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The next morning, with Lulu white as aghost and barely able to walk, we took her toJuilliard. She was wearing a yellow andwhite dress and a big bow in her hair, whichonly made her face look more drawn. Ithought about canceling the audition, butwe’d poured so many hours into preparingthat even Lulu wanted to do it. In the waitingarea, we saw Asian parents everywhere, pacing back and forth, grim-faced and single-minded. They seem so unsubtle, I thought tomyself, can they possibly love music? Then ithit me that almost all the other parents wereforeigners or immigrants and that music wasa ticket for them, and I thought, I’m not likethem. I don’t have what it takes.

When Lulu’s name was called, and shewalked bravely into the audition room byherself, my heart almost broke—I almostgave it all up right then. But instead, Jed andI plastered our ears to the door and listenedas she played Mozart’s Third Concerto andGabriel Fauré’s Berceuse, both as movinglyas I’d ever heard her play. Afterward, Lulutold us that Itzhak Perlman and Naoko Tanaka, the famous violin teacher, had beenamong the judges in the room.

A month later we got the bad news in themail. Jed and I knew the contents of the thinenvelope instantly; Lulu was still at school. After reading the formal, two-line rejectionletter, Jed turned away in disgust. He didn’tsay anything to me, but the unspoken accusation was, “Are you happy now, Amy? Nowwhat?”

When Lulu came home, I said to her ascheerfully as I could, “Hey, Lulu, honey, guess what? We heard from Juilliard. Theydidn’t accept you. But it doesn’t matter—wedidn’t expect to get in this year. Lots ofpeople don’t get in their first time. Now weknow what to do for next time.”

I couldn’t bear the look that flashed overLulu’s face. I thought for a second that shewas going to cry, but then I realized shewould never do that. How could I have sether up for such a disappointment? I thoughtto myself. All those hours we put in werenow big black stains on our memory. Andhow would I ever get her to practice—

“I’m glad I didn’t get in,” Lulu’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She looked a littleangry now.

“Lulu, Daddy and I are so proud that—”

“Oh stop it,” Lulu snapped. “I told you—Idon’t care. You’re the one who forced me todo it. I hate Juilliard. I’m happy I didn’t getin,” she repeated.

I’m not sure what I would have done if Ihadn’t received a call the next day from—ofall people—Naoko Tanaka. Miss Tanaka saidthat she thought Lulu had auditioned wonderfully, showing unusual musicality, andthat she herself had voted to accept Lulu. Shealso explained that a decision had been madethat year to downsize the Pre-College violinprogram; as a result, an unprecedentednumber of applicants had competed forunprecedentedly few spots, making it evenmore difficult than usual to get in. I was justbeginning to thank Miss Tanaka for her considerate call when she offered to take on Luluas a student in her own private studio.

I was stunned. Miss Tanaka’s private studio was famously exclusive—almost impossible to get into. My spirits soared, and Ithought quickly. What I really wanted was agreat teacher for Lulu; I didn’t care thatmuch about the Pre-College program. I knewthat studying with Miss Tanaka would meandriving to New York City every weekend. Ialso wasn’t sure how Lulu would react.

I accepted on Lulu’s behalf on the spot.

22Blowout in Budapest

After all those excruciating hours preparingfor the Juilliard audition, and then the foodpoisoning and the rejection letter, you’dthink that I would have given Lulu a break. Iprobably should have. But that was two yearsago, when I was much younger, and I didn’t. Easing up would have been selling Lulushort. It would have been the easy way out, which I saw as the Western thing to do. Instead, I jacked up the pressure even more. For the first time, I paid a real price, butnothing like the price I would eventually pay.

Two of the most important guests atSophia’s Carnegie Hall recital were Oszkárand KrisztinaPogány, old family friendsfrom Hungary, who happened to be visitingNew York at the time. Oszkár is a prominentphysicist and my father’s close friend. Hiswife, Krisztina, is a former concert pianistwho is now very involved with the Budapestmusic scene. After Sophia’s performance, Krisztina rushed up to us, raved aboutSophia’s playing—she’d especially liked her“Juliet as a Young Girl”—and said she had aninspiration.

Budapest, Krisztina explained, would soonbe celebrating Museum Night, when museums all over the city would host lectures, performances, and concerts; for the price ofa single ticket, people could “museum hop”late into the night. As part of Museum Night, the Franz Liszt Academy of Music would bepresenting a number of concerts. Krisztinathought it would be a big hit to have a“Prodigy from America” concert, featuringSophia.

It was a breathtaking invitation. Budapestis a famously musical city, the home of notonly Liszt but BélaBartók and ZoltánKodály. Its stunning State Opera House issaid to be surpassed acoustically only byMilan’s La Scala and Paris’s PalaisGarnier. The venue Krisztina proposed for the concertwas the Old Music Academy, an elegantthree-story neo-Renaissance building thatonce served as the official residence of FranzLiszt, the founder and president of theacademy. The Old Academy (replaced in1907 by the New Academy of Music, locateda few streets away) was now a museum filledwith Liszt’s original instruments, furniture, and handwritten musical scores. Krisztinatold Sophia that she would perform on one ofLiszt’s own pianos! Also, the audience wouldbe a large one—not to mention Sophia’s firstpaying audience.

But I had a problem. So soon after the fanfare of Carnegie Hall, how would Lulu feelabout another big event with Sophia as thecenter of attention? Lulu had been pleasedwith Miss Tanaka’s offer; somewhat to mysurprise, she immediately said she wanted todo it. But that did only a little to dull thesting of the Juilliard disappointment. Tomake matters worse, I hadn’t thought tokeep her audition a secret, and for monthsLulu had to deal with people asking her, “Didyou get the audition results yet? I’ m sureyou got in.”

The Chinese parenting approach is weakest when it comes to failure; it just doesn’ttolerate that possibility. The Chinese modelturns on achieving success. That’s how thevirtuous circle of confidence, hard work, andmore success is generated. I knew that I hadto make sure Lulu achieved that success—atthe same level as Sophia—before it was toolate.

I came up with a plan and enlisted mymother as my agent. I asked her to call herold friend Krisztina and tell her all aboutLulu and the violin: how she had played forJessye Norman and then for the renownedviolin instructor Mrs. Vamos, both of whomhad said Lulu was terrifically talented, andfinally, how Lulu had just been accepted as aprivate student by a world-famous teacherfrom the world-famous Juilliard School. Itold my mother to feel out the possibility ofhaving Lulu perform with Sophia as a duo inBudapest, even if only for one piece. Perhaps, I told my mother to suggest, that onepiece could be Bartók’s Romanian FolkDances for Piano and Violin, which the girlshad recently performed—and which I knewwould appeal to Krisztina. Along with Liszt, Bartók is Hungary’s most famous composer, and his Folk Dances are sensational crowdpleasers.

We lucked out. Krisztina, who had metLulu and liked her fiery personality, told mymother that she loved the idea of havingSophia play a piece with her little sister andthat the Romanian Dances would be a perfect addition to the program. Krisztina saidshe would arrange everything and evenchange the billing of the event to “TwoProdigy Sisters from America.”

The girls’ concert was set for June 23, onlyone month away. Once again, I boredown. There was a staggering amount ofwork to be done. I had exaggerated when Itold my mother that the girls had recentlyperformed the Romanian Dances; by “recently” I meant a year and a half ago. To relearn the Dances and get them just right, thegirls and I had to work around the clock. Meanwhile, Sophia was also frantically practicing four other pieces Wei-Yi had chosenfor her: Brahms’s Rhapsody in G Minor, apiece by a Chinese woman composer, Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet, and of course, one of Liszt’s famous Hungarian Rhapsodies.

Although Sophia had the difficult repertoire, my real concern was Lulu. I wantedwith all my heart for her to be dazzling. Iknew that my parents would be at the concert; by coincidence, they were going to be inBudapest for the month of June because myfather was being inducted into the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. I also didn’t want tolet Krisztina down. Most of all, I wanted Luluto do well for Lulu. This is exactly what sheneeds, I thought to myself; it will give her somuch confidence and pride if she does well. Ihad to deal with some resistance from Lulu: Ihad promised her time off after her auditionno matter what, and now I was breaking thatpromise. But I steeled myself for battle, andwhen things got intolerable, I hired Kiwonand Lexie as auxiliaries.

Here’s a question I often get: “But Amy, letme ask you this. Who are you doing all thispushing for—your daughters”—and here always the cocked head, the knowing tone—“oryourself?” I find this a very Western question to ask (because in Chinese thinking, thechild is the extension of the self). But thatdoesn’t mean it’s not an important one.

My answer, I’m pretty sure, is thateverything I do is unequivocally 100% for mydaughters. My main evidence is that so muchof what I do with Sophia and Lulu is miserable, exhausting, and not remotely fun forme. It’s not easy to make your kids workwhen they don’t want to, to put in gruelinghours when your own youth is slipping away, to convince your kids they can do somethingwhen they (and maybe even you) are fearfulthat they can’t. “Do you know how manyyears you’ve taken off my life?” I’m constantly asking my girls. “You’re both luckythat I have enormous longevity as indicatedby my thick good-luck earlobes.”

To be honest, I sometimes wonder if thequestion “Who are you really doing this for?”should be asked of Western parents too. Sometimes I wake up in the morning dreadingwhat I have to do and thinking how easy itwould be to say, “Sure Lulu, we can skip aday of violin practice.” Unlike my Westernfriends, I can never say, “As much as it killsme, I just have to let my kids make theirchoices and follow their hearts. It’s the hardest thing in the world, but I’m doing my bestto hold back.” Then they get to have a glassof wine and go to a yoga class, whereas Ihave to stay home and scream and have mykids hate me.

A few days before we left for Budapest, I emailed Krisztina, asking her if she knew ofany experienced music teachers who couldrun through the Romanian Dances with thegirls as a kind of dress rehearsal, perhaps offering some tips about how to play a Hungarian composer properly. Krisztina wroteback with good news. A prominent EasternEuropean violin teacher, whom I’ll call Mrs. Kazinczy, had generously agreed to see thegirls. Recently retired, Mrs. Kazinczy nowtaught only the most gifted violinists. Shehad a single slot available—on the day we arrived—and I grabbed it.

We arrived at our hotel in Budapest on theday before the concert, around ten in themorning—4:00 A. M. New Haven time. Wewere groggy and bleary-eyed. Jed and Luluboth had headaches. The girls just wanted tosleep, and I didn’t feel so great myself, butunfortunately it was time for the lesson withMrs. Kazinczy. We’d already received twomessages, one from my parents and onefrom Krisztina, about where to meet. Thefour of us staggered into a taxi, and a fewminutes later, we were at the New Academyof Music, a magnificent Art Nouveau building with majestic columns facing Franz LisztSquare and taking up almost half a block.

Mrs. Kazinczy met us in a large room onone of the upper floors. My parents and abeaming Krisztina were already there, sittingon chairs along one of the walls. There wasan old piano in the room, which Krisztinasignaled Sophia to go to.

Mrs. Kazinczy, to put it mildly, was highstrung. She looked like her husband had justleft her for a younger woman but not beforetransferring all his assets to an offshore account. She subscribed to the strict Russianschool of music teaching: impatient, demanding, and intolerant of anything she perceived as error. “No!” she yelled before Luluhad played a single note. “What—why youhold bow like that?” she demanded incredulously. As the girls began playing, shestopped Lulu after every two notes, pacingback and forth, gesticulating wildly. Shefound the fingering Lulu had been taughtmonstrous and ordered her to correct it, even though it was the day before the performance. She also kept turning to the pianoto snap at Sophia, although her main sightswere set on Lulu.

I had a bad feeling. I could tell that Lulufound Mrs. Kazinczy’s orders unreasonable, her reprimands unjust. The madder Lulugot, the more stiffly she played, and the lessshe was able to concentrate. Her phrasingdeteriorated, followed by her intonation. Ohno, I thought, here it comes. Sure enough, ata certain point an irritated look came overLulu, and suddenly she was no longer tryingat all, no longer even listening. Meanwhile, Mrs. Kazinczy had worked herself into afrenzy. Her temples were bulging, and hervoice got shriller. She kept saying things inHungarian to Krisztina and getting alarmingly close to Lulu, talking in her face, poking her in the shoulder. At one moment ofexasperation, Mrs. Kazinczy thwacked Luluon her playing fingers with a pencil.

I saw the fury rising in Lulu. At home, shewould have exploded immediately. But here, she struggled to hold it in, to keep playing. Mrs. Kazinczy wielded her pencil again. Twominutes later, in the middle of playing a passage, Lulu said she had to go to the bathroom. I got up quickly and went out with herinto the hall, where after storming around acorner she burst into tears of rage.

“I won’t go back in there,” she said ferociously. “You can’t make me. That woman iscrazy—I hate her. I hate her!”

I didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Kazinczywas Krisztina’s friend. My parents were stillin the room. There were thirty more minutesleft to the lesson, and everyone was waitingfor Lulu to return.

I tried to reason with Lulu. I reminded herthat Mrs. Kazinczy had said Lulu was incredibly talented, which is why she was demanding so much of her. (“I don’t care!”) I admitted that Mrs. Kazinczy was not good at communicating, but I said I thought she meantwell and begged Lulu to give her another try.(“I won’t!”) When all else failed, I scoldedLulu. I said she had an obligation to Krisztina, who had gone out of her way to arrangethe session, and to my parents, who wouldbe horrified if she didn’t go back. “You’re notthe only one involved, Lulu. You have to bestrong and find a way to get through this. Weall take a lot of things, Lulu—you can takethis.”

She refused. I was mortified. Unjustifiedas Mrs. Kazinczy may have been, she wasstill a teacher, an authority figure, and one offirst things Chinese people learn is that youmust respect authority. No matter what, youdon’t talk back to your parents, teachers, elders. In the end, I had to go back to the roomalone, apologizing profusely and explaining(falsely) that Lulu was angry with me. I thenmade Sophia—who wasn’t crazy about Mrs. Kazinczy either and who wasn’t even a violinist—take the rest of the lesson, ostensiblygetting tips about playing as a duo.

Back at the hotel, I yelled at Lulu, and afterward Jed and I got into an argument. Hesaid that he didn’t blame Lulu for leavingand that it was probably better that she had. He pointed out that she’d just been throughthe Juilliard audition, that she was exhausted with jet lag, and that she’d beenwhacked by a total stranger. “Isn’t it a littlestrange for Mrs. Kazinczy to be trying tochange Lulu’s fingering the day before theconcert? I thought you weren’t supposed todo that,” he said. “Maybe you should try being a little more sympathetic to Lulu. I knowwhat you’re trying to do, Amy. But if youdon’t watch out, everything might backfire.”

Part of me knew that Jed was right. But Icouldn’t think about that. I had to stay focused on the concert. The next day, I was verysevere with both girls, shuttling back andforth between their practice rooms at theNew Academy.

Unfortunately, Lulu’s outrage at Mrs. Kazinczy had only increased overnight. Icould tell that she was replaying the episodein her head, getting more and more incensedand distracted. When I’d ask her to drill apassage, she’d suddenly burst out, “Shedidn’t know what she was talking about—thefingering she suggested was ridiculous! Didyou notice that she kept contradicting herself?” Or: “I don’t think she understoodBartók at all; her interpretation was horrendous—who does she think she is?”

When I told her that she had to stop dwelling on Mrs. Kazinczy and wasting time, Lulusaid, “You never take my side. And I don’twant to perform tonight. I don’t feel like itanymore. That woman wrecked everything. Just let Sophia perform alone.” We fought allafternoon, and I was at wit’s end.

In the end, I think Krisztina saved the day. When we arrived at the Old Music Academy, Krisztina rushed up to us, smiling and ebullient. She hugged the girls excitedly, gavethem each a little gift, and said, “We are sovery happy to have you. You are both so verytalented”—she accented the second syllable. Shaking her head, Krisztina casually mentioned that Mrs. Kazinczy shouldn’t havetried to change Lulu’s fingering and that shemust have forgotten the concert was the nextday. “You are so talented,” she repeated toLulu. “It’s going to be a wonderful performance!” Then she whisked them off—awayfrom me—to a back room, where she ranthrough parts of the program with them.

Up until the very last second I didn’t knowhow things would go—and whether I’d haveone or two daughters performing that night. But somehow, miraculously, Lulu pulled itout, and the concert ended up being a spectacular success. The Hungarians, a warm andgenerous people, gave the girls a standingovation and three bows, and the director ofthe museum invited them to come back anytime. Afterward, we took the Pogánys, myparents, and Sy and Harriet, who had flownin just in time, out to a celebration dinner.

But after that trip, something was different. For Lulu, the experience with Mrs. Kazinczy was infuriating and outrageous, violating her sense of right and wrong. Itsoured her on the Chinese model—if beingChinese meant having to take it from thelikes of Mrs. Kazinczy, then she didn’t wantany part of it. She’d also tested what wouldhappen if she simply refused to do what herteacher and mother told her to do, and thesky hadn’t fallen in. On the contrary, she’dwon. Even my parents, despite everythingthey’d drilled into me, sympathized withLulu.

For my part, I felt that something hadcome loose, like the unmooring of an anchor. I’d lost some control over Lulu. No Chinesedaughter would ever act the way Lulu did. No Chinese mother would ever have allowedit to happen.

Part Three

Tigers are capable of great love, but theybecome too intense about it. They arealso territorial and possessive. Solitudeis often the price Tigers pay for their position of authority.

23Pushkin

It was August 2008, and Jed and I were inRhode Island. For reasons mysterious toeveryone, including myself, I had insistedthat we get a second dog, and we were at thesame breeder’s where we’d gotten Coco. Pacing around a rustic room with a woodenfloor were three large, regal Samoyeds. Twoof them, we learned, were the proud parentsof the new litter; the third was the grandfather, worldly and magisterial at the venerableage of six. Scampering around the big dogswere four boisterous puppies, each an adorable yelping cotton ball.

“Yours is the one over there,” the breedersaid, “under the stairs.”

Turning around, Jed and I saw, standingin a different part of the room by itself, something that looked quite different fromthe other puppies. It was taller, leaner, lessfurry—and less cute. Its hind legs were twoinches longer than its front legs, giving it anawkward tilt. Its eyes were narrow and veryslanted; its ears, oddly protuberant. Its tailwas longer and fuller than the others’ , butmaybe because it was too heavy, it didn’t curlup, but instead swung from side to side like arat’s tail.