Funny, You Don't Look Autistic, by Michael McCreary

Canadian comedian Michael McCreary found an unusual niche in the world of stand-up comedy: the autistic comedian.  (You can see his performance schedule at https://www.aspiecomic.com/.)  In Funny, You Don't Look Autistic: A Comedian's Guide to Life on the Spectrum, McCreary talks about his life on the spectrum and on the stage.

More than a memoir or biography, more than a book of humor, more than a primer on autism, Funny, You Don't Look Autistic contains all those elements.  McCreary writes about his diagnosis at age five, and the experiences that led to the gradual realization that he was destined for a career in comedy.  While he does write about his own diagnosis, as well as about his brother's, he makes it clear that he's not writing a "comprehensive and detailed examination of autism and its myriad workings in the brain."  He said that if that's what you want, put this book down "and pick up something that wasn't written by a comedian."

That said, his accounts and descriptions of his struggles shed light on autism.  He writes, "Having autism is like having too many tabs open on a computer.  Or more accurately, it's like trying to surf the web without an ad blocker.  Every time you click on something, another window pops up."  One of his big struggles, like many with autism, is social interactions and awkwardness.  He describes rehearsing conversations he anticipates having; many of his interactions are scripted, in a sense.  He says "awkwardness might be the defining emotion of being on the spectrum. . . . People told me I would grow out of my awkwardness once I reached high school . . . I'm still waiting."  (McCreary is in his early 20s.)

As he embarked on his stand-up career, many of his gigs were for groups of autistic people or advocacy or parent groups.  He was told repeatedly how inspirational he was.  "At eighteen, I didn't want to be inspirational; I just wanted to be funny."  But he came to see and appreciate the value he brought to his engagements when he heard comments like, "You gave me hope for my kid."  He came to understand that "An advocate can be a carefree prankster, and comic can be a deep-thinking philosopher.  Your job does not define you."

Despite his protestations, McCreary is inspirational and informative.  What a great advocate for people with autism, demonstrating that one need not hide one's disability, nor should one hide behind it.  He has used his gifts and embraced his struggles to make a niche for himself in his chosen career and in life.  I enjoy reading McCreary's story and am, yes, inspired by him.  (But, to be sure, he made me laugh a lot, too.)


Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!