It probably says more about the state of my mind than it does about Pierre Novellie’s noggin that I couldn’t sit down to write this review until I’d tidied every inch of my desk and put everything into straight lines. I didn’t arrange the pens and pencils in order of height though. I’m not mental.
Or am I? Throughout Novellie’s eloquent, entertaining and educational book, subtitled A Comedian’s Guide To Autism, I couldn’t help ticking off relatable points. While I don’t have a degree from Cambridge in Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic Studies, an obsession with computer games or The Goon Show, there are countless instances here that struck a chord.
There’s a trope these days that everyone is on the spectrum. Which is not really true. It is more a case that everyone who is autistic is on the spectrum, which goes from zero to three, with three needing full-on care. Novellie, who was diagnosed at 31 after an audience member heckled him by suggesting he was autistic, says he is a 0.8. I’ve never been diagnosed but having read his account I’d imagine I’m a 0.5. Or maybe 0.53.
There’s masking, for example, where one has to ‘learn’ appropriate behaviour in social settings, know when and where to make eye contact for the correct amount of time so that you don't come across as a weirdo. Novellie compares it to communicating in a foreign language. It is possible but over time it can be exhausting. It’s something that I do and it’s the reason I tend to arrive at social events late and leave early. There’s only so much masking one can handle in a day and there is a problem of misjudging situations and/or being downright rude. Only a couple of hours ago I was chided for walking away from someone at a gathering when I was under the impression that they’d “finished” talking to me.
On the other hand I don’t have the kind of absolute meltdowns that Novellie and fellow comedian and best-seller Fern Brady – who Novellie has spoken to about autism – have when their mind gets overloaded and they get burnout. Brady talked in her book Strong Female Character about smashing up her furniture. Novellie talks about difficulties with his girlfriend over the fact that he can’t bear to hear cutlery touch her teeth. Then again, he also can’t understand why a duvet has to be put neatly on a bed, the fool. Fortunately they came to a working arrangement on this one. Being a 0.8 Novellie does seem to be able to control his emotions to a certain extent and negotiate.
In fact to me he is a particularly interesting case study because he has clearly managed to navigate a path through life. There have been problems along the way, but in some respects his autism has been manageable. Though definitely not a superpower, it might have helped him excel academically, even though it also meant that he failed to sort out a bike to get to lectures or eat properly or take care of his personal hygiene at times as a student. He must have been doing something right though, he also became Vice-President of Cambridge Footlights.
And of course being a comedian seems to be a good job if you are autistic. Which may be why Novellie is not alone - as well as Fern Brady there’s Hannah Gadsby, Ashley Storrie, Larry Dean, Joe Wells and numerous others, some who talk about autism in their shows, some who don’t. Stand-up and autism make good bedfellows. You don’t have to go through office small talk which simply seems pointless to you. You don’t really have to answer to a boss as such. You are self-employed so if you can’t get your work done it’s your problem, not your employer’s issue. Maybe there are just as many autistic plumbers and teachers out there. Though somehow I doubt it.
Novellie’s book manages to cover a lot of bases and while it does feel like a niche subject it is extremely accessible. There are useful footnotes and when he does use a term that would be new to many readers he explains it fully. There’s misophonia, which is not a fear of Miso soup but an extreme reaction to everyday sounds such as rustling paper or keyboard tapping. Alexithymia is the inability to recognise or describe one’s emotions, or even be able to tell if one is full or hungry, hence a tendency to overeat.
Chapters cover areas from bearing grudges to sensory issues to relationships to - and this one was a biggie for me – “Why Can’t Anyone See How Interesting My Hobbies Are?”. I very much related to Novellie’s problem shutting up about things before the person he is talking starts to doze off. Transport is not so much a hobby for me as a fixation. I sometimes find myself going to a comedy show and afterwards talking more about the journey to and from the venue than the actual content of the show (apologies to anyone who I have bored in the last 24 hours about my Edinburgh train ticket travails. I’ll try to stop now, but it’s not easy).
Why Can’t I Just Enjoy Things? is not the first book on this subject to hit an exceedingly raw nerve. Nearly twenty years ago I read Daniel Tammet’s memoir Born On A Blue Day and looking back I recall going through a similar check list. But Novellie’s area of work combined with his skilful way with words – neatly sarcastic, amiably sardonic and stylishly self-deprecating – makes this latest exploration of the human mind in all its strangeness essential reading.
Buy Why Can't I Just Enjoy Things? here.
