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. in E C R extended constructed response
[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 in her work challenges societal perceptions of intelligence and communication by illustrating the often unrecognized depth and richness of what is deemed “broken” or “limited” English. Through her reflections, Tan reveals that language is not solely a measure of one’s intelligence or value but a complex expression of identity and experience. This exploration has significant implications for personal identity and relationships, particularly within immigrant families.
To begin with, Tan emphasizes the misconception that her mother's English reflects a lack of intelligence. In her narrative, she recounts her childhood feelings of shame regarding her mother’s English, which was often dismissed by others as “broken.” She writes, “I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say.” This admission highlights a damaging societal belief that equates language proficiency with cognitive capacity and legitimacy. Such perceptions can have profound consequences on personal identity, leading individuals to internalize these judgments and feel inferior about their cultural heritage.
Moreover, Tan’s observations about her own use of different "Englishes" illustrate how language serves as a marker of intimacy and belonging within her family. In contrasting her formal English, used in public speeches, with the “family talk” shared with her mother, she articulates the significance of these variations. The casual, intimate English she uses with her mother conveys warmth and connection, while the more formal version signifies a separation from her cultural roots. She observes, “It has become our language of intimacy, a different sort of English that relates to family talk.” Through this comparison, Tan challenges the idea that only one form of language can convey meaning or connection, emphasizing that different modes of communication can reflect deep emotional ties.
Furthermore, the anecdote where Tan pretends to be her mother during phone calls serves to illuminate the disparity between how her mother is perceived in social contexts and the richness of her actual understanding. Tan’s mother understands complex financial matters and engages with various forms of media, yet her flawed English leads people to misjudge her capabilities. Tan recounts, “Some say they understand 80 to 90 percent. Some say they understand none of it... But to me, my mother's English is perfectly clear, perfectly natural.” This reveals a critical insight: society's narrow definitions of effective communication overlook the nuances and contexts of personal experience.
The implications of these societal perceptions extend beyond Tan’s relationship with her mother; they reflect a broader theme of how immigrant families navigate identity and acceptance in a new culture. Tan notes how her mother's language has shaped her own perspective. She finds beauty and insight in her mother's expressions, recognizing that these “limitations” actually embody a wealth of cultural and personal history. The discomfort she feels in labeling her mother’s English as “broken” signifies an awareness of the biases against non-standard English speakers, which often diminishes their voices and contributions to society.
In conclusion, Amy Tan’s exploration of her mother’s language challenges societal perceptions of intelligence and communication by revealing that these perceptions can distort personal identity and relationships. Through her nuanced understanding of her mother’s English, Tan illustrates the importance of embracing linguistic diversity and recognizing the inherent value in all forms of communication. This recognition fosters deeper connections within families and communities, empowering individuals to embrace their identities without the weight of societal judgments.
To begin with, Tan emphasizes the misconception that her mother's English reflects a lack of intelligence. In her narrative, she recounts her childhood feelings of shame regarding her mother’s English, which was often dismissed by others as “broken.” She writes, “I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say.” This admission highlights a damaging societal belief that equates language proficiency with cognitive capacity and legitimacy. Such perceptions can have profound consequences on personal identity, leading individuals to internalize these judgments and feel inferior about their cultural heritage.
Moreover, Tan’s observations about her own use of different "Englishes" illustrate how language serves as a marker of intimacy and belonging within her family. In contrasting her formal English, used in public speeches, with the “family talk” shared with her mother, she articulates the significance of these variations. The casual, intimate English she uses with her mother conveys warmth and connection, while the more formal version signifies a separation from her cultural roots. She observes, “It has become our language of intimacy, a different sort of English that relates to family talk.” Through this comparison, Tan challenges the idea that only one form of language can convey meaning or connection, emphasizing that different modes of communication can reflect deep emotional ties.
Furthermore, the anecdote where Tan pretends to be her mother during phone calls serves to illuminate the disparity between how her mother is perceived in social contexts and the richness of her actual understanding. Tan’s mother understands complex financial matters and engages with various forms of media, yet her flawed English leads people to misjudge her capabilities. Tan recounts, “Some say they understand 80 to 90 percent. Some say they understand none of it... But to me, my mother's English is perfectly clear, perfectly natural.” This reveals a critical insight: society's narrow definitions of effective communication overlook the nuances and contexts of personal experience.
The implications of these societal perceptions extend beyond Tan’s relationship with her mother; they reflect a broader theme of how immigrant families navigate identity and acceptance in a new culture. Tan notes how her mother's language has shaped her own perspective. She finds beauty and insight in her mother's expressions, recognizing that these “limitations” actually embody a wealth of cultural and personal history. The discomfort she feels in labeling her mother’s English as “broken” signifies an awareness of the biases against non-standard English speakers, which often diminishes their voices and contributions to society.
In conclusion, Amy Tan’s exploration of her mother’s language challenges societal perceptions of intelligence and communication by revealing that these perceptions can distort personal identity and relationships. Through her nuanced understanding of her mother’s English, Tan illustrates the importance of embracing linguistic diversity and recognizing the inherent value in all forms of communication. This recognition fosters deeper connections within families and communities, empowering individuals to embrace their identities without the weight of societal judgments.