Neurodivergent (Headcanon) Alley: Elizabeth Zott (Lessons in Chemistry)

*Elizabeth-related spoilers.*

I’m mainly going to be talking about the miniseries here. From what I’ve read so far of the book, Elizabeth is heavily implied to be autistic there as well, and the show leans into those traits even more. I love Brie Larson’s precise, complicated, very human performance as this excellent character.

Now, it’s hardly a stretch to code a scientific genius as autistic, so much so that neurodivergent folks sometimes urge studios to offer representation of autistic characters who aren’t brilliant. But as I’ve said before, I’m less interested in whether something is a stereotype than whether it’s portrayed well and honestly. I of course want variety in my stories and representation, but familiar tropes can still ring true if there’s real feeling behind them. And I feel that with Elizabeth.

Just the fact that Elizabeth is a woman makes her different than the usual stereotype, and the 1950s period setting adds a new wrinkle as well. In a way, it makes sense that a woman who’s determined to be pursue science in a male-dominated field that’s hostile to her presence would be autistic. She has some awareness of social norms but little use for them, and her passionate special interest in chemistry is enough to carry her through all the infuriating microaggressions she has to put up with at work. What Elizabeth is “supposed” to do, what her place in society is meant to be, doesn’t matter to her—she follows just enough of the rules to stay employed, but otherwise, she’s forging her own version of what life can look like. I’ve previously said that there’s something deeply neurodivergent about going against social conventions to do what your mind and your soul need you to.

Elizabeth is blunt and factual in a way that many people find off-putting, impertinent, or just unusual. In a world where women are meant to be ornamental and accommodating, she speaks her mind and isn’t one to smile when she doesn’t want to. She’s frequently flat facing and speaks in a fast, precise near-monotone, but what I love about Larson’s performance is that Elizabeth is in no way “robotic.” She’s not often demonstrative with her emotions, but it’s clear that she’s feeling them—and feeling them deeply, even if she can’t express or articulate them.

She’s soothed by routine and order, keeping a neat lab and, once she starts Supper at Six, an uncluttered kitchen. This makes it all the more difficult for her when her life is repeatedly upended by change, much of it incredibly traumatic: the sexual assault that stalls her education, Calvin’s sudden death, the scientist who never wanted children realizing she’s about to be an unwed mother. For a woman who craves control in her life, to the point that she makes the same lasagna dozens of times to explore every variable, these monumental challenges constantly set her adrift. There are times when she doesn’t know how or if she’ll find her way back. But she’s incredibly determined, fiercely independent, and supremely resourceful. Whether that means reading the employee handbook cover to cover to ensure there’s no specific rule against pregnancy, building a lab in her kitchen when the university fires her anyway, or calculating her exact value to her TV network as proof that they can’t retaliate against her for bucking their directives, Elizabeth figures out how to wrest back a bit of control for herself. She relies on logical arguments and draws from a deep well of frustration, refusing to conform in a society that would punish her for going against the grain.

I can already tell you that my next Neurodivergent Alley is going to be about Calvin, who is also super autistic-coded but not really in the same way. I love that for him, for Elizabeth, and for me, and I’m looking forward to writing more about it!