Book Review: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

An excuse to share parenting hot takes

I gave birth to a baby boy two weeks ago. Newborns have to be fed at least every three hours—I currently spend around 6-8 hrs per day feeding Leo, and the remaining time trying to sleep or changing diapers with only a small amount of extra time for regular life activities like spreading speciesism on X. But the one thing I can spend more time than usual on is reading, because it’s often possible to read and feed the baby at the same time. I have a few textbooks downloaded but with the current level of sleep deprivation I am not too inclined to read difficult technical content. Instead I have been scrolling through newborn how-to video shorts on YouTube and reading light books. Books about parenting are of particular interest at the moment given my current full-time occupation (feel free to recommend some to me). This is how I ended up reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. I remember when it came out in 2011. I was eleven years old myself and already harbored a number of the parenting hot takes I maintain today. Although I didn’t read the book at the time, I remember the popular discourse around it—mostly people complaining about the cruelty and unreasonableness of the parenting method portrayed in the book. Some talk about how it’s not representative of actual Chinese immigrant parenting, which isn’t as extreme. At the time, I casually wondered whether I’d actually like to have such super-strict parents if it resulted in me achieving impressive feats in some field, although overall in my heart I knew I preferred some level of normalcy and freedom.

In Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, the author Amy Chua describes the upbringing of her two daughters Sophia and Lulu. Sophia is a good girl who excels at the piano, complying with the intense multi-hour daily practice regime and banning of typical kids “fun” activities. She is contrasted with Lulu, who is more rebellious and doesn’t do as well with the strict parenting method. The book is full of vignettes illustrating the demandingness of their mother’s parenting style, with occasional allusions to how something bad will go down with Lulu. Surprisingly to me, despite all the foreshadowing, nothing too crazy ends up happening to Lulu. At the end of the book, Chua partially gives up on tiger-parenting Lulu and allows her to pursue a hobby of tennis while relaxing her stringent violin practice regimen. That is all—no estrangement, alcohol/drug problem, or even crazy teenage parties. Nevertheless, it’s clear that Chua at least partially regrets her parenting decisions, and it’s difficult to deny that this extreme “tiger parenting” strategy is far from optimal.

Besides the banality of Lulu’s finale, another surprise in the book is Chua’s choice of music (piano for Sophia, violin for Lulu) as a sole focus. Although she demands top grades at school, she doesn’t go out of her way to encourage excellence in any other extracurriculars (at least as far as one can tell from the book). Instead, both daughters are described as spending almost every spare minute on their music practice and performance. This is strange given that neither parent is a musician (they are both lawyers) and it doesn’t sound like they want their daughters to become musicians professionally. Chua describes viewing the rigorous practice required for their instruments as character-building exercises that cultivate virtues like discipline, ability to work through frustration, focus, etc. But at no point does she consider that other, more practical, activities, may bring her girls the same benefits while also being applicable to their adult lives. The stereotypical Chinese math parent seems much more sensible in this regard—achievements in STEM subjects are more likely to translate into future career success and wealth.

So there’s a lot to disapprove of in Chua’s parenting approach—the extreme focus on music and lack of practicality, the missing warmth and empathy, the level of subordination and denial of childrens’ freedom. Many others have written about this. Instead, I’d like to point out the often-overlooked positive sides of the Tiger Mother’s philosophy.

I have written about how criticism is a good signal of respect, and Chua feels similarly.

Second, I don’t believe that all parental comparisons are invidious. Jed is constantly criticizing me for comparing Sophia and Lulu. And it’s true that I’ve said things to Lulu like, “When I tell Sophia to do something, she responds instantly. That’s why she improves so fast.” But Westerners misunderstand. When I say such things I’m not favoring Sophia; just the opposite, I’m expressing confidence in Lulu. I believe that she can do anything Sophia can do and that she’s strong enough to handle the truth.

Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, “Hey fatty—lose some weight.” By contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around the issue, talking in terms of “health” and never ever mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end up in therapy for eating disorders and negative self-image.

I’ve noticed that Western parents are extremely anxious about their children’s self-esteem. They worry about how their children will feel if they fail at something, and they constantly try to reassure their children about how good they are notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are concerned about their children’s psyches. Chinese parents aren’t. They assume strength, not fragility, and as a result they behave very differently.

This is the way. Children can tell when you respect and have high expectations of them, and will respond appropriately. I think psychological mollycoddling of children is very harmful—mental resilience is an incredibly important life skill, and cultivating it from a young age is important. This includes the ability to take criticism, understand harsh truths, resist social pressures, and think independently. Too many people are afraid of thinking their own thoughts in the privacy of their own head, and this starts in childhood when parents normalize self-deception and the sheep-like pursuit of “trying to fit in”.

I also agree with Chua about the “virtuous circle”—how excelling at a pursuit inspires children to practice more which results in more excellence.

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you’re good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it’s math, piano, pitching, or ballet—he or she gets praise, admiration, and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun.

This is an important concept. Many valuable pursuits in life are hard, excellence does take hard work, and the modern fun-ification of learning tries to hide this. Of course “it is crucial to override their preferences” can be taken too far. I hope that one day I’ll be able to explain to Leo (when he’s old enough) why hard work is important and convince him that it’s worth persevering, even if his default preference would be to pursue short-term fun. And separately, childhood is not just a bootcamp for adulthood—having fun is good as a terminal goal!

Overall, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother did not provoke extreme emotions in me. As mentioned, I see many flaws in Chua’s parenting philosophy. But it doesn’t seem clearly worse than the “western” default of psychological mollycoddling and disinterest in hard work and the pursuit of excellence. And at risk of making a trite remark—all children are different. There isn’t going to be a single parenting approach that’s best for everyone.