I'd love to tell you all my plans, but I really moustache

Book Five

James Bond: Moonraker - Ian Fleming (1955)

The most intriguing mystery in this book was why the German workers on Hugo Drax's Moonraker missile all possessed such an array of differing moustache styles.  Given that we know all along that Bond will save the day, it really was this puzzle that kept me reading until the end.  The explanation turned out to be rather disappointing, much like the rest of the book.

It's strange reading this now and trying to imagine the fear of Nazism returning that existed in the early 1950s when Fleming penned this story, but it's these fears that inspire the villainous Drax, whose motives are revealed to both Bond and the reader through the ultimate bad-guy cliché of tying up the hero and telling him everything.  Drax's dubious motives aside, the plot is unconvincing and dull in turn, with the moustache mystery being the best it has to offer in terms of intrigue.  

The distinction between the films and the original Fleming books has always been one of tone - the books take themselves far more seriously and Bond himself is a much less likeable character.  Fans are divided between which they prefer.  I have to come down on the side of the films.

Even considering the book as a work of its time, the sexism is a little blatant.  Despite being a capable, demonstratively intelligent woman, Bond girl de jour, Gala Brand, ultimately relies on Bond to use his wily thinking and heroic fortitude to save her.  Surprisingly though, apart from a naked scramble in a cliff fall, Bond doesn't get the girl - or come anywhere close.

As a standalone spy thriller, Moonraker is pedestrian and lazily written; as a James Bond story, it lacks the international capers and political intrigue of Fleming's other stories and leaves the reader feeling more than a little underwhelmed.

As long as there's hope, we can stick at it

Book Four

The Reason I Jump - Naoki Higashida (2007)

Translated by KA Yoshida & David Mitchell (2013)

Reading this book, it's easy to forget at times that it was written by a 13-year-old boy with limited verbal communication.  Naoki Higashida, who dictated the book using an alphabet grid, writes so eloquently and movingly about living with autism that you’d be forgiven for momentarily forgetting.  As David Mitchell writes in his foreword, the majority of books about autism are written by professionals without autism, or occasionally by adults with high-functioning autism, who have, for the most part, overcome the challenges to communication that their autism poses.  What makes The Reason I Jump so fascinating is its insight into the mind of a child locked in by the severity of his autism.  In it, Higashida answers a series of FAQs about autism with refreshing honesty and touching poignancy.

There has been the inevitable debate as to how far this really is Higashida’s own work, or if it is the product of facilitated communication but Temple Grandin, one of those adults with autism who has written about her condition, feels that the book was written independently (with no external support guiding the author's hand), but that it could have included “more documentation on Naoki's ability to communicate independently” and “descriptions of how he was taught.”

It’s often assumed that only those with High-Functioning Autism, or Asperger’s Syndrome (the terms are generally used interchangeably) have the self-awareness to understand their condition.  Higashida’s book challenges this assumption, along with a number of others.  He writes affectingly that autistic people do not want to be alone, but that because social interactions become so stressful for them and the people they are trying to interact with, it often leads sufferers avoiding company.  Higashida asserts that autistic people value friendship and human interaction just as much as anybody else.  He is frequently upset by the effect that his behaviour has on the people around him.  And the short stories interspersed amongst the questions he answers about autism demonstrate a high level of empathy, something it is often assumed that autistic people lack.

One of these short stories, about Earthling and Autisman, supports Higashida's view that autistic people are “different in many ways” to Neurotypical people.  The accepted wisdom is that autism has a spectrum (thus, the condition is termed ASD - Autistic Spectrum Disorder) onto which all humans can placed to some extent.  Although Higashida often refers seemingly authoritatively to “us autistic people”, it’s important to remember that this is the view of one person only.  Not every ASD sufferer exhibits the same behaviours, and some with the same diagnosis on paper can exhibit what appear to be completely opposing behaviours.  Higashida acknowledges this when he states that he doesn’t mind physical contact and isn’t a fussy eater, but knows that some people with autism are.  There were some answers, such as to “Why do you take ages to answer questions?”, “Why don’t you make eye contact when you’re talking?” and “Why do you make a huge fuss over tiny mistakes?” that really spoke to me, whilst others had no relevance at all.

I raced through this book in three days.  The sparse and simple poetry of Higashida’s candid prose make it an addictive and easy read.  I have an overwhelming desire to thrust it at everyone at meet and insist, “Look, I’m not just weird, please read this - it explains everything.” It is impressive that a 13-year-old boy is so adeptly able to articulate the feelings of many ASD sufferers.  Anyone who works with young people on the autistic spectrum should read this.

Now in his twenties, Naoki Higashida is an ambassador for autism, writing a blog and giving presentations across Japan on living with autism, despite his communication difficulties.  In answering Question 24, “Would you like to be ‘normal’?”, Higashide decides that, after several years of torment and deliberation, he wouldn’t, declaring “so long as we can learn to love ourselves, I’m not sure how much it matters whether we’re normal or autistic.”  He may have a point.