First of all, if you haven’t read the book The Rosie Project, I suggest you march yourself down to your local bookstore for the paperback or click on over to Amazon for your Kindle version. My friend suggested it to me last year (well, actually she put it in my hand at the school book fair and commanded me to read it). And I have now read it twice.
The protagonist is Don, a just-turning-40 Australian professor of genetics who determines, despite his life-long belief that he is incapable of marrying, that it is time to find a wife, and he embarks on a science-based “wife project” to locate his perfect mate. His few friends know he has Asperger’s, but despite clear evidence pointing to that conclusion, including a few strong suggestions by his friends, he hasn’t ever connected to the idea. He knows he has social challenges. He is stereotypically logical and rigid, a Sheldon Cooper-like character (from The Big Bang Theory tv show), but with a little more charm. But he quite capably manages his daily life.
After a number of wife-project dates fail, he meets Rosie, a young lady who’s clearly not his type: a fun, tough-talking barmaid (think Jennifer Lawrence, who will in fact play the part in the upcoming movie). SPOILER ALERT: After the two work together on a secret genetics project (trying to figure out who biological her father is), they fall in love. A happy ending with, of course, some roadblocks along the way. And a lot of hilarity, mostly resulting from Don’s unusual behavior. Along the way he becomes a master of mixology, learns to dance, and even begins to adjust his schedule for the benefit of Rosie.
I’ve loaned this book to many friends, all of whom returned it about three days later with a very big, “Thank you. I loved it!”
Parts of the book are sad, as we see Don trying always to do the right thing, but often missing the mark really because of a chasm between his sensibilities and broader social expectations. He just doesn’t get it. But in the end, he is happy.
Then came the sequel, The Rosie Effect. It begins with the couple having moved to New York, and shortly after the story commences we discover Rosie is pregnant. Don has been told quite specifically that he’s not father material, so his reaction to the news is less than enthusiastic. The book chronicles his misguided efforts to become a supportive partner, to learn how to be a father, to participate more in the process. He has loyal, caring friends who give him advice, but here’s where the book lost me: his friends have a profound understanding and acceptance of Don just as he is. They are rooting for Don and Rosie. But the advice they give him is just too nonspecific, so he follows his own interpretations of their suggestions and goes so far as to get arrested for observing children on a playground because he doesn’t understand how he might be perceived. He is so afraid to cause Rosie any stress (friend’s advice!) that he creates a web of lies to protect her from this little tidbit of information.
It was frustrating. And it was sad. Rosie had apparently decided on her own to have a child and eventually decides her husband isn’t going to suffice, so she plans to return to Australia, leaving Don behind.
That funny book just got way too real. And sad. The second half of the book I held my breath, preparing myself for a less-than-satisfying end. “They’d better not split up,” I said out loud, “or I’ll be VERY ANGRY.”
The end of the book is somewhat hopeful, but by no means was it tied up in a nice pretty bow. Normally I appreciate a complicated ending because life really is complicated. But this time I wanted it to be a cheesy-happy picture, with an unlikely family and a man with Asperger’s who could find fulfillment as a husband and father and still be himself. I wanted it. I needed it. But that’s not what I got.
What I got, though, was an interesting conversation today. I’ve become a bit of a Kindle addict, which is incredibly convenient, but if you only buy books online you miss out on the personal touch of your local bookseller. So at the suggestion of my therapist, I stopped by our nearby bookstore for recommendations. I needed something funny after what I thought would be a light book (followed by an even darker but beautifully written book, Everything I Never Told You–so good but so sad). This stressed out mom needs some laughs.
So in my usual over-sharing way, I asked for a recommendation and then proceeded to tell the woman helping me about the last two books I had read. She, too, had read the Rosie books and actually quit in the middle of the sequel for a bit because it was too heartbreaking.
“It was sad for me because I have a teenage daughter with Asperger’s,” I explained. She nodded as if she understood.
“People get so caught up in labels,” she said. “But everyone is different. They all have such special gifts to give the world.” She was so sincere, and I may have even caught a glimmer of a tear in her eye. There was something very powerful in her speech, as if it was coming from somewhere deep inside, somewhere beyond just an intellectual understanding. A personal experience? I don’t know. She didn’t say.
She went on to give me what first seemed like advice. (You have to let your kid be who they are. You have to find out what they’re interested in, etc.) I’ve heard it all before. I know it all deep in my soul. And you all know how much I love unsolicited advice about parenting my autistic kid. I felt my guard go up a little at first, but then I quickly pushed it back down. It seemed as if she wasn’t so much telling me what to do, but rather speaking to the world: This is how we should treat people with autism because they are valuable.
And then I was grateful. We made a connection. She understood me. She understood my kid, even though they’ve never met.
It was time for me to leave for my next appointment. I reached the door and turned to ask her name.
“Colleen.”
“Thank you so much, Colleen.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Chris,” I said. “It was nice to meet you.”
And it was. I didn’t like The Rosie Effect especially, but I got something out of it. I made a connection. And for that, I am grateful.
The Year of Living Hopefully 