Amy Chua may well be very _ . What kind of a mother will drag her then 7-year-old daughter's dollhouse out to the car and tell her that it is going to be donated if the poor kid doesn't master a difficult piano composition by the next day? What kind of a mother will inform her daughter that she is nothing but "garbage"? And what kind of mother will believe, as Chua tells readers, that "an A- is not always a good grade"? The only activities her children should be permitted to do are those in which they can eventually win a medal, which must be gold. What kind of a mother she is? Why, a mother who is raising her kids in the typical Chinese way, rather than the Western way. In her new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, Chua tells her adventures in Chinese parenting, and -- so _ as she may be -- she is also mesmerizing  . Chua's voice is that of a happy, knowledgeable serial killer -- think Hannibal Lecter -- who's explaining how he's going to cut his next victim, as though it's the most self-evidently normal behavior. There is another attractive aspect of Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. There are methods to Chua's madness, enough method to stir up self-doubt in those readers who support the more educating parenting styles. It is trusted that Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is going to be a book club and parenting blog phenomenon; there will be fevered debate over Chua's tough love strategies, which include unchangeable bans on such Western indulgences   as sleepovers, play dates, and any after class activities except practicing musical instruments, which must be limited between the violin or the piano. The back story to Chua's book is this -- she is the daughter of a couple of Chinese immigrants and is now a professor at Yale Law School and the author of two best-selling "big-think" books on "free-market democracy" and "the fall of empires". When Chua married her husband, her fellow Yale law professor and a novelist Jed Rubenfeld, they agreed that their children would be brought up in "the Chinese way," in which punishingly hard work, enforced by parents produces excellence; excellence, in turn, produces satisfaction. The success of this strategy is hard to debate. Their older daughter is a piano talent who played at Carnegie Hall when she was 14 or so. The second, a more rebellious   daughter, Lulu, is a gifted violinist. Chua rode the girls hard, making sure they practiced at least three hours a day even on vacations, when she would call ahead to arrange access to practice in hotel lobby bars and basement storage rooms. Chua also rarely refrained   from criticizing her daughters. She explains: Chinese parents can do things that would seem unimaginable to Westerners. Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, "Hey so 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 treatment for eating disorders and negative self-image. ... Western parents are concerned about their children's minds. Chinese parents aren't. They assume strength, not weakness, and as a result they behave very differently. What's the writer's purpose of using the example of "weight problem"?
To show Chinese parents can do unimaginable things. To make a comparison between Western and Chinese mothers. To make us believe the western way of parenting is much better. To show that Chinese mothers care more about their children.