Amy Chua’s memoir Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother attracted plenty of critical response when it was published last year. The excerpts in the Wall Street Journal suggested it was a guide to parenting which praised the superiority of the ‘Chinese’ method. But this is misleading. Chua tells us she started to write the book in summer of 2009 when the family returned from Moscow, where, during a break in a café in Red Square, she finally admitted defeat over her parenting methods, at least in the case of her younger daughter Lulu, and allowed her to make her own choices about where to focus her efforts and her own choices about how much dedication and intensity to invest. The presentation of herself as an extreme ‘Chinese’ mother is delivered dead-pan, which makes it very funny.

The Wall Street Journal knew what it was doing when it printed extracts from the earlier chapters, because there can be fewer more contentious activities than bringing up the next generation. The polarities of ‘Chinese’ parenting and ‘Western’ parenting can stand in for most of the conflicts between strict and liberal and traditional and modern. I think there are at least four objectives involved in bringing up children: transmitting culture; preparing for life, developing an individual and protecting the experience of childhood.

‘Western parents try to respect their children’s individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they’re capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits, and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.’

The Chinese parenting model, as a type of strict upbringing, is focused on cultural transmission and preparation for life. The model assumes traditional values and respect for authority. The working assumption is that the children are good enough and strong enough to take the preparation and will be rewarded throughout their lives in terms of capabilities and self-confidence. A virtuous circle can be created, where practice leads to achievement which leads to admiration which builds confidence and motivates more practice. The final proof of the model is that children grow up to appreciate, love and respect their parents. The strategy is to set high expectations for achievement and then do whatever it takes, however tough, to ensure the expectations are met.

Western parenting, as a type of liberal upbringing, doesn’t make the same assumptions. Transmitting a culture which prioritizes autonomy and authenticity, independence of mind and a critical attitude to all claims to authority requires a different approach from transmitting a culture which prioritizes skills, habits, confidence and respect for authority and tradition. The different assumptions make simple comparisons about which is better impossible to make. Without western assumptions, the western approach to nurturing appears to be cosseting and overly protective of children’s self-esteem. With western assumptions, the Chinese approach appears to be careless of the experience of childhood, and to put too little emphasis on the values of play, curiosity, and exploration.

What becomes clear towards the end of the memoir is that there has been more at stake than just the approach to parenting. It isn’t simply a case of being high achieving; it is being high achieving in music; and not just in music; but at the piano or with the violin. Chua’s parenting is entangled in her anxieties about families, about culture, and about the immigrant experience.

‘In our household, the violin had become a symbol. For me, it symbolized excellence, refinement, depth – the opposite of shopping malls, megasized Cokes, teenage clothes, and crass consumerism. Unlike listening to an Ipod, playing the violin is difficult and requires concentration, precision, and interpretation. Even physically, everything about the violin – the burnished wood, the carved scroll, the horsehair, the delicate bridge, the sounding point – is subtle, exquisite and precarious.

To me the violin symbolized respect for hierarchy, standards, and expertise. For those who know better and can teach. For those who play better and can inspire. And for parents.

It also symbolized history. The Chinese never achieved the heights of Western classical music…but high traditional music is deeply entwined with Chinese civilization…

Most of all, the violin symbolized control. Over generational decline. Over birth order. Over one’s destiny. Over one’s children. Why should the grandchildren of immigrants only be able to play the guitar or drums? Why should second children so predictably be less rule-abiding, less successful at school, and “more social” than eldest siblings? In short, the violin symbolized the success of the Chinese parenting model.’