. She loves her daughters so much that she cares more about their welfare than she does about how they feel about her. "I'm willing to put in as long as it takes," she snaps at Jed at one point, "and I'm happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankees games."

Or, as she so often put it to her daughters, "My goal as a parent is to prepare you for the future -- not to make you like me."

Which worked fine, for Sophia. But Lulu wasn't having it. And she was every bit as strong-willed as her mother.

This short, funny, brilliant book attempts to answer the old question of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. show less

I feel really conflicted about this book. I am SO FUCKING GLAD that this woman wasn't my mother, because who knows, I might have ended up an alcoholic or serial killer.

I get that Chua wanted the best for her kids and part of it was due to her own upbringing. When I see shitty parents today with slacker/troublemaking kids, I can see how other parents might feel justified in being really strict.

But goodness, reading this book and imagining myself in the position of her daughters makes me feel show more really anxious, because whatever Chua's intentions, some of the things she says does come across as outright mean and abusive. I get that Chua did not believe that she WAS being abusive, and in the end of this book, she does admit that she learned from her younger daughter, so I'm going to give this book an even-handed 3/5 stars. show less

A funny and snarky memoir about Chua's attempts to raise her daughters in what she calls the "Chinese Mother" style of parenting in which the parent's authority supercedes any desires the child may have. She freely admits this approach did not work well for her younger daughter. Contrary to what one might think from all of the media controversy surrounding this book, Chua is sarcastic and self-deprecating, her love of her daughters shines through every snarky word, and this it is obvious show more almost immediately that this is by no means intended to be a parenting manual.

The non-instructive nature of the book notwithstanding, I do like her idea that parents can assume strength, capability and resilience over the weakness and fragility often assumed in Western culture and then behave accordingly when their child disappoints them. The book was enjoyable as a memoir, but its audience may be somewhat limited by the extraordinary financial and cultural privilege this family enjoys complete with access to famous musicians, private schools, expensive parties and world travel. The problems she describes are very definitely first world and, many parents in our current economic client may have trouble identifying with things like the heartache of a blown Julliard audition. show less