We end this hour with the latest in our series You Must Read This, where authors talk about a book they love. Today's author is Ben Ryder Howe, and he recommends a fierce memoir from Sandra Tsing Loh about a year her life fell apart. It's called "Mother on Fire."

BEN RYDER HOWE: Recently, Amy Chua, author of the controversial parenting memoir "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," was named by Time magazine one of the 100 most influential people in the world. Like many Americans, I had recently spent a great number of hours talking with virtually everyone I know about Chua's book.

And since many of those conversations focused on what some took to be stereotypes of Asian-Americans as hyperachieving do-gooders, I was happy that they gave me an opportunity to bring up a decidedly different book, Sandra Tsing Loh's manic 2008 memoir, "Mother on Fire: A True Mother-Beeping Story About Parenting."

If "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" seemed to suggest that all Asian-Americans do is practice the violin and study quadratic equations, Tsing Loh's book offers a kind of antidote.

The book takes place in the year of Tsing Loh's 42nd birthday, a year in which the Atlantic Monthly and public radio contributor saw her life begin to crumble. Part of this is a seemingly inevitable midlife crisis brought on by the author's almost unbearably high-strung personality. The other part is that parenting has snuffed out her already fragile sense of self, her social life and eventually her doomed marriage. Everything Tsing Loh thought she had been - in her career, her personal life, as a wife, a parent and child herself - had come into question, especially her 4-year-old daughter, Hannah, who hadn't been admitted to a school that Tsing Loh could either afford or stomach sending her to.

And so begins Tsing Loh's search, not just for Hannah's future educational home but for her own missing self. To imagine what that self might look like, picture Tsing Loh's minivan, a rolling mildewed chariot of typhus that her own children resist getting in because ants live inside the seats.

The narrative in "Mother on Fire" isn't shaped. In places, it doesn't even show signs of being proofread. But the force of it is so inflamed, so crazy-get-out-of-my-way-or-I-swear-I'll-run-you-over, that you have no choice but to sit down in one of her ant-filled seats and hope you survive.

Memoirists are often praised for being candid, but many settle for mere revealing instead of the kind of punishing scrutiny Tsing Loh inflicts on herself. But as a result, when she approaches redemption - a process that begins by sending her daughter to a public school that initially terrifies the author - it doesn't feel forced or wanting, and when she says, everything I assumed about running my life is wrong, she really means it. Nothing is off the table. She's going all the way, whether you like it or not. And in the end, you can either turn your head away or enjoy the ride.

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NORRIS: Ben Ryder Howe is the author of "My Korean Deli." He recommended "Mother on Fire" by Sandra Tsing Loh.

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NORRIS: You're listening to ALL THINGS CONSIDERED from NPR News.

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