Question
How does Tan's exploration of her mother's language challenge societal perceptions of intelligence and communication? In your response, analyze how these perceptions can impact personal identity and relationships. Use evidence from the text to support your analysis.
[1] I am not a scholar of English or literature. I cannot give you much more than
personal opinions on the English language and its variations in this country or others.
[2] I am a writer. And by that definition, I am someone who has always loved language.
I am fascinated by language in daily life. I spend a great deal of my time thinking about
the power of language — the way it can evoke an emotion, a visual image, a complex
idea or a simple truth. Language is the tool of my trade. And I use them all — all the
Englishes I grew up with.
[3] Recently, I was made keenly aware of the different Englishes I do use. I was giving a
talk to a large group of people, the same talk I had already given to half a dozen other
groups. The nature of the talk was about my writing, my life, and my book, “The Joy
Luck Club.” The talk was going along well enough, until I remembered one major
difference that made the whole talk sound wrong. My mother was in the room. And it
was perhaps the first time she had heard me give a lengthy speech, using the kind of
English I have never used with her. I was saying things like, "The intersection of
memory upon imagination" and "There is an aspect of my fiction that relates to
thus-and-thus” — a speech filled with carefully wrought grammatical phrases, burdened,
it suddenly seemed to me, with nominalized forms, past perfect tenses, conditional
phrases, all the forms of standard English that I had learned in school and through
books, the forms of English I did not use at home with my mother.
[4] Just last week, I was walking down the street with my mother, and I again found
myself conscious of the English I was using, the English I do use with her. We were
talking about the price of new and used furniture and I heard myself saying this: "Not
waste money that way." My husband was with us as well, and he didn't notice any
switch in my English. And then I realized why. It's because over the 20 years we've
been together I've often used that same kind of English with him, and sometimes he
even uses it with me. It has become our language of intimacy, a different sort of English
that relates to family talk, the language I grew up with.
[5] So you'll have some idea of what this family talk I heard sounds like, I’ll quote what
my mother said during a recent conversation which I videotaped and then transcribed.
During this conversation, my mother was talking about a political gangster in Shanghai
who had the same last name as her family's, Du, and how the gangster in his early
years wanted to be adopted by her family, which was rich by comparison. Later, the
gangster became more powerful, far richer than my mother's family, and one day
showed up at my mother's wedding to pay his respects. Here's what she said in part:
[6] "Du Yusong having business like fruit stand. Like off the street kind. He is Du like Du
Zong — but not Tsung-ming Island people. The local people call putong, the river east
side, he belong to that side local people. That man want to ask Du Zong father take him
in like become own family. Du Zong father wasn't look down on him, but didn't take
seriously, until that man big like become a mafia. Now important person, very hard to
inviting him. Chinese way, came only to show respect, don't stay for dinner. Respect for
making big celebration, he shows up. Mean gives lots of respect. Chinese custom.
Chinese social life that way. If too important won't have to stay too long. He come to my
wedding. I didn't see, I heard it. I gone to boy's side, they have YMCA dinner. Chinese
age I was 19.
7]You should know that my mother's expressive command of English belies how much
she actually understands. She reads the Forbes report, listens to “Wall Street Week,”
converses daily with her stockbroker, reads all of Shirley MacLaine's books with ease —
all kinds of things I can't begin to understand. Yet some of my friends tell me they
understand 50 percent of what my mother says. Some say they understand 80 to 90
percent. Some say they understand none of it, as if she were speaking pure Chinese.
But to me, my mother's English is perfectly clear, perfectly natural. It's my mother
tongue. Her language, as I hear it, is vivid, direct, full of observation and imagery. That
was the language that helped shape the way I saw things, expressed things, made
sense of the world[8] Lately, I've been giving more thought to the kind of English my mother speaks. Like
others, I have described it to people as “broken" or "fractured" English. But I wince when
I say that. It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than
"broken," as if it were damaged and needed to be fixed, as if it lacked a certain
wholeness and soundness. I've heard other terms used, "limited English," for example.
But they seem just as bad, as if everything is limited, including people's perceptions of
the limited English speaker[9] I know this for a fact, because when I was growing up, my mother's "limited" English
limited my perception of her. I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English
reflected the quality of what she had to say. That is, because she expressed them
imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect. And I had plenty of empirical evidence to
support me: the fact that people in department stores, at banks and at restaurants did
not take her seriously, did not give her good service, pretended not to understand her or
even acted as if they did not hear her.
[10] My mother has long realized the limitations of her English as well. When I was 15,
she used to have me call people on the phone to pretend I was she. In this guise, I was
forced to ask for information or even to complain and yell at people who had been rudeto her. One time it was a call to her stockbroker in New York. She had cashed out her
small portfolio and it just so happened we were going to go to New York the next week,
our very first trip outside California. I had to get on the phone and say in an adolescent
voice that was not very convincing, "This is Mrs. Tan."
[11] And my mother was standing in the back whispering loudly, "Why he don't send me
check, already two weeks late. So mad he lie to me, losing me money.”
[12] And then I said in perfect English, "Yes, I'm getting rather concerned. You had
agreed to send the check two weeks ago, but it hasn't arrived."
[13] Then she began to talk more loudly. "What he want, I come to New York tell him
front of his boss, you cheating me?" And I was trying to calm her down, make her be
quiet, while telling the stockbroker, "I can't tolerate any more excuses. If I don't receive
the check immediately, I am going to have to speak to your manager when I'm in New
York next week." And sure enough, the following week there we were in front of this
astonished stockbroker, and I was sitting there red-faced and quiet, and my mother, the
real Mrs. Tan, was shouting at his boss in her impeccable broken English
[1] I am not a scholar of English or literature. I cannot give you much more than
personal opinions on the English language and its variations in this country or others.
[2] I am a writer. And by that definition, I am someone who has always loved language.
I am fascinated by language in daily life. I spend a great deal of my time thinking about
the power of language — the way it can evoke an emotion, a visual image, a complex
idea or a simple truth. Language is the tool of my trade. And I use them all — all the
Englishes I grew up with.
[3] Recently, I was made keenly aware of the different Englishes I do use. I was giving a
talk to a large group of people, the same talk I had already given to half a dozen other
groups. The nature of the talk was about my writing, my life, and my book, “The Joy
Luck Club.” The talk was going along well enough, until I remembered one major
difference that made the whole talk sound wrong. My mother was in the room. And it
was perhaps the first time she had heard me give a lengthy speech, using the kind of
English I have never used with her. I was saying things like, "The intersection of
memory upon imagination" and "There is an aspect of my fiction that relates to
thus-and-thus” — a speech filled with carefully wrought grammatical phrases, burdened,
it suddenly seemed to me, with nominalized forms, past perfect tenses, conditional
phrases, all the forms of standard English that I had learned in school and through
books, the forms of English I did not use at home with my mother.
[4] Just last week, I was walking down the street with my mother, and I again found
myself conscious of the English I was using, the English I do use with her. We were
talking about the price of new and used furniture and I heard myself saying this: "Not
waste money that way." My husband was with us as well, and he didn't notice any
switch in my English. And then I realized why. It's because over the 20 years we've
been together I've often used that same kind of English with him, and sometimes he
even uses it with me. It has become our language of intimacy, a different sort of English
that relates to family talk, the language I grew up with.
[5] So you'll have some idea of what this family talk I heard sounds like, I’ll quote what
my mother said during a recent conversation which I videotaped and then transcribed.
During this conversation, my mother was talking about a political gangster in Shanghai
who had the same last name as her family's, Du, and how the gangster in his early
years wanted to be adopted by her family, which was rich by comparison. Later, the
gangster became more powerful, far richer than my mother's family, and one day
showed up at my mother's wedding to pay his respects. Here's what she said in part:
[6] "Du Yusong having business like fruit stand. Like off the street kind. He is Du like Du
Zong — but not Tsung-ming Island people. The local people call putong, the river east
side, he belong to that side local people. That man want to ask Du Zong father take him
in like become own family. Du Zong father wasn't look down on him, but didn't take
seriously, until that man big like become a mafia. Now important person, very hard to
inviting him. Chinese way, came only to show respect, don't stay for dinner. Respect for
making big celebration, he shows up. Mean gives lots of respect. Chinese custom.
Chinese social life that way. If too important won't have to stay too long. He come to my
wedding. I didn't see, I heard it. I gone to boy's side, they have YMCA dinner. Chinese
age I was 19.
7]You should know that my mother's expressive command of English belies how much
she actually understands. She reads the Forbes report, listens to “Wall Street Week,”
converses daily with her stockbroker, reads all of Shirley MacLaine's books with ease —
all kinds of things I can't begin to understand. Yet some of my friends tell me they
understand 50 percent of what my mother says. Some say they understand 80 to 90
percent. Some say they understand none of it, as if she were speaking pure Chinese.
But to me, my mother's English is perfectly clear, perfectly natural. It's my mother
tongue. Her language, as I hear it, is vivid, direct, full of observation and imagery. That
was the language that helped shape the way I saw things, expressed things, made
sense of the world[8] Lately, I've been giving more thought to the kind of English my mother speaks. Like
others, I have described it to people as “broken" or "fractured" English. But I wince when
I say that. It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than
"broken," as if it were damaged and needed to be fixed, as if it lacked a certain
wholeness and soundness. I've heard other terms used, "limited English," for example.
But they seem just as bad, as if everything is limited, including people's perceptions of
the limited English speaker[9] I know this for a fact, because when I was growing up, my mother's "limited" English
limited my perception of her. I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English
reflected the quality of what she had to say. That is, because she expressed them
imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect. And I had plenty of empirical evidence to
support me: the fact that people in department stores, at banks and at restaurants did
not take her seriously, did not give her good service, pretended not to understand her or
even acted as if they did not hear her.
[10] My mother has long realized the limitations of her English as well. When I was 15,
she used to have me call people on the phone to pretend I was she. In this guise, I was
forced to ask for information or even to complain and yell at people who had been rudeto her. One time it was a call to her stockbroker in New York. She had cashed out her
small portfolio and it just so happened we were going to go to New York the next week,
our very first trip outside California. I had to get on the phone and say in an adolescent
voice that was not very convincing, "This is Mrs. Tan."
[11] And my mother was standing in the back whispering loudly, "Why he don't send me
check, already two weeks late. So mad he lie to me, losing me money.”
[12] And then I said in perfect English, "Yes, I'm getting rather concerned. You had
agreed to send the check two weeks ago, but it hasn't arrived."
[13] Then she began to talk more loudly. "What he want, I come to New York tell him
front of his boss, you cheating me?" And I was trying to calm her down, make her be
quiet, while telling the stockbroker, "I can't tolerate any more excuses. If I don't receive
the check immediately, I am going to have to speak to your manager when I'm in New
York next week." And sure enough, the following week there we were in front of this
astonished stockbroker, and I was sitting there red-faced and quiet, and my mother, the
real Mrs. Tan, was shouting at his boss in her impeccable broken English
Answers
GPT-4o mini
Amy Tan's exploration of her mother's language serves as a poignant critique of societal perceptions surrounding intelligence and communication, particularly within the context of immigrant experiences. In her reflections on her mother's "limited" or "broken" English, Tan reveals how these perceptions can significantly impact personal identity and relationships, both within families and in broader social environments.
In the excerpt, Tan highlights the distinctions between the different "Englishes" she employs – the polished standard English suited for her public speeches versus the familial English that is rich with emotional resonance but may not conform to societal standards of "correctness." This duality creates a tension, particularly in moments when her mother is present. Tan realizes that using a highbrow version of English in front of her mother creates an unbridgeable gap between their worlds. The sophistication of standard English, which Tan has mastered through formal education, starkly contrasts with her mother's use of English, which is described as fractured yet vivid and direct. By deeming her mother's English as "broken," Tan grapples with societal beliefs that equate fluency and grammatical correctness with intelligence and worth.
This societal perception has had a profound impact on Tan’s personal identity. During her upbringing, she felt ashamed of her mother’s English, believing it reflected poorly on her own identity. She admits, "I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say," which suggests that Tan internalized the notion that intelligence is measured by linguistic proficiency. This internalized bias not only shaped how she viewed her mother but also affected their relationship, creating a dynamic where Tan felt compelled to act as a translator or a proxy for her mother's voice in social situations. This often resulted in her suppressing her family's authentic expression in favor of a more socially acceptable narrative, highlighting the loss that can occur when one’s language is marginalized.
Moreover, the narrative reveals a broader societal failure to appreciate the richness of non-standard English forms. Tan illustrates how her mother, despite her strong understanding of English and the depth of her knowledge, is often dismissed by outsiders due to their inability to comprehend her unique expression. Her mother reads advanced materials and engages in complex financial discussions, yet the interaction with others often amounts to a denial of her intelligence fueled by prejudice. Tan notes that "people in department stores, at banks and at restaurants did not take her seriously," indicating how societal perceptions can lead to real-world consequences—namely, discrimination and a lack of respect, which can further diminish one’s sense of self-worth and agency.
Tan’s reflections on her mother's language capture the essence of how linguistic identity is intertwined with personal identity and broader societal narratives. She comes to recognize that her mother’s language is not inferior but rather a unique expression shaped by culture, experience, and circumstance. By articulating her journey towards embracing her mother’s English, Tan reclaims a part of her identity that challenges societal perceptions, allowing for a richer understanding of communication that transcends linguistic conventions.
In conclusion, Tan’s exploration of her mother’s language serves as a powerful commentary on the relationship between language, intelligence, and perception. By revealing the impact of these perceptions on personal identity and familial relationships, she advocates for a broader understanding of communication that appreciates the complexities of immigrant voices. Through her journey, Tan ultimately affirms the value of all forms of expression, suggesting that true intelligence transcends mere grammatical precision and embraces the richness of lived experience.
In the excerpt, Tan highlights the distinctions between the different "Englishes" she employs – the polished standard English suited for her public speeches versus the familial English that is rich with emotional resonance but may not conform to societal standards of "correctness." This duality creates a tension, particularly in moments when her mother is present. Tan realizes that using a highbrow version of English in front of her mother creates an unbridgeable gap between their worlds. The sophistication of standard English, which Tan has mastered through formal education, starkly contrasts with her mother's use of English, which is described as fractured yet vivid and direct. By deeming her mother's English as "broken," Tan grapples with societal beliefs that equate fluency and grammatical correctness with intelligence and worth.
This societal perception has had a profound impact on Tan’s personal identity. During her upbringing, she felt ashamed of her mother’s English, believing it reflected poorly on her own identity. She admits, "I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say," which suggests that Tan internalized the notion that intelligence is measured by linguistic proficiency. This internalized bias not only shaped how she viewed her mother but also affected their relationship, creating a dynamic where Tan felt compelled to act as a translator or a proxy for her mother's voice in social situations. This often resulted in her suppressing her family's authentic expression in favor of a more socially acceptable narrative, highlighting the loss that can occur when one’s language is marginalized.
Moreover, the narrative reveals a broader societal failure to appreciate the richness of non-standard English forms. Tan illustrates how her mother, despite her strong understanding of English and the depth of her knowledge, is often dismissed by outsiders due to their inability to comprehend her unique expression. Her mother reads advanced materials and engages in complex financial discussions, yet the interaction with others often amounts to a denial of her intelligence fueled by prejudice. Tan notes that "people in department stores, at banks and at restaurants did not take her seriously," indicating how societal perceptions can lead to real-world consequences—namely, discrimination and a lack of respect, which can further diminish one’s sense of self-worth and agency.
Tan’s reflections on her mother's language capture the essence of how linguistic identity is intertwined with personal identity and broader societal narratives. She comes to recognize that her mother’s language is not inferior but rather a unique expression shaped by culture, experience, and circumstance. By articulating her journey towards embracing her mother’s English, Tan reclaims a part of her identity that challenges societal perceptions, allowing for a richer understanding of communication that transcends linguistic conventions.
In conclusion, Tan’s exploration of her mother’s language serves as a powerful commentary on the relationship between language, intelligence, and perception. By revealing the impact of these perceptions on personal identity and familial relationships, she advocates for a broader understanding of communication that appreciates the complexities of immigrant voices. Through her journey, Tan ultimately affirms the value of all forms of expression, suggesting that true intelligence transcends mere grammatical precision and embraces the richness of lived experience.