My novel The Kitchen Daughter was published in 2011. Seven years is not that long ago, really, but for many reasons, it feels like a different lifetime. The world has changed a great deal in less than a decade, and publishing has changed along with it—in ways both negative and positive.
When I made the decision to write a novel from the perspective of a character on the autism spectrum, such books were relatively rare on bookstore shelves. Basically, if people had read a book with an autistic narrator, it was almost certainly Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. (Which of course, in certain circles, gave rise to the typical publishing conversation of “Isn’t your book kind of like a book that already exists?” And the standard, exasperated answer, “Yes, except not at all.”)
In the beginning, my decision to write from an autistic character’s perspective originated from a logical place, not an emotional one. I love to cook, and when I prepare meals, I’m doing it to connect with people. I wanted to write about someone who cooks without any intention of connecting—someone isolated partly by circumstances and partly by choice—but who comes to realize that she can use cooking to connect.
When I began writing the book, I had recently met the writer John Elder Robison, whose memoir Look Me in the Eye brought what was then called Asperger’s Syndrome to the attention of many. After delving into everything I could find written on the topic, including first-person accounts written by women on the spectrum, I made the decision that the narrator I wanted to write had undiagnosed Asperger’s, and the story unfolded from there. I dug in, learned everything I could, worked to define Ginny’s unique experience, enlisted a host of readers who could tell me what didn’t ring true, and wrote and rewrote until the book was the best I could make it.
If I were facing this decision in 2018 instead of 2008, would I have made the same choice? I’m not at all sure.
In the past few years, more attention has rightly been paid to diversity in publishing—the fact that there isn’t enough, really, either in the business or in the books that it produces. Whether certain books qualify as #ownvoices, particularly in YA, is a huge consideration. Who has the right to write stories that are not their own, about characters whose background—race, gender, sexual orientation, etc—is far from the writer’s? The question is asked again and again. The response you hear depends on who you’re asking. There are no simple answers, and I won’t offer any here.
There were agents and editors who discouraged me from including the Asperger’s element in my book—but to the best of my recollection, none of them cited the fact that I’m neurotypical as their objection. I have no doubt that were I to attempt publishing the same book now, the question would loom much larger.
I don’t know what it’s like to be on the autism spectrum, not personally. But that’s also true of nearly everything else that defines the world of Ginny, the narrator of The Kitchen Daughter. I don’t know what it’s like to lose my parents. I don’t know what it’s like to live in the shadow of a bossy, controlling sister (or to have a sister at all, actually) and both fear and yearn to break free.
A fiction writer will always be reaching, exploring, creating beyond their own experience. Fiction is imagination. But, true as that is, I don’t believe it’s ever an adequate answer when someone raises the question of why you’re writing in the perspective of a person from a background that’s not your own. “Writers get to make things up” isn’t a reason. “I wanted to” definitely isn’t enough of a reason. Examine your motives. Do the work. Consider how the community you’re writing about will receive the message, intentional or unintentional, of your fiction. And if you decide to take on the task, commit.
And because the world of publishing has changed, to be honest, that may not be enough. If I were trying to publish a book with an autistic female narrator now, instead of bringing up The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, an editor might bring up The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang—a much more relevant comp, and one written by an author who’s on the spectrum herself. In the weird world of publishing, a publisher might say there isn’t enough room for two books with autistic female narrators—which, while a fairly ridiculous thing to say, still gets said All. The. Time. and therefore must be considered.
And if it comes down to that, if a publisher is looking at publishing an excellent book with an autistic narrator written by a neurotypical author vs. an excellent book with an autistic narrator written by an autistic author, there are all sorts of reasons to choose #ownvoices. My book likely would have lost the battle, which—though I adore that book with a passion—I believe would have been the right outcome.
In order for stories outside of the mainstream to be told by the people most qualified to tell them, those already in the mainstream are going to have to lose out on the occasional opportunity. And if losing one opportunity knocks the stuffing out of you, a successful publishing career is probably not in your future. Surviving and thriving in the world of publishing takes a huge amount of stuffing.
It was an uphill battle in 2011 to educate people about Asperger’s, and once I took on the topic, I felt a strong responsibility to work toward that goal. I relentlessly corrected cover copy, pitch letters and marketing materials referring to Ginny “suffering from” Asperger’s; even the Publishers Weekly review refers to her as “Asperger’s-afflicted.” It seems ridiculously backward now, but again, this is how much the world has changed in a few short years. Representation has improved to the point where characters on the autism spectrum anchor TV series like “Atypical” and “The Good Doctor.” Perfect? Far from it, but unquestionably better than it was. (I still wince at the memory of Mary McDonnell’s guest appearance as a surgeon with Asperger’s on “Grey’s Anatomy” in 2008, more caricature than character.) If The Kitchen Daughter makes it to film or TV, I’ll insist on the inclusion of autistic writers, actors and crew. It’s possible for people to write outside their experience—of course it is!—but inclusivity has to be a lived principle, or we’re just going to end up excluding people and their experiences as we have been through most of history, and losing out on incredible stories.
In seven short years, the world has changed for better and for worse. The good news is, it’s not done changing and it never will be.
You get to decide for yourself—as a writer, as a person—how you’re going to change it.
About Jael McHenry
Jael McHenry is the debut author of The Kitchen Daughter (Simon & Schuster/Gallery Books, April 12, 2011). Her work has appeared in publications such as the North American Review, Indiana Review, and the Graduate Review at American University, where she earned her MFA in Creative Writing. You can read more about Jael and her book at jaelmchenry.com or follow her on Twitter at @jaelmchenry.
It’s an invalid ad-hominem argument to find fault with a work because of who wrote it. The work should be judged on its own merits. The author being not-X-ish doesn’t make the author’s X-ish characters invalid or non-representative.
Otherwise, every author could only produce works full of people exactly like themselves. “That way lies madness, let me shun that.” –W. Shakespeare. It would be a shame for publishing to go that way.
Besides, an author being X-ish doesn’t make X-ish characters valid, either. Sadly, there’s plenty of people who hate who and what they are.
Yes, non-X-ish authors should be careful portraying X-ish people, whether it’s in fiction or non-fiction, and whether the X is race, creed, sex, gender, age, economic status, neurological status, philosophy, or political affiliation. Careful to not project too much of themselves into people not like them, careful to not let conscious or unconscious prejudice lead to mockery or demonization. It’s a tall order. Writing others honestly is hard– only writing yourself honestly is harder.
But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it should be discouraged.
Personally, I have the great good fortune to be writing far-future scifi. I don’t have to worry about writing X-ish people (me being non-X-ish) as they are today, I get to write them as I think they ought to be: women who don’t think feel like prey (because Sam Colt made us all equal), people of different skin color who see that as a purely cosmetic quality, and so on. My world isn’t a utopia, and women are still fundamentally different from men, but certain problems have been consigned to the past. Lucky me.
I certainly wouldn’t and don’t argue that only X-ish people can write X-ish characters. I’m focusing on the realities of publishing and how X-ish people writing their own stories have been historically excluded — if there are ways we can help include them, I believe we should.
Far future sci-fi offers so many wonderful possibilities for exciting worlds (far better or worse or both than our own) — good luck with your writing!
To write only what one knows or lives limits a writer. To write a great story is what is about. If we, as a society, would stop labeling and separating due to differences and begin to respect, honor, and treat people with dignity, there wouldn’t be a need to segregate writers from what they write.
I disagree with you on this matter, as I disagree with #ownvoices. People are people, unique, yes, but collectively similar. A great story is a great story no matter who writes it. We should strive to tell a great story. And if we tell a great story from the perspective of someone who has had different experiences than ourselves, and we respect, honor, and treat them with dignity, then the writer will walk in the character’s shoes as will the readers. Isn’t that what we are wanting? To know another from the inside?
Personally, I see #ownvoices as creating more division simply by the fact that someone must be ‘such and such’ to be able to participate. If you are not ‘such and such’ then you are dismissed for simply being who you are. Isn’t that exactly what we are trying to avoid?
Wouldn’t it be fabulous if the writer’s background, history, ‘type’, wasn’t even considered? If submitted stories were judged by merit and substance alone—without prior knowledge of the person who wrote it. Wouldn’t that be fairness and equality at its best?
As a mixed-race Chinese/Irish-German American, I see both sides of the #ownvoices argument, and of closely related issues like cultural appropriation. I’ve also experienced incidents on both sides of the fuzzy line between “celebration” and “exploitation.”
For example, I think it’s ridiculous to berate people for wearing cheongsams or other traditional clothing from cultures that aren’t “their own.” If they love the clothing because they think it’s beautiful, and if their intention is to celebrate the culture, why not?
On the other hand, this summer I was on a hiring committee, and a candidate showed up for an interview in a dress printed with caricatures of Chinese laborers working rice paddies in straw hats. That was not celebratory. That was advancing reductive stereotypes. The candidate didn’t intend to offend anyone, but she did because she didn’t stop to think whether Asian-Americans would find those cartoons as cute as she did.
While it’s great for writers to have an interest in portraying characters outside of the Western mainstream, the reality is if you haven’t grown up in a culture, it’s very difficult to grasp the nuances. I’ve read more than one book with “Chinese” characters who acted like WASPs wearing black wigs. Even the most well-meaning authors will subconsciously assume that their value system is the universal value system.
But that doesn’t mean an author of one culture can’t understand people of another–just that he or she is going to have to work really hard to get things right.
T.K., great perspective. Lots of important nuance. (And I’m wincing at the description of that dress — so much privilege in the luxury of not even wondering whether you might offend someone.) Thanks for sharing your thoughts!
As an Autistic writer, I appreciate your understanding of the issues involved. Unfortunately, I am not as optimistic about our progress. Neither The Good Doctor nor Atypical use any Autistic voices. Instead, they source opinions of Autism from parents of Autistic people and therapists which furthers stereotypes, most of which are very negative. We have more in common with Speechless (which does source from the Disability community) than we do these shows which supposedly tell our story. The issue with Autism in particular, much like our otherwise Disabled brothers and sisters, is that when we try to tell our own stories, we have to fight with parents and therapists who insist we cannot possibly be able to tell our own stories. Many of us do not speak in words, but fire off fiery rhetoric on Twitter just fine. Despite this, we are often not consulted when neurotypical authors attempt to “write Autism” and many authors membercheck by asking our parents and therapists (many of whom are eugenicists without realizing it: they would literally remove us from the gene pool if they could) if a piece of writing is authentic enough. Few authors are brave enough to hire authenticity consultants who are actually Autistic or otherwise Neurodivergent (or think that they should use them). But we have not been missing in literature. Autistics talk about how both Meg and Charles Wallace from A Wrinkle in Time are Autistic characters (even without being labelled as such). No one called Harriet the Spy Autistic, yet her lack of understanding of socially appropriate behavior spoke volumes to many of us Autistics. The trick now is to get more authors to where you are: understanding that you need to either 1) let us tell our stories ourselves or 2) membercheck with us and consult with us (and not our parents and caregivers). But Debbie Reese has given this same advice for authors attempting to write about First Peoples on her American Indians in Children’s Literature blog for years and yet we still find books going to print without any appropriate research. I am hopeful whenever I find an ally like you, but I am also realistic: people are downright cruel to Debbie Reese when she speaks up in order to help and to educate and are similarly cruel to us Autistics when we complain about being written about as “burdens.” We are told: go write your own story, and we go and do that…but so often our own works are not published as the “Autistic burden” trope is powerful for publishers because it sells books. This is a very complicated area. Thank you for writing this.
Nicole, thanks so much for weighing in! I’m really glad to have your perspective here. Very sad to hear that the TV shows that are getting autism into the public eye aren’t including the voices of those who could check authenticity and add more complex perspective. A shiver went down my spine when you mentioned “eugenicists without realizing it” but that seems accurate — just chilling. Hope you are able to tell your story the way you want to despite all the obstacles.
I agree with so many of Nicole’s arguments. I have two autistic teenage boys, at vastly opposing ends of the spectrum (their father is on the spectrum too) and, from our experience, shows like ‘The Good Doctor’ are so ridiculous, so far from the reality of being a profoundly autistic person, they are almost insulting. However, not all autistic people *can* tell their own stories. Just as not all people are writers, not all autistics are writers nor even want to be. Yet their stories are worth sharing and learning from. So, if not written by them, then by whom? We’ve become so attuned to seeking out offence and railing against it. My family enjoys Atypical as a family drama, so we watch it. The Good Doctor makes my blood boil, so that one is a hard no, even though we love many of the actors in it. However, I’m not leading a campaign to have the show cancelled. It’s somebody’s creation. It’s art. Not for everyone as we all see and appreciate differently. The End.
A.A., love your last line here “we all see and appreciate differently.” It’s true, not every piece of art is for everyone. But given the power artists wield, it’s such a wasted opportunity when art is inaccurate and increases stereotypes instead of smashing them.
Totally true that not everyone on the spectrum wants to or can tell their own stories. And it’s not impossible for a neurotypical writer to get into the head of an atypical thinker — people are people. No one can write “the” experience of autism because it isn’t just one experience. The only way to really get the world familiar with a range of experiences is to have more art that represents those experiences, and not just one book or show about any particular community. I hope we get there someday.
I think it will be a sad world if society goes to the point where everyone is banned from being able to express empathy though writing. Are we to only allow women to write about women, and men to write about men? Will people be obligated to only write people of their own race, religion, financial demographic, etc because otherwise “they can’t possibly understand”? And who decide this? Where do we draw this line? Is being related to someone a qualifier? Is having a friend who… a qualifier? To prejudge someone’s work as irrelevant on a presumption is likewise frustrating, and it could potentially narrow/slow the growth of awareness for many people and issues.
I think, as writers, we absolutely have an obligation to do our research–not only through the convenience of the internet, but by talking directly and openly with the people we want to represent in our stories. And I agree with A.A. Campbell that not all creators do their due diligence. But to shun someone who may be a brilliant writer of expression, and who may be capable of bringing to light something that may otherwise be missed by a particular readership…
I welcome people of any X-type to tell their story–or any other story they want to tell! And yes, that may mean some non-X-type writers will be competing with them to get certain stories told… And yes, that means we all need to write respectfully and sensitively… And yes, publishers will ultimately make the final decision on which books they want to back…
I abhor stereotypes. I don’t feel any one person’s story will ever represent an entire X-sect, even if it’s written by said X-type, because I don’t believe there is such a thing as a specific X-type in any human topic. So, I hope we will all strive to write to the best of our abilities–through personal experience or compelling empathy–to get readers talking about things they may never have experienced or considered before.
I love this piece! Thank you. I just re-read The Sound and the Fury – a really terrific book with stream of consciousness voice by what I believe is a Down Syndrome character. My published book and current WIP contain a narcissistic personality disordered male MC who is Argentine. I am none of those… A lot of research was required.
My trilogy WIP has, as understory and background, chronic illness, illness managed by the character when she has control but difficult when she is with other people.
It is so hard to explain that everyone has areas in which they are disabled in some way; this is hers – and it both affects the story and is the reason for it. Without dominating the story, it seeps into every pore like the lemon-Jello infusion in white cakes of my youth.
It is just there.
I’m past the point of even thinking about the effects of the illness, but each new reader comes to it from a different perspective, depending on personal experience, and it has been very interesting to read the reviews.
And, like most illnesses, their personal degree of severity – if they have it. For some, I’m underplaying. For others, it is too much.
I’m doing my bit to change the world, in the same way novels such as The Prince of Tides and Love Story and Ordinary People have done. You should not be able to read, and not notice something has changed – preferably without being able to pin down exactly how it happened.
Thank you for this post, Jael. I agree with you wholeheartedly. I wish more people would take this time to examine their own privilege. The question is not just “can I write this?” but “should I?” and yet it is so rarely asked.