Interview: Victoria Lloyd-Barlow, author, All The Little Bird-Hearts
The first autistic writer to have been longlisted for the Booker Prize talks about her debut novel that looks at how society treats the neurodivergent
What did your book making it to the Booker Prize longlist mean for other autistic writers?
I had never considered that my first book would be on the longlist; when I found out, it was a surreal and special moment and one I will always remember. It is an honour to be the first autistic writer involved with the Booker Prize and I sincerely hope such inclusion might feel positive to other atypical authors.
When I read literature featuring autistic characters, I am drawn to that writing which is done by autists. An underrepresented minority identity, written in the first or close third person, is naturally most accurate when the author authentically inhabits that identity themselves. Such representation is particularly necessary when writing a condition like autism, which is characterised by interiority, and which has long been problematised within the dominant neurotypical narrative.
Any minority identity which has been presented largely via the majority voice requires a period of cultural reclamation and rebuilding, and this by the community themselves, in order to progress and be understood. I believe the narrative depiction of autism must be stabilised in this way, from within; building a canon of authentic autistic writing is the only way to enable accurate representation of the condition and to inform future neurotypical literature on the subject. I hope that featuring All the Little Bird-Hearts on the longlist is an indication of growing inclusivity; it would be wonderful to see autistic writing being prioritised by the industry in the same conscious way that has recently begun with other diverse and historically underrepresented voices. We already know exactly what neurotypical representation of autism looks like and how that reads. We do not yet know how the condition reads when it is authentically presented beyond ableist stereotypes, and not simply employed as a narrative device.
What inspired you to make motherhood one of the central themes?
I wanted to write about motherhood for several reasons. Primarily, I think it is a considerably more complex experience for many women than much literature on the subject would suggest. For that reason alone, it is a rich and fascinating theme to explore through fiction.
I also wanted to present a protagonist who was both autistic and a capable mother, as this is an underrepresented combination within the cultural and literary narrative. Through her relationship with her daughter, Sunday demonstrates her abilities and her immense capacity for love; these are traits which have not commonly been associated with autism.
Importantly, Sunday experiences motherhood exactly as women frequently do, whether they are atypical or neurotypical; as a magical, frustrating, and ever-changing state. I hope readers of all kinds will relate to the depictions of parenthood in the book. It is a role so profound and life-altering that within the subject we can find points of commonality with one another. Motherhood is such a contradictory state, existing quietly within the unremarkable and routine demands it makes, while simultaneously claiming us entirely through its transformative quality. So much of what is considered the domestic realm contains the conflicting elements that feature in Gothic fiction, and this is particularly true of motherhood. It is a place where the visitor does not expect to find shadows or conflict, yet those who live there know these elements are as present as all the associated beauty and wonder.
How challenging it was for you to take inspiration from your own life to build Sunday’s character?
I imagine many writers find details from their own lives being expressed in their fiction, both deliberately and reflexively. There are obvious traits I share with my protagonist, like being autistic and having a close interest in Italy but there are also many more nuanced details which were included in a less conscious way. While we have many similar traits, my life and relationships have little in common with Sunday’s.
I feel protective of her as a character because she is isolated, well-intentioned, and often misunderstood. That was perhaps the greater challenge in writing Sunday; I could not rescue her from dangers or give her a complete and guaranteed resolution with her beloved daughter, even at the end of the book. It was tempting to leave her somewhere more ideal and fixed than would be realistic. Ultimately, however, it was more important not to minimize her significant challenges or to romanticise a condition which is often demanding and difficult to navigate.
Tell us also about choosing to set your book in the 1980s when autism was a relatively misunderstood concept.
There are two central reasons for this decision. When I first thought about writing, All the Little Bird-Hearts, I immediately knew it would be set in a time that predated the current ideology on autism. I also wanted to site the story in an era of excess, one which could produce a couple as glamorous and showy as Vita and Rollo. The 1980s fulfilled both these narrative criteria.
The historical setting enabled my protagonist to navigate her condition while avoiding existing autistic stereotypes; she could neither have recognised nor come to understand herself via these. While the condition is now more commonly discussed and referenced in popular culture, the language and context of this is frequently problematic to autists themselves. The current understanding of autism has been built primarily by neurotypical theorists and writers who can, naturally, only represent what their observation and data suggests.
Autistic people, therefore, have been constructed externally by non-autistic experts and in negative terms. Such a practice defines us exclusively via the ways in which we do not conform to neurotypical norms, rather than acknowledging the many abilities associated with autism, such as monotropic focus, creativity, hyperlexia, and excellent auditory and visual memory. This misrepresentation prevents the autist from knowing himself or his community fully; it is not possible to celebrate oneself or one’s identity when that identity is inauthentic and allocated rather than self-expressed.
I planned for my protagonist, Sunday, to advance within the book from self-doubt to acceptance and finally to find joy in her own neurodiversity. The ableist misrepresentation she would encounter in current society would certainly delay, if not completely prevent, the progress she makes independently within her historical setting.
Arunima Mazumdar is an independent writer. She is @sermoninstone on Twitter and @sermonsinstone on Instagram.