Paul Collins, Not Even Wrong: Adventures in Autism

Not Even Wrong : Adventures in Autism

Those who know me will understand the depth of the following compliment: This book made me care deeply about a child and about parenting. As a person whose imagined future plans have almost never included children, my threshold for empathy with a memoir of parental experiences is pretty high--to me, you had a choice and you made it, knowing full well that your kid, like all kids, would one day be a bratty teenager. Maybe that's why this book works--because Paul Collins and his wife didn't have a choice about their son, Morgan, being born autistic.

The way that Collins blends a momentous year in the life of his family with a variety of stories about the history of autism and notable autists (including many whose conditions have been diagnosed posthumously, because autism wasn't understood at all until recently) works, too. We feel his pain and his growth, and laugh and cry with him, even as he gently gives us a textbook education in the development of society's understanding of the condition, from Peter the Wild Boy to Rainman and beyond.

Quietly, deftly, Collins also seeks to reshape the way we think about autism. For instance, he says, "Autists are described by others--and by themselves--as aliens among humans. But there's an irony to this, for precisely the opposite is true. They are us, and to understand them is to begin to understand what it means to be human. Think of it: a disability is usually defined in terms of what is missing. A child tugs at his or her parents and whispers, 'Where's that man's arm?' But autism is an ability and a disability: it is as much about what is abundant as what is missing, an overexpression of the very traits that make our species unique. Other animals are social, but only humans are capable of abstract logic. The autistic outhuman the humans, and we can scarcely recognize the result."

And then, of course, we have the moment when Collins sees an adult version of his son at a fast food restaurant and watches the reaction of people around him, then walks a few blocks, stops, sits down on the stoop of a church, and cries. "I can't bear the thought that someday, somehow, someone will be cruel to my child. Or pretend that he is not even there." His pain is palpable; you can't help but care about him and empathize with his struggle.

Destined to be a comfort to parents of autistic children, this most recent Paul Collins book is a worthwhile and exceptionally enjoyable read with or without such a personal stake. Even more than Sixpence House, this book perfects the genre of personal history and intense research into the arcane that Collins is creating for himself. Give him 200 pages of your time.