Review: Far From You by Tess Sharpe
A nuanced, natural depiction of disability, realistic in both its physical presentation and the character’s emotional reactions.
A nuanced, natural depiction of disability, realistic in both its physical presentation and the character’s emotional reactions.
The characterization and descriptions of Grace do disabled readers a disservice in more ways than one.
Although I sometimes genuinely enjoyed myself while reading this book, those times were unfortunately outweighed by the serious inaccuracies.
The only way I can describe Take a Good Look by Jacqueline Wilson is a book designed to educate young children about visual impairment gone horribly wrong.
What about readers like me, who never see their own illnesses depicted? To see story after story where depression draws a straight line to suicide is, for better or for worse, expressing that depression only functions in one way.
The “autism voice”—characterized by narrative devices and a detached character voice—tends to portray autistic characters as unworldly, hyper-rational blank slates defined purely by a series of unusual behaviors.
That’s the thing about disability, I think. You’re a normal person, you experience normal things, and then, every once in a while, you hit that wall. That reminder that you aren’t quite like the majority of your peers.
I’ve never written fiction about living with Crohn’s, and to be honest, I’ve never wanted to. Perhaps because I still feel what I felt for years growing up: that nobody wants to hear about my annoying, humiliating misery. Yet I know, intellectually, that this is a shame, because there should be more characters in YA literature who live with chronic illnesses like IBD.
In my experience, the disabled sibling in fiction exists purely to make the main character’s life more “difficult,” more “sympathetic.” Oh, that poor dear, the writers want you to think,
Perhaps “normal” behavior is best described as a “normative spectrum.”