THE Genius Paradox

When he was three,

Tom Grace recited a poem for a group of teachers at his preschool. While its title is untraceable, the poem was an aggregate of twee lines such as “Snowflakes are the purest white” and “Pink like the blossoms in the spring”. Also present at the recital was Tom’s dad, who filmed it. The recording shows a thin, dark-haired boy speaking with immaculate enunciation, while approaching his task with a touching earnestness. It was some time later that one of the preschool teachers took Tom’s mother aside.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Mrs Grace,” she said, “but your son is very intelligent.”

In fact, Tom’s parents were well aware of their first-born’s cognitive flair. As an infant, Tom had been quick to talk and highly curious, and he continued to thrive through childhood. Aged five, he sat down on the back doorstep at his home in Sydney and refused to budge until he’d counted aloud to 1000. Aged six, while on a family beach holiday, he was taught to play chess by his dad, whom he was outplaying within a year or two. When he was nine, Year 3 pupils at his school were required to sit for an IQ test. Tom’s score was 135+, which qualified him as “gifted” and placed him inside the top two per cent of the population for intelligence. Three years later, he romped