THE ONE AND LONELY

In her new memoir, Caroline Baum reflects on being brought up an only child in a world of privilege — but little freedom — and the primary focus of her exacting parents

In her new memoir, Caroline Baum reflects on being brought up an only child in a world of privilege, but little freedom, and the primary focus of her exacting parents

‘Your mother,” my father would frequently announce like a king issuing a decree, “is the most beautiful woman in the world.” In a good mood, he was prone to making such hyperbolic pronouncements. Indifferent to compliments from a man capable of spitting insults at her, my mother responded with exaggerated eye-rolls, dismissive shrugs or a grimacing grin that mocked his flattery.

I was too young to understand how her handsome looks eclipsed more conventional notions of beauty. There was too much of the eagle in her face. And besides, I liked to argue for argument’s sake: my father encouraged verbal jousting and the banter of rhetoric. “What about Audrey Hepburn? Sophia Loren? Elizabeth Taylor?” I challenged with irritating gnat-like persistence.

My father shook his head at the mention of each screen goddess. “Too made up”, “Vulgar”, “Cheap”, he replied with unwavering devotion, consistently dismissing all the obvious contenders I could name. Beauty was a valued attribute in our home. We critiqued people’s appearances anywhere we went, from theatre foyers to airport lounges. “Nice pair of legs,” my father would say appreciatively and our heads would swivel to where his nodded. “Regarde comme elle est moche, celle-la”

My appearance was subject to constant comment and scrutiny ... The portraits continued even when I became too sulky to smile as first puberty, then adolescence, hit like long, grumbling storms.