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Winner of the 2015 Samuel Johnson Prize for non-fiction
A groundbreaking book that upends conventional thinking about autism and suggests a broader model for acceptance, understanding, and full participation in society for people who think differently.
What is autism? A lifelong disability, or a naturally occurring form of cognitive difference akin to certain forms of genius? In truth, it is all of these things and more—and the future of our society depends on our understanding it. WIRED reporter Steve Silberman unearths the secret history of autism, long suppressed by the same clinicians who became famous for discovering it, and finds surprising answers to the crucial question of why the number of diagnoses has soared in recent years.
Going back to the earliest days of autism research and chronicling the brave and lonely journey of autistic people and their families through the decades, Silberman provides long-sought solutions to the autism puzzle, while mapping out a path for our society toward a more humane world in which people with learning differences and those who love them have access to the resources they need to live happier, healthier, more secure, and more meaningful lives.
Along the way, he reveals the untold story of Hans Asperger, the father of Asperger’s syndrome, whose “little professors” were targeted by the darkest social-engineering experiment in human history; exposes the covert campaign by child psychiatrist Leo Kanner to suppress knowledge of the autism spectrum for fifty years; and casts light on the growing movement of "neurodiversity" activists seeking respect, support, technological innovation, accommodations in the workplace and in education, and the right to self-determination for those with cognitive differences.
"Ambitious, meticulous and largehearted history...NeuroTribes is beautifully told, humanizing, important."
—The New York Times Book Review
"Mr. Silberman has surely written the definitive book about [autism’s] past."
“A comprehensive history of the science and culture surrounding autism studies…an essential resource.” –Nature magazine
“NeuroTribes is a sweeping and penetrating history, presented with a rare sympathy and sensitivity. It is fascinating reading; it will change how you think of autism, and it belongs, alongside the works of Temple Grandin and Clara Claiborne Park, on the bookshelf of anyone interested in autism and the workings of the human brain.”
--From the foreword by Oliver Sacks, author of An Anthropologist On Mars and Awakenings
“Breathtaking… as emotionally resonant as any [book] this year." –The Boston Globe
“A lively, readable book… To read NeuroTribes is to realize how much autistic people have enriched the scope of human knowledge and diversity, and how impoverished the world would be without them.” –The San Francisco Chronicle
“It is a beautifully written and thoughtfully crafted book, a historical tour of autism, richly populated with fascinating and engaging characters, and a rallying call to respect difference.” – Science magazine
“Epic and often shocking…Everyone with an interest in the history of science and medicine — how it has failed us, surprised us and benefited us — should read this book.” –Chicago Tribune
“The best book you can read to understand autism" –Gizmodo
“Required reading for every parent, teacher, therapist, and person who wants to know more about autism” –Parents.com
"This is perhaps the most significant history of the discovery, changing conception and public reaction to autism we will see in a generation." –TASH.org
“A well-researched, readable report on the treatment of autism that explores its history and proposes significant changes for its future…In the foreword, Oliver Sacks writes that this 'sweeping and penetrating history…is fascinating reading' that 'will change how you think of autism.' No argument with that assessment." –Kirkus Reviews
“The monks who inscribed beautiful manuscripts during the Middle Ages, Cavendish an 18th century scientist who explained electricity, and many of the geeks in Silicon Valley are all on the autism spectrum. Silberman reviews the history of autism treatments from horrible blaming of parents to the modern positive neurodiversity movement. Essential reading for anyone interested in psychology.”
--Temple Grandin, author of Thinking in Pictures and The Autistic Brain
“NeuroTribes is remarkable. Silberman has done something unique: he’s taken the dense and detailed history of autism and turned the story into a genuine page-turner. The book is sure to stir considerable discussion.”
--John Elder Robison, Neurodiversity Scholar in Residence at The College of William & Mary and author of Look Me in the Eye
“This gripping and heroic tale is a brilliant addition to the history of autism.”
--Uta Frith, Emeritus Professor of Cognitive Development at University College London
“In this genuine page-turner, Steve Silberman reveals the untold history of autism: from persecution to parent-blaming, from Rain Man to vaccines, of doctors for whom professional ego trumped compassion, to forgotten heroes like Hans Asperger, unfairly tainted by Nazi links. It ends on an optimistic note, with ‘autistics’ reclaiming the narrative and defining autism in their terms — more difference than disability and an essential part of the human condition. Highly recommended for anyone with an interest in autism or Asperger’s, or simply a fascination with what makes us tick.”
--Benison O’Reilly, co-author of The Australian Autism Handbook --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I STARTED READING every news story about autism I could find and downloading journal articles by the score. It soon became clear that the mysterious rise in diagnoses was not restricted to Silicon Valley. The same thing was happening all over the world.
To put the rising numbers in context, I familiarized myself with the basic time line of autism history, learning the story of how this baffling condition was first discovered in 1943 by a child psychiatrist named Leo Kanner, who noticed that eleven of his young patients seemed to inhabit private worlds, ignoring the people around them. They could amuse themselves for hours with little rituals like spinning pot lids on the floor, but they were panicked by the smallest changes in their environments, such as a chair or favorite toy being moved from its usual place without their knowledge. Some of these children were unable to speak, while others only repeated things they heard said around them or spoke of themselves detachedly in the third person. Claiming that their condition differed “markedly and uniquely” from anything previously reported in the clinical literature, Kanner named their condition autism—from the Greek word for self, autos—because they seemed happiest in isolation.
Then a year later, in an apparent synchronicity, a Viennese clinician named Hans Asperger discovered four young patients of his own who seemed strangely out of touch with other people, including their own parents. Unlike Kanner’s young patients in Baltimore, these children spoke in elaborate flowery sentences while displaying precocious abilities in science and math. Asperger affectionately dubbed them his “little professors.” He also called their condition autism, though it’s still a matter of dispute if what he saw in his clinic was the same syndrome that Kanner described.
For decades, estimates of the prevalence of autism had remained stable at just four or five children in ten thousand. But that number had started to snowball in the 1980s and 1990s, raising the frightening possibility that a generation of children was in the grips of an epidemic of unknown origin. After telling my editor about the frightening thing that the teacher in the café said about what was happening in Silicon Valley—the heart of Wired’s tech-savvy readership—I got permission to pursue this intriguing lead.
My research was facilitated by the fact that our apartment in San Francisco is located just down the hill from the University of California, which boasts one of the best medical libraries in the country. I became a regular browser in the stacks, poring through articles on epidemiology, pediatrics, psychology, genetics, toxicology, and other relevant subjects. Meanwhile, my shelves at home filled up with books like Clara Claiborne Park’s The Siege, Oliver Sacks’s An Anthropologist on Mars, and Temple Grandin’s Thinking in Pictures. Each offered a view of the diverse world of autism from a unique vantage point.
The Siege, published in 1967, was the first book-length account of raising an autistic child by a loving and devoted parent. In a dark age when psychiatrists falsely blamed “refrigerator mothers” for causing their children’s autism by providing them with inadequate nurturing, Park offered a candid portrait of life with her young daughter Jessy (called Elly in the book), who would sit by herself for hours, sifting sand through her fingers. With the meticulous eye of an explorer mapping uncharted territory, Park chronicled each small thing that Jessy learned to do in her first years, usually with great effort—only to apparently unlearn it shortly thereafter.
Lying in bed in the leisurely mornings the summer she was two, I listened to her pronounce her name. “El-ly,” she said. “El-ly”—laughing, chuckling, over and over again. The sounds, even the consonants, were exquisitely clear. I’m glad I got the chance to hear her. For a month or so she said it. Then she ceased completely. It was two years at least until she spoke her name again.
Sacks’s books examined autism from the point of view of a compassionate clinician, embodying the tradition of astute observers like Jean-Martin Charcot, the founder of modern neurology, and Alexander Luria, who wrote case histories of his patients so full of insight into the human condition that they read like novels. In nuanced portraits of autistic people like artist Stephen Wiltshire and industrial designer Temple Grandin, Sacks cast light on the challenges that they face in their day-to-day lives while paying tribute to the ways they bring the strengths of their atypical minds to their work. “No two people with autism are the same: its precise form or expression is different in every case,” he wrote. “Moreover, there may be a most intricate (and potentially creative) interaction between the autistic traits and the other qualities of the individual. So, while a single glance may suffice for clinical diagnosis, if we hope to understand the autistic individual, nothing less than a total biography will do.”
Thinking in Pictures was such a biography written from the inside. Grandin, who didn’t learn to speak until she was four, was initially misdiagnosed with brain damage—a common occurrence in the days when autism was still widely unknown even among medical professionals. Encouraged by her mother, Eustacia Cutler, and a supportive high school science teacher named Bill Carlock, Grandin developed her instinctive kinship with animals into a set of practical skills that enabled her to succeed in the demanding job of designing facilities for the livestock industry. Instead of the usual inspirational fable about an extraordinary person “triumphing” over a tragic medical condition, Thinking in Pictures was the story of how Grandin had come to regard her autism as both a disability and a gift—as “different, not less.”
Then my real reporting began. I interviewed an eleven-year-old boy named Nick who told me that he was building an imaginary universe on his computer. Chubby, rosy-cheeked, and precociously articulate, he informed me that he had already mapped out his first planet: an anvil-shaped world called Denthaim that was home to gnomes, gods, and a three-gendered race called the kiman. As he told me about the civilization he was creating on his desktop, he gazed up at the ceiling, humming fragments of a melody over and over. The music of his speech was pitched high, alternately poetic and pedantic, as if the soul of an Oxford don had been awkwardly reincarnated in the body of a boy. “I’m thinking of making magic a form of quantum physics, but I haven’t decided yet, actually,” he said. I liked him immediately.
But Nick’s mother broke down in tears as she told me that he didn’t have a single friend his own age. She recalled one terrible day when his classmates bribed him to wear a ridiculous outfit to school. Because autistic people struggle to make sense of social signals in real time, Nick didn’t realize that his schoolmates were setting him up for humiliation. I wondered what would become of this bright, imaginative, trusting boy as he got older and his peers became obsessed with social status and dating.
Other parents shared the ingenious strategies they developed to help their children learn to cope with a world full of unavoidable changes and surprises. A family event like a first trip on an airplane required months of careful planning and preparation. Marnin told me about the steps that he and his wife, Margo, an internist in the Bay Area, took to help their daughter Leah feel comfortable on her first visit to a new dentist. “We took pictures of the dentist’s office and the staff, and drove her past the office several times,” he said. “Our dentist scheduled us for the end of the day, when there were no other patients, and set goals with us. The goal of the first session was to have my daughter sit in the chair. The second session was so she could rehearse the steps involved in treatment without actually doing them. The dentist gave all of his equipment special names for her. Throughout this process, we used a large mirror so she could see exactly what was being done, and to ensure that there were no surprises.”
Like many parents, Marnin and Margo had become amateur autism researchers themselves, devoting hours of their precious alone time each week to poring through the latest studies and evaluating therapies that might be of help to Leah. I learned that it was not unusual for parents whose finances were already strained by the cost of behavioral interventions to have to walk away from careers they loved to effectively become case managers for their children, fielding teams of behavioral therapists while going into battle with school boards, regional centers, and insurance companies to ensure that their children got the education and services they deserve.
One of the hardest things about having a child with autism, parents told me, was struggling to maintain hope in the face of dire predictions from doctors, school administrators, and other professionals who were supposed to be on their side. When Leah was diagnosed, an autism specialist told Marnin, “There is very little difference between your daughter and an animal. We have no idea what she will be able to do in the future.” (At twenty-five, Leah is a bright, engaging, and affectionate young woman who remembers the names of every teacher and fellow student in her classes—going all the way back to preschool—and sings along with her favorite songs in perfect pitch.) In some ways, things hadn’t changed much since the era when Clara Claiborne Park and Eustacia Cutler were told to put their daughters in institutions and move on with their lives.
TO GET TO THE BOTTOM of what was happening in Silicon Valley, I asked Ron Huff of the California Department of Developmental Services to isolate the data from the agency’s regional centers in Santa Clara County from the data in other areas of the state. He confirmed that there was a disproportionately high demand for autism services in the cradle of the technology industry.
By the time I wrote my article, the notion that high-tech hot spots like Silicon Valley and Route 128 outside Boston were havens for brilliant, socially awkward programmers and engineers was becoming a cliché in popular culture. It was a familiar joke in the industry that many hard-core coders in IT strongholds like Intel, Adobe, and Silicon Graphics—coming to work early, leaving late, sucking down Big Gulps in their cubicles—were residing somewhere in Asperger’s domain. Kathryn Stewart, director of the Orion Academy, a high school for autistic kids in Moraga, California, said that she called Asperger’s syndrome “the engineers’ disorder.” In his popular novel Microserfs, Douglas Coupland quipped, “I think all tech people are slightly autistic.”
One possible explanation for a surge of autism in tech-centric communities like the Valley, UCLA neurogeneticist Dan Geschwind suggested to me, was that the culture of these places had opened up social possibilities for men and women on the spectrum that had never before existed in history. A speech-language pathologist named Michelle Garcia Winner told me that many parents in her practice became aware of their own autistic traits only in the wake of their child’s diagnosis. Temple Grandin observed in Thinking in Pictures, “Marriages work out best when two people with autism marry or when a person marries a handicapped or eccentric spouse . . . They are attracted because their intellects work on a similar wavelength.”
Attraction between people with similar genetic traits is called assortative mating. In 1997, cognitive psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen found that the fathers and grandfathers of children with autism were more likely to be engineers. Could assortative mating between men and women carrying the genes for autism be responsible for the rising number of diagnoses in the Valley?
My story exploring that hypothesis, “The Geek Syndrome,” was published in the December issue of Wired in 2001. The world was still reeling from the horror of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11, but e-mail started pouring into my inbox even before the magazine officially hit the newsstands. I heard from parents who said that the article helped them feel less isolated from other parents facing the same challenges with their own children; from clinicians who saw the same dynamic at work in their own high-tech communities; and from readers who had been struggling in social situations for most of their lives without knowing why. This flood of responses was both inspiring and humbling.
I have a twelve-year-old son. He takes accelerated math and science courses. His hobby is memorizing facts and figures about civil and military aircraft dating back to WWI. He’s always had a fascination with clocks and watches. As you may have guessed, he has Asperger’s syndrome. I’ve always asked myself, “Why is my son the way he is?” No one has been able to give me a possible answer until I read your article. You see, my husband is an engineer. After reading your article, it felt like the pieces were falling into place . . .
Your article sheds light on my original computer mentor. He could play four games of chess simultaneously and best all four opponents. He always knows what the total cost of the grocery shopping will be, including sales tax, before he enters the checkout line. But his son has trouble making eye contact . . .
When I was five years old, I was taking my electronic toys apart to see how they worked. (I also attempted to put them back together, with mixed results.) I have always been a voracious reader. I was reading college-level physics books bought at garage sales in the second grade. I used to annoy my father to no end wanting to build scale models of nuclear reactors, submarines, trains, anything you could think of. I have only had very small groups of close friends. I always considered that odd but never knew how to go about correcting it. Quite frankly, I find most people quite annoying and illogical—probably another common Asperger trait. :)
It is so important that the general public and the hiring companies understand this group of people. Many will fall through the cracks due to their “odd” behaviors. Many have so much to contribute if given the chance.
Thankfully I received only a few e-mails like this one:
Like many people, I’m starting to get fed up with the multiplication of psychological disorders such as attention deficit disorder and Asperger’s syndrome. In the old days, if you didn’t pay attention in class, you got whacked, and that usually did the trick for many youngsters.
I also got a call from a supervisor at Microsoft who told me, “All of my top debuggers have Asperger syndrome. They can hold hundreds of lines of code in their head as a visual image. They look for the flaws in the pattern, and that’s where the bugs are.”
At a conference a few months after my article came out, the grandmother of a young girl asked me to sign a copy of my article that had been photocopied so many times that I could barely make out the text.
Years passed, and I still got e-mail about “The Geek Syndrome” nearly every week. As time went on, though, I became convinced that by focusing on the dynamics of autism in one highly specialized community, I had missed a larger and more important story.--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
- ASIN : B00L9AY254
- Publisher : Avery; 1st edition (August 25, 2015)
- Publication date : August 25, 2015
- Language : English
- File size : 2379 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 542 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #24,974 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
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Reviewed in the United States on February 10, 2016
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More sensible people, and all but a handful of psychological practitioners, agree today that “most cases of autism are not rooted in rare de novo mutations [much less vaccinations] but in very old genes that are shared widely in the general population while being concentrated more in certain families than others. Whatever autism is, it is not a unique product of modern civilization.” Science journalist Steve Silberman reports this finding from DNA research in the closing pages of his richly detailed and insightful study of the subject, NeuroTribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity. In the hundreds of pages that precede this explanation, Silberman traces the history of autism throughout the twentieth century, when it was first became subject of close study.
“Asperger’s syndrome” or “autism?”
Today, most of us nonspecialists look at autism, narrowly defined, as one sector of the broad continuum familiarly known as the autism spectrum. Technically, Asperger’s syndrome refers only to some individuals on the spectrum, not all. As Silberman explains, this concept was a very long time coming. For most of the past century, autism was regarded as a form of childhood schizophrenia, an illness with neurological roots that is far rarer and much different from autism. However, for many decades, those diagnosed with the condition were almost invariably committed to the sort of institutions that Charles Dickens might have deplored. Sadly, so-called “expert” psychiatrists and psychologists — the reigning authorities in the field — were responsible for this tragic misconception. Most of them should have known better. Some did.
Working in Vienna in the 1930s and 40s, the extraordinary child psychiatrist Dr. Hans Asperger led a team of specialists who studied children with a wide range of intellectual abilities and troubling physical behavior. Their subjects ranged all the way from youngsters who screamed and flapped their hands uncontrollably and appeared not to learn language at all to the few brainy and articulate youngsters whom Asperger called his “little professors.” Asperger viewed these conditions as occurring along a continuum. Even more important, he insisted that every individual child could be helped with carefully tailored treatment — and he proved that contention with his patient and understanding care.
Unfortunately, a European-American child psychiatrist in Baltimore named Leo Kanner also “discovered” autism in 1943, a year before Asperger published his groundbreaking paper on the subject. Kanner focused only on “high-functioning” children. He regarded autism as “monolithic by definition, limited to childhood, and exceedingly rare.” To Kanner, “autism was not merely an eccentric cognitive style or an alternate mind-set. It was a tragic form of childhood psychosis, akin to schizophrenia, caused by inadequate parenting.” Kanner wrote in English, Asperger in German. For decades after the war, no doubt partly because Asperger had worked in a Nazi-controlled country, his paper was not translated. It remained unknown to the profession. Kanner’s harsher and much more restrictive view of the condition excluded nonverbal children and denied the existence of adults with autism — and his view, which came to be almost universally adopted in the United States, caused several decades of psychiatrists and psychologists to blame parents for their children’s challenges.
Are programmers autistic?
An editor at Wired, Silberman’s journey toward understanding the history of autism began in Silicon Valley, when he noted “a disproportionately high demand for autism services in the cradle of the technology industry.” A supervisor at Microsoft reported to him, “All of my top debuggers have Asperger syndrome. They can hold hundreds of lines of code in their head as a visual image. They look for the flaws in the pattern, and that’s where the bugs are.” Pursuing this observation into the history of science, he learned about a number of outstanding researchers who demonstrated behavior that unquestionably would place them on the spectrum. For example, the late Oliver Sacks had written about the British chemist and physicist, Henry Cavendish, identifying him as a classic example of autism; Silberman refers to others. Sacks, who wrote the Foreword to NeuroTribes, was one of the many people he interviewed in depth in the course of his research.
In the final analysis, Silberman writes, the focus on autism has led to “the emergence of the concept of neurodiversity: the notion that conditions like autism, dyslexia, and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) should be regarded as naturally occurring cognitive variations with distinctive strengths that have contributed to the evolution of technology and culture rather than mere checklists of deficits and dysfunctions.” Which is altogether a far more humane and satisfying viewpoint than the misconceptions that held sway for most of human history.
With a deft and gentle hand Steve Silberman has reconstructed the diaspora of autism. And it is a heartbreaking account of lost souls, misunderstood, reviled, shut down and shut away lives. Silberman has effectively proved that the people we see now, up and down the spectrum, have indeed always been here, but because there was so little understanding of what to do with the “feebleminded,” as they were called, the “useless eaters,” the sick and irrevocably strange and different were sent away to institutions or languished at home or worse. Anyone with even a little autism was thought to be mentally deranged, broken. There was no cultural belief in special education, no awareness of how human minds can be taught just about anything. There had to be an evolution, centuries, millenia-long, before people understood that these beings are every bit as human as the rest of society, and thereby able to learn, grow, adjust, work, and be part of Us.
Silberman says, “In an eerie preview of the autism ‘epidemic’ to come four decades later, the prevalence of childhood schizophrenia started spiking in the midtwentieth century.” Just as we had an onslaught of people with ADHD when we first discovered it — and it became the diagnosis of the 90′s — just as bipolar is right now — childhood schizophrenia was one very popular explanation for people who were actually on the autism spectrum. That accounts for the deeply-involved, most disabled autistics.
And these were the people whose families were educated and well-off enough to even know to bring them to the few psychiatrists in the country at that time. Silberman finds that French physician Edouard Seguin coined the term ‘idiot savant’ as far back as 1869. Seguin wrote,“It is from this class, almost exclusively, that we have musical, mathematical, architectural, and other varieties of the idiot savant; the useless protrusion of a single faculty, accompanied by a woeful general impotence.” The real hero in the book, Hans Asperger, though practicing in the early 20th century, put this in a humane, 21st century light: “Autistic children have the ability to see things and events around them from a new point of view, which often shows surprising maturity. This ability, which remains throughout life, can in favorable cases lead to exceptional achievements which others may never attain. Abstraction ability, for instance, is a prerequisite for scientific endeavor. Indeed, we find numerous autistic individuals among distinguished scientists.” This was almost 100 years ago. This accounts for the Asperger types, the splinter skills.
Think about it. A child who presented as odd, to the point of not being able to talk until he was around five, and then, after that, presented as so strange, so unaware of or unskilled around others — Temple Grandin comes to mind — with no precedent of what speech therapy, sensory integration therapy, etc., could achieve — the common thing was to give up on this child. So even the “higher-functioning” would have been put away. Yes, there were many many institutions back then. More than you realize. And what happened there? They likely became worse, thereby proving the doctors “right.” Crowded into rooms without pants on and hosed off when they defecated. Things like that. Some of these people of course ended up in jail. Some — well, it’s too horrible to contemplate what a cruel, ignorant family might have done.
The Nazis exterminated the disabled first, before they got to the elderly or the Jews. No, we did not send our monsters to the gas chambers, but we did treat them abominably. They were mistakes, burdens, disgusting, useless, scary.
Without education, and without understanding the potential of people with autism, it would have taken a remarkably unique person (like Hans Asperger) to feel anything but fear and shame. About Asperger, Silberman says, “He christened this distinctive cluster of aptitudes, skills, attitudes, and abilities autistic intelligence, making the bold suggestion that autistic people have played an unappreciated role in the evolution of culture:
‘It seems that for success in science and art, a dash of autism is essential. For success, the necessary ingredient may be an ability to turn away from the everyday world, from the simply practical, an ability to re-think a subject with originality so as to create in new untrodden ways.’
The autistics have always been here. We just did not see them, and if we did, God help them. Now we see them. They aren’t sent away, hidden, cast out. They are sent to school. They are trying to get work, any work, for at least minimum wage.
The real Autism Tsunami? The real disaster? That we don’t have enough funding for all of these very different but very worthwhile people to live productively after high school. The real puzzle? When are we going to wake up, treasure difference, and learn from it?
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If like me you were hoping for some personal stories about people with Autism and their experiences of the condition, you will be very disappointed in this book. It does briefly touch on the lives and experience of the patients but the main bulk of this book is about the people who first diagnosed Aspergers and their lives. How disappointing! I can't understand why my psychiatrist doctor recommended this book to me, there must be better books out there about autism and the daily lives and experience of those with Autism.
This looks at the history of autism from when it first started being recognised as a condition, how various 'treatments' developed and then explores why it may seem more prevalent today and the reasons for this. So far, so good. However, it almost feels like the author had done a LOT of research on this topic and then couldn't bear to leave any of it out, so you're left with a long winded, rambling book.
Some parts were fascinating and really piqued your interest and other parts were so dry and laborious that it almost became a chore to get through it. He uses case studies of different people with autism to highlight aspects of the history, but then goes into too much personal detail that is irrelevant to the story being told. It becomes disjointed and a little aimless.
I think a bit of tighter editing would've served this book well, cutting out some of the superfluous and making some other parts more succinct. Overall it was an interesting read and may be eye opening to parents with children who are newly diagnosed, but for the reasons mentioned above it fell a little short for me.
Lifetime in an institution, to now where it's not seen as the be all and end all, but rather a different way of viewing the world.
And it just means allowances need to be made for the individual concerned, where there may be negatives these are more than made up for with the positive aspects (can vouch for this from personal experience). A much better perspective of autism, and the world would be a better place if more people shared it