“I apologize in advance. There is nowhere to start this book except with Elon Musk, perhaps the most overexposed man in history…” So begins Helen Lewis’s latest book, The Genius Myth: The Dangerous Allure of Rebels, Monsters and Rule-Breakers, in which she takes aim at the social concept of genius as a kind of superhuman.
This flies in the face of much management literature and popular wisdom, which tend to treat “geniuses” as a special breed deserving special treatment, despite serious flaws and failings. Writers such as Walter Isaacson (biographer of Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs, and most recently Elon Musk) and Cade Metz (Genius Makers: The Mavericks Who Brought A.I. to Google, Facebook, and the World) often admire these so-called geniuses — warts and all. Even those who stress the importance of hard work over innate talent, such as Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers and Angela Duckworth in Grit, still pay tribute to “special achievers,” often glossing over their darker sides.
Lewis argues powerfully against such admiration, even calling it toxic. The Genius Myth does not deny the existence of genius — it warns against its elevation into a cult with blind adherents.
Lewis presents Elon Musk as one of the clearest examples of unquestioned admiration for a “genius.” For all his achievements, she argues, Musk has a disturbingly dark side. Unfortunately, this is often not just tolerated but celebrated as proof of his supposed genius. “His work at Tesla and SpaceX shows flashes of genius, but he has succumbed to the idea that he is therefore a special person… the cultural argument that Musk represents is that he can be an asshole as long as he is a visionary,” she writes.
Musk is far from alone. Lewis reminds us that the legendary Edison was an antisocial egomaniac who handled relationships poorly and often lost interest in his projects; that literary giant Tolstoy mistreated his wife; and that Chris Goode, once hailed as one of the most maverick talents of British theatre, was a paedophile who sexually abused many of his actors.
Another example is Roman Polanski, the acclaimed Hollywood director accused of drugging and sexually assaulting a 13-year-old girl in the 1970s. He fled the United States and has not returned, fearing prosecution—yet continues to be celebrated as a great filmmaker, even winning an Oscar for Best Director in 2003. Picasso, Einstein, and The Beatles also have their myths punctured, often disturbingly so.
According to Lewis, the modern concept of genius — as synonymous with greatness or specialness, more often than not embodied by a white male — gathered force in the 18th century through skilful storytelling.
No matter how talented a person is, to be accepted as a genius, they need a story to be woven around them — a genius myth,
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she points out. Her first example of such myth-making may surprise many: William Shakespeare.
When Shakespeare died in 1616, he was popular but hardly revered as the greatest writer in English. “He was not generally seen as the undisputed star among his contemporaries, let alone the greatest writer in the English language.” His posthumous fame was boosted by the fall of Puritanism, the more dramatic presentation of his plays, and most notably, a Jubilee Festival held in his honour at Stratford by David Garrick in 1769, where he was first celebrated as the greatest English writer.
Although Lewis admits that there is no objective definition of genius, and never can be, she is not against the concept itself. What concerns her is the licence granted to those labelled as geniuses. She writes,
We call some people ‘special’ to demonstrate what we find special. And in turn, we give those special people latitude that is not extended to ordinary mortals.
Eventually, this admiration turns into a glorification of their flaws — their insensitivity, cruelty, and even abusiveness. “Picasso isn’t revered in spite of his selfishness and arrogance, his destruction of the lives around him, his childlike insistence on being the centre of attention… He is revered because of them,” Lewis observes. It’s a chilling, thought-provoking point.
Her solution to this culture of blind genius-worship? To view actions, not people, as genius. For instance, War and Peace should be seen as an act of genius. But that should not excuse the fact that its author, Lev Tolstoy, was “a very demanding aristocrat who went very peculiar indeed.”
Lewis, a journalist currently writing for The Atlantic, is known for her sharp, witty takes on conventional thought and her irreverence toward reputations. Her first book, Difficult Women: A History of Feminism in 11 Fights (2020), showcased some of the most notable figures in feminism — warts and all — and was hailed as one of the must-read books of 2020. The Genius Myth follows in its footsteps.
At a little over 350 pages, The Genius Myth is an entertaining, witty, and information-packed read. It’s not an academic work or the result of scholarly research. Lewis admits that her focus is eclectic and driven by her own interests and knowledge (or lack thereof), making The Genius Myth “an undoubtedly idiosyncratic book.” The people she profiles come largely from the arts and sciences, with relatively few musicians (apart from The Beatles) or sportspersons.
The Genius Myth isn’t a guide to becoming a genius, nor a cautionary tale about genius gone wrong. It’s a call to take off the rose-tinted glasses and tune out the hype when faced with those hailed as “geniuses.” It also nudges readers to revisit the biographies of Einstein, Jobs, Musk, and Shakespeare with a more critical eye — less forgiving of flaws too often excused as “eccentricities.” To paraphrase Lewis: you can’t be an asshole, even if you’re a visionary.
The Genius Myth: The Dangerous Allure of Rebels, Monsters and Rule-Breakers
By Helen Lewis
362 pp
Jonathan Cape
₹799