Guest post written by To A Darker Shore author Leanne Schwartz
Leanne Schwartz is the author of A Prayer for Vengeance. She has spent her life at either the library or the local theater, where she has played Lady Macbeth, Lady Capulet, Clytemnestra, and Hera—perhaps one reason she writes such vengeful, murderous girls. When she’s not teaching English and poetry, she can be found baking pizzelle, directing scenes for the student Shakespeare festival, and singing along to showtunes. She lives in California with her family.
About To A Darker Shore: Dante’s Inferno meets the mythic atmosphere of Hadestown in this darkly romantic, tale from the author of A Prayer for Vengeance, featuring two autistic protagonists—Alesta, a plus-size inventor, and Kyrian, her best friend and heir to the throne.
My first exposure to the concept of autism was in a book: Baby-sitters Club #32: Kristy and the Secret of Susan. But it would be many years before learning I was autistic myself. I remember being fascinated but confused by Ann M. Martin’s description of Susan (based on her work with autistic children and made with every good intention), and considered it just one of the never-ending stream of books I devoured while hiding away from other people (hello, hyperlexia). Any later stories I read with autistic characters were vanishingly few and always written by neurotypical authors, similar to the examples of autistic characters in film and television that presented a very narrow, often inaccurate, view of autistics—always male, white, and robotically cold, if not utterly cut off from the rest of the world. No wonder it took so long for me to finally discover my own autism, with only that to go by. And some of the most egregious examples are still on our shelves and screens now, as anyone who’s seen the memes of the infantilized, “for some reason autism makes me a bigot” Good Doctor knows.
April is Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month, but most people’s awareness of autism remains based on these sorts of media depictions, which has a real impact on how we’re accepted—or not—out in the world.
Fortunately, a burgeoning number of books by autistic authors are offering us more authentic and varied autistic experiences on the page, excitingly more in more in fantasy. I’ve gone from head-canoning Lazlo in Laini Taylor’s Strange the Dreamer and Rook in Margaret Rogerson’s An Enchantment of Ravens to not being able to keep up with all the books coming out with stated autistic representation. (Rogerson has even confirmed her Vespertine is neurodivergent.) The growth isn’t surprising, with a threefold increase in diagnosis nationally the past few years, but with many autistics still being missed (Black autistics typically take years longer to get a diagnosis, and as many as 80% of girls go undiagnosed), who can say that books by autistic authors won’t be what sets undiagnosed autistics on the path to finally naming, understanding, and managing their experiences better? Or what helps other readers gain insight into all the nuance of what life is really like for autistics?
So if you’re inspired this Autism Acceptance Month (and beyond, I hope!) to read some actually autistic books, here are my personal recommendations, admittedly shaped by my preference for fantasy, romance, and angst balanced with triumph.
The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White
Autistic, trans Silas finds himself trapped by Victorian social expectations for young ladies blessed or cursed with violet eyes and the ability to speak across the Veil with the world of spirits. Wanting nothing more than to escape arranged marriage and ply his skills as a surgeon, Silas is diagnosed with Veil sickness and sent to a finishing school where ghosts of murdered girls beg for his help. White’s book is full of building horror at the insidiousness and all-too-mundane evils of the patriarchy, but also shows where both autistic and trans communities find each other even in the darkest places (and makes readers or at least me feral over Silas and Daphne’s supportive relationship, along with a standout supporting cast of complicated girls).
I adore how Spirit shows how there have always been trans and autistic people in every era, and touches upon the theme of autistics often being valued only for how they can be exploited; Silas is sought after for his ability to produce heirs with his magical abilities, but forbidden from practicing them himself, which stirred up all my feelings about how those with “autistic superpowers” that can serve capitalism are most accepted by neurotypicals. I was rooting for Silas to take his scalpel to the entire pack of Speakers, swept along as he plunged into all the horrors of enforced girlhood and autistic masking. This young adult book is brutal and bloody and and an absolute page-turner.
Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett
Oh, Emily. I adore the autistic heroine of this fantasy that teeters enchantingly between cozy and folk horror in the wintery northern reaches where Cambridge scholar Emily has traveled to study faeries in person. The book grows only more charming with the arrival of rival scholar Wendell Bambleby, his mysterious connection to the faeries, and his obvious-to-everyone-but-Emily affections for the curmudgeonly researcher.
Emily’s a genius academic but struggles with people, and her irritation with Wendell’s ease among the townsfolk—as well as his lack of academic rigor—offer endless delight as together the two must save the town from encroaching supernatural threats.
This adult fantasy book conjures up darker moments than I expected, delving into stories of lost children, stolen lovers, and banished fae royalty, adding a rich atmosphere to the humor found in its banter, Emily’s foibles chopping wood and talking to other people (which goes almost worse than the near-dismemberment), and Wendell’s obsession with proper tailoring. I’m eagerly looking forward to reading the next in the series.
Act Your Age, Eve Brown, by Talia Hibbert
This contemporary adult romcom is the book I yell at everyone to read if they want to understand what it’s like to be autistic. So many times upon first reading this book (it’s one of my top comfort rereads—the audiobook is fantastic), I had to set down my e-reader and take a minute because it captured so precisely one of my own experiences, putting onto the page something I’d never seen included in any form of media, putting into words something formative about my relationships I’d never even crystalized in my own understanding—not only in romance but friendships and family.
This is what I love about reading autistic books: finding those experiences that made us feel so other and apart are actually commonalities among autistics. And that’s why I love how both heroine Eve Brown, seeking a way to prove to her family and herself she can get a job and get her life together, and hero Jacob Wayne, who’s desperately seeking a cook for his B&B, until Eve runs into him with her car, are autistic.
Their love story demonstrates both the variety of autistic experiences—fat, purple-haired Eve is intuitive and stims by singing, bespectacled Jacob is deliciously starchy and buttoned-up. And it dramatizes how, while autistics may be seen as having deficits in communication and relationships in the view of neurotypicals, when they find each other the connection can be easier, deeper, and more affirming than any other. Jacob was diagnosed as a child, while Eve’s arc includes discovering her own autism, her late self-diagnosis and the way it helps her better understand herself and navigate her relationships something bound to be very relatable among many readers. And this book is both funny and hot as hell, full of hilarious banter over the best way to feed a B&B owner with a broken arm, hijinks of fighting waterfowl and falling into ponds, and both characters slowly losing their minds over each other and their tight (ironed) jeans or obnoxious orange lipstick. (This autistic may not be able to handle spicy food, but the spice in this book gets all my stars.)
The dual perspectives enhance the romance, as the story moves from Eve and Jacob’s initial antagonism, to surprising friendship between two people who’ve mostly been ignored or considered “too much” by others, to scenes so steamy they should be curling the pages. Just trust me and read this so we can all be completely normal about Eve and Jacob together.
Unseelie by Ivelisse Housman
I was so excited when I saw a book announced with autistic representation in young adult fantasy, which artfully plays with the theory that fae changelings are in fact autistic children. Iselia “Seelie” Graygrove and her twin sister are on the run, getting by as thieves, until a heist goes awry as they encounter an adorable redheaded shapeshifter and a misfit healer—and trouble with a magical compass. They team up to go after the fae treasure it points to, a search that leads them closer to secrets of the fae and entails Seelie learning to control her magic.
I enjoyed how Seelie’s struggle to manage her powers mirrors many autistics’ experiences with sensory overwhelm and regulation. The story is so good at weaving together classic aspects of fantasy resonant with autism and literal explorations of Seelie’s neurodivergence on the page.
Overall this is the kind of book that evokes your favorite childhood fantasy reads while delivering fresh takes on those tropes. Again, it’s so heartening to see a charismatic, humorous love interest taken with an autistic heroine. Plus, there’s a magical cat! And we’re getting the conclusion to this duology, Unending, this summer.
Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos
Just as Unseelie gives us classic fantasy with an autistic protagonist, this young adult contemporary gives us a classic high school story with an autistic twist. We get to see multiple Black autistic characters (still all too much a rarity in autistic representation across media), including Daniel Sanchez, who hides behind his camera just as he hides his autism from even his best friend—who he tries to set up with the cute enby who just transferred to their school, because the scripts Daniel lives his life by tell him that his cool bestie and this cool new kid naturally belong together.
As Daniel aims to get his friends to prom, the story draws him into new and unexpected experiences (and autistics know how scary and confusing new and unexpected can be), including at the heart of his own romance. I love how we get to see just how hard autistic masking can be, how exhausting it is and how much downtime he needs to recalibrate, as well as how Daniel’s spirit drives him to nevertheless go after what he wants.
The book gives us insight into both Daniel’s habit of masking and natural personality through scenes of another of his special interests, LARPing, and has amazing representation of not only autism but a variety of queer characters including bi and aro.
