I'm going to start this review with a confession that I don't think I have ever made to more than a few people. I have Asberger's syndrome. Or, as it's been officially called since 2013, 'Level 1 Autistic Spectrum Disorder'. There, I've said it.
The reason I don't like to talk about it is really summed up in the new name, which I hate. I'd go so far as to say that I find it - and this isn't a word I use lightly - offensive. I will admit to a lot of things about myself, but having a 'disorder' is not one of them. And I really don't want to be defined by a label - especially not one that sounds so negative - or even to be thought of as "different" when I personally don't feel it.
It doesn't help that autism is not easy to describe. If pushed, I'd say that it's a condition of the brain which, because the human brain is such an incredibly complicated thing, affects people in many different ways. But these can include difficulties in interpreting body language or other non-verbal forms of communication, an intolerance of too much noise or too many different sounds and perhaps - though absolutely not always - a tendency to be affected by anxiety. But it's not something that's stopped me from getting a university degree, from holding down a full-time professional career, from qualifying as a scuba diving instructor - which relies on non-verbal communication pretty heavily - or from being happily married.
Not convinced by that story of success? Well, others affected by the same condition include actor Sir Anthony Hopkins, naturalist Chris Packham, actress and environmentalist Daryl Hannah and entrepreneur Elon Musk. It's also unproven, but widely believed that the same condition affected Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein and Jane Austen. And someone out there is trying to say that we all have the same "disorder"? Well, I'm sorry, but: get stuffed.
I will concede that there are moments when my condition shows itself. Most typically, these are in the form of moments of brain freeze in the middle of conversations. Someone will ask me a simple question to which the answer should be obvious, and there will be a pause of several embarrassingly silent or stuttering seconds as my brain refuses to form the answer that I, and it, both know is there. There are also instances when multiple conversations going on around me at the same time can do my head in to the point where I tune all of them out. Which is fine until someone tries to include me in one of them and I don't notice that it's happening. Again, this has been known to be embarrassing.
However, I liken it in my mind to being short-sighted and having to wear glasses, which cost me £250 or so every time they need replacing. Sometimes it's an inconvenience. But ultimately, it's something that I, and probably millions of others have to live with. The rest of the world can't be expected to produce all road signs in a larger font so that I can read them more easily, and nor should it.
It does mean though - and I am finally getting to the point here - that when I read the true story of Louise Booth's son Fraser, whose autism was more severe than my own and who was further hampered by having a physical disability as well, it was nonetheless easy to see some parallels. Like Fraser, I had some childhood obsessions. In my case it was the local trains that could be seen from the upstairs window of the house we lived in at the time. I could predict without fail what the next train that went past would look like, down to the colour of the carriages, the size of the windows and the shape of the buffers on the front (and no, they weren't all the same). Whether this was because I had unconsciously noticed a pattern, or because they all made slightly different sounds, I have no idea.
I am also told that, like Fraser, severe and uncontrollable tantrums could develop if something inconsequential to someone else played havoc with my own mind. My mum told a story fairly recently about one time I started screaming uncontrollably at having to board a train on which the carriage was 'the wrong colour' - to the point where she was sworn at by the train guard who was in a hurry for it to depart. Like Fraser, my parents were told that I would never be able to attend a mainstream school. And thankfully, like Fraser, with the help and no doubt hard work of my parents and a very sympathetic and understanding head teacher of a local small primary school, those 'experts' were well and truly proved wrong.
The special bond that Fraser forms to his cat Billy, who was rescued after being found abandoned in an empty house, is not something that was a particular feature of my own life. But it's not the first case I've read about an autistic child forming a special relationship with a pet. As I understand it, it's easier to form a bond with an animal because the struggle to recognise and interpret facial expressions - a common trait - is eliminated. But in this case, reading that Billy the cat is seemingly unperturbed by Fraser's sometimes violent outbursts, manages to act as a calming influence and is also able to encourage Fraser to learn to overcome his physical disability enough to climb stairs, really is heartwarming.
It's also not the first time I've come across an animal's seemingly telepathic ability to recognise a sign of illness in a human long before he or she is even aware of its existence. So - and I'll give no details for fear of spoilers - it's rather a shame that Louise almost seems reluctant to believe some of what she saw, and has written. I believed it when I read it.
The main problem for me though is that, despite my feeling a strong personal connection to some parts of the book and loving others, it isn't really about Fraser or Billy. The clue is in the dedication: "I know someone out there, is me five years ago. Someone who is facing the same enormities, despair and isolation that I faced when I gave birth to Fraser in March 2008. This book was written for that person." Ultimately, the book is about Louise and her struggles as a parent to a child whose special needs were so demanding that they threatened at times to overwhelm her. About how living in a remote part of Scotland was a blessing in some aspects and a curse in others. The trouble was that for me, it came across a bit too negatively. It almost felt as though Louise couldn't help but feel slightly bitter towards Fraser for taking up so much of her time and energy that she couldn't give her daughter, Pippa, as much attention as she would have liked.
It almost feels wrong for me to say this, because I'm sure it's not true. I'm sure that she loves both of her children dearly and would be horrified to think that she'd given a different impression. But I'm not going to lie about how I felt.
The thing is, though: who am I to judge? If this book has given help, encouragement or even reassurance to just one more parent of a special needs child, or even encouraged someone else to adopt a rescued pet, then it's done its job. And it's for this reason that, even though I've been thinking all the way through writing this review that I was going to rate it three stars, I've just made up my mind to add a fourth.
I'd also like to add that I wish all the best to Louise, Fraser and their family. And I'd love to hear more about how Fraser has progressed since the book was published in 2014, when he was six years old. Maybe another edition, with a new introduction from Fraser when he feels able to write it, would give the book a whole new dimension.