It took me nearly two years after starting Neurotribes to finish reading it, but in no way should that be taken as a negative impression of its quality. Reading it in the month following my autism diagnosis was a bit too much for me. I was still in the process of reframing my self-concept through the lens of autism, adjusting to the novelty of having a name for all of the facets of my personality that I had attributed to eccentricity or flaw. While it was wonderful to know that I had a broader context in which I could fit myself, it was disorienting to unlearn the autistic stereotypes that had in the past alienated me from the diagnosis. Additionally, it was horrifying to confront the long history and ongoing practices of abuse leveled at neurodivergent people, and to realize that not only were there people in the past who would rather I didn't exist, but people living today who also share that opinion, even if it's dressed up in nicer clothes with a puzzle piece enamel pin glinting from its lapel.

There is much to outrage in Neurotribes, not the least of which being the shoddy methodology underlying research that still influences some people's beliefs about autism--Andrew Wakefield, I'm looking at you. However, there is also much to affirm an autistic reader. It's heartening to be able to view myself as a person with a history and a culture surrounding my diagnosis.

But perhaps the most affirming aspect of Neurotribes is the attitude of respect and genuine interest with which Silberman writes about us. The autistic people he profiles don't come across as case studies; they come across as people. Silberman allows us to speak for ourselves, and to imagine a world that works with us rather than against us in a way that makes that world feel possible. I wish that everyone who tries to discuss autism could do so with this attitude. It would make the conversations much more productive.