Because last week’s topic was a little bit heavy, I’ve decided that this week’s blog should be about something lighter, and naturally, I chose the topic of child abuse.

Alright, not really. This will be light, I promise.

So anyways, I’m sure you have heard the phrase “tiger mother” or “tiger parent” sometime before in your life. This phrase is often used to describe a parent who micromanages their child’s time, is overbearing, and yes, is usually Asian. The term was coined by Amy Chua, in her book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, a book that I began reading this week. The book details Chua’s experience with raising her two daughters, and how she compares Asian versus Western parenting methods.

Chua does not spare any harsh words. She does not make an attempt to portray herself as a likeable character, and as a result, this book sparked an uproar amongst critics. This is the book that made many question Asian “parenting methods,” and whether or not they are considered unnecessarily cruel or overall successful.

But, in my personal opinion, there is absolutely no way that this book can be received as anything other than a satire.

Chua quickly establishes her tendency of hyperbole. In one instance, she states “By the time Sophia [her first daughter] was three, she was reading Sartre, doing simple set theory, and could write one hundred Chinese characters. (Jed’s [her husband’s] translation: She recognized the words “No Exit,” could draw two overlapping circles, and okay maybe on the Chinese characters.)” From the beginning, it is clear that she is a biased, over-exaggerating, and thus unreliable narrator. As a result, it becomes difficult for the reader to judge how much Chua’s narrative can be trusted, and when the reader needs to take words with a grain of salt. Or rice. There are also bits of wry humor that can be easily misinterpreted as serious. For example, after Lulu (Chua’s youngest child) complains that she wishes she had a pet, Chua responds with “You already have a pet…Your violin is your pet.” There are certainly other gems of irony in the book, but I won’t spoil them.

In addition, Chua’s word choice often clashes with the point she is trying to make. In one scene, she describes helping her daughter, Lulu practice the violin. “RELAX!” I screamed at home. “Mr. Shugart said RAG DOLL.” If you’ve ever played a string instrument, you’d know it is extremely difficult to play while tensed up; thus Mr. Shugart’s (Lulu’s violin teacher’s) advice to act as like a rag doll while playing. Additionally, attempting to relax while being screamed at to relax is a difficult thing to accomplish. In her acknowledgements, Chua describes writing this novel as almost therapeutic, which is something I’d like to touch on. It is my personal belief that, while writing this novel, Chua realized how contradictory she must have appeared to her children in these instances, and incorporated this into the novel. Chua is sometimes harsh and unsympathetic, but she is always self-aware; she understands now that her own ambition for her kids created a barrier between them. This book is not about how Asian parenting methods are superior to Western methods: it’s a book about self-growth.

Finally, Chua incorporates absurdity to drive her point home. In the opening chapter, Chua states that “Chinese mothers believe that (1) schoolwork always comes first; (2) an A-minus is a bad grade; (3) your children must be two years ahead of their classmates in math; (4) you must never compliment your child in public; (5) if your child ever disagrees with a teacher or coach, you must always take the side of  the teacher or coach; (6) the only activities your children should be permitted to do are those in which they can eventually win a medal; and (7) that medal must be gold.” Chua’s dry recitation of the “rules” she followed as a parent are not only extreme; they are considered absurd by the intended audience, Western parents. After quickly establishing her no-nonsense tone, she also uses the shock factor from these rules to further describe the Chinese mentality of raising successful children.

The end of the novel is bittersweet. While I don’t want to give away the ending, I will say this: both Chua and her youngest daughter, Lulu, turn out to be sympathetic characters; Chua, for fighting so hard to uphold the culture and tradition she was raised with, and Lulu, for her spunky attitude and relatability. You want both to succeed in the end, but because they have opposing mentalities, that is impossible.

So what’s the point here? I’m not trying to boast about the Chinese parenting method in this post (for the record, my parents are white), nor am I trying to bash this method. Personally, I believe that there is no one set way to achieve success, and that one must find what works best for them, and invent their own mold in order to accomplish their goals.