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A review by wordsaremyforte
Good Enough by Paula Yoo
4.0
The second I read the synopsis for this book, I knew I had to read it right away, being the complete violin nerd I am who foams at the mouth at so much as a mention of a violinist in a book. Good Enough might be a simple contemporary novel, but that doesn't mean it wasn't profound; it was certainly a relatable experience. I won't claim that I have tiger parents or that I ever felt victimized by my family, so I can't entirely say I relate to Patti Yoon's circumstances to a T. However, having escaped the toils of the soul-sucking college admissions process, I loved reading Patti Yoon's story, especially since she is a violinist like myself.
Now, I'm no B-tier prodigy, but regardless, I, too, feel inexplicable love for playing my violin and music in general. I pity the kids who are forced into learning an instrument solely to 'look good for colleges.' I feel very grateful that I never quit the violin when I was struggling to learn treble clef and fingerings as a fifth-grader. I am also extremely grateful that I love music so strongly and passionately that I've never felt it to be a weight on my shoulders. Unfortunately, the ambition of actually becoming a musician is stigmatized as risky, a constant gamble (in the era of COVID especially).
And that's the thing, isn't it? Risk. Our parents and elders would have us to believe that a life without risk in which one is coddled with cushy job security is ideal. Those of us who venture into careers that pan out as constant gambles will never escape risk. It is all of our dream to become successful enough to do what we love and also get paid for it.
Like many of us non-Asians, we have all heard the jokes, the jabs, and the pity surrounding how Asians are notoriously strict in child upbringing; they stand in popular culture as the quintessential harbingers of hours of draining SAT prep and ivy expectations higher than the ozone layer. Paula Yoo very much hones in on what it is like to have these 'tiger parents' and how frustrating it can be to live with people who constantly nag you about your grades and future. Patti Yoon follows her parent's yellow brick road to success, fulfilling each of their expectations to a T: becoming the best at a unique talent (violin), earn stellar grades to become valedictorian, and earn acceptance to Ivy Leagues. Even though Patti's work shows for itself and she is surrounded by hard-earned successes, this came at a cost to her relative social isolation and lack of adolescent experiences. I'm no stranger to this lifestyle either.
In Patti Yoon's senior year, she finally understands what the culmination of all her efforts should amount to: her happiness. Not her parents' happiness, or her bank accounts. You don't have to be the absolute cream of the crop to feel content with your place in life. Will good things come of hard work regardless? Of course. But putting yourself down because you aren't as academically strong as the valedictorian or as technically talented as the concertmaster isn't going to help anyone in the long run. The way some parents treat their children twists their mindset into thinking like this, no matter how hard they reason with themselves. Even so, you can't sacrifice happiness for success. It's not worth it. A life lacking personal contentment and happiness is not sustainable for anyone, no matter what your parents/family have to say about it. Good Enough is a perfect example of how difficult and debilitating it can be for ambitious teens aiming to achieve seemingly-impossible goals, and Patti Yoon shows us that, as long as we're following our instincts and aim to be happy first and foremost, we'll be absolutely fine.
Now, I'm no B-tier prodigy, but regardless, I, too, feel inexplicable love for playing my violin and music in general. I pity the kids who are forced into learning an instrument solely to 'look good for colleges.' I feel very grateful that I never quit the violin when I was struggling to learn treble clef and fingerings as a fifth-grader. I am also extremely grateful that I love music so strongly and passionately that I've never felt it to be a weight on my shoulders. Unfortunately, the ambition of actually becoming a musician is stigmatized as risky, a constant gamble (in the era of COVID especially).
And that's the thing, isn't it? Risk. Our parents and elders would have us to believe that a life without risk in which one is coddled with cushy job security is ideal. Those of us who venture into careers that pan out as constant gambles will never escape risk. It is all of our dream to become successful enough to do what we love and also get paid for it.
Like many of us non-Asians, we have all heard the jokes, the jabs, and the pity surrounding how Asians are notoriously strict in child upbringing; they stand in popular culture as the quintessential harbingers of hours of draining SAT prep and ivy expectations higher than the ozone layer. Paula Yoo very much hones in on what it is like to have these 'tiger parents' and how frustrating it can be to live with people who constantly nag you about your grades and future. Patti Yoon follows her parent's yellow brick road to success, fulfilling each of their expectations to a T: becoming the best at a unique talent (violin), earn stellar grades to become valedictorian, and earn acceptance to Ivy Leagues. Even though Patti's work shows for itself and she is surrounded by hard-earned successes, this came at a cost to her relative social isolation and lack of adolescent experiences. I'm no stranger to this lifestyle either.
In Patti Yoon's senior year, she finally understands what the culmination of all her efforts should amount to: her happiness. Not her parents' happiness, or her bank accounts.