I have yet to read a review of this book that does not devolve into a visceral debate of content rather than review the book itself. As evidenced by her debate at Davos, author Amy Chua has clearly electrified our dual fears of China rising concurrent with our educational system failing. In the interest of full disclosure, I am a “1½ generation” Asian American who has been approached often by people wondering if I relate to this book (answer: yes for much, but not all, of it.). But first, let’s review the book, not parenting styles.

What is Chua’s premise? Are Chinese mothers actually superior or not? Her own internal conflicts are apparent in various conflicted themes. The book is primarily a narrative of their family’s development, similar to the life change of any working family juggling the demands of school, activities, and parent involvement. Chua strives to conclude that her disciplined, “tiger mother” techniques were ultimately humbled by the individuality of her strong, second daughter at an anti-climactic showdown in a public restaurant. However, she never ceases to proudly remind us that hardcore Chinese mothering techniques have, by the way, culminated in many successful virtuoso musical performances (e.g. the Carnegie Hall concert by her first daughter). Chua repeatedly returns to various examples of successful performances as defense of her over-the-top helicopter parenting, and these returns eclipse the semblance of humility that Amy Chua purports to feel.

Other contradictions include her dismissal of astrology but her repeated uses of applicable “tiger” Chinese zodiac characteristics throughout the book. She discusses and defends, sometimes defensively, Chinese mothering as key to success. Yet her oldest daughter, Sophia, was born a prodigy, in Chua’s own words, and is described as ambitious and achieving in a self-directed manner without the hyperfocused intervention of the “tiger mother.” Interestingly, the public debate sparked by this book has focused on the Chinese parent’s approach to education and schooling, yet the story is mostly about the extra-curricular pursuit of musical excellence, with little discussion of school. Anyone who has witnessed an extreme Little League parent or soccer parent should be able to relate. The narrative ends in present-day, with even the author seeking a concluding point from her own two daughters and two dogs. The story is clearly a catharsis for Chua, who has endured deep family and emotional losses alongside the constant pressure of ambition and wanting the best for her children. These are struggles to which we can all relate. Like many catharses, it may take many years for the point to surface. In the meantime, her story, however inconclusive, is out.

As for the extreme-parenting debate … is this a uniquely Chinese proposition? Is the child, Louisa Chua, so different from Andre Aggasi, who began his  I-hate-tennis book because of the constant, extreme pressure from childhood? Amy Chua demonstrates a few principles that we do agree with in education: Children learn best when parents are involved. Appropriately high expectations can be motivational. Learning can be very difficult, requires lots of hard work and sometimes needs sheer force on the part of the learner. Mastery builds inner-confidence in a child. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. This book has catalyzed a debate on techniques of “Chinese parenting,” a divisive and counterproductive discussion. Instead of fearing China’s growth and their bigger-than-U.S. economy in 2027 (according to Goldman Sachs), shouldn’t we instead be focusing on what our children need to learn in order to capture that growth and the exciting opportunities when they get there in just 16 years?

Robin Foley lives in Harvard, and is a self-described Dragon-mother.