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Edith Bonham
Excerpt from Edith Bonham
MY father shared a theory at one time that genius in families takes the line Of descent which crosses that Of sex: clever mothers, clever sons, and the same with fathers and daughters. He had no sons. Of his two daughters, marriage disposed Of Essie so young that her genius, except for enjoying life in spite Of frequent babies, had little chance to show itself. Anything Of the sort his youngest might be sup posed to have inherited through having him for a parent, he did what he could to bring out in the fond persuasion that I was meant to be an artist.
He gave me drawing-lessons himself, when other things did not interfere. I was glad when they did. He was an impatient, a witty, and Often a hurtfully sarcastic teacher. His feelings in my case were too much involved, but so were mine! There were few things I would not have done to please him as his daughter, or aside from that fact, in any direction that did not strike me as hopeless. But I did resent being reduced to tears in his presence over a wretched cast-drawing, the work Of my own hands and Of perhaps a week's misspent labor.
MY father shared a theory at one time that genius in families takes the line Of descent which crosses that Of sex: clever mothers, clever sons, and the same with fathers and daughters. He had no sons. Of his two daughters, marriage disposed Of Essie so young that her genius, except for enjoying life in spite Of frequent babies, had little chance to show itself. Anything Of the sort his youngest might be sup posed to have inherited through having him for a parent, he did what he could to bring out in the fond persuasion that I was meant to be an artist.
He gave me drawing-lessons himself, when other things did not interfere. I was glad when they did. He was an impatient, a witty, and Often a hurtfully sarcastic teacher. His feelings in my case were too much involved, but so were mine! There were few things I would not have done to please him as his daughter, or aside from that fact, in any direction that did not strike me as hopeless. But I did resent being reduced to tears in his presence over a wretched cast-drawing, the work Of my own hands and Of perhaps a week's misspent labor.
356 pages, Paperback
First published September 27, 2015
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