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3.54 AVERAGE
3.54 AVERAGE
tense
fast-paced
This is a fast read. I had a hard time putting it down. I got sucked in like I was watching a train wreck about to happen. The author's willingness to put herself out there to be judged is to be applauded. Some of the things she did seemed to be over the top even for Chinese mothers (her stereo typing not mine). It made me reflect on my own parenting style and what exactly my goals are when it comes to parenting.
It's always fun to read a parenting memoir to get a peek inside a different family. My parenting style is distinctly "Western" by Chua's standards. My mantra has always been, "Find their passion, then support it." The "Chinese Mother" (again by Chua's standard) decides for the child, then forces the skill on them. I don't think Chua really thinks one style is better than the other. I don't think she takes herself that seriously, and she probably used a lot of license to tell a good story. Her own children complain about this (in the book) near the end. These words on the cover are telling: "This is a story about a mother, two daughters, and two dogs. This was supposed to be a story of how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones. 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."
Of course the Chinese mother requires academic perfection. But that's not what this book is about. The book is about playing musical instruments, which for some reason, Chinese mothers insist must be the piano or violin. The question the book raises, I guess, is whether or not, by forcing your children to practice 5 or 6 hours a day, you can produce musical virtuosos. For Chua, it works with the eldest child, but the youngest rebelled at 13 and ends up just great, not incredible.
When Adam was a teen, he had an amazing golf swing. People on the course would just stop and stare. I had a terrible swing, but I was never embarrassed playing with Adam, because I knew nobody even saw me. Golf masters fought for the privilege to be his instructor. (OK, I made that up, so I wouldn't feel inadequate comparing myself to Amy Chua.) I toyed with the idea of encouraging Adam to prepare for a golf career. Then, one day at a local course, I saw a kid Adam's age. He had a huge basket of golf balls (wheelbarrow size), and was methodically hitting them over and over. Judging by the number of balls, he was going to do this for hours and hours. (No, he wasn't Chinese.) I realized that to become a golf professional, Adam would have to compete with kids who had nothing better to do than hit thousands of golf balls over and over. Would it be cool to have a son who played golf professionally? Undeniably. Did I think it was worth the commitment? No. Human beings are so much more complex and versatile.
Amy Chua never seems to question whether her goals make any sense. What does a violin or piano player do with their life? What price fame? How useful is fame anyway?
Another story that doesn't fit perfectly: I've known Mary and her family since we were teens, so I was steeped in the stories of her family. One story was how her Mother, Ann, would never ever play the piano again and didn't even have one. Ann herself told me about her miserable childhood where she was forced to perform for guests. How awful I thought. That sure backfired on her parents I guessed. Then, after Ann died, I had a chance to talk to her brother Sonny. I told him how Ann related her childhood to me, but it didn't resonate with him at all. He said to me, "What you have to understand, Mike, is that Ann wasn't just a piano player. She had the opportunity to be the best in the world. She had instructors bidding for the privilege of teaching her."
The funniest parts of the book are the stories of the dogs. Chua doesn't try Chinese parenting on them, somewhat to the dismay of her children, who think they are getting a free ride. But Chua doesn't think dogs have much potential, and definitely won't support their human caretakers when they are elderly. But I'm not sure I agree with her implication that every human child has the potential to become a concert master, if they just are forced to work hard enough.
I think it's interesting that Chua's husband, who never comes out of the background in the book, is Jewish. Chua says she knows many Chinese/Jewish couples. The Chinese mother is not that different (I can tell you from experience) than the Jewish mother.
This reminds me a lot of my brother Melvin's kids, the first set he adopted. Like Chua, Melvin tried his best to force these kids into something productive. My Mother, seeing how hard he pressed, told him to lighten up. She told him the story of some child she knew who never did anything as a child, no matter what his parents tried. Now, he knows 11 languages and is famous. Melvin said, "It's fine to find the child's passion and support it, but what if their passion is sleeping on the couch and watching TV?"
So, if you take Chua's book as a parenting manual, you'll be disappointed. It's not scientific, and obviously the sample size is too small. But I think you'll enjoy it as a fun look at one parent's deep desire to shape her children into the box she wanted them in.
Of course the Chinese mother requires academic perfection. But that's not what this book is about. The book is about playing musical instruments, which for some reason, Chinese mothers insist must be the piano or violin. The question the book raises, I guess, is whether or not, by forcing your children to practice 5 or 6 hours a day, you can produce musical virtuosos. For Chua, it works with the eldest child, but the youngest rebelled at 13 and ends up just great, not incredible.
When Adam was a teen, he had an amazing golf swing. People on the course would just stop and stare. I had a terrible swing, but I was never embarrassed playing with Adam, because I knew nobody even saw me. Golf masters fought for the privilege to be his instructor. (OK, I made that up, so I wouldn't feel inadequate comparing myself to Amy Chua.) I toyed with the idea of encouraging Adam to prepare for a golf career. Then, one day at a local course, I saw a kid Adam's age. He had a huge basket of golf balls (wheelbarrow size), and was methodically hitting them over and over. Judging by the number of balls, he was going to do this for hours and hours. (No, he wasn't Chinese.) I realized that to become a golf professional, Adam would have to compete with kids who had nothing better to do than hit thousands of golf balls over and over. Would it be cool to have a son who played golf professionally? Undeniably. Did I think it was worth the commitment? No. Human beings are so much more complex and versatile.
Amy Chua never seems to question whether her goals make any sense. What does a violin or piano player do with their life? What price fame? How useful is fame anyway?
Another story that doesn't fit perfectly: I've known Mary and her family since we were teens, so I was steeped in the stories of her family. One story was how her Mother, Ann, would never ever play the piano again and didn't even have one. Ann herself told me about her miserable childhood where she was forced to perform for guests. How awful I thought. That sure backfired on her parents I guessed. Then, after Ann died, I had a chance to talk to her brother Sonny. I told him how Ann related her childhood to me, but it didn't resonate with him at all. He said to me, "What you have to understand, Mike, is that Ann wasn't just a piano player. She had the opportunity to be the best in the world. She had instructors bidding for the privilege of teaching her."
The funniest parts of the book are the stories of the dogs. Chua doesn't try Chinese parenting on them, somewhat to the dismay of her children, who think they are getting a free ride. But Chua doesn't think dogs have much potential, and definitely won't support their human caretakers when they are elderly. But I'm not sure I agree with her implication that every human child has the potential to become a concert master, if they just are forced to work hard enough.
I think it's interesting that Chua's husband, who never comes out of the background in the book, is Jewish. Chua says she knows many Chinese/Jewish couples. The Chinese mother is not that different (I can tell you from experience) than the Jewish mother.
This reminds me a lot of my brother Melvin's kids, the first set he adopted. Like Chua, Melvin tried his best to force these kids into something productive. My Mother, seeing how hard he pressed, told him to lighten up. She told him the story of some child she knew who never did anything as a child, no matter what his parents tried. Now, he knows 11 languages and is famous. Melvin said, "It's fine to find the child's passion and support it, but what if their passion is sleeping on the couch and watching TV?"
So, if you take Chua's book as a parenting manual, you'll be disappointed. It's not scientific, and obviously the sample size is too small. But I think you'll enjoy it as a fun look at one parent's deep desire to shape her children into the box she wanted them in.
Isn't it all a bit trite? The children as an extension of the parent, the fixation on status without interrogation, the "battle hymn" of what is apparently a war with the inherent and intolerable awfulness in one's children, the self-importance of it all... oh also! they are quite nonchalantly rich. the abusive war rages on until it suddenly doesn't, with hardly a transitional moment of reflection -- what a neat and commendable character arc.
I loved this book and blazed through it in two days. Full review here: http://everydayreading.blogspot.com/2012/01/battle-hymn-of-tiger-mother-by-amy-chua.html
There were many moments when I recoiled in horror as I read this book, but that said, I loved it. Really I did. I read it in two days. Chua's writing flows easily and its hard to put down. In the end I think I do get her, even though I was stunned again and again by her actions. I appreciate the brash honesty with which she writes. It took some serious courage to expose herself like that, but then again I assume she isn't worried about what we think of her as a person or a mother. We aren't her concern.
I was fascinated by her description and explanation of "chinese mothers." I have been turning her words over and over again in my head ever since I began reading it. I am actually proud to say I have a little bit of Chinese mother in me. I think we would all do well to cultivate it. Not the inflexibility and cruelty, but the passionate belief in our children and the higher standard that we should hold them to.
Great book. I would love to open a bottle of wine and talk for a few hours about it with another mom who gets her.
I was fascinated by her description and explanation of "chinese mothers." I have been turning her words over and over again in my head ever since I began reading it. I am actually proud to say I have a little bit of Chinese mother in me. I think we would all do well to cultivate it. Not the inflexibility and cruelty, but the passionate belief in our children and the higher standard that we should hold them to.
Great book. I would love to open a bottle of wine and talk for a few hours about it with another mom who gets her.
dark
inspiring
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Love it! I know she'll never read this because she's scared of the internet (and who am i?) but I got it. It was funny - but only mostly. And awesome. And horrifying. And I want to meet her daughters, because I'm confident they would take my breathe away.
This book made me think...but mostly it made me not like the author. I actually had read about this book in the WSJ back when it first came out. I knew then that I didn't agree with Amy Chua a whole lot. I do agree that "western parents" are too soft on their children, but other than that, I think Amy Chua is unapologetically arrogant. I am not shocked by things she has done with her children, I am disturbed to realize her intentions as I read her book. ugh.