Review: "Look Me In The Eye" by John Robison

At last, the wilderness speaks for itself. John Robison’s new memoir, “Look Me In The Eye, My Life With Asperger’s” brings a much-needed voice to the pantheon of books written by parents, researchers, clinical and educational psychologists. For it’s Robison himself, who has Aspergers. No one speaks for him. No distraught parent offering cautionary advice, no pity-party thrown by a caretaker, nor a psychologist doling out one clinical anecdote after another. Robison writes clearly and thoughtfully. Here is a man who has experienced far more than those with Aspergers are expected to live, or more to the point, express:

“Any child will tell you that even the kindest and gentlest of dogs will bite if you yank its ears, and pull its tail long enough. There is a dark side to Asperger’s and it comes from our childhood dealings with people who do not treat us the way they would like to be treated.”

There were at least fifty reasons why Robison should have failed. His parents were both brilliant but suffered from mental illness. His childhood was punctuated by his father’s drunken and abusive behavior. His mother, the poet Margaret Robison, was routinely checked into The Northampton State Hospital. Robison had difficulty in school, was made to see at least a dozen mental health professionals before he was sixteen. All of this should have made him, as he has described, into someone that dogs would permanently and forever fear.

However, what saved him is a lesson every parent and teacher should remember: he found his niche, there were people who never gave up on him. Robison’s life is testament to following his interests and the difference love makes. For it matters less what school you graduated from, than whether or not you are curious and follow an unknown path. From designing innovative sound systems and effects for rock bands, developing electronic games for Milton Bradley, to fixing high-end cars, he has had a varied career. Parts of his life are richly described, and at times mesmerizingly so:

“You, the lighting director, the sound guy, the road manager, and the fire chief are standing up there. The crowd is getting restless, and after a few minutes they begin to chant. It’s almost time. The red LED flashes in front of you. The lighting director leans forward, keys the mike on the headset he’s wearing and says, “It’s showtime, kiddies.” You reach forward and fire the lights. The first time you hit the button, you feel it in your stomach… what if nothing happens? What if they don’t work?

But then the light washes back from the stage and rolls over you. They do work. Your lights.”

He fit no mold, except his own. There weren’t occupational tests that could have led him to careers that were so unknown. And yet, he has had satisfying and intellectually challenging careers because he’s been able to solve problems in his own way. Robison advocates for this by telling stories, the titles alone worth a second glance: “The Flaming Washtub,” “Dogs Begin To Fear Me,” “Montagoonians.” But as engaging as they are, they simply can’t be written off as mere anecdote. His stories underscore something much more serious: his insistence on being counted as an Aspergian, and the full inclusion of others like him in the lexicon of ways of being.

Whether or not others who read this and have always suspected they were Aspergian will decide to climb on his bandwagon is yet to be seen. Robison wasn’t diagnosed until he was in his forties, to which he credits T.R. Rosenberg, self described “mentor,” and counselor who has worked with thousands of troubled young adults, helping them on the path to adulthood. And like everything else Robison seems to have shown interest in, the zeal in which he explores and shares his own Aspergian perceptions shows growth, sensitivity and insight:

“But the negative voices are smoother and more sophisticated, too. Now, when I hear those voices, I tell myself:
All the other guitars worked; this one will too.
The other jobs came out fine; this one will too.
I am sure I can walk up this mountain.
I think I can drive across that river.
And so far, with some notable exceptions, I have.”

There is a great need in the mental health field to hear from those with a diagnosis themselves. Books like Kay Redfield Jamison’s personal treatise with bipolar in “An Unquiet Mind,” or William Styron’s “Darkness Visible” now have John Robison’s “Look Me In The Eye” to act as one more shout from the wilderness for acceptance into the mainstream and a gentler approach for those who see the world differently.