Autistic Book Party, Episode 33: A Different Witch

Today’s Book: “A Different Witch” by Debora Geary

The Plot: An autistic witch named Beth travels to Witch Central in California in order to learn more powerful magic than what is practiced by her circle at home.

Autistic Character(s): Beth, as well as a small boy who shows up in one or two scenes.

This was a bit of a frustrating book for me. There was a lot I wanted to like. Witches! Witches with Asperger syndrome! NT witches learning how to accept and accommodate autistic witches!

Years ago, members of the Witch Central circle abruptly showed up in Beth’s circle, told them they were doing everything wrong, and left. Since then, Beth has always intended to find Witch Central and learn more. The main arc of the book revolves around her learning the ropes from Witch Central’s witches, and the other characters learning to adjust what they’re doing to make it easier for Beth.

This is a perfectly good main arc for the book, and its basic information about autism is pretty accurate, though sometimes oversimplified. But I found it irritating to read more often than not, for two basic reasons.

First, the book is all about learning to make accommodations for an autistic person. In the absence of another major conflict, the plot is constructed around Witch Central’s witches trying really hard to teach Beth, succeeding a little, failing a little, going into a knot of angst about why they failed, learning a valuable lesson, and trying again. This might not be a bad thing, except that a lot of the try/fail/angst/learn cycles didn’t really make sense to me. Take this scene, for example, when a witch named Nell watches her three daughters unexpectedly accost Beth:

Beth’s brain was practically shaking. Nell felt her temper firing up. Easy welcome streamed from her girls-and Beth was reacting like she was under machine-gun fire. She touched Ginia’s shoulder, trying to get mama bear back on the leash. “Those are all good ideas. Why don’t you go grab some cookies?” She added a gentle mental shove behind the words, and this time her triplets caught the unsaid message. Three subdued girls made their way into the house. Nell tried to resist the urge to kick at the woman who had deflated their everyday joy. “They’re excited about the party. Sorry if they were a bit overwhelming.” Her next sentence steamed out of its own accord. “Most people who come here for training want to be included in our lives.”

It’s not clear to me why Nell is even angry here, since no one told Beth that she was supposed to be friends with the other witches’ families. It’s not clear to Nell either, and she spends a lot of time soul-searching to find out why she reacted that way. The trouble is that a lot of the scenes in the book fail to make sense in this way. Beth gets overloaded by something, and the other witches freak out, because OMG, what does it mean if their normal practices are overloading to someone? Have they failed at training Beth?? Is it impossible for Beth to be a witch here??? Then I get annoyed at the characters and want to tell them to take a chill pill because sometimes overload just happens and is not meant as a judgment on anyone.

A lot of the solutions to the problems also fail to make sense to me. As another example, Beth is reluctant to go to a big family get-together and decorate for Solstice, because it’s too many people. But the witches agree to keep all the people from getting too noisy (by whatever neurotypical definition of “too noisy” they are using), and then everything works out fine and Beth is touched by their efforts to adjust things for her. Based on my own experiences around people and noise, I would say that while this strategy might work, it comes off as far too easy on the page.

The stakes in all of these problem/angst/solution cycles are also vastly unclear. Why is magic so important to Beth that she’ll get on a plane and go far out of her comfort zone, into a nest of strangers, to learn about it? Why is Beth’s magical development so important that the other witches will go so far out of their way to teach her, apparently without pay? Why do all the witches need to be best friends with each other? Why are we having this conflict in the first place?

“A Different Witch” doesn’t have the battle-and-action-y stakes of many urban fantasies. That’s not a bad thing; it’s good to see urban fantasy once in a while that’s quieter and not focused on fighting some bad guy. But apart from a few of the spells, I don’t really have a clear picture of how magic is useful in the witches’ everyday lives. Most of the magic in the book involves trying to make pretty bubbles out of different elements, which is cool, but seems a little bit underwhelming when you consider the big emotions and personal sacrifices that go into it. If magic is spiritually significant to the characters, as it is for many IRL pagans, I don’t have a clear picture of how that works for them, either. It’s possible that the answers to these questions might be clearer if I’d read the previous books in the series. But in the absence of that, I spent a lot of the book confused why everyone is angsting so hard about whether or not an autistic witch can make pretty bubbles the right way.

The second problem with the book is that I don’t have a clear picture of who Beth is beyond being a fire witch with Asperger syndrome. Every single thing she does in the novel seems to revolve around her autistic traits. Even the positive, complimentary things people say about her (she’s a strong person) immediately go back to her autistic traits (it takes strength to live with an autistic brain every day, SIIIGH). We know that she is a health food nut, but only because a sugary diet is hard for her autistic brain to handle. We know that she is a lesbian and manages a store with her NT girlfriend, but even her interactions with her girlfriend seem to revolve around her autistic traits:

It was only two words—but so much more rode in her partner’s eyes. Frustration welled in Beth’s veins. “Come on, Liri. You know I can’t read what you’re thinking. You have to tell me.” It was one of the central tenets of their relationship, and something Beth had learned sprang from love anyhow. You gave what your lover needed.

It’s not that I want there to be scenes in which an autistic person’s autism isn’t there. It’s just that the book seems to spend so much time saying “X and Y are hard for Beth because autism” that the rest of Beth gets lost. Aside from wanting to make pretty magic bubbles, there’s not much sense of what is important to Beth or of what Beth’s desires are. Even her relationship is described as having happened because Liri was patient and helped convince Beth that it was a good idea, not because Beth did any normal human things like having a crush on someone. Perish the thought.

A lack of agency on Beth’s part makes the book’s first problem more problematic. The witches of Witch Central were the ones who decided Beth’s magic isn’t good enough. They decide what Beth needs to do to fit in with them, even when it’s something (like getting along with their children) which logically doesn’t have a lot to do with magic lessons. They find out that, for Beth to do these things, she needs accommodations, so they work on that. But once they have the right accommodations, there is no more problem. Beth does magic their way. Beth gets along with them and their kids, and everybody gets to pat themselves on the back for becoming so understanding of Beth. The book spends a lot of time on making accommodations so an autistic person can do what you want them to, and very little time asking what the autistic person wants.

This is a subtle problem, and the book isn’t all bad. Beth does get to call out the Witch Central witches on things they’ve done wrong, including the arrogance of waltzing in and telling her she was doing magic wrong in the first place. There are some heartwarming scenes, including one late in the book where an older witch visits Beth and Liri’s shop and is genuinely interested and respectful.

Overall I think this is a very well-intentioned book, by an author who wanted to educate readers about autism and inclusion. It gets a lot right, but it has subtle problems with agency and tone which continually frustrated me. Unless you have a great love for cozy urban fantasies, I think most autistic readers would be happier reading something else.

The Verdict: YMMV, but I didn’t like it

Ethics Statement: I have never interacted with Debora Geary. I read her book by buying an electronic copy from Amazon. All opinions expressed here are my own.

This book was chosen by my Patreon backers. If these reviews are valuable to you, consider becoming a backer; for as little as $1, you can help choose the next autistic book.

For a list of past/future/possible Autistic Book Party books, click here.

Some updates from the past few months

I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately in ways that have made me drop at least halfway out of this blog, but things are going well, overall. Here are a few news tidbits that I’ve been remiss in posting:

  • I’ve sold a story, “The Muse”, to Carnation Press’s Trans Lifeline charity anthology. More on that closer to the anthology’s release date.
  • Kit Englard from Femme de Chem interviewed me and produced this lovely article about me. Femme de Chem is a website devoted to disabled people in STEM, and since April was both Poetry Month and Autism Month for many people, it was perfect timing.
  • Uncanny, Strange Horizons, and GigaNotoSaurus, all magazines in which my work appeared last year, were all honoured with Hugo nominations for Best Semiprozine. Strange Horizons and Uncanny were also nominated for Locus Awards. I have no illusions that my tiny poems were a deciding factor in either of those nominations, but it’s still nice to know. Also, my novelette “The Scrape of Tooth on Bone” will be distributed to all Hugo voters as part of GigaNotoSaurus’s entry in the voter pack.
  • Lastly, my Rhysling-nominated poem “The Giantess’s Dream” will be printed on postcards next week as part of Twisted Moon magazine’s participation in Sydney, Australia’s Unspoken Words poetry festival.

Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 3: A Wizard Alone (Original Edition)

(This review was first posted Mar 3, 2013. It has received minor edits for clarity and style.)

Today’s Book: “A Wizard Alone” by Diane Duane.

The Plot: In a contemporary YA fantasy setting, a budding wizard named Darryl has gotten stuck in his Ordeal – a wizards’ initiation. Teenage wizards Nita and Kit are sent to figure out what’s gone wrong.

Autistic Character(s): Darryl McAllister.

I really don’t know where to start with this book. Darryl is central to the plot, and there are some very good and very bad aspects of the way he is portrayed. I’m going to start with the good ones, I guess, because there are fewer of them.

First, Darryl is African-American. This is excellent because autism is so often portrayed as something that affects white male children, with maybe a few white girls sneaking in every once in a while. Intersectionality is always a plus. (Kit is also Latin-American, FYI.)

Second, Darryl is intensely good and intensely likeable. We quickly find out that he’s not a helpless victim stuck in his own Ordeal: he’s deliberately drawing it out for reasons that are complicated, but logical, and beneficial to the world around him. And despite having no support whatsoever, he approaches this task with a deep, cheerful courage that instantly endears me to him forever.

Third, the book touches on the problem of one’s preconceptions of disabled people influencing one’s perceptions of them. The first few times Kit sees Darryl, he expects Darryl to be a helpless victim, so that’s what he sees. Kit doesn’t find out the truth about what Darryl is doing until Darryl makes magical contact with Nita – who doesn’t know that he’s autistic, or even that he’s human. Kit then realizes that because he had an idea in his mind about what autistic people were and weren’t capable of, he couldn’t see what Darryl really was capable of. This is a very important point and Duane gets props for putting it in there.

Those are the good points. Now for the bad ones. First, there’s the “cure” theme: as part of what’s otherwise a fairly clever ploy at the end of the book, Nita and Kit give Darryl a magic Get Out Of Autism Free card. (Not literally a card, but you know what I mean.) I need to make a whole separate post on the problems with “cure” stories.

It’s not just the ending, though. Duane attempts to give helpful information about autism to her readers, but most of it is so incorrect that I don’t even know what to say. We are told, for example, that people are not born with autism but become autistic at various ages; that autistic people avoid eye contact because they cannot stand the idea that other people exist; that neurotypical people do not understand what autism is like because not enough autistic people have been cured and “come back” to tell neurotypical people about it; that autism is caused (at least in Darryl’s case) by the devil, and is easily magically separable from the rest of Darryl’s personality; that the withdrawal/retreat symptoms of autism are identical to the symptoms of depression; that all autistic people are hypersensitive rather than hyposensitive to sensory stimuli; and so on. I can’t talk about what’s wrong with each of these points here because it would make this post even longer than the Vernor Vinge one. But they are all incorrect and all harmful.

Furthermore, while Darryl is quite likable, many aspects of his characterization make no sense. He switches very quickly and repeatedly between being completely unaware that other people exist, and being conscious enough of them to use some fairly sophisticated theory of mind. Not only does this speed of switching make no sense, but there’s no middle ground. Darryl never has any realistic impairments in understanding people’s beliefs and motivations, he just forgets that they exist. Duane makes attempts to explain this, but they make no sense either. Apparently, Darryl’s autism causes the world around him to be too painful to deal with, so he intentionally forgets that other people exist, and then remembers again for a while, and then forgets again, and… Yeah. It’s just silly.

The big thing that bothers me about this book, though, is the conflation of autism with depression. This is not a minor point. A significant subplot of the book involves Nita grieving for her mother’s death (which happened in a previous book) and struggling with her own depression. There are some nice things about how this subplot is handled. But Nita doesn’t start to beat her depression until she makes contact with Darryl – and realizes that her withdrawal from the world, in her depressed state, is identical to his. Not that Nita is autistic, of course; they just happen to both be withdrawing from “real”, “meaningful” engagement with the world because it’s too painful. After talking to Darryl, Nita realizes that this is unhealthy for her and she has to stop. She talks Darryl out of it too, which is where the Get Out Of Autism Free card comes in.

Never mind that Darryl is kicking epic-level supernatural butt in his Ordeal while withdrawing from “real”, “meaningful” engagement everywhere else. Apparently that doesn’t make his withdrawal more acceptable. Duane pays attention to Darryl’s awesomeness when she’s actually talking about him, but she’s happy to ignore it when she’s using him to make a point about NTs.

This bothers me for a very personal reason.

Depression, anxiety, and other mood disorders affect autistic people too.

Did you read that? Depression is not the natural state of an autistic person. It is a mood disorder that either NT or autistic people can develop, which means there’s actual intersectionality between depression and autism.

A depressed autistic person does not need you to cure their autism. A depressed autistic person needs you to fix whatever is causing the actual depression – whether that’s an imbalance in brain chemistry, an abusive home/work situation, poor mental coping strategies, or what. If you’re going around saying “but autism is just like depression anyway”, you are NOT HELPING.

And that’s the part of “A Wizard Alone” that’s going to really stay with me.

The Verdict: Not Recommended

NOTE: Diane Duane is aware of criticisms of the portrayal of autism in this book. In the New Millennium Edition of her Young Wizards series, a lot of things are updated, and the portrayal of autism is one of the updated things. The New Millennium Edition of “A Wizard Alone” is reviewed separately in Autistic Book Party, Episode 9.

For a list of past/future/possible Autistic Book Party books, or to recommend a new one, click here.

Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 2: A Deepness in the Sky

(This review was first published Jan 27, 2013. It has received minor edits for clarity and style.)

Today’s Book: “A Deepness in the Sky” by Vernor Vinge.

The Plot: Two rival groups of humans find intelligent life, and other seemingly impossible things, orbiting a variable star.

Autistic Character(s): Technically, the only autistic character is an alien named Brent Underhill. But before we talk about Brent, we need to talk about some other things.

As mentioned, Vinge’s plot revolves around two groups of humans: the Qeng Ho and the Emergents. The Qeng Ho are merchants; the Emergents are slavers. The Qeng Ho are good guys; the Emergents are bad guys. Both groups have fully staffed interstellar space crews, so between them and the aliens, there are Lots And Lots Of Characters. So I spent the first few chapters kind of checking everyone out. “Could she be autistic? Nah… Not really. Could he be autistic? Maybe, but I don’t think so…”

Then I came across this passage, at a juncture where the Emergents have just killed a lot of Qeng Ho. Ezr Vinh, a Qeng Ho, talks to Anne Reynolt, one of the highest-ranking Emergents:

At first, Ezr thought Reynolt was fighting a proper sense of shame: she hardly ever looked him directly in the eye. But gradually he realized that looking at his face was no more interesting to her than studying a bulkhead. She didn’t see him as a person; she didn’t care a jot for the dead.

Oh, I thought. Okay. There’s my autistic character.

It’s true that most autistic people don’t look others in the eye as much as NTs do. NTs tend to find this very striking. (Some autistic people look others in the eye too much, which NTs find striking in a different way. Either way, it’s one of those social cues we rarely get right.) Eye tracking studies show that, while NTs fixate on other people’s eyes, autistic people tend to look all around the room at everything. Including bulkheads. When we do look at people, we’re more likely to look at their mouths than their eyes. Anne Reynolt (as Vinge says elsewhere) looks more at Ezr’s mouth than his eyes, too. She also has an assortment of other stereotypical autistic traits, which I won’t get into quite yet.

“She didn’t see him as a person” needs some unpacking, of course. This kind of coldness is very typical of fictional Aspies on TV. It results from writers confusing cognitive empathy with affective empathy, as I explain in this post. In real life, when an autistic person doesn’t look you in the eye, it could be for a lot of reasons. Maybe they don’t care about you (this is not as common as it is on TV, but it happens). Maybe they are paying attention, but do not find it useful to look at your eyes. (We often aren’t able to pick up emotional nuances from eye contact the way NTs do.) Maybe they’ve gotten in trouble for staring at people in the past and don’t want to offend you. Maybe they’ve simply forgotten that eye contact is expected of them, or are unaware that they’re making less of it than expected. Or maybe eye contact feels intrusive and overwhelming to them, and they don’t want to. So, “she didn’t see him as a person” is a bit of a jump to conclusions – though, within the story, it happens to be correct.

Anyway. Reading this paragraph, I thought I had this book figured out. Reynolt was autistic and a villain; her autistic traits would be used to accentuate her villainy; end of story.

As it turns out, I was dead wrong.

Before I say more about Anne Reynolt, let me talk a little about Focus. The Emergents, as I mentioned, are slavers, and they keep their slaves in line through a form of virus-based mind control called Focus. When a person is Focused, they become intently, obsessively interested in a topic. Within that topic, which can be anything from repeated database queries to high art or theoretical physics, Focused people will willingly work without stopping. They pay no attention to their personal comfort, social cues, hygiene, people who love them – or even an ongoing medical problem. They are not mindless nor emotionless. They are capable of creativity and nuance in their work, and form strong opinions about it, even getting in physical fights with other Focused who disagree. Preventing them from working makes them anxious and uncontrollable. But everything and everyone outside of their topic is simply irrelevant to them.

Now, what does this description of Focus remind you of? Raise your hand if you said “an autistic person in a fit of excitement about one of their special interests.”

Anybody? No? Is that just me?

To be fair, a lot of the worst parts of being Focused have nothing to do with autism. The Emergents treat most of the Focused badly, but even with the kindest owner, a Focused person is neurologically unstable and must be frequently “retuned” to avoid psychosis. Plus, Focus is more or less permanent. It can be reversed, but that’s a complex procedure with potentially severe side effects. So there’s no chance of, say, being Focused eight hours a day and then having the evening off for self-care and relationships (and getting paid – which I think would actually be a pretty sweet deal. Imagine never being bored or distracted from your work!) Plus, most of the characters who are Focused did not consent to it. Please don’t think I’m trying to argue in favor of Focus or the Emergents. As it’s presented in-universe, Focus sucks.

Still, there’s something strange about the rhetoric others use to describe the Focused. They’re “zombies”. They’re “dead inside”. They’re “less than animals, like – like machine parts”. And while the most hurtful name-calling comes from Emergents, the Qeng Ho say this stuff too. (The Wikipedia plot summary refers to Focused people as “brilliant appliances”, so I guess readers are responding that way, too.) And this is strange to me, because the Focused are not zombies or machines – they are conscious and clever and still capable of experiencing some very strong feelings. It’s just that their meaningful experience is restricted to one topic.

On top of this, Vinge seems to go out of his way to give Focused people autistic traits even when those traits have nothing to do with narrow/specialized interests. They’re brusque and literal! They miss sarcasm! They don’t make eye contact! Vinge won’t shut up about eye contact, seriously.

And while Vinge never uses the word “autism”, witness this bit of dialogue:

“But you know about really creative people, the artists who end up in your history books? As often as not, they’re some poor dweeb who doesn’t have a life. He or she is just totally fixated on learning everything about some single topic. A sane person couldn’t justify losing friends and family to concentrate so hard. Of course, the payoff is that the dweeb may find things or make things that are totally unexpected. See, in that way a little of Focus has always been part of the human race.”

This comes out of an Emergent character’s mouth, so words like “dweeb” shouldn’t be taken as reflections of Vinge’s opinion. But it’s clear that the resemblance to autism isn’t accidental. I’m not reading autism into a place where it wasn’t intended. Vinge didn’t stumble onto these traits by accident (which might be plausible for an author in 1999, when autism wasn’t on All The TV Shows yet). He knows that Focus is an exaggeration and distortion of the traits of real people.

So much for Focus. Now, back to Anne Reynolt. As it turns out, Reynolt isn’t autistic! Instead, she herself is Focused. Normally, it’s impossible to Focus someone on leadership. But Reynolt is special, and while she lacks traditional social skills, she’s the best there is at managing other Focused people.

Now for Brent Underhill. Brent is an alien, the son of a brilliant scientist named Sherkaner Underhill. Sherkaner is eccentric (I might classify him as close to the spectrum, like many scientists) and cheerfully indifferent to people’s expectations. To the shock of many other aliens, he and his wife have children “out of phase”.

It would take a while to explain what “out of phase” means and why the aliens find it shocking. But, among other things, the aliens believe that out-of-phase children are likely to be disabled. (Cue a montage of ableism in which aliens wring their hands about Sherkaner’s children being “monstrous”, “deformed”, etc.) Conveniently for Sherkaner, though, only one of his children is disabled. (Cue some wince-inducing dialogue, which boils down to, “See, I didn’t have that many disabled children! And they’re not that disabled!”)

Brent’s disability isn’t named, but it resembles autism so strongly that I’m comfortable calling it that even though he’s an alien. Brent, like Sherkaner’s other children, is highly intelligent, but he is so quiet that most people don’t realize this. He’s language-delayed as a small child; he’s awkward and shy; he takes social rules literally; he speaks in a monotone, and asks questions that might come off as rude, though he doesn’t mean them that way. He is fascinated by strings, knots, and patterns. His senses are slightly enhanced; Vinge doesn’t talk about eye contact with Brent, because the alien visual system is, well, very alien. But Brent spends a lot of time standing in corners, looking inattentive, while actually quite aware of what is going on.

Brent is a pretty peripheral character, but when he does appear, he kicks autistic alien butt. When Sherkaner’s children are kidnapped, Brent is the most effective at fighting back against their kidnappers. Part of this comes from his fascination with string, which just happens to be useful – but most of it is sheer courage, smarts, and observational skill.

Brent is also present, very peripherally, as part of an important team of aliens once he grows up. I like Brent, and I selfishly wish we saw more of him. But in an epic novel with All The Characters, there’s only so much you can do, and I really can’t find fault with the way Vinge writes him.

So this leaves me at a reviewing impasse. Vinge is clearly capable of writing autism well – so why does he pile so many bad autistic stereotypes onto the Focused?

It wasn’t until the end of the story that the reasons behind Vinge’s narrative decisions became clear. Here, have some BIG ENDING SPOILERS, under the cut.

Continue reading “Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 2: A Deepness in the Sky”

Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 1: Blind Lake

(This review was first published on December 12, 2012. It has been given minor edits for clarity and style.)

Today’s Book: “Blind Lake” by Robert Charles Wilson.

The Plot: Scientists are using a super powerful quantum computer to look at aliens on another planet. Then suddenly their town is put under quarantine for reasons that are not explained to them, the aliens begin behaving strangely, and everyone has to figure out what’s going on.

Autistic Character(s): Tess Hauser, an eleven-year-old girl.

Tess isn’t a protagonist (the protagonists are her mother Marguerite and a science journalist named Chris), but she is one of an ensemble of viewpoint characters and plays an important role in the plot. She is diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome several years before the story begins, and while there are a number of therapies in her past – including medication – Marguerite has come to accept her autism simply as a personality type.

Marguerite is a realistic portrayal of a well-meaning NT parent. She is long past the point of trying to “fix” Tess, but it is still painfully obvious to her when Tess is less communicative than other children, or when she has trouble making friends. Marguerite and Tess have recently moved to a new city when the story begins, and Marguerite worries a lot about how Tess will do at her new school – at least until the plot throws bigger problems at both of them.

But Marguerite’s view of Tess isn’t the only one we get. We see plenty of scenes through Tess’s eyes, and Tess wastes little time thinking about her differences from other children. Instead, when reading from Tess’s POV, we see how intelligent she is, and how easily she is captivated by weather, nature, and symmetry. Tess is uncommunicative, not because she has no opinions, but because she is constantly lost in thought about things the other characters aren’t thinking about. Wilson shows us these thoughts appealingly and convincingly without ever putting too fine a point on how they differ from the thoughts of the adults. This is a very tricky point, and one that you can’t get right just by looking at the DSM, but Wilson, in my view, gets it right.

We also see Tess through the eyes of other adults who don’t worry about her as much as Marguerite does. Her father doesn’t think about her autism much at all (though he is the villain, and his attitude to Tess is mostly possessive). Meanwhile, Chris befriends Tess and accepts her immediately; in fact, Tess reminds him of his own younger sister.

But there’s one more point about Tess that I need to bring up before giving her the “cluefully written Aspie character” stamp, and that is the fact that Tess sees things other characters don’t believe in. Unfortunately, I can’t talk about this without EXTREMELY MAJOR SPOILERS, so follow me under the cut if you dare!

Continue reading “Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 1: Blind Lake”

Vintage Autistic Book Party, Episode 0: Movement

(This post was published on February 26, 2012 – hard to believe that’s more than five whole years ago. It’s about Nancy Fulda’s short story, “Movement”, which was nominated for the Hugo and Nebula that year. You may note that this post is not structured like other Autistic Book Party posts, and that it doesn’t give as much context or introduction to the story it’s talking about. This is because it actually predates the Autistic Book Party series, as such. It’s the very first autism review I ever posted publicly. Please enjoy this blast from the past!)

I want to say this as concisely as I can.

Naming a fictional condition after autism, when even the characters in the story agree it is nothing like autism, is a bizarre choice. Cashing in on autism in this manner while it’s trendy is not helpful to autistic people, our families, or anyone else.

Writing a bad depiction of autism, and saying “but it isn’t real autism!”, does not excuse you for writing a bad depiction of autism.

Real autistic people have things going on in our lives other than autism. “I don’t want to be cured” is a nice sentiment, but it rings a little hollow when it is the conclusion to a story in which nothing happens except other people being unhappy with the protagonist’s not-autism, other people wanting to “cure” her, and her trying to deal with her perceptual differences. These are things that happen in the lives of most autistic people, but a story with this structure inherently distorts and romanticizes them.

You can write a story like this and still be an ally of neurodiversity. But writing a story like this does not make you an ally. Reading a story like this does not make you an ally. Voting for a story like this in awards season does not make you an ally. It is, in fact, unhelpful.

Real autistic people’s lives are not like this story.

It’s not my job to tell you what to vote for. Vote for what you like. But please understand what it is you are voting for.

Autism News, 2017/04/21

April is Autism Month – Autism Awareness Month to some, and Autism Acceptance Month to others, and sometimes just the annoying month where we have to listen to more Autism Speaks propaganda than usual – so there’s been a lot of news!

Shannon des Roches Rosa has been making some good 101 posts this month at The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism:

Pan-disability politics and policy, from the US:

  • Michelle Diament on how new U.S. Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch deals with disability cases
  • S.E. Smith on why more disabled people are employed in some US states than others
  • The U.S. Supreme Court recently made an important decision about disability and the death penalty(For anyone who needs more evidence about why representation in fiction matters, this article describes how the state of Texas has literally been evaluating people’s eligibility for the death penalty based on their resemblance to a fictional character.)
  • Elsa Sjunesson-Henry on protesting while disabled

From Canada and the UK:

Posts about ABA:

Media and writing:

Sad things:

  • Lifestyle Solutions, an Australian nonprofit that manages group homes for disabled people, is under investigation for abuse and neglect causing a series of deaths.  (TW: In addition to what it says on the can, there is also mention of sexual assault. I have not watched the video that accompanies the article but, based on the description, would not recommend doing so.)
  • Amelia Hill interviews three autistic mothers of autistic children (TW: all three mothers discuss, among other things, a fear of social services taking their children away; abuse by third parties is also mentioned.)

 

Autistic Book Party, Episode 32: Otherbound

Today’s Book: “Otherbound” by Corinne Duyvis

The Plot: Every time Nolan (a modern teenager) blinks, he sees through the eyes of Amara, a servant girl in a fantasy world.

Autistic Character(s): The author.

This is my second review of one of Duyvis’s books, after “On the Edge of Gone”. Although “Otherbound” has no autistic characters and runs on a completely different premise, the two books share a diverse, disabled cast and a keen awareness of the power dynamics that constrain each character.

Seeing through the eyes of someone in another world sounds cool, until you stop and think about what it would actually entail. The connection between Nolan and Amara is invasive and unpleasant for both of them. Amara doesn’t want to be constantly watched, even in her most private moments, by a person she doesn’t know. Nolan doesn’t want to be constantly distracted from what’s happening in front of him by his uncontrollable visions – especially when Amara spends time being abused, injured, even tortured, in ways Nolan feels but can do nothing about. When he does find methods to affect Amara’s world, they are methods that can violate Amara’s agency. Duyvis does a good job showing the complexities of how the two of them try to deal with this and to negotiate boundaries – clumsily, imperfectly, a little at a time and with a lot of justified resentment.

Nolan’s periods of distraction have been misdiagnosed as a form of epilepsy. The trope of a character being misdiagnosed because of their magical powers can be problematic, but Duyvis handles it deftly. The trick is that Nolan is genuinely disabled by his visions. He’s not an able-bodied person who was called disabled because people misunderstood him; he’s a disabled person who got told the wrong name for his disability. Because of his visions, he can’t keep up with school, maintain normal friendships, or even fold laundry successfully; that’s how difficult it is for him to focus on the world that is around him. Meanwhile, other disabilities and forms of diversity are also represented. Before the book begins, Nolan lost his foot in a car accident (caused by his visions). He belongs to a Latinx family and speaks both Spanish and English at home; money is a problem, and his mother has taken a second job to help pay for his medicine. Amara is bisexual, her world is predominantly nonwhite, and she is non-speaking, because her tongue was cut out when she became a servant: servants in her world converse using sign language.

You might have guessed already from these descriptions that a lot of unpleasant things happen in this book. They do. And, especially in the first half of the book, Amara and Nolan are both relatively helpless in the face of these unpleasant things. It can be difficult to slog through scene after scene of Amara being treated horribly and Nolan running off to curl up somewhere and feel sick. This does improve as the book goes on: characters gain more control and more agency, and the pace picks up. The last third in particular is delightfully full of nail-biting twists as the characters discover secrets about why they are connected as they are, and what that means for their worlds.

A lack of character agency in places might also be an unfair criticism, because it’s intimately connected to one of “Otherbound”‘s greatest strengths: its keen awareness of power dynamics. Amara lacks agency, not because of anything wrong with her as a person, but because she’s been trained since childhood to do nothing but obey and will be punished if she deviates. The people who abuse her are bad in an obvious way, but Duyvis spends just as much time detailing subtler ways in which power affects Amara’s life. She is attracted to the princess she serves, for instance, but their power difference makes that attraction difficult to deal with in ways that the princess’s sincere attempts at kindness do nothing to fix. The princess herself is under a magical curse in which any small injury could kill her, and this makes her dependent on others for help. As mentioned, Nolan and Amara’s connection brings additional forms of powerlessness into both lives which are difficult to deal with. And while Nolan lives a materially more comfortable life, he has his own power problems: not least of which is the fact that he has to lie to his family and his doctor to conceal what’s really happening during his “seizures”.

(This leads to one of my few other criticisms, which is so small that I really don’t feel it’s worth mentioning, but I’m compulsive and I have to. Duyvis mentions in the epilogue that Nolan ends up seeing a therapist who helps him deal with the trauma of what happened to him during the book. I understand why this line would be included: it’s good to show trauma being real, and characters going to therapy for it without being judged. But Nolan previously spends the entire book hiding his visions from everyone because no one will believe him; most people would classify his visions as hallucinations or delusions. So where does he suddenly find a therapist who believes him and who gives him appropriate PTSD therapy instead of trying to treat him for being delusional? And how does he explain this therapist to his parents? Therapy is not equally accessible to everyone, and that is a point that people often forget.)

Like “On the Edge of Gone”, “Otherbound” is at times a difficult read, but a well-crafted one which has important things to say about agency and power, and which sensitively portrays an intersectionally diverse world. If you can stand the abuse scenes, you could do a lot worse than to pick this one up.

The Verdict: Recommended-2

Ethics statement: I have occasionally corresponded with Corinne Duyvis and have posted reviews on her Disability in Kidlit site. I read her book by borrowing an e-copy from my local library. All opinions expressed here are my own.

This book was chosen by my Patreon backers. If these reviews are valuable to you, consider becoming a backer; for as little as $1, you can join in voting on the next autistic book.

For a list of past/future/possible Autistic Book Party books, or to recommend a new one, click here.

Dreamwidth

Since 2014, this blog has been hosted on WordPress and mirrored on LiveJournal, where I still logged in frequently to read friends’ journals. Things happened with LiveJournal this year. Some people bailed immediately; I dithered and dithered until I realized that all the people I enjoy interacting with there have either picked up sticks and gone blog-only, or have moved to Dreamwidth.

So: Hi! I’m moving to Dreamwidth too. HI AGAIN OLD FRIENDS, and special hi to any new people who might be interested in this news.

I know most people are exporting all their old posts and transferring them to Dreamwidth. I elected not to do that, for a number of reasons. WordPress has been the primary host for my author blog for several years now. The content older than that is… eh. I had a strong feeling that I’m not going to miss it, and that I would prefer a fresh start.

The exception to this, of course, is older Autistic Book Party posts. ALL OF MY AUTISTIC BOOK PARTY REVIEWS HAVE BEEN BACKED UP. THEY ARE NOT LOST! But some links to them are going to be broken for a little while. (This would also have happened if I’d transferred all my old stuff to Dreamwidth, just in a different way.) I’ve decided I’d like to take the opportunity to repost them one at a time, as Vintage Autistic Book Party posts. This will allow me to bring some attention back to reviews I did before 2014, and also to make minor edits for things like typos (and for the new Recommended-1 and Recommended-2 categories). I hope you will enjoy the nostalgia over the next month or two, and not be too irritated by any broken links in the meantime. Eventually, once all the Vintage Autistic Book Party posts are back up, all the links will get fixed and everything will be hosted in one place, but I just don’t want to overload myself trying to fix them all at once.

Vintage Autistic Book Party will not affect the rate at which I produce new Autistic Book Party posts for my Patreon backers. The reverse may or may not be true.

I know this is a little bit of a weird way to do things, and I’m grateful to all of you (both on WordPress and LJ/Dreamwidth) for bearing with me as I do things in my own weird, behind-the-times way.

<3

AGENT

And now, the other exciting news I was hinting at!

I am delighted to announce that my novel-length work is now represented by Hannah Bowman of Liza Dawson Associates.

I have been squeeing for several weeks sitting on this news, but of course, waited to announce until the contract was officially signed and countersigned. (If we often talk privately, then you’ve probably already heard my squeeing! Squeeeeee.)