bookrblog

The Horse Boy

Friday, April 10th, 2009 | American Literature | No Comments

This book by Rupert Isaacson has to easily be the weirdest book about autism ever - but I still kind of liked it. Two travellers who met in India fall in love, get married, have a baby - and the baby is a little boy called Rowan who has autism. They decide against ABA fairly quickly (too expensive and the therapists are freaky), try an autism nursery school where Rowan is stressed-out and picks up behaviours from other kids, and then go with hanging round people from the local hippie commune. Which then leads to, of course, a trip to visit all the shamans in Mongolia. Why Mongolia? Because Rowan seems to have a particular affinity with horses, and that’s a horse-loving country.

The trip through Mongolia is hazardous and involves lots of strange stuff, like Rupert and his wife being beaten with whips by Shamans. But in the end, Rowan calms down a bit and finally works out toilet-training. They go home and devote their lives to using horses with kids with autism.

I guess why I like it is because Rupert et al acknowledge how weird it all is, and because I like reading about travel and autism, so it’s sort of two in one. Shamans curing autism? Nope. Intensive family time without stresses of nursery school making a difference? Absolutely. Probably the one thing every autism intervention has in common is the provision of structure, of one kind or another, and the provision of adult time, whether from a therapist or from a parent. Seeing research seems to say it doesn’t matter which intervention you choose, going to Mongolia is just as logical and locking your kid in a room for eight hours a day with a therapist you’ve just met. An interesting, if bizarre, read.

Thirty Something and Over It

Friday, April 10th, 2009 | Australian Literature | No Comments

The problem of avoiding every challenge in life and then finding things kind of boring is analysed by Australian author Kasey Edwards. It’s inspired by, and similar to, the equally bland book by Nigel Marsh which I’ve reviewed earlier (Fat, Forty and Fired). Both successful middle-class somethings, realising that the meaning of life isn’t going to work. Whoa!

Ms Edwards firstly hangs about whinging, then tries meditation, and finally goes to a clairvoyant, and makes the life-altering decision to . . . go part-time. The rest of the time is spent writing this book. She makes a vague attempt at volunteering but gives up (with relief) at that particular challenge, and is scared off actually doing a job to help people by someone completely burnt by the experience (a school teacher).

I met someone like this about ten years ago now - she was in human resources, a world so foreign to mine that we found it hard to communicate. When I said I’d spent time with working children, she couldn’t understand what I meant by that phrase, “working children”. Never heard of child labour! I was equally astonished that at that age (I think we were both about 25) she owned a flat in Sydney. Different worlds. She probably still doesn’t know what child labour is, and I don’t own any property!

I have a solution for Kasey Edwards et al. Give it all up and go live in a foreign culture (no, not Amsterdam, try south-east Asia) for a year. There’s a young Sydney woman who’s started a children’s home in Mongolia; a bunch of Australians helping kids in Vietnam; an incredible 70-something Australian physiotherapist helping kids in Palestine. Once you realise how lucky you are, you’ll stop whinging and get on with things. And if you really believe you’ve got a gift for writing, you’ll use it for good rather than inanity.