'Jersey Tomatoes,' more young-adult books

An unspoken truth behind the uproar over "The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," Amy Chua's much discussed (but not always read) bestseller, is that the world is full of overambitious Tiger Mothers and Fathers. What's more, there is a veritable jungle full of fierce animals available to nurture -- no, let's be honest, to mass-produce -- brilliant children: music and dance teachers, sports coaches, specialized tutors of every stripe.

A great number of heavily coached children must surely be kids of average talent and interest sweating out their 10,000 hours while working up the courage to ask: Am I doing this for myself or for my parents? Someone needs to slip these children a copy of Maria Padian's "Jersey Tomatoes Are the Best" (Knopf Books for Young Readers, $16.99, ages 12 and older), about a teen tennis phenom and her best friend, who's vying for a spot in a prestigious ballet academy, or "Four Seasons" (Knopf Books for Young Readers, $15.99, ages 9-12), by Sands Point author Jane Breskin Zalben, about a 13-year-old pianist being pressured to commit fully to her "career."

"Einstein was a violinist and a mathematician. Eventually he chose one," the pianist's father tells her, characteristically offering Ally an undisputed genius as an example. Henry, the tennis player (short for Henriette), muses to herself: "Goals. Sure, I've got a few. . . . I love to win. But lately the only 'goal' has been to do whatever Dad says so he'll get off my case."

Henry and Eva, the dancer, pass back and forth a trophy secretly marked "OPY" -- Obnoxious Parent of the Year -- depending on whose parents have behaved most embarrassingly or outrageously in the race to push their children to the top. Henry's overbearing father, in his zeal to protect her from rapacious managers, views every coach with suspicion. Eva's mother, convinced of her daughter's superiority, has been known to let the air out of a casting director's tires in retribution for giving a part to another dancer.

There is plenty to smile wryly about in these novels, but both confront difficult issues: What do you give up to be the best in something? Is a true pal one who helps you focus or one who urges you to take a breather? When do parents cross the line that separates cheerleader from taskmaster?

Why is single-minded devotion to one thing fantastic if that one thing is tennis or piano, but weird if it's superheroes? "Warp Speed" (Arthur A. Levine Books, $16.99, ages 9 and older) adds to the middle-school society that author Lisa Yee has been exploring with her popular series of related novels starting with "Millicent Min: Girl Genius."

Marley Sandelski is a victim of bullying, a kid who passively endures random shoves and punches in the school hallway by imagining what the characters from "Star Trek" would do. He's a good kid, smart, being raised by parents who understand his passion, since they run an art-movie house. But it's no fun living on the fringes of middle school. The formula for transforming an oppressed nerd into a popular kid seems to be taking up a school sport and exchanging fanboy T-shirts for cool clothes. Although "Warp Speed" is light and funny, Yee gives Marley some serious character issues to resolve: Can he take up track without becoming a jock and abandoning his AV club friends? How much sympathy can you feel for a bully whose father beats and humiliates him?

Blake Nelson has made a specialty of writing compelling, smart teen characters in trouble. "Recovery Road" (Scholastic, $17.99, ages 12 and older) begins with 16-year-old Madeline in rehab. With depth of understanding and no small amount of humor, Nelson sketches a complex universe of recovery: the slow crawl back to finding meaning in daily routine; the high school stoners who think rehab is a badge of honor; the scariness of intimacy in a sober state; the cluelessness of parents who think that graduating from rehab means the trouble is past.

The fact is that Madeline is an addict. Rehab drew a line in her life: before and after. The post-recovery reality that she can't convey to anyone on the other side -- but that Nelson's novel, magically, does -- is this: Friends from rehab are the only ones who understand that the void is always there, that you are never more than one step away from falling off the wagon, that you'll have to help each other and that not everyone survives the journey.