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Joseph Mendoza josephb647 — As an Asian-American myself, I was raised by parents who believed in the “Chinese” parenting philosophy that Amy Chua espouses in her book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. Because of my background, I took this book very personally. How could I not? I imagine that most people are drawn to this book because of the WSJ article, “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.” Is the book just more of the article? For the most part, yes. In this memoir type of a book, Amy Chua sets out the dreams she has for her daughters and recounts her relentless pursuit of those dreams at all costs. Her stories alone would not be so offensive had she not tied them all together with the assertion that the Chinese parenting philosophy produces better progeny than the Western parenting philosophy. First of all, I completely disagree with the Chinese parenting philosophy. It is true that the Chinese parenting philosophy might produce high achieving children. But it is equally true that it might produce some very miserable ones. There is a cost in terms of time, energy, missed social interaction, and mental health. Amy Chua casually dismisses the idea of any harm to self-esteem, but I couldn’t disagree more. Perhaps it’s true that Amy’s two daughters don’t have any self-esteem problems. But their mental health may be attributed to just plain luck rather than to Amy – that is, nature rather than nurture. If Amy had more sensitive children, I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up in the mental hospital. Indeed, statistically speaking, Asian-American girls have the highest suicide rate among any race or ethnic group in the 15-24 age group. In the book, Amy Chua spends a disproportionate amount of time on her daughters’ musical pursuits. Although learning either the piano or violin is commonplace in Asian households, there is also typically emphasis on SAT prep, supplementary math studies, and learning Chinese. Amy Chua does touch upon some non-music goals, but most of her book focuses on the piano and violin. Hence, I often got the impression that Amy Chua wished that she herself could be the piano player or violin player that she made her children become. She devoured, digested, and regurgitated all of the music theory taught by her daughter’s music teachers. She recruited the best teachers and even arranged for both of her daughters to practice while traveling. Yes, she even hunted down pianos in Europe just so that her daughter would never miss a day of practicing. Then when it was time for her daughters to perform, Amy Chua seemed to experience stage fright from the comfort of her seat in the audience. Perhaps she knew that she wasn’t able to do what her daughters did. Her level of obsession with her daughters’ musical performances seemed to be not just on a different level, but on a different planet than many of the Asian-Americans I know. At the beginning, Amy Chua framed the book by stating that she was humbled by her youngest daughter Lulu, who rebelled against the harsh parenting tactics of her mother and took up tennis. But I found this so-called “humbling” to be disingenuous. It was contrived. Amy even mentions how she had a difficult time coming up with how to end the book. I don’t buy that she was humbled by Lulu. She didn’t have an awakening. Lulu simply was more stubborn and won the war with her mother. Besides, tennis isn’t even outside of the Asian-American comfort zone. It’s not like Lulu took up cheerleading. If you strip the book of its parenting manifesto message, then there are some redeeming qualities. For one, it does provide a glimpse into the lives of many children of Asian descent in America, albeit, a bit an extreme example. For all those who wonder why Asians are the most educated ethnic/race group in America, and yet are grossly under-represented in executive leadership positions, this book offers some insight. The Chinese parenting philosophy demands hard work, high results, but virtually no innovation. Second, the book is funny. I laughed out loud when, in an argument with her husband, Amy Chua demanded to know what dreams he had for their dog Coco. That was the funniest part of the book. Much of the time, her words were spot on. I laughed because I related. And then, there were times when her anecdotes were so over the top that they were hilarious. Lastly, I commend Amy Chua for being ridiculously honest. It definitely takes some guts to go that public with some of her horrifying and near-CPS-worthy parenting decisions. Overall, my recommendation of this short book is mixed. I cannot stand the fact that she truly believes in the Chinese parenting philosophy. On the other hand, it’s entertaining and good fodder for discussion.