Claire Finlayson and Sarah Kurchak could hardly be more different in their approaches to memoir about people on the autism spectrum, yet they share a goal of dispelling common stereotypes and opening readers’ hearts to the complex personalities that lie behind this frequently misunderstood diagnosis.
Sarah Kurchak, 39, is autistic, though was undiagnosed until well into adulthood. In I Overcame My Autism and All I Got was this Lousy Anxiety Disorder: A Memoir (Douglas & McIntyre), she recounts her many struggles growing up “different,” despite exceptionally supportive and accepting parents, and her search for success and stability as an adult.
She offers a no-holds-barred take-down (an apt turn of phrase given her love of wrestling and former occupation as a professional pillow fighter) of myths and assumptions perpetuated by neurotypical society about people with autism. Her writing is infused with a tough analysis of ableist culture, and for that alone, this book is enlightening and refreshing in its challenge to harmful stereotypes.
Kurchak recounts how, as a young person, she worked hard to find the key to fit in socially (was it wearing the horribly scratchy jeans that no one else seemed to find unbearable? would a different choice of music attract more friends?) and to suppress traits she understood to be unacceptable.
As an adult, she was able to find people with similar interests and to exhibit many of the outer signs of success, even persuading herself that she had overcome her “differences.” But maintaining the public persona of a successful, well-adjusted writer came at a high price. Only after a breakdown did she seek a diagnosis and begin the process of reacquainting herself with the person hidden behind the mask. (The phenomenon referred to in the neurodiversity community as “masking” will be familiar to anyone who has lived as a member of a marginalized group, whether it be racialized, disabled, queer, or another outsider category. The desire to pass or remain closeted to avoid the teasing, ostracism, bullying and violence that can come with being different is potent yet costly.)
Beyond the struggles of her own life, Kurchak shares some hard facts about addiction and high rates of suicide among people with autism. These point to the need for greater understanding, acceptance and flexibility in a society that too rigidly polices the boundaries between normal/pathological, acceptable/non-acceptable, and where the consequences for those on the wrong side of such divisions can be life-threatening.
Claire Finlayson’s memoir, Dispatches from Ray’s Planet (Caitlin Press) is less political in orientation, but no less determined to open readers’ eyes to the beauty that can be found outside the boundaries of “normal” and the suffering caused by a world that cannot accommodate differences. Finlayson was raised during the 1950s and 60s in a large family, where her brother Ray’s “oddities” were tolerated with forbearance. It was not until Ray was in his fifties that it occurred to Finlayson that his unique behaviour might be consistent with what was known then as Asperger’s syndrome (a term now rejected in favour of “on the autism spectrum”). Her memoir recounts her efforts not only to understand and accept her brother as he is, but also to recognize her own neurotypical biases and those of their family.
As a teen, Finlayson listened to her brother Ray explain how, on his planet, things would be done differently: people would say what they mean and would not be forced to conform to Goongbalong, the term Ray coined for the unspoken rules of social interaction that are so bewildering and unpredictable to him. Finlayson vowed to someday understand her brother’s planet, and decades later, Dispatches from Ray’s Planet is a testament to that commitment.
The beauty of this memoir is the ample space it creates for the voice and perceptions of Ray, a strategy that draws from the long email correspondence Finlayson shared with her brother after discovering that his writing voice was very different from his interactions in person. Though Ray inadvertently makes hurtful comments and social gaffes in the company of others, he is thoughtful and eloquent in writing, and Finlayson includes many of his emails in the book. Ray expounds on philosophy, responds with empathy to others, demonstrates a sense of humour, shares his interests, and explains the terror of navigating a world whose nuanced signals are incomprehensible to him.
The emails also record the siblings’ ongoing debate. Having abandoned efforts to “help” Ray act more “normal,” Finlayson nonetheless defends the value of a diagnosis. Meanwhile Ray insists he needs neither a label nor fixing. If anything, the world of Goongbalong needs adjusting, and he does not want his every move viewed through the lens of autism. Classifications, he argues, oversimplify the human soul: “I suspect that the brain, the mind and the soul are so complex and so multi-faceted that it may prove impossible to make ‘hard’ categories that do more good than harm.”
Readers are bound to be charmed and entranced by Ray’s generosity as a teacher to nieces and nephews, his exploration of sea life through free diving, his propensity for long-distance nude swimming, and his desire to share his depth of knowledge of music, poetry, mathematics, the night skies, and the workings of just about any mechanical or electronic device with all who will listen. The real gift of this book is Finlayson’s expansive and loving portrait of her brother that extends well beyond what the label of autism often conveys.
Kurchak up-ends popular and expert assumptions about autism by sharing her own experiences and disputing accepted wisdom. Finlayson’s portrayal of her journey with Ray offers a unique look into the struggle by two siblings to bridge the divide that separates “different” from “normal”—making a little more space for all of us.
Pat Feindel is a BC writer and editor who recently completed a PhD in Anthropology (SFU) with a focus on Disability Studies.