Digested read: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua

Illustration for the Guardian by Neal Fox. A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. Well, I can tell them, because I've done it. You don't allow them to have any friends, you stop them from playing sport or watching TV and you waterboard them if they get less than an A* in every subject.

Brideshead Abbreviated: The Digested Read of the Twentieth Century

byJohn Crace

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Search the Guardian bookshop Sophia is our first born. At three months old, I left her for days on her own to learn Poincare's conjecture while I rewrote the US constitution, and by the time she was three she could speak seven languages, play Rachmaninov's Third Piano Concerto and had never so much as smiled. She was the ideal Chinese Tiger Mother's daughter.My second child, Lulu, was more of a handful. Even though she, too, was far more talented than the second-rate children of decadent American parents, she tried to resist my will at every turn. At the age of two, she refused to do more than 10 hours of maths homework a night and deliberately played wrong notes in the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. The only thing that worked was to wire electrodes to her hands.There was a third child, Tiananmen. He was even more wilful and used to get out of his pram and stand defiantly in Times Square. Regrettably, I had to crush him with a tank. His death was not wholly in vain: Sophia and Lulu gave me a lot less trouble after that.Growing up in the US as the child of Chinese immigrants, I was conscious of how indulgent American parents were. No! Chinese parent would dream of praising a child unless he or she got 100% in all subjects, but Americans would congratulate their worthless offspring for getting an A-. I made a vow I would respect my children enough never to show I loved them. Feeble-minded, lazy Americans feel they have a duty of care towards their children. Chinese parents regard their kids as objects to be abused and moulded in their own image and I was determined that neither of my surviving kids should fall short of my own brilliant standards, which I will boast about at length.I admit I was ruthless and I would fire maths and music teachers at will if they did not keep Sophia and Lulu on course for winning a Nobel prize and playing at the Carnegie Hall. And my husband, Jed, did sometimes question my psychopathic narcissism by suggesting it might help if we were to occasionally tell the children we loved them. I thought about that for a nanosecond and then dismissed it, because I'm always right about everything. "I am the Chinese Tiger Mother," I yelled. "You are just American Pussy Father. Your job is to be useless and defer to me."Sophia continued to be the perfect child, winning first prize at everything and playing piano brilliantly. Lulu continued to be more trouble, complaining she was happy to do nine hours' practice a night but not 10. "You're shaming the whole family," I screamed at her. "Go on, give up the violin and make me look like a complete failure. Next you'll be saying you want to have friends."Jed interrupted. "I thought you might like to know my book is now number two in the New York Times bestseller chart," he said. "Second?" I screamed. "You pathetic American Pussy Father. You heap greater ignominy on me; even the dog has let me down by coming third at the international dog show."These were more difficult times for me as my sister had leukaemia and Chinese Tiger Mothers cannot tolerate such genetic weakness in their families. Luckily she recovered before I had to disown her, and I redoubled my efforts to make sure my c! hildren did not show me up. Music lessons were increased to 13 hours a day, all holidays were cancelled and any hint of vulnerability was punished by a week in solitary confinement.I'm pleased to say it's all paid off magnificently. Everyone says my daughters are the most talented prodigies ever known and that I must be the world's greatest mother, especially as the American Pussy Father is a waste of space. What's more, Sophia and Lulu are two of the happiest kids you could imagine. If you don't believe me, ask them."If mummy says we are happy then we are happy1," they say. "And we're hoping to be penpals with the Fritzls when we're in therapy."How sweet.Digested read, digested: Never has mediocrity seemed more appealing.