现代大学英语精读6(第二版)-教师用书-Unit-1资料.doc

现代大学英语精读6(第二版)-教师用书-Unit-1

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Unit 1
Paper Tigers
Wesley Yang

Additional Background Information
(About Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother)
What follows is a comment on Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Elizabeth Chang, an editor of The Washington Post's Sunday Magazine, which carried the article on January 8th, 2011.
The cover of Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother was catnip to this average parent's soul. Although the memoir seems to have been written to prove that Chinese parents are better at raising children than Western ones, the cover text claims that instead it portrays "a bitter clash of cultures, a fleeting taste of glory" and how the Tiger Mother “was humbled by a 13-year-old.” As a hopelessly Western mother married into a Chinese family living in an area that generates immigrant prodigies as reliably as clouds produce rain, I was eager to observe the comeuppance of a parent who thought she had all the answers.
And, in many ways, "Tiger Mother" did not disappoint. At night, I would nudge my husband awake to read him some of its more revealing passages, such as when author Amy Chua threatened to burn her older daughter's stuffed animals if the child didn't improve her piano playing. "What Chinese parents understand," Chua writes, "is that nothing is fun until you're good at it." By day, I would tell my own two daughters about how Chua threw unimpressive birthday cards back at her young girls and ordered them to make better ones. For a mother whose half-Chinese children played outside while the kids of stricter immigrant neighbors could be heard laboring over the violin and piano, the book can be wickedly gratifying. Reading it is like secretly peering into the home of a controlling, obsessive yet compulsively honest mother—one who sometimes makes the rest of us look good, if less remarkable and with less impressive offspring. Does becoming super-accomplished make up for years of stress? That's something my daughters and I will never find out.
Chua is a law professor and author of two acclaimed books on international affairs, though readers of "Tiger Mother" get only a glimpse of that part of her life, with airy, tossed off-lines such as "Meanwhile, I was still teaching my courses at Yale and finishing up my second book" while also "traveling continuously, giving lectures about democratization and ethnic conflict." Her third book abandons global concerns to focus intimately on Chua's attempt to raise her two daughters the way her immigrant parents raised her. There would be no play dates and no sleepovers: "I don't really have time for anything fun, because I'm Chinese," one of Chua's daughters told a friend. Instead, there would be a total commitment to academics and expertise at something, preferably an instrument. Though Chua's Jewish husband grew up with parents who encouraged him to imagine—and to express himself, he nonetheless agreed to let her take the lead in rearing the children and mostly serves as the Greek chorus to Chua's crazed actions.
In Chinese parenting theory, hard work produces accomplishment, which produces confidence and yet more accomplishment. As Chua notes, this style of parenting is found among other immigrant cultures, too, and I'm sure many Washington-area readers have seen it, if they don't employ it themselves. Chua's older daughter, Sophia, a pianist, went along with, and blossomed, under this approach. The younger daughter, Lulu, whose instrument of Chua's choice was a violin, was a different story. The turning point came when, after years of practicing and performing, Lulu expressed her hatred of the violin, her mother and of being Chinese. Chua imagined a Western parent’s take on Lulu's rebellion: "Why torture yourself and your child? What's the point? ... I knew as a Chinese mother I could never give in to that way of thinking." But she nevertheless allowed Lulu to abandon the violin. Given that the worst Lulu ever did was cut her own hair and throw a glass, my reaction was that Chua got off easy in a society where some pressured children cut themselves, become anorexic, refuse to go to school or worse. No one but an obsessive Chinese mother would consider her healthy, engaging and accomplished daughter deficient because the girl prefers tennis to the violin—but that's exactly the point.
And, oh, what Chua put herself and her daughters through before she got to her moment of reckoning. On weekends, they would spend hours getting to and from music lessons and then come home and practice for hours longer. At night, Chua would read up on violin technique and fret about the children in China who were practicing 10 hours a day. (Did this woman ever sleep?) She insisted that her daughters maintain top grades—Bs, she notes, inspire a "screaming, hair-tearing explosion" among Chinese parents and the application of countless practice tests. She once refused to let a child leave the piano bench to use the bathroom. She slapped one daughter who was practicing poorly. She threatened her children not just with stuffed-animal destruction, but with exposure to the elements. She made them practice on trips to dozens of destinations, including London, Rome, Bombay and the Greek island of Crete, where she kept Lulu going so long one day that the family missed seeing the palace at Knossos.
Sometimes, you're not quite sure whether Chua is being serious or deadpan. For example, she says she tried to apply Chinese parenting to the family's two dogs before accepting that the only thing they were good at was expressing affection. "Although it is true that some dogs are on bomb squads or drug-sniffing teams," she concluded, "it is perfectly fine for most dogs not to have a profession, or even any special skills." On the one hand, she seems aware of her shortcomings: She is, she notes, "not good at enjoying life," and she acknowledges that the Chinese parenting approach is flawed because it doesn't tolerate the possibility of failure. On the other hand, she sniffs that "there are all kinds of psychological disorders in the West that don't exist in Asia." When not contemptuous, some of her wry observations about Western-style child-rearing are spot-on: "Private schools are constantly trying to make learning fun by having parents do all the work," and sleepovers are "a kind of punishment parents unknowingly inflict on their children through permissiveness."
Readers will alternately gasp at and empathize with Chua's struggles and aspirations, all the while enjoying her writing, which, like her kid-rearing philosophy, is brisk, lively and no-holds-barred. This memoir raises intriguing, sometimes uncomfortable questions about love, pride, ambition, achievement and self-worth that will resonate among success-obsessed parents. Is it possible, for example, that Chinese parents have more confidence in their children's abilities, or that they are simply willing to work harder at raising exceptional children than Westerners are? Unfortunately, the author leaves many questions unanswered as her book limps its way to a conclusion, with Chua acknowledging her uncertainty about how to finish it and the family still debating the pros and cons of her approach (anyone hoping for a total renunciation of the Chinese approach will be disappointed).
Ending a parenting story when one child is only 15 seems premature; in fact, it might not be possible to really understand the impact of Chua's efforts until her daughters have offspring of their own. Perhaps a sequel, or a series ("Tiger Grandmother"!) is in the works. But while this battle might not have been convincingly concluded, it's engagingly and provocatively chronicled. Readers of all stripes will respond to "Tiger Mother."
Structure of the Text
Part I (Paras. 1-2)
The author, an Asian living in the United States, introduces himself as a ‘banana’.
Part II (Paras. 3-5)
The author describes how he believes Asians are generally viewed in the United States and how he views Asian values himself. It is clear that his overall attitude toward his cultural roots is negative.
Part III (Paras. 6-8)
The author agrees that Asians (especially Chinese) are over-represented in American elite schools and that, percentage-wise, more Chinese earn median family incomes than any other ethnic group in the United States. However, he does not accept the idea that the Chinese are “taking over” top American schools. He particularly ridicules the idea that the United States has to worry about a more general Chinese “takeover”, as Amy Chua’s book seems to suggest.
Part IV (Paras. 9-14)
In these paragraphs, the author tells the story of a Chinese American whose experience as a graduate of one of the most competitive high schools in the U.S. proves that while Asian overrepresentation in elite schools is a fact, the success of Asian students is not an indication of their higher intelligence but rather of their constant practice of test-taking. The fear that U.S. schools might become “too Asian” (too test-oriented) in response, narrowing students’ educational experience, has aroused general concern.
Part V (Paras. 15-22)
The author points out that the ethnic imbalance in elite schools is not only resented by white students and educators, but that even Asian students are beginning to raise serious doubts. They are tired of the crushing workload and believe there must be a better way. They envy their white fellow students who finally get to the top - strong, healthy, with a high level of academic achievement, and with time even for a girlfriend or boyfriend. They cannot help but still feel alienated in this society.
Part VI (Paras. 23-28)
In these Paragraphs, the author tells the story of another Chinese student who describes the subtle influence of his Chinese upbringing, which makes it difficult for him to be culturally assimilated.
Part VII (Paras. 29-36)
In these Paragraphs, the author discusses the problem of the “bamboo ceiling”—the fact that in spite of high academic achievement, virtually no Asians are found in the upper reaches of leadership. The author believes that this is because Asian upbringing fails to provide children with the requisite skills for leadership.
Part VIII (Paras. 37-43)
Between Para. 36 and Para. 37 in the original essay, there are many more case studies reflecting vividly the negative effects of Asian culture. But in order to limit the essay to a manageable length, we (the compilers) were unable to include them. Therefore, in this section, the essay comes to a somewhat abrupt conclusion.
Interestingly enough, the author feels that the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is well worth reading although he does not agree with Amy Chua, because, in his opinion, the book provides all the material needed to refute what ‘the Tiger Mother’ stands for. More importantly, the author thinks that Amy Chua should be praised for her courage to speak out and defy American mainstream views.

Detailed Study of the Text
1. Millions of Americans must feel estranged from their own faces. But every self-estranged individual is estranged in his own way. (Para. 1)
Millions of Americans must feel alienated (separated) from the essence of themselves by their own faces.
The author is referring here to ethnic minority people in the United States, especially Asians.
Note that “face” here does not refer to skin color or facial features alone, but also to cultural differences. His point is that these attributes force him into the category of “immigrant”, though he doesn’t feel like one.

2. You could say that I am a banana. But while I don't believe our roots necessarily define us, I do believe there are racially inflected assumptions wired into our neural circuitry. (Para. 2)
A banana is white inside and yellow outside. The term is often used ironically to refer to an Asian American who is like all other non-Asian Americans people except for the color of his skin.
The author admits that people can call him a banana, but he does not like it, because he does not believe his Asian roots determine who he is. However, he has to admit that there are racially inflected assumptions wired into many Asian Americans’ neural circuitry.
racially inflected assumptions: racially based prejudices, beliefs and ideas
wired into our neural circuitry: deeply planted in our brains (in our minds)

3. Here is what I sometimes suspect my face signifies to other Americans: An invisible person, barely distinguishable from a mass of faces that resemble it. A conspicuous person standing apart from the crowd and yet devoid of any individuality. An icon of so much that the culture pretends to honor but that it in fact patronizes and exploits. Not just people “who are good at math” and play the violin, but a mass of stifled, repressed, abused, conformist quasi-robots who simply do not matter, socially or culturally. (Para. 3)
This is how I sometimes guess other Americans look at us. (This is what I sometimes think my face means to other Americans.)
An invisible person: a person much the same as others of the same group; a person who is hardly distinguishable; a person nobody will pay special attention to
devoid of any individuality: without any individuality
Asian culture is said to stress uniformity or conformity. The individual is encouraged to merge with the collective. Self-promotion or assertiveness is considered in bad taste whereas invisibility is regarded as a sign of modesty.
icon：n. 偶像The successful Asian student has become a symbol to be worshipped.
to patronize and exploit: to treat somebody in an offensively condescending manner and make use of him or her
The author says that American culture pretends to honor the ‘Tiger Child’ (the successful Asian) as an icon (a symbol of success and everything it represents), but actually it treats Asians in a condescending way and makes use of them.
a mass of stifled, repressed, abused, conformist quasi-robots: a large number of people who are not allowed to act or express themselves freely, treated in a harsh and harmful way, and made to behave similarly, like robots.
do not matter socially or culturally: do not have much social or cultural importance.

4. I've always been of two minds about this sequence of stereotypes. (Para. 4)
of two minds: (BrE: in two minds) not decided or certain about something.
this sequence of stereotypes: this series of stereotypes. On the one hand the author is angry that Asians should be viewed this way, and he thinks it racist, but on the other hand, he has to admit that these views do apply to many Asians.
It is ironic to note that the author himself seems to be especially influenced by these racist prejudices. One may also wonder whether the stereotyped views some people have when they first encounter people of other races necessarily have devastating effects. For example, Chinese thought of Westerners as a mass of bl