Big Neurodivergent Energy Books: 1-5

Branching out into books now. Most of the entries on today’s list are middle-grade novels and series, formative reading for a neurodivergent kid who’s looking to see themselves in their books. I loved some of these when I was a kid, and I discovered others a bit later in life. Oh, and I couldn’t resist putting a little Jane Austen in there too!

 

Bridge to Terabithia

It occurs to me that, with characters who could fall within the trope of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, the most nuanced examples can often be read as autistic. Yes, Leslie comes into Jess’s life and makes it better, because she cares about chasing her passions more than what other people think of her, and she encourages Jess to do the same. When I was a kid, I was absolutely enchanted by the thought of a hideaway in the woods where I could create my own imaginary kingdom, where I wouldn’t have to think about any of the boring, frustrating, challenging things about “real” life. And I don’t know about you, but that feels like a big autistic mood to me!

 

Matilda

There have to be a lot of autistic folks who feel they’ve found a champion in the little girl who gets revenge on a bully with the power of her mind—which includes her encyclopedic knowledge from her extensive reading, her logical problem-solving, and her literal telekinesis. Three cheers for this hyperlexic kid with a strong sense of justice who’s misunderstood by her family but loved by the teacher who appreciates her extraordinary mind!

 

Pride and Prejudice

It makes sense that neurodivergent coding would jump out in a social satire, even one from the 1800s. It isn’t much a stretch to take an ADHD interpretation of Lydia or Mrs. Bennet, or an autistic read of Mr. Collins. Of course, though, this is mainly about the one and only Mr. Darcy, the most autistic Eligible Bachelor you’ve ever met. Given the age of the source material, it’s impressive just how many autistic buttons he presses for me, from his difficulty in unfamiliar social situations to his penchant for plain honesty over flattery to his tendency to say the impolite thing while doing the caring thing. So much love! 

 

A Series of Unfortunate Events

I already talked about the Netflix show, which feels so autistic in large part because it’s such an effective adaptation of the books. Oh, how I love Lemony Snicket stopping in the middle of the action to clarify things, define words, or reflect on the illogical nature of an expression. Nearly every character is happily obsessed with a particular subject that they’ve made their life’s pursuit, and I love that the Baudelaires process their emotions in such analytical ways. From the first book, I was utterly taken with this series, and I absolutely knew it was for me.

 

Time Quintet

Oh, Meg and Charles Wallace Murry, my beloveds! Incredibly smart, unable to fit in, willing to accept the impossible. I can totally see the Murry home as a place where it’s safe to be autistic in a hostile world, with only the twins masking reliably. Whereas Calvin might be the lone autistic in his family, high-masking to the point where he’s easily accepted by others, but he comes alive when he meets people like him. I love Meg for her anger, her insecurities, and her obstinate square-peg-in-a-round-hole-ness. These books were so formative for me growing up!

Top Five Childhood Rereads

Great books are great books, period.  I became a voracious reader at an early age, taking eager trips to the library and literally checking out as many books as I could carry.  Today, many of the novels and series I consumed are fond pieces of nostalgia, but some are every bit as enjoyable to read now as they were when I was 10, 11, or 12.  Here are five books I still love.  (Note: I didn’t start A Series of Unfortunate Events until high school, so it’s beyond the range of this post.)

 

 

The Giver by Lois Lowry (1993)

 

Cards on the table – I couldn’t bring myself to see the movie in theaters.  The book is too important to me, and the film looks too wrong.  Maybe someday…  This was one of my first dystopian novels, and I was pulled entirely into its world.  I love Jonas’s messy, complicated journey, his gradual awakening to the possibilities of the extremes his gray society has pared away.  The message, that colors and snow and love are worth pain and ugliness, is gorgeous.

 

 

Belle Prater’s Boy by Ruth White (1996)

 

This was assigned reading in 6^th grade, but I’ve read it on my own numerous times since then (don’t bother with the sequel, though – it’s not bad, it’s just not masterful.)  Gypsy and Woodrow are such rich characters, and I adore every bit of their friendship, from the jokes to the secrets to the stories.  The story of Woodrow’s missing mother and his desire to find her fascinates me, and I like the thoughtful way the book deals with Gypsy’s feelings about her beauty.

 

 

Tangerine by Edward Bloor (1997)

 

I bought this one through a book order on a whim, and I haven’t come across anything else quite like it.  The eerie atmosphere of the town is terrific, and the darkness within Erik is startling.  Beyond that, the book is stuffed with vibrant, memorable characters and excellent dialogue.  It’s also one of the most thoughtfully diverse books I read as a kid – Paul, the protagonist, is disabled, and the multiple characters of color feel informed but not defined by their race.

 

 

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (1962)

 

So I love the entire Time Quartet, but I picked this one because my memories of first reading it are still so vivid.  It’s unapologetically smart and almost audaciously inventive, fastidiously detailed and beautifully written.  The fantasy shines, the themes are striking, and the characters are odd, rough, and wonderful.  Meg is absolutely a character I needed at that age, and Charles Wallace remains the most compellingly-written child genius I’ve ever encountered in fiction.

 

 

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson (1977)

 

(I just realize four of my top five are by female authors.  Awesome!)  5^th-grade reading this time.  Like Gypsy and Woodrow, Jess and Leslie’s relationship is spectacular.  I’m captivated by their time together, and of course the world they create.  In a dingy nowhere town, amidst bullies, poverty, and distant fathers, they bring the impossible to life.  What could be better than that?