![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/gone-200x301.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t![](\"http:\/\/corinneduyvis.net\/images\/logo-bookshop.svg\"){kind=logo}
\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>Corinne:<\/strong> Right. Especially because we’re approaching this as writers, who absolutely have to figure out which category we’re working with. And as much as I love these clear definitions we outlined, they’re still not always sufficient. For example, sometimes the magic-slash-disability connection isn’t explicit in the text, just implied. I’m thinking of Michael Grant’s Gone<\/em><\/a> here, in which a lot of people have powers, but the sole autistic kid just happens to be twice as powerful as everyone else. It’s never said<\/em> that his autism is responsible for it, but I definitely still saw it as an example of the trope.<\/p>\nKayla:<\/strong> Yeah, no definition is ever going to encompass every possible example. I think cases like that are especially interesting though, because they’re relying on assumptions that the (abled) audience is going to bring with them. Disability = magic. That’s one effect of these tropes being so widely used: audiences begin expecting it, so the author doesn’t even have to make it explicit.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Yeah, I feel like unless you make it explicit that the two aren’t related, it’s easy to assume they are, given the prevalence of the trope.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Yeah. Though that wouldn\u2019t be the case for every situation, right? Like, if it were, say, an amputee with the power to turn invisible, and he’s better at turning invisible than anyone else, it would be easier to see them as not connected. Because, well, sometimes disabled people just have unrelated talents. If you’re writing disabled protagonists, you\u2019ll run into it eventually, as protagonists are often exceptional in some way or another.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Well, there are some disabilities more often connected to magic than others \u2014 I can’t off the top of my head think of a lot of magical amputees, for example?<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Agreed. One thing I really appreciated about The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer<\/a> <\/em>\u2014 Mara both has PTSD and special powers, and the story is very clear about both of these things being true, and about drawing a line.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> True, Corinne, and the links between disability and magic tend to make some sort of sense if you look at them sideways. Blindness – visions. Mental illness – hears voices, sees ghosts, whatever.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Epilepsy\/narcolepsy – out-of-body experiences or magical connections. Our reviewer Elise Phalen highlighted that specific instance of the trope in her review of The Islands at the End of the World<\/a><\/em>, for example, and I\u2019m also reminded of Slide<\/a><\/em>, which \u2014 based on the flap copy \u2014 uses a similar trope. (I\u2019ve read neither of these, for the record.)<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I like that observation, Natasha: There’s definitely non-magical instances of the magical disability trope. Same with the “autistic witness” that you see sometimes in crime shows\/movies. I’m thinking of Silent Fall<\/a><\/em>, Mercury Rising<\/a><\/em>, a Criminal Minds<\/a><\/em> episode I don’t remember the title of \u2026<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Yep! I noticed with my own examples that it’s often about a character having ~mystical knowledge~ that they can usefully share with the protagonist.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I feel like a lot of this might be writers seeing “strange” disability stuff and having their imaginations take over. Ohhh, interesting, how could I use this? Such a fascinating plot element!<\/em><\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> Oh, \u200babsolutely\u200b<\/em>, Corinne. And I get the impulse! We’re so used to looking for story inspiration everywhere, in all the strange details of real life, that I can see why writers see disability and think “that’s a gold mine<\/em>,” but obviously the execution tends to be lacking.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Right! I\u2019ve absolutely noticed myself thinking the same thing, coming across certain conditions and situations, before needing to reel myself in.<\/p>\n The \u201cfascinating plot element\u201d bit actually ties into one of the big things that annoys me about this trope. A lot of the time, it’s a huge<\/em> plot device, and it’s kind of cheap. The magical person is disabled (and this goes particularly for \u201cunreliable\u201d neurodivergent people) because then you can make them completely overpowered. You\u2019ll be able to use the ability when it’s convenient, but you don’t have to explain why the character doesn’t just wave their hands and fix it all. Because they’re disabled! They probably don’t even realize what’s going on, or have no clue how to access their abilities consciously. Gag. So it’s something that conveniently enables plot yet provides a convenient obstacle at the same time.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> I think that ties into the running issue of disabled characters being sidelined. Because these characters are often minor parts, their roles can be shrunk down to their disability and the related magic. Obviously this isn’t always the case, but I do think there’s a strong correlation between how minor the character is and how much they exist as a convenient plot device.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Right. Who needs character arcs or development, right?<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> For sure. Having a disabled character be \u200b\u02dcmagical\u02dc\u200b often reads as a justification of their very existence. Because what else could a disabled character possibly bring to the table? So they become objects, plot devices, obstacles, mysteries, etc.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Justification sounds about right. And that’s sadly not too far from what we see in real life: If you’re going to be disabled, you’d better have some kind of amazing talent or be super amazing and saintly to make up for all the trouble you are. It\u2019s got to be \u201cbalanced out.\u201d<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> And that’s where these tropes extend their reach into real life in horrifying ways. Disabled people \u2014 in fiction and outside of it \u2014 aren’t allowed to simply \u200bbe\u200b<\/em> disabled.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> “You’re depressed? You must be really artistic<\/em>, right? You’re autistic? I bet you’re super organized and smart<\/em>. You use a wheelchair? What an inspiration to us all!<\/em>”<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> A family member once told me he thinks all people born with disabilities are also given “special gifts” to make up for it. Not exaggerating.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Gross. I mean, I’m not surprised, but come on<\/em>.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> But to tie it back to these specific tropes, that what they ultimately say. That exact same thing.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> And I think that’s why it’s often harmful. If that’s the only context you see yourself in \u2014 a plot device, thinly developed, only tolerated or involved because of your useful magic \u2026 ouch.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> And at the same time, from a writing perspective, I think it would be an overcorrection to never<\/em> talk about how magic and disabilities might interact<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> But I am wondering, is it always<\/em> harmful? I’m thinking particularly of two reviews we’ve run on the site: Ada Hoffmann reviewing Silence<\/em> by Michelle Sagara<\/a>, and Ellen Rozek reviewing The Prisoner of Cell 25 <\/em>by Richard Paul Evans<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n \u2026<\/strong> JINX.<\/p>\n \u2026 DOUBLE JINX!<\/p>\n Anyway, To quote from those reviews for clarification \u2026 Ada Hoffmann about an autistic character in Silence<\/em>:<\/p>\n And since his brain works differently, he\u2019s also less affected by certain necromancer spells than other characters \u2014 which allows him, in a crowning moment, to save Emma by hitting a necromancer with one of his D&D books \u2026 (Though after that, the idiosyncratic reaction to magic isn\u2019t mentioned very much and doesn\u2019t become a very big part of the plot, which arguably stops it from veering into Magical Disabled Person territory I personally think that, since autistic people\u2019s brain wiring is known to be different, and we frequently have idiosyncratic reactions to medicine and other things, an idiosyncratic reaction to magic is a perfectly logical thing for some of us to have!)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n And Ellen Rozek about The Prisoner of Cell 25<\/em>:<\/p>\n Although I am frequently wary of sci-fi or fantasy novels that seek to create some logical yet mystical explanation for specific disabilities, I have to admit that I was pretty intrigued to see a protagonist whose ability to manipulate electricity might be tied to his Tourette\u2019s Syndrome. Because TS is itself a constantly changing condition that appears differently in every individual who has it, I think it would be really interesting if the same neurological instability that causes tics and creates variations of tics was responsible for the variations in Michael\u2019s powers. Building a link between Michael\u2019s condition and his abilities could be disastrously stereotypical in the hands of another author, but I was so pleasantly surprised by the deftness with which Evans worked TS into Michael\u2019s story that I\u2019m convinced he could pull it off.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Clearly, the dislike of the trope is not universal. So how can it be used without being gross?<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I agree. I may be biased because this is what I did in my debut Otherbound<\/em>, but I think I’ve also seen it in other books where I didn’t mind it.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> I think it really all comes down to execution. What role does the character play in the narrative? Are they treated as a full character with an arc, development, etc.?<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Also, it’s a matter of how the disability is treated \u2014 is it just there as a gotcha? Does it receive the same respect that we hope a real-life disability would receive?<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I think one of the things that bothers me personally is that, even when everything else is handled respectfully, and even if you have a pseudoscientific explanation, the idea of disability being inherently connected to magic can imply that all these disabled people work the same? This isn’t entirely related, but I remember that the third episode of the TV series Haven<\/a><\/em> frustrated me immensely. To quote Wikipedia: there’s “an upheaval at the local psychiatric hospital involving something that causes the mad to become sane and vice versa.” Like it’s a switch you can flick on and off. But often disability is much more nuanced. It differs in symptoms, cause, severity, presentation.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> Yep, and I think one of the easiest ways to avoid that particular trap is to have more than one disabled character. That way you can \u200bshow\u200b<\/em> variation and explore how the magic might affect different people (even with the same disability!) in different ways. And from a writing perspective, that\u2019s likely going to lead to a richer story.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> That’s an excellent point, Kayla.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I would be bothered less if it were implied as a sort of boost. Like, “theoretically everyone could learn to understand this alien language, but because this particular autistic person is very good at picking up on patterns and seeing the underlying sound behind the emotion, they’re faster at picking it up.” Which is different from: “Autistic people can instantly, magically understand this alien language.”<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> Right! That seems more like a logical extension of someone’s disability. Disabled people often do<\/em> have specific talents that nondisabled people don’t, or they\u2019ve adapted in very specific ways that might be beneficial. Exploring that through magic makes sense to me.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> Oh man, Toph is such an interesting example.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> She’s the Best Earthbender Evar. She\u2019s blind, and she uses her earthbending power to feel the vibrations in the earth and thus create a semi-3D image of her surroundings, enabling her to move around completely independently. Plus, she can do things that no other earthbender has been shown to do, such as bending steel or telling whether people are lying by feeling the vibrations of their pulse. (I dislike that last one because I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t work like that, science-wise.)<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Lie detectors have in fact been consistently scientifically disproven, yes. I have extremely mixed feelings on Toph, because in some ways I feel like she falls into a trope that I automatically dislike: the disabled character whose magic abilities lessen or erase her disability<\/a>. See Toph’s early quote about having always been able to “see.”<\/p>\n On the other hand, she’s an important and extremely well-done character, who has her own arc and who isn’t defined by her disability, which reduces a lot of my frustration.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I think you can definitely criticize elements of the character (I have the same doubts you do) but at least it does make sense in-universe that she would put her earthbending power to a different use. And it makes sense that, by extension, she\u2019s a better earthbender, because she uses it in very different and more nuanced ways than “throw rocks.” Again, it’s not “she\u2019s blind and therefore the best” but “she’s blind, therefore she has different needs and uses her abilities differently, leading to particular extension of those skills, etc.”<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> And I do think it’s important to note that her abilities (magical and otherwise) have limits that seem realistically tied to her disability. For instance, she can’t read print, she can’t “see” in water or sand or air, etc. Which doesn’t mean she fully avoids the tropeyness, but it does seem to mitigate it in interesting ways.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> Sometimes her abilities are still so extreme that it makes me roll my eyes, but I definitely find it much less problematic in those contexts. But I think that’s probably getting away from the main topic a little, since it’s not technically “magic that no one else has” but just a character applying the same magic differently\/better \u2026 but it\u2019s definitely an interesting and logical way that disability and magic could interact.<\/p>\n I think one problem is when it becomes too convenient. Like the only deaf character also conveniently being the only telepathic character so they can communicate no problem. Or the only blind character conveniently being able to see through other people’s eyes, which is apparently the case in Westerfeld’s Zeroes<\/a><\/em>. (I haven\u2019t read it yet.)<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> Yep, and again, that’s where the execution matters so much. And where the author needs to be so thoughtful and attentive to the assumptions and intentions underpinning their choices<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> So, we agree that logic is a good way to mitigate the problematic elements of this trope. Disability leading to particular strengths that can play into a character\u2019s magic or how they use it makes sense.<\/p>\n For this discussion, I\u2019d like to look at the \u201clooks like [disability], and therefore is interpreted that way by others\u201d definition. I have Thoughts on this, but I’m curious about yours?<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> I don’t feel like the “wired to read Greek so dyslexic thing” makes sense?<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I’ve got sort of complicated thoughts on the trope. I like it in theory, and if you go down to the basics, it’s what I do in Otherbound<\/em>, in which a character affected by magic acts a certain way which is perceived as disability by his surroundings. (In his case, epilepsy.) So I definitely like the idea, but I have doubts about the execution.<\/p>\n And yeah, Kayla, that\u2019s one of those doubts.<\/p>\n Riordan apparently wrote the series to give representation to his son<\/a>, who has both dyslexia and ADHD. This could indicate that he had the disability as a starting point, then came up with in-story reasons, rather than having the magic as a starting point and seeing how the side effects can be interpreted.<\/p>\n I don’t like to speculate about author’s intentions generally, and it doesn\u2019t particularly affect my thoughts on the book. It\u2019s just an interesting potential difference that could play into some of how this trope is handled.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> One of my favorite series is the Demon’s Lexicon trilogy<\/a>, which has a disabled non-magical character, a character who has magic and has a disability (but the two factors aren’t related), and a character who has magic that manifests as a disability.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> As much as I enjoy Percy Jackson, that did bug me. There are no<\/em> regularly disabled characters. I saw the movie first and read the book shortly after, so I may be blending them, but as far as I remember, you’ve got: (1) Percy, whose (perceived) ADHD\/dyslexia are a result of being a demigod. (2) You find out that his disabled friend, who uses crutches to walk, is actually a satyr and uses the crutches to cover that up, and he can run like hell in his natural mode. (3) A wheelchair user is introduced, who turns out to be a centaur.<\/p>\n Every time, disability is used as a convenient way for magic characters to blend into the real world. This makes sense within the confines of the plot, but I’d really liked to have seen characters who have actual, real-world disabilities, as opposed to simply resembling those disabilities or using disability as a practical costume. On several occasions, you get your hopes up for disability rep \u2014 and you’re disappointed every time.<\/p>\n I absolutely agree that fake disability, or magic disability, or fictional disability, etc. is much easier to swallow with genuine disability rep present. Then it doesn’t feel like it’s just being co-opted or replaced, that it’s not just there as a plot device, doesn’t imply that genuinely disabled people have no place in the narrative, etc.<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> That seems especially bothersome in context of writing the story because your son is disabled. It seems to be saying, “Wouldn’t it be cool if you weren\u2019t<\/em> disabled, and were magical<\/em> instead?”<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> So for me, I think this trope is frustrating if (a) I get duped into thinking there’s actual disability rep on multiple occasions, only to go, surprise! magic! and (b) there are no other, regularly disabled people present.<\/p>\n From a writer\u2019s PoV \u2026 when I was writing a similar situation, I tried hard to think of how to approach it that wouldn\u2019t be trope-y. I took care that at no point would a reader be led to believe there was genuine epilepsy rep; it’s clear from the start that it\u2019s magic having consequences that are wrongly interpreted as disability. I also had other disabled people in the story, including the character himself, who has a separate real-life disability.<\/p>\n But that doesn’t work in all circumstances. Sometimes, a main character isn’t aware that they have \u200b\u02dcmagic\u02dc\u200b and genuinely think of themselves as disabled until they’re proven not to be \u2014 like Percy Jackson. So I wonder how you could approach a situation like that? Where they only find out later?<\/p>\n Natasha:<\/strong> Well, I think you can start by highlighting ways that it doesn’t fit the disability it’s described as, right off the bat. So at least you don’t have readers disappointed because they thought their own specific disability was being represented. And I think in that case, having real disabilities in addition to magical ones also goes a long way.<\/p>\n Kayla:<\/strong> I think the issue of rep is such an important one when thinking about these particular tropes. Disabled folks get so little (decent) representation as it is, that it seems especially cruel to promise rep and then reveal, haha! Nope<\/em>. But I don’t honestly know how to get around it if, as you said, the character genuinely believes themselves to be disabled.<\/p>\n Corinne:<\/strong> I do think Percy Jackson, for one, handled this trope better than many others, though. One element I liked was that the “disabilities” don’t spontaneously disappear later in the narrative. I don’t think I quite buy the “wired for Greek” excuse, but accepting that as suspension of disbelief, the fact is that it still manifests<\/em> similarly to dyslexia. They still struggle with reading English later on in the book. So, it’s still actually disabling, and I like that it’s not handwaved away. And looking at that article I linked earlier, lots of kids with these conditions are excited to have representation.<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-unbecoming-of-mara-dyer-200x304.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>Corinne:<\/strong> Yeah, I think blindness and neurodivergence are probably most often used. Epilepsy and narcolepsy in particular might be tied to historical ideas about those conditions being linked to the supernatural.<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/slide-200x300.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>Natasha:<\/strong> I often find that the \u201cmentally ill person hears voices \/ sees ghosts\u201d example feels like an attempt to make sense of mental illness, both historically and in fiction. For example, a schizophrenic person hearing and saying things that don’t make sense to a listener could be “explained” by the person’s supernatural insights. You see that with schizophrenia, or PTSD with schizophrenic features, even outside of the fantasy genre \u2014 e.g., mystery novels will often involve trauma victims whose seemingly incomprehensible rambling are, in retrospect, clues.<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/silence-200x300.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>Natasha:<\/strong> All that said (and all that agreed to), I don’t think it’s inherently a bad thing to have a character who is disabled and magical, and to have these things be related or even intrinsically tied to each other. (There are admittedly some aspects that probably are inherently problematic \u2014 I personally have a major pet peeve about magical abilities that cancel out disabilities.)<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/michael-vey-the-prisoner-of-cell-25-200x300.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>Natasha:<\/strong> Sometimes, having magic manifest in a way that resembles a real-life disability strikes me as more of a logical extension of the ability, rather than as a cheap plot device. For example, it makes perfect sense to me that certain uncontrolled psychic abilities would read as mental illnesses to characters within the story.<\/p>\n![\"Toph](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/toph-airbender-395x500.png\")
<\/a>Corinne:<\/strong> You see this a lot in comic books. Eventually they start applying their powers in all kinds of new, creative ways because writers want to do something fancy and new. I guess that’s related to Toph in Avatar: the Last Airbender<\/a><\/em>.<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/percy-jackson-and-the-lightning-thief-200x296.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>The opposite also makes sense, like Natasha brought up earlier: magic having logical side effects that are seen as disability. A popular example here is Percy Jackson. He’s thought to have dyslexia and ADHD, and this later turns out to be because he’s a demigod, meaning he’s “wired to read Greek” and has unusual energy that he needs to burn off. (Specifically \u2014 all demigods have these side effects and tend to get diagnosed that way.) I don\u2019t quite remember how the books put it \u2014 that he had the symptoms and people interpreted it as dyslexia and ADHD, or that his demigodhood caused the conditions. The effects on the character would be identical, even if it\u2019s different from a meta point of view.<\/p>\n![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-demon-lexicon-200x300.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t\n\t\t\t\tBUY ON BOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t\tBOOKSHOP<\/span>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t<\/article> \n\n\t<\/center><\/div>One of the things that the author, Sarah Rees Brennan, does which I really appreciate, is give a lot of weight to the non-magical disability. She treats it with respect and makes it integral to the character, and she’s honest about the limitations it causes without ever treating the character as weaker or less competent. That makes me a lot more open to the magical disabled characters, because it doesn’t feel like disability is just there as a plot device.<\/p>\n