Aspie Book Club Presents: NeuroTribes, by Steve Silberman

Hello all and welcome to a new installment of Aspie Book Club! Now, for those of you who have been following my blog from day one, you may remember a section I started back then with this name dedicated to profiling any and all books I come across on the subject of Neurodiversity and Autism. Well, it has been a few years since my last (and only) Aspie Book Club entry but fear not dear readers, for the section has returned from the dead! This time, I'll be focussing on a book which only came out a few months ago called NeuroTribes, by Steve Silberman of Wired Magazine.

NeuroTribes chronicles the history of both Autism and the various movements and initiatives which have risen around it throughout history. It is at once both sobering and inspiring, and though long-winded at times, it succeeds in presenting a chronicle of those on the spectrum throughout the ages, along with the responses of the scientific community to their existence. It is at times joyous and hopeful, at others dark and touching, but one thing it always is is powerful. I have always been a believer in Neurodiversity, but like most people I haven't always been aware of the history behind it all. Reading through NeuroTribes, I felt as though I was for the first time coming face to face with the history of my own people.

I can safely say, dear reader, that there were moments where I wept while reading this book, and yet others when I cheered proudly and defiantly for even the smallest victories achieved by autistics, aspies and those who advocated on our behalf. Perhaps one of the most poignant moments for me while reading this book occurred while I was working through the chapter on Hans Asperger. Silberman devotes much of the early part of his book to discussing Asperger's work with the children the author would come to refer to as “Asperger's lost tribe,” and this is done for good reason, as the good professor was working and discovering Autism during one of the darkest chapters of human history; the Nazi eugenics programs of the 1930s and 40s. In many way ways, Hans Asperger was to the Neurodivergent community what Oscar Schindler was to the Jews; a hero who saved whoever he could from the tyrannical hands of Hitler's National Socialist party.

The book also gets far darker, discussing the pathologizing of Autism by Leo Kanner in 1940s America, the cruel behaviourist experiments on autistics during the 60s and 70s and the rise of the anti-vaccination movement as a means of curing Autism during the 80s-2000s. It should be noted, however, that the night is darkest just before the dawn, and Silberman's book is no exception. The final chapters of his work illustrate the rise of the concept of Neurodiversity through such important figures as Temple Grandin and others who helped popularize the idea that autistics are not 'broken,' they merely run a different human operating system. As a result, this book is an emotional rollercoaster and an absolute page turner because of it.

NeuroTribes, by Steve Silberman, is therefore one of the best books I've ever read on the history of Autism and Neurodiversity. It was not only thoughtful and thought-provoking, but it also treated its material and the people being discussed with a sense of hope, love and respect that is so hard to find among many others who write about autism. Here is a book that, rather than portraying autism as a tragedy for parents and caregivers, tells the untold story of autistics themselves. While it's an emotional and at-times difficult book to read because of it, it is also powerful and optimistic. More than any other book I've read on the subject, this one made me feel like I'd come home. It was the story of my neurotribe, writ large for the first time. Silberman's book is a masterpiece, and has the potential to serve as the perfect manifesto for Neurodiversity as a whole.

Well done Steve! (Can I call you Steve? Mr. Silberman?)

Yours in Diversity,

Adam Michael

Autism in Hell's Kitchen: Disability and Neurodiversity Rights in Marvel's Daredevil

Good evening to all of you out in internet land! Recently I, like many of you, have become a huge fan of the various movies and TV series published under the Marvel banner and based on their comic books. The stories are great fun, and after all, who doesn't remember growing up with the adventures of Spiderman, Thor, Captain America, The Hulk and other such mighty Avengers? In particular, Marvel recently released their Netflix original series Daredevil, and strangely enough it sparked some thought in my brain about how disability and neurodiversity tends to be portrayed on TV and in other media.

Surely, none of us are strangers to it. While watching a favourite TV show or movie, or reading a book or magazine, a character is presented who has a visible or invisible disability. Who doesn't love that? After all, its nice to see marginalized groups represented in mainstream media, isn't it? Indeed it is, dear reader, but there is of course a dark side to this. More often than not, media portrayals of things such as the autism spectrum tend to present aspies and autistics in one of three lights; negatively (the character lacks any humanity whatsoever), sympathetically, yet condescendingly (“Aww the poor dear, he struggles so much with that tragic condition!) or proudly, yet condescendingly (“We're so proud of him! He's come so far...you know...for someone with his condition!”) The point is, while media coverage is good, typically, mainstream presentations of autism and aspergers (and indeed any condition which differentiates people from the crowd) tend to reinforce prevailing stereotypes against those who are different rather than shatter them.

I could come up with a laundry list of fictional characters who fall victim to this trope, but thankfully one show's characters I could not lump under that group are those of Daredevil. Indeed, it feels as though the entire show is one big love letter to disability pride. Matthew Murdock, the lead character of the show and alter ego of the titular character, is an attorney working in New York's dangerous Hell's Kitchen neighbourhood, attempting to make things better for the people of NYC's impoverished areas. He is also blind, having lost his sense of sight due to a chemical spill at nine years of age. While in most traditional disability narratives, Murdock would probably be afforded sympathy by viewers and writers alike, this is not the case in Daredevil. As a result of losing his sight, Murdock has honed his other senses to a razor sharp degree, and uses them to effectively see without use of his eyes. This enables him to fight crime and bring justice to the people of Hell's Kitchen by night, while using his intellect to do the same thing through the legal system during the day. What I like most about Murdock's story is that it very much parallels the developmental path of many mild aspies and autistics (including yours truly). Essentially, while certain aspects of being on the spectrum are in fact a disability (seriously, being able to distinguish between angry face and serious face? Ugh!), it is never a black and white thing and also comes with many gifts. I can testify that in my own admittedly mild case, while I was slightly handicapped in reading emotional cues based on facial language, I developed my ability to analyze other aspects of a situation and so almost make up for it. I have my moments where I fail, but heck, even Matt Murdock still needs to read brail right?

And I haven't even gotten into the series' big bad yet...

If the positive commentary on disability starts with the Daredevil himself, it reaches its next level with series baddie Wilson Fisk. Portrayed in the comics as the big, muscular bald and highly intelligent leader of New York's biggest criminal empire, the series' version of him follows almost the exact same path. Played by Vincent D'Onofrio on the Netflix series, the live action version of Fisk is also a recluse, one who is visibly uncomfortable in social settings and who, besides his close friend and assistant James Wesley and lover Vanessa, has no expansive social network and a very regimented daily routine.

In short, Fisk is on the autism spectrum. And I couldn't be happier about it.

Now, before any of you start screaming that making a villain autistic effectively ruins the reputations of anyone with any Autism Spectrum Disorder, hear me out. Yes, Fisk is a recluse. Yes, he is visibly uncomfortable in social settings, and yes he has a small circle of close associates, but these are never portrayed as any form of impediment to him. In fact, These traits, when combined with Fisk's clear and shrewd intellect, and his inner conflict between the moral and ruthless sides of his soul serve to make him one of the most interesting and, dare I say, human villains currently existing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. In the end, Fisk has both good and evil in his soul, just as we all do. Whether neurodiverse or neurotypical, blind or able to see, we all have the conflict between two metaphorical wolves within us; one of good and the other of evil. The fact that Fisk is presented (though never announced on screen) as an autistic with the same inner turmoil and complex character development normally reserved for non-disabled characters is a beautiful testament to the fact that, whatever else we may have to deal with in life, we are all of us humans first.

Marvel's Daredevil is therefore a show that hits a lot of the right notes. While my inner geek is jumping for joy at its tie-ins with the greater MCU, my disability rights activist is also doing the same mental fist-pump for all of the positive portrayals of disability that lie within. It's a great show in its own right, and I seriously can't wait to see where the series goes (I haven't finished watching it yet!). Even still, there is something super compelling about the concept of a blind super hero with highly developed senses fighting the good fight for the poorest of NYC against an autistic villain who is brilliant, evil and a cunning crime lord while also being oh so human.

Whoa.

Aspie Book Club

Hello all you Aspergians, Neurodiverse, Neurodiversity activists, friends, family and supporters out there. I'm not doing a full on entry today, though I do have some ideas for my next one. Today I wanted to take some time and introduce a new column I'll be running on occasion. Introducing the Aspie Book Club! The premise is simple; Every time I come across a book, or article that addresses neurodiversity in a positive and constructive manner, I'll be writing a quick profile of it here on Differently Wired. The purpose of this is, I hope, to increase awareness of some really talented writers and activists who have made positive contributions to the movement. This should be interactive too; I want to get comments from anyone who reads this blog! Anyway, on to the main event!

Today, I want to give a special shout out to the author of a book I recently finished reading. John Elder Robison is the author of "Be Different", his memoir of his own experiences growing up Aspie. I've said it before on this blog; I may have Aspergers more mildly than some, but even so reading through his book, I was amazed how many times I saw myself in it. The best part about this book, though, is that unlike a lot of literature about Aspergers or Autism that focuses on treatment methods, coping strategies, and such, "Be Different" takes a different path. Robison is truly optimistic and honest about his experiences, basically coming to the conclusion that despite it having caused him hardship growing up, he wouldn't give up being an Aspie for anything. This is a refreshing approach to the subject, and it was a joy to read. Here's a picture of the cover:

(image pulled from amazon.ca...you can't actually 'click to look inside' :P)

Well that's that for this instalment of Aspie Book Club! Check back soon for my reminisces on some particularly Aspergian elements of my own childhood. 

Yours in Diversity,

Adam Michael