BY ROB CLINE
Gather a few old school chums together—folks who haven’tseen one another in years, or even decades—and a palpable air of competitivenessis likely to surround them. Even among the most genial of old friends, thetendency to compare and contrast careers, relationships, children, and thelike is difficult to resist.
Not so for Kamran Nazeer, however. In his book Send inthe Idiots (Bloomsbury),Nazeer recounts his experiences visiting former classmates. The thread thatbinds him to each is autism. As a result, his visits were perhaps differentfrom those many of us might share with friends we’ve fallen out of touchwith.
“. . . I never thought of it as revisiting my past,” Nazeersaid in a prepared interview sent to book reviewers. “I saw it asvisiting people who grew up in parallel to me. And what was great was thatthere was no competitiveness about it—there was no comparing of partners,wardrobes, or careers. We were all open and generous with one another.Which is slightly bizarre, of course, and perhaps typical of the fact thatautistic people don’t necessarily have ordinary social interactions.”
That fact is epitomized by André, a man who often engages the worldvia puppets.
“André had found an unusual way of overcoming his difficultieswith conversation,” Nazeer writes in the first chapter of Sendin the Idiots. “For several years, he had been training as a puppeteer.He made his own puppets with wood and string. He put on shows in his neighborhood.And his use of puppets was expanding. When he spoke on the telephone, oneof the puppets was usually in his lap. He was a member of a chess cluband he attended the meeting with [a puppet named] Boo. He had been turnedaway from a speed-dating evening because he arrived with a new puppet hehad just made named Sylvie.”
Because Nazeer, too, is autistic, descriptions of his visits are filledwith empathy and devoid of pandering sympathy. Though he found interactingwith André to be challenging—he quickly learned the dangersof interrupting the puppets, for example—his understanding of theneed for what he calls “local coherence” informs his portrayal,creating empathy rather than sympathy.
Nazeer is well aware that his perspective is unique, though hedoes admire a book by Iowa City resident Paul Collins.
“No one has written about the journey of autistic children intoadulthood in this way before,” he says in the interview. “Andno one has applied both this sort of storytelling craft and this levelof analytical rigor to it before at the same time. The rigorous books arescholarly ones; the ones that tell stories are often fairly fluffy. I canthink of just one exception: Not Even Wrong by the historian Paul Collins,which is based around an account of his son’s autism but is alsoa wider study of the nature of autism. What I’ve tried to do is similar:to tell a set of stories but use those stories to describe autism too.”
Nazeer succeeds in his ambition, as the book is both emotionally and intellectuallyengaging. Particularly successful is the chapter about Elizabeth, a formerclassmate who killed herself at age 26. Nazeer spends time with her parents,building a relationship on fragile ground fraught with emotional pitfallsfor all concerned. He skillfully weaves in what amounts to a case studyin how Elizabeth made “conceptual advances.” Reading of herstruggles, and those of her parents, is particularly heartrending.
On the whole, however, Send in the Idiots is a hopeful book. Nazeer buildslasting friendships along the way, and it often feels as though those friendshipsextend to the reader, as well. Indeed, when Nazeer discusses the natureof genius and how the word is generally used, or the political strategiesof the American left and right, or any of a number of other topics, hisamiable erudition makes him particularly appealing.
That said, Nazeer can’t completely take us across the divide suggestedby his book’s subtitle, Stories from the OtherSide of Autism. Heand his classmates share a bond not available to most of us.
“…[H]ere’s the best analogy that I can think of: itwas like visiting fellow survivors of an accident,” he says in theinterview. “For the most part, we were just dead pleased that theothers were around and doing mostly okay but we were also, I suppose, lookingat one another closely, gently, and with kindness, to see what marks remained.”
Send in the Idiots
BY ROB CLINE
Gather a few old school chums together—folks who haven’tseen one another in years, or even decades—and a palpable air of competitivenessis likely to surround them. Even among the most genial of old friends, thetendency to compare and contrast careers, relationships, children, and thelike is difficult to resist.
Not so for Kamran Nazeer, however. In his book Send inthe Idiots (Bloomsbury),Nazeer recounts his experiences visiting former classmates. The thread thatbinds him to each is autism. As a result, his visits were perhaps differentfrom those many of us might share with friends we’ve fallen out of touchwith.
“. . . I never thought of it as revisiting my past,” Nazeersaid in a prepared interview sent to book reviewers. “I saw it asvisiting people who grew up in parallel to me. And what was great was thatthere was no competitiveness about it—there was no comparing of partners,wardrobes, or careers. We were all open and generous with one another.Which is slightly bizarre, of course, and perhaps typical of the fact thatautistic people don’t necessarily have ordinary social interactions.”
That fact is epitomized by André, a man who often engages the worldvia puppets.
“André had found an unusual way of overcoming his difficultieswith conversation,” Nazeer writes in the first chapter of Sendin the Idiots. “For several years, he had been training as a puppeteer.He made his own puppets with wood and string. He put on shows in his neighborhood.And his use of puppets was expanding. When he spoke on the telephone, oneof the puppets was usually in his lap. He was a member of a chess cluband he attended the meeting with [a puppet named] Boo. He had been turnedaway from a speed-dating evening because he arrived with a new puppet hehad just made named Sylvie.”
Because Nazeer, too, is autistic, descriptions of his visits are filledwith empathy and devoid of pandering sympathy. Though he found interactingwith André to be challenging—he quickly learned the dangersof interrupting the puppets, for example—his understanding of theneed for what he calls “local coherence” informs his portrayal,creating empathy rather than sympathy.
Nazeer is well aware that his perspective is unique, though hedoes admire a book by Iowa City resident Paul Collins.
“No one has written about the journey of autistic children intoadulthood in this way before,” he says in the interview. “Andno one has applied both this sort of storytelling craft and this levelof analytical rigor to it before at the same time. The rigorous books arescholarly ones; the ones that tell stories are often fairly fluffy. I canthink of just one exception: Not Even Wrong by the historian Paul Collins,which is based around an account of his son’s autism but is alsoa wider study of the nature of autism. What I’ve tried to do is similar:to tell a set of stories but use those stories to describe autism too.”
Nazeer succeeds in his ambition, as the book is both emotionally and intellectuallyengaging. Particularly successful is the chapter about Elizabeth, a formerclassmate who killed herself at age 26. Nazeer spends time with her parents,building a relationship on fragile ground fraught with emotional pitfallsfor all concerned. He skillfully weaves in what amounts to a case studyin how Elizabeth made “conceptual advances.” Reading of herstruggles, and those of her parents, is particularly heartrending.
On the whole, however, Send in the Idiots is a hopeful book. Nazeer buildslasting friendships along the way, and it often feels as though those friendshipsextend to the reader, as well. Indeed, when Nazeer discusses the natureof genius and how the word is generally used, or the political strategiesof the American left and right, or any of a number of other topics, hisamiable erudition makes him particularly appealing.
That said, Nazeer can’t completely take us across the divide suggestedby his book’s subtitle, Stories from the OtherSide of Autism. Heand his classmates share a bond not available to most of us.
“…[H]ere’s the best analogy that I can think of: itwas like visiting fellow survivors of an accident,” he says in theinterview. “For the most part, we were just dead pleased that theothers were around and doing mostly okay but we were also, I suppose, lookingat one another closely, gently, and with kindness, to see what marks remained.”