Amy Chua's motherhood memoir, pitting strict 'Chinese mothers' against her notion of laissez-faire 'Western' parenting, attracted controversy for its apparently harsh child-rearing methods. But is Chua's book really as dramatic as the soundbites make it appear?
I waited to read Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother until some of the furore had died down; I wanted to read it on its own merits, as untainted as possible from the memory of the blogs and comments alternately praising author Amy Chua to the skies and damning her to Hell (some without having actually read the book). Try as I might, I couldn't forget Sian Williams on BBC Breakfast, taking one rather harsh-sounding quote from the book and repeatedly asking if Chua stood by what she had written, ignoring the author's attempt to explain it in context. I figured if anything that lazy bit of journalism worked in Chua's favour; I was inclined to give her a fair audience despite basically being a believer in a more relaxed parenting approach.
And here's the thing: her book really isn't that shocking at all. Sure, she occasionally goes to extremes I wouldn't, such as forcing her younger daughter to work on a piano piece into the night without breaks for the loo or water, but that really is the most extreme example I could find by far. And while it worked, I don't think even Chua really believed was the best method for success, because she only employed it once. Her threats, for example to toss her daughter's dollhouse in the charity pile if she didn't practice, often went unfulfilled, which makes me laugh; after all the battle hymn of that poster child for Western parenting, 'Supernanny' Jo Frost, is to carry through and show consequences. In those instances it seemed like Western parenting might actually make more sense than the kind of random threat-spewing Chua occasionally resorted to.
What's particularly interesting about Chua's approach is that it's contrasted quite openly with the upbringing and parental instincts of her husband. Despite her insistence that her strict style is the best way to raise a child, the man she chose to legally bind herself to for life was raised as free-range as possible. Although she sticks to the Chinese mantra that the children should be first in all subjects except gym and drama (her dismissiveness about the value of those rankled, I admit), her husband was a Juilliard-trained actor, who was expelled for arguing with a tutor. She brings out the anecdote to show the difference in reactions to it - her Chinese family were horrified, his Western Jewish American family amused and proud - and yet she chosethis man, and her family ultimately end up adoring him. All of this suggests to me that she knows perfectly well there are gaps in her logic, and her book is a memoir, not a parenting manual.
In fact, there's a good deal of self-deprecating humour in it. Plenty of the anecdotes serve to make her look ridiculous, and for every stream of self-justification there's a lot of qualification and fence-sitting. Perhaps it's down to Chua not wanting to offend her readership too much, but I see a strong appreciation of the ludicrous, and the woman I saw on television was definitely not beyond a laugh or two at her own expense. Additionally she does show cracks in her forceful approach, such as when she admits to being troubled by how little attention is paid to a child's happiness in the Chinese approach.
I think what bothered people most about Chua's book was the terminology. Even though she explains from the off that 'Chinese mother' and 'Western parents' are her own personal terms and don't actually encompass nationality the way they appear to, just parenting styles - strict, ambitious and conforming to a certain view of success vs focussing on exploration, happiness and individual development - as a Western parent it's all too easy to feel like we're being written off as weak and unsuccessful. On the whole I think there are positive things to take away from Chua's parenting. Even those of us who are basically Western parents shouldn't be afraid of setting high expectations for our children and showing them that, as well as making sure we're not just letting them explore and learn at their own pace so as to give ourselves a break from teaching. But we also need to know when to stop.
Because Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother actually tells two very different stories, neither of them actually Chua's, in spite of the narrative voice being hers. One is the story of Sophia, who responded to the success-or-shame mantras, practiced hard and played Carnegie Hall as a child and the other is the story of Lulu, who fought every step of the way and was eventually allowed to go her own way, displaying an equally admirable work ethic when left to her own devices but resisting parental authority. Chua herself admits that Chinese parenting works right up until it doesn't, that she was 'humbled' by her daughter. She looks back at her family and realises that every now and again there is an odd one out, a rebel, who breaks away from the constraints and yet does well for themselves. Sophia herself says she allowed Chinese parenting to happen. She eventually made it an active choice to listen to her mother and has since defended her upbringing in print. The last chapter of the book is very much dedicated to letting Chua's daughters have the last word, and is all the better for it.
I don't think Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is actually going to change anyone's approach to their parenting, but I do think it's a valuable read for any current or would-be parent as it does provide food for thought. It's also a well-written, funny and above all human tale, that reminds you that with parenting the only thing it never is, is effortless.
Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein is a mum of one, digital marketer and online community manager who takes any opportunity to blog about parenthood, social media, cats, baking and Disney. Follow her on Twitter @mokuska