On autistic characters in fiction
Oct. 10th, 2016 01:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rainwatersparkThis is a difficult topic to talk about because autism is such a variable condition that it's often difficult to criticize autistic "stereotypes" while also trying to acknowledge that of course there are autistic people who do fit that stereotype. So far, though, I've found almost no autistic characters in fiction that I identify with (though, of course, there aren't a ton of autistic characters in fiction to begin with) even after I've included some autistic characters written by autistic authors/considered "good" autistic representation, with possibly one or two exceptions, and there's a particular reason why that is.
There's a great article that talks about behaviorizing vs. humanizing autistic characters, and the gist of it is that negative representations of autistic characters tend to "behaviorize" them, or reduce them to a list of traits, rather than humanize them. I've been finding this predominant even in autistic characters who are written by well-intentioned authors: that the emphasis is, first and foremost, on the rocking, the stimming, the complete lack of social awareness that causes them to come off as rude.
I feel particularly passionate about this because it was my mistaken belief that autistic people were always rude and unable not to be rude—from the depictions of autism that surrounded me—that caused me not to think I could possibly be autistic for many years.
In a way, these depictions of autism feel like representations of autism in a vacuum—in other words, autism completely untouched by interaction with an allistic world. And, again, I know I'm walking a very fine and difficult line, because there are autistic people like this, and I don't want to denigrade that. But there are also many autistic people who aren't—or not to that degree. Autistic people lack allistic social intuitions; however, we're certainly aware of how allistic people react to us, and social humiliation/ostracization is a strong motivator to try to modify our behaviors to conform. Autistic people can learn manners and rules of politeness. I know I have had moments when I probably came off as rude (particularly if I'm tired or stressed), but for the most part I have a memorized bank of social scripts and what circumstances I'm supposed to pull them out for, like a mathematical input-output machine. Most of the time, I know better than to voice my bluntest, most honest opinions.
I've basically never read an autistic character like that, even though I'm pretty sure I'm not unique among autistic people in this way.
This is not to say that I can act perfectly neurotypical (I definitely can't), nor is it to say that this pressure to conform to allistic standards is necessarily a good thing. It's tiring and exhausting. But I think it's kind of an odd attitude for writers not to acknowledge (or even realize) that autistic people are subject to these pressures due to the sheer necessity of trying to get along with and make friends with allistic people (since we are the minority).
I just feel like there has to be a way to write autistic characters without introducing them as just a collection of traits, because that naturally leads to the emphasis on "Look at how different this character is from (presumed) you and me!" instead of humanizing the autistic character. Humanizing an autistic character involves diving into the character's head and thought processes—because autism isn't abnormal from an autistic person's own point of view.
So, for example:
This feels behaviorizing:
"'I'll make you guys cabbage soup for dinner. I'm sure you'll be hungry after a long day of school,' said the kindly neighborhood old lady.
'My brother doesn't like cabbage soup,' said April. She walked away without noticing the upset expression on Mrs. Dodd's face."
This is more humanizing:
"'I'll make you guys cabbage soup for dinner. I'm sure you'll be hungry after a long day of school,' said the kindly neighborhood old lady.
'My brother doesn't like cabbage soup,' said April, thinking about how much Austin hated the taste of cabbage but was too polite to tell Mrs. Dodds so. Hopefully she'd make something else for dinner this time, something Austin would like better."
Even though this situation is one I can relate to, I'd find the first example much more alienating than the second. The first example focuses on April's rudeness due to total lack of social awareness. The second example presents April's logical thought process that leads to her saying something that may be considered rude by an allistic person, but to April makes perfect sense. By delving into April's head, it humanizes her, rather than conveying the impression of "Wow look how rude this person is because of autism!"
Obviously, what it comes down to is that we need more depictions of autistic characters, and depictions that acknowledge the diversity of the autistic spectrum. I don't know if it's just me, but another thing I don't like about the fact that there's a behaviorized autistic "stereotype" currently most represented in fiction is that it leads me to anxieties about "not being autistic 'enough.'" For example, I see the protagonist in my current novel as autistic, but I'm far too afraid to explicitly say he's autistic in the book because he feels not autistic "enough" compared to the other autistic characters I've read about. I know that's an untrue and unhelpful way of thinking, but I can't help it; it's hard to deviate from a seemingly established norm when you're the only one.
These are just some thoughts I've had recently in my frustration with reading most fictional depictions of autistic people.
There's a great article that talks about behaviorizing vs. humanizing autistic characters, and the gist of it is that negative representations of autistic characters tend to "behaviorize" them, or reduce them to a list of traits, rather than humanize them. I've been finding this predominant even in autistic characters who are written by well-intentioned authors: that the emphasis is, first and foremost, on the rocking, the stimming, the complete lack of social awareness that causes them to come off as rude.
I feel particularly passionate about this because it was my mistaken belief that autistic people were always rude and unable not to be rude—from the depictions of autism that surrounded me—that caused me not to think I could possibly be autistic for many years.
In a way, these depictions of autism feel like representations of autism in a vacuum—in other words, autism completely untouched by interaction with an allistic world. And, again, I know I'm walking a very fine and difficult line, because there are autistic people like this, and I don't want to denigrade that. But there are also many autistic people who aren't—or not to that degree. Autistic people lack allistic social intuitions; however, we're certainly aware of how allistic people react to us, and social humiliation/ostracization is a strong motivator to try to modify our behaviors to conform. Autistic people can learn manners and rules of politeness. I know I have had moments when I probably came off as rude (particularly if I'm tired or stressed), but for the most part I have a memorized bank of social scripts and what circumstances I'm supposed to pull them out for, like a mathematical input-output machine. Most of the time, I know better than to voice my bluntest, most honest opinions.
I've basically never read an autistic character like that, even though I'm pretty sure I'm not unique among autistic people in this way.
This is not to say that I can act perfectly neurotypical (I definitely can't), nor is it to say that this pressure to conform to allistic standards is necessarily a good thing. It's tiring and exhausting. But I think it's kind of an odd attitude for writers not to acknowledge (or even realize) that autistic people are subject to these pressures due to the sheer necessity of trying to get along with and make friends with allistic people (since we are the minority).
I just feel like there has to be a way to write autistic characters without introducing them as just a collection of traits, because that naturally leads to the emphasis on "Look at how different this character is from (presumed) you and me!" instead of humanizing the autistic character. Humanizing an autistic character involves diving into the character's head and thought processes—because autism isn't abnormal from an autistic person's own point of view.
So, for example:
This feels behaviorizing:
"'I'll make you guys cabbage soup for dinner. I'm sure you'll be hungry after a long day of school,' said the kindly neighborhood old lady.
'My brother doesn't like cabbage soup,' said April. She walked away without noticing the upset expression on Mrs. Dodd's face."
This is more humanizing:
"'I'll make you guys cabbage soup for dinner. I'm sure you'll be hungry after a long day of school,' said the kindly neighborhood old lady.
'My brother doesn't like cabbage soup,' said April, thinking about how much Austin hated the taste of cabbage but was too polite to tell Mrs. Dodds so. Hopefully she'd make something else for dinner this time, something Austin would like better."
Even though this situation is one I can relate to, I'd find the first example much more alienating than the second. The first example focuses on April's rudeness due to total lack of social awareness. The second example presents April's logical thought process that leads to her saying something that may be considered rude by an allistic person, but to April makes perfect sense. By delving into April's head, it humanizes her, rather than conveying the impression of "Wow look how rude this person is because of autism!"
Obviously, what it comes down to is that we need more depictions of autistic characters, and depictions that acknowledge the diversity of the autistic spectrum. I don't know if it's just me, but another thing I don't like about the fact that there's a behaviorized autistic "stereotype" currently most represented in fiction is that it leads me to anxieties about "not being autistic 'enough.'" For example, I see the protagonist in my current novel as autistic, but I'm far too afraid to explicitly say he's autistic in the book because he feels not autistic "enough" compared to the other autistic characters I've read about. I know that's an untrue and unhelpful way of thinking, but I can't help it; it's hard to deviate from a seemingly established norm when you're the only one.
These are just some thoughts I've had recently in my frustration with reading most fictional depictions of autistic people.
