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I almost gave up on it. And, it should be noted, I rarely abandon a book. But after more than 50 pages — the number I advised students to reach before they made the decision to abandon a book — I was struggling with the will to continue. Ove is a miserable man. Cranky doesn’t even begin to cover it. He delights in arguing over the most petty of situations. He is rude to neighbors and strangers indiscriminately. But then, very slowly, the whole of the man emerges. Fredrik Backman created an unforgettable character in A Man Called Ove. In alternating chapters, we meet the boy Ove, the young man who needs no one, and then the man who needs only one remarkable woman. Backman lets us meet her as well. The story unfolds and Ove comes alive as people push into his space and interfere with his best laid plans. It becomes impossible to put the book down. It is hard to believe that this is a first novel. Reviews have raved with praises like “charming” and “a crowd pleaser.” By word of mouth, "Ove" has become a best seller across Europe and now in the US. It is bitter and sweet. Ove made me angry. He made me laugh. A lot. And in the end, I cried with the sheer beauty of this character and a story so beautifully told. I came to respect this guy. Like most interesting characters I meet in books, or in life, he reminded me of unusual kids I’ve known in my classrooms. He’s not a student. His wife is the intellect. He’s a man who lives in a world of things like trains, houses, anything mechanical, and cars! Specifically — most specifically — Saabs. He is physically strong, mentally a spatial genius, and emotionally what some might describe as “on the spectrum.” I would not label him. Backman doesn’t. What he is, honestly, is a survivor. His taciturn bitterness is understandable as we learn of the tragedies that would stymie most people. What is miraculous is his resiliency and his life well lived. The bitter and the sweet. This is a novel that is well worth reading. But don’t get discouraged and for sure, don’t give up on Ove or his remarkable story.
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Many know Trevor Noah as the comedian who assumed hosting duties of “The Daily Show” when Jon Stewart stepped aside in 2015. Kudos to Stewart and his staff for bringing Noah to the show as a recurring contributor and grooming him for the hosting position.
Now in his mid-30s, the comedian began his career when he was 18 on a South African soap opera. With a quick wit, easy delivery, and good looks, he became an international star. He was the first South African to perform on “The Tonight Show” and “The Late Show with David Letterman.” Honestly, I had no idea of any of this as I don’t follow the late night shows or the comedy circuit. What did catch my attention was his book Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood. His writing is as entertaining as his wit. There’s a hint of Angela’s Ashes with this memoir, in the sense of finding humor in the horrible. However, Noah does more than share his own story, as astounding as it is. He provides a thoughtful and thought provoking view into the insane world of apartheid and the crazy parsing of race that consumed his country. Noah’s mother, an extraordinary woman who defied being defined by any strictures — family or society — chose to be in a relationship with a Swiss-German man when she was working and living in Johannesburg. That she was black made this relationship illegal. The child she deliberately conceived with her lover was therefore a crime. She raised Trevor, though his father was part of his life. Noah writes of outings the family would take. Because the races were not allowed to mix, young Trevor, a colored, would trail his father, a white. His mother, a black, would trail him, none interacting with the other, as they had a day at the mall. From his earliest memories, Noah recalls how he was kept inside when with his mother’s family, of the Xhosa tribe. His mother and he had returned to Soweto Township where race was carefully monitored. A colored child, if discovered in a black neighborhood, would be removed by the government. Born a Crime provides powerful insights into the waning days of apartheid. Each chapter is preceded by an anecdote or an elaboration of law or custom that sets the context of a Noah memory. For example, prior to the chapter titled “Chameleon,” Noah writes: Language brings with it an identity and a culture, or at least the perception of it. A shared language says, “We’re the same.” A language barrier says, “We’re different.” The architects of apartheid understood this. Part of the effort to divide black people was to make sure we were separated not just physically but by language as well. In the Bantu schools, children were only taught in their home language. Zulu kids learned in Zulu. Tswana kids learned in Tswana. Because of this, we’d fall in the trap the government had set for us and fight among ourselves, believing that we were different. The great thing about language is that you can just as easily use it to do the opposite: convince people that they are the same. Racism teaches us that we are different because of the color of our skin. But because racism is stupid, it’s easily tricked…. Throughout, Noah shares stories of how he survived by upending the idea of color as a definition. Like his brilliant and very crafty mother, Noah spoke multiple languages fluently. He shares one moment that is illustrative of his thinking about color and culture. When he was tailed by a gang of Zulus who he heard plotting to beat up the colored kid, he turned to them and in perfect Zulu suggested that he join with them to find someone to mug. It took a moment for their brains to process the language coming from a not-black face, but language won out and Noah — the colored kid — "was embraced as one of their tribe." “I learned to use language like my mother did. I would simulcast — give you the program in your own tongue. …I’d reply in whatever language they’d addressed me in, using the same accent they used. There would be a brief moment of confusion, and then the suspicious look would disappear. ‘Oh, okay. I thought you were a stranger. We’re good then.'" Noah’s memoir has been hailed as a love letter to his mother. Indeed, it was a gift from my son knowing his mother would appreciate this book. But Patricia Nombuyiselo Noah is far from being a warmly nurturing mother. She fiercely loved her son and fiercely fought anyone — even him — who got in her way of what she wanted for him. Here we have shades of Angela’s Ashes with outrageous experiences like his mother tossing him from a moving car, living on caterpillars, shielding him from her black relations, an alcoholic stepfather, and a future preordained by an unrelentingly harsh environment. And always, always, invoking her intense faith that with Jesus they are a team that cannot be defeated. He opens and ends the book with his mother at the center of the story. But throughout the body of the memoir, she is on the edges of his life as he learns how to find and define himself in a very cruel world — which is how she would have it. Noah was raised by one resilient woman. What she demanded of him was that level of grit that would propel him far from the dying grasp of apartheid and its violent aftermath. For many years, I’ve played the “Famous Genius” game with kids and adults. Trevor Noah is a great example of a highly gifted mind and personality — illustrative of what Howard Gardner’s Multiple Intelligence Theory cites as verbal linguistic as well as interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligences. Educators should read this book as evidence that kids who do really bad things (like burn down a mansion), are really not bad kids. In reality, Trevor Noah is the poster boy for those kids on the edges who have extraordinary potential — the type of kid that gifted programs need to find and nurture. Patricia, with her faith and sheer will, made sure Trevor had every opportunity she could find for him. Bright young man that he is, he took his strange life by the horns and whipped it into an international sensation. “Hamilton: An American Musical” celebrates genius on multiple levels. Alexander Hamilton was a genius. He literally wrote himself out of poverty and off the island of Nevis. He exemplifies what some of us believe are characteristics of genius. He was passionate, driven, and as gritty as they come, besides being a super problem solver and creative thinker.
The creator of this turning point in theater is also a genius. Following his first big production, “In the Heights,” (a Tony and Grammy winner), Lin-Manuel Miranda grabbed the attention of not only the theater world, but the world at large with “Hamilton: An American Musical” — a mind boggling integration of old school Broadway with Hip Hop sound and style. Just to confirm that this opinion is not overblown, Miranda was named a MacArthur Fellow in 2015 — aka “ the Genius Grant.” No doubt “Hamilton” is a Miranda production. What Broadway musical has one person framing the idea, creating the book, music, and lyrics — and taking the lead role? Ah, but what a cabinet he had in putting this together. Tommy Kail was an early believer who could direct Miranda’s vision. Alex Lacamoire was equally significant as the pianist and musical director. Questlove — “If he isn’t the pope of Hip Hop, he’s at least a high ranking cardinal,” says Miranda. Andy Blankenbuehler, the storytelling choreographer — he has Burr move in straight lines “because he sees no options” and Hamilton moving in arcs “because he sees all the possibilities.” Illustrative of how this team worked is Jay Duckworth, the prop manager of the Public Theater. During the “Yorktown” sequence, when Washington consults Comte de Rochambeau’s map, Chris Jackson (as GW), looks at a reproduction of Rochambeau’s actual map, printed on parchment paper with Mod Pudge so it resembles sheep skin. Duckworth cares about the tiniest, least visible prop — the seal on the letters from Washington and Hamilton are personalized, and sealed with real wax — as are the candles “as nothing else looks like wax.” Duckworth says he thinks it is unfair to ask actors to go on stage and expose themselves with anything less than what he calls “ultimate support.” The show is grounded in genius scholarship: Ron Chernow’s 2004 bio on Hamilton inspired Miranda. Professor Joann Freeman’s knowledge of the Revolution and early Republic kept Miranda and his musical true to the historic roots. Miranda builds on musical genius: Tupac, Mobb Deep, and a range of rappers who influenced him, as did “Gilbert and Sullivan,” “South Pacific” and “Hair” that expanded his view of Broadway. This plethora of genius was amply rewarded. To note some highlights: : the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Drama; a record setting 16 Tony nominations, with 11 wins including Best Musical; the 2016 Grammy for Best Musical Theater album; multiple Drama Desk awards. PBS THIRTEEN just opened the Great Performances season with “Hamilton’s America,” a documentary film showcasing the creation and performance of the award winning “Hamilton: An American Musical.” It is an awesome production. But fans will want to dive deeper into the mind of Lin-Manuel Miranda and the story of “Hamilton: An American Musical” with the must read Hamilton the Revolution (Grand Central Publishing, April 2016) by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jeremy McCarter, who is the drama critic at the New York Magazine. McCarter has long argued that “Hip Hop can save the theater.” McCarter’s view of Hip Hop’s “lyrical density and storytelling ingenuity” is borne out in Miranda’s “Hamilton.” Where I see genius at the core of Hamilton and the musical, Miranda saw revolution. His musical celebrates the origins of revolution as he revolutionizes the American musical. Much has been written about his casting of people of color to play iconic historical figures. In the list of genius talents associated with the production, the actors who bring old, white men and women from history fully alive are key. It is one more brilliant stroke, with powerful ramifications. Daveed Diggs, when interviewed, said he thinks that seeing a black man play Jefferson or Madison or Washington when he was a child in Oakland might have changed his life. “A whole lot of things I just never thought were for me would have seemed possible. “ Okieriete Onaodowan (“’Oak’ to all”) on his role as James Madison says, “I’m a black man playing a wise, smart, distinguished future president.” Early on, Miranda and crew recognized the power the musical had unleashed. They opened February 17, 2015 and within a few weeks, faced what they thought was their toughest audience —seats filled with high school students from New York public schools (through Public Theater’s partnership with the Theater Development Fund.) The kids got it — all of it. Within months, producer Jeffrey Seller announced a “radical expansion” of “Hamilton’s” outreach to students. With a 1.5 million dollar grant from the Rockefeller Foundation and educational support from the Gilda Lehrman Institute of American History, 20,000 New York public school students, most on reduced or free lunch, will see the show in 2016 — for $10. Within a decade, licenses for school productions will be in play with possibly 600 or 700 school productions around the country annually. It’s genius! It’s a revolution! Hamilton the Revolution is presented in 18th century style —Miranda’s extended homage to the man and his times. The subtitle captures the tone and reveals the wonders of this book: Being the Complete Libretto of the Broadway Musical With a true account of Its Creation and concise remarks on Hip-Hop, the Power of Stories, and the New America Miranda presents wonderfully annotated lyrics — comments on how a phrase was turned, his jokes,his nods to B.I.G and other rappers, and Broadway. The photos reveal details in costuming and the movement on the stage that enhances the story. And the interviews! Each chapter highlights a moment, a person, the story within the story of how this show emerged from Miranda’s mind and came to life through the geniuses around him. From what Miranda initially thought of as “The Hamilton Mixtape,” with a very early reveal of the first song performed at the White House, to six years later a fully formed musical, Hamilton The Revolution shares the genius of an American musical revolution. A remarkable book. One more revelation of the Miranda genius. October 11, 2016
I like Bruce Springsteen’s music, but I am not a super fan. Not like those who have been to a hundred of his concerts, who know every lyric. Who yell BRUUUUUUUUCE! I am a fan of genius and he is truly a musical genius. Turns out, he also is a sharp writer, who brings the same candid tone, humor, originality and intense passion to his memoir as he is beloved for bringing to his music. This project began for him after he and the E Street Band played the 2009 Super Bowl. That experience was so “exhilarating” that Springsteen decided to write about it. And he kept going. Seven years later, he has fulfilled his promise to show the reader his mind. “In these pages, I’ve tried to do that.” Born to Run was released a month ago. The launch of his book tour was at the Freehold Barnes and Nobel — his hometown. He still is a Monmouth County boy, but now in the rarified air of Rumson and Colts Neck — he has estates in both. He knows how far he’s come, and he does not shy away from telling us how surreal it all is for him. What his fans saw that day in Freehold was a humble guy. He showed up 90 minutes early, signed every book, posed for endless selfies and was genuinely pleased to be there. He’s been gone from Freehold since he was a teenager, but his old Irish/Italian neighbor is still deeply rooted in him. This is the best of memoir as Springsteen is more show than just tell. He both relives the world that shaped him as he also stands to the side, reflecting on what it was about and where it fits into who he became. What I have reflected on in reading his book is how this music icon is an exemplar of what I understand about genius. Who knows what his IQ is. I’m guessing he’s bright, based on the savvy decisions he’s made with his career. Interestingly, with all the details of his youth and growing up in Freehold, almost nothing is said about school —only that he had to go at age five and knew it wasn’t for him from the first day. He skipped his high school graduation. The principal was offended by his “look” — the long hair and grunge attire. So screw it. On graduation day, he got up early, hopped a bus to New York City and spent the day with his musical colleagues in the Village. This is before cell phones, but his parents guessed where he would be and made some calls. When they finally tracked him down, they persuaded him to come home for the party — which he did. A week later, he stopped by school to pick up his diploma. Just as he knew school was not important for him, he knew college wasn't either. Besides, at this point he was already well into building his music career. But it was the era of the Vietnam draft, and his parents really wanted him to make an effort for a college degree. So he started at community college to appease them and to protect himself from the draft. College didn’t last long and is a funny story of how he successfully avoided both school and the draft. For those who buy into IQ as the measure of intelligence, and who gauge genius on doing school really well, I say let Bruce Springsteen open minds to what Howard Gardner calls Musical Intelligence, which in Springsteen is to the highest order. He is a musical genius. But those who follow my thinking —scroll down for my thoughts on Duckworth’s Grit for example —his genius is more than a talent for writing lyrics and setting down chords. Geniuses work hard and Springsteen is one of the hardest working artists in the business. Intense is the word that defines genius. He writes: I didn’t f_____around, no drugs, no booze, girls…yeah, but not if they got in the way of “the music,” f ____ with that and you’re out of my life. There would be no wasted days and wasted nights for me. That laser focus on music was apparent from when he was just a little boy. He was blessed to have a mom who did what she could to nurture his yen for music. His memories of his first guitar, the literal pain of learning chords (very painful to a child’s soft fingertips), the fits and starts with finding band mates and “a sound” — all are evocatively powerful. He’s good to his word: in this book readers see his mind. And it is very cool to see the genius there. What did Miranda get right? What may not be historically accurate?
Dr. Jake Ruddiman, Associate Professor of History at Wake Forest University, shares some thoughts with "Humanities Viewpoints Podcast." Click the link! http://humanitiesinstitute.wfu.edu/podcast?utm_source=September+2016&utm_campaign=September+2016+Newsletter&utm_medium=email ( So what has changed in John Robison’s life since 2008?
A lot. His 2008 memoir, Look Me in the Eye, made him famous. (See review below.) Many requests for conference appearances and speaking engagements followed as he became a public face of Asperger’s. He wrote two more books that further developed his thoughts. Be Different (2011) expounds on his belief that the “strength” of Asperger’s minds should be valued, even as social skills are fostered and learned. After meeting so many fellow “Aspergians” and their families seeking to find the confidence Robison exhibits, he was compelled to write this book as advice for his “Aspie” peers, their friends, family and teachers. He also wrote Raising Cubby (2013) about life with his son who is also on the spectrum with what Robison calls Asperger’s. The brilliant subtitle captures the author’s loving and exasperated tone throughout — A father and son’s adventures with Asperger’s, trains, tractors, and high explosives. But then Robison’s life and world changed beyond imagination. This is the rest of the story that he tells in Switched On: A Memoir of Brain Change and Emotional Awakening (2016). At one of his many public appearances, Robison was approached by Lindsay Oberman, a post doc researcher at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston. She explained that a group at Berenson-Allen Center for Noninvasive Brain Stimulation was seeking adult volunteers on the autism spectrum to be part of a project on improving emotional intelligence. Robison, always open to learning anything and particularly about the mystery of his Asperger’s mind, was game. So began his astounding experience with TMS — Transcranial magnetic stimulation. Switched On is, in Robison’s style, a memoir of his journey into this new arena. But he also dives into the realm of neuroscience. Robison sought to learn as much as he could about the TMS process and brain function. Sharing all of this with his readers makes this book a slower go. That said, the technical aspects enhance understanding of the dramatic changes that turn his life and world inside out. For instance, after a TMS session, he “felt” music for the first time in his life. Even with years of working as a sound engineer for rock bands, and more recently, as a photographer with access to the “front of the room” at major concerts, he suddenly was moved to tears by lyrics of a familiar song. This dramatic moment, which opens the book, was his first inkling that TMS was indeed changing his brain. Alvaro Pascual-Leone, the MD-PhD head of the staff at Berenson-Allen Center for Noninvasive Brain Stimulation is a cognitive and behavioral neurologist. In the foreword of Switched On he writes that his mission “is to help patients affected by various neurological and psychiatric condition, including autism epilepsy, stroke, Parkinson’s disease, or drug resistant depression.” The center’s intent with Robison and with many other subjects, including Robison’s son Cubby, was not to “cure autism” but rather “to learn more about the fundamental mechanisms of brain function in individuals with autism spectrum.” But as Robison writes, “brain plasticity is the ongoing capacity of the brain and the nervous system to change itself.” TMS stimulated his brain to “rewire” and changed his emotional intelligence. So are you thinking of the memorable Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes? Robison did a lot of thinking about that fictional character as he wondered and worried that what he was experiencing would also fade. But the ability to feel emotions and to relate to people “normally” did not abate, both for the good and the bad. Dealing with a death in his family without the insulation from emotion inflicted terrible pain he had never before felt. Relationships that had been forged and cemented by his Asperger’s self —broke apart, causing him sadness he had never experienced, even in the worst moments of his childhood. The good, however, is immeasurable. He enters into a new relationship that blossoms into a very happy — albeit unconventional — family. His photography – always admired for composition and realism – “like the soup containers on the grocery store shelves” – now, he reflects, “are like Warhol soup cans.” Brighter, vibrant less real and more emotive. Towards the end of the book Robison writes, “Sometimes I felt as if I had been turned upside down and shaken, even though any direct effects of TMS had long since dissipated…I still feel significantly changed when compared to my pre-TMS self.” Friends and family who know him well, and those who encounter Robison infrequently, have the same response. “You’ve changed.” One person who has known Robison well over the course of his many years in the music world, told Robison that he always admired Robison’s work. “But you were also difficult, abrasive, and socially inept. I actually avoided you. Then, a few years ago, you changed, and it was dramatic, to say the least. Now you’re a sociable and likable person that I seek out.” The most significant part of this book is Robison’s discussion of the “what’s next.” As he maintained in the conclusion of Look Me in the Eye, Robison again embraces his Asperger’s, providing insights into how his brain works. For example, he could hear minute vibrations in sound systems, he “hears” engines of finely tuned cars, and he senses — in a split second — a moment that he captures on film. He refers to his friend, Temple Grandin, who has been able to explain to “normal” brains how her brain see pictures and processes connections almost instantaneously, and how she “understands” what animals are feeling and communicating. Do we really want to “fix” this type of mind? Should everyone be “neurotypical?” Robison is fearful of “early identification,” saying that “Most of the exceptional things I’ve done in my life were facilitate by my being autistic. What if all that had been wiped away by early intervention?” He states, “The problem comes when we presume all difference is disability, and it’s not.” Those who work closely with gifted children and adults recognize traits that too often are labeled ADHD, or “on the spectrum.” Forget the labels. Work with the abilities that are evident and celebrate the differences. Address the weaknesses – social behaviors, for example — and build on all the abilities these unique brains possess. Robison continues to be a remarkable man doing amazing things. Now in his 50s, Robison is energized to pursue his next steps. He is concerned about the dysfunction and inefficiency in how research is funded that keeps projects separate and too often secreted. Then, too, is the problem of specialization, noting that one researcher cannot possibly keep up with information in other fields. In this complicated system, Robison sees a role he can fill. “I began to see myself as a possible bridge, because I am not a scientist and I’m not in conflict or competition with any of the researchers.” From his now extensive network, Robison can see “technological combinations” and connect those who are able to capitalize on multiple strands of research. He has embraced this role in the autism and neurodiversity movement which led to his appointment as William & Mary’s Neurodiversity Scholar in Residence, developing the first neurodiversity program at a major American university. He is part of advisory boards that shape research, and he advises a group at Yale as part of an NIH biomarkers consortium. He is on the Interagency Autism Coordinating Committee, for the US government. He was a member of the steering committee for the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF) Core Sets for Autism initiative for the World Health Organization. And he still services cars. This review was published in February, 2008. Read this first, and then the next post for a really amazing "rest of the story."
How could something as common as making eye contact be so difficult? How can people who are so brilliant with solving complex calculations, for example, be so limited in the basic everyday skills of life? It seems ironic that the very people who severely suffer from being able to connect normally with other people may be the very ones who offer society answers to the riddle of Asperger’s Syndrome. John Elder Robison has written a poignant, insightful, brilliant memoir titled “Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger’s” (Crown, 2007). It is must reading. As the numbers of those on the autism spectrum rise dramatically, it is imperative that society pays attention to these unique people. We cannot afford to lose what they can offer. Autism is one of the most confounding mental conditions. Little is known — yet — on what triggers the disorder in the brain. Until the 1940s, autism was not even in the medical lexicon. The symptoms of Autism, however, are difficult to ignore. The most overt symptoms are a difficulty — often severe — with social interactions, problems with verbal and nonverbal communication and repetitive actions or obsessive fixations. These behaviors can range from mild to disabling on what researchers now understand and call the autistic spectrum disorder. Asperger’s Syndrome is on the high end. Long before the behaviors had a name, those with what we now call Asperger’s were noted as being out of the ordinary. Called odd or eccentric or quirky, some found acceptance due to one other prevalent attribute. Some exhibit genius. John Elder Robison speaks eloquently to both his brilliance and his heartbreaking disabilities. That he is able and willing to do so is in itself a story. Many recall the best selling memoir by Augusten Burroughs titled “Running with Scissors” (St. Martin’s Press, 2002). He captured the public’s attention with his tale of growing up with an insane mother, an alcoholic father, being “given” to his mother’s psychiatrist and being raised in increasingly bizarre circumstances by truly dysfunctional characters. Yet what seemed to intrigue his readers the most — based on many letters and the predominant comments he received at book signings — was the relatively brief mention in the book about his older brother who lived with Asperger’s. In the touching foreword to “Look Me in the Eye,” Augusten Burroughs shares how he convinced his adored older brother to tell his own story. “You should write a memoir. About Asperger’s, about growing up not knowing what you had. A memoir where you tell all your stories. Tell everything. About five minutes later, he e-mailed me a sample chapter. ‘Like this?’ was the subject line of the e-mail. Yes. Like that.” Mr. Burroughs openly adores his “brilliant brother.” Readers will also come to recognize that John Elder Robison is truly a genius. Those of a certain age remember the rock band Kiss and the smoking guitars and other wild special effects that took rock and roll into new dimensions of “arena rock.” Mr. Robison made those guitars smoke and built the sound systems that took rock high tech. Remember Super Simon, one of the first electronic games? In the 1970s, Mr. Robison was on the research and design teams at Milton Bradley that transformed kids’ toys. For the past twenty years, J.E. Robison Service in Amherst, Massachusetts has been repairing and restoring high-end automobiles (very high end) for grateful costumers who come from all over the world to have John Elder Robison work his magic. All this is self-taught. Actually, everything Mr. Robison has done in his life has been self-taught. Even learning — in his forties — to act “normally.” It is hard to say what aspect of this book is most fascinating — the descriptions of what Mr. Robison calls “Aspergian” behaviors or his savant abilities. What he makes clear is that Asperger’s and savantism are linked. He has come to appreciate that, even without a high school diploma, “the knowledge I have is genuine.” He also says he has come to understand that the skills he has to design, engineer, build (anything!), “are rare.” He writes, “There are plenty of people in the world whose lives are governed by rote and routine. Such people will never be happy dealing with me, because I don’t conform. Luckily, the world is also full of people who care about results, and those people are usually very happy with me, because my Asperger’s compels me to be the ultimate expert in whatever field of interest I choose. And with substantial knowledge, I can obtain good results.” Mr. Robison’s story emphasizes two compelling points. The first is that Asperger’s does not need to be “fixed.” “I’m not defective. In fact, in recent years I have started to see that we Aspergians are better than normal!” Mr. Robison continues, “And now it seems as though scientists agree: Recent articles suggest that a touch of Asperger’s is an essential part of much creative genius.” We think with awe about geniuses in literature or life: the calculating abilities of a “Rain Man,” the intuitive thinking of a Sherlock Holmes, the tenacity and analytical skills of a Jane Goodall. But we also disparage the lack of social graces in these geniuses. These are people who did not play nicely in the sandbox. Neither did John Elder Robison. In another poignantly funny account, he relates his own early childhood attempts where he failed miserably at playing nicely in a sandbox — or anywhere. However — and this is his second important point — it was not because he didn’t want to play nicely with other kids. He sadly remembers teachers who pointed to him, alone, with the comment, “He doesn’t want to play with others.” He asserts, “They were dead wrong.” Mr. Robison makes clear in his book and in interviews that “the bitterest disappointment of my life was the inability to make friends.” It speaks to the nature of this man that he is happily married. His chapter on being a husband and father are touchingly sweet and very funny. Moreover, he has — now — a wide circle of good friends with whom he shares his interests and theirs. He says that he has learned the difference between “eccentric and weird” and he strives to be “a nice eccentric.” He accepts that he will never be “normal,” nor does he want to be. “Asperger’s is not a disease. It’s a way of being. There is no cure, nor is there a need for one.” But, there is a need to expand on what is considered “normal.” Society needs to extend the range of what is considered accepted behavior. The title of the book is a particular sticking point for Mr. Robison and others on the autistic spectrum. His explanation of why he does not look people in the eye is enlightening: He isn’t shutting the world out, he is intensely taking it all in. How much easier his life would have been if “normal” people understood just this simple difference. As more is known about autism and Asperger’s Syndrome — much from Aspergians themselves — the better it will be for them and for those around them. For those who want to read more about it, in a final chapter Mr. Robison provides a host of sources for information about Asperger’s and autism including support groups, books and other memoirs. Mr. Robison’s website is amazing. (www.johnrobison.com). He posts book information, photographs and his blogs. Most intriguing is an hour long video of his first public appearance to launch the book. Mr. Robison reads passages, answers questions from the audience, and interacts with this brother who moderates the event. He tells of having to audition to read this book for the Crown audio edition — he was accepted — and how this medium provided another breakthrough for Aspergians. “Moms of autistics and Aspergians called and wrote {to say} my voice is distinctive” with tones and nuances that are recognizable as Asperger’s. He says had he known the power of the spoken word, he would have insisted the audio edition not be abridged. Now that Mr. Robison finally has a diagnosis and his own appreciation for being a “proud Aspergian,” he is very open to sharing with as many people as he can reach in order to save others with Asperger’s and their families the pain he experienced.
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