Greenfeld has written a powerful, maddening book, pitting sentences that are a joy to read against a raw honesty that is almost impossible to accept. It is a work of philosophy as endurance contest. The story of his profoundly autistic younger brother, Noah, is a descent by degrees, the deterioration of a child who begins with all the ordinary promise of his big brother but then slides irrevocably to become a mute and sometimes violent and possibly insane adult.
In the burgeoning field of works on autism, this book is like a hatchet thrown at the canon door. The idea that the best parents cannot save a child is rejected with a kind of violence by the prevailing talk-show culture, but that is exactly what happens here. Noah walks into a relentlessly upbeat field of miracle cures and made-for-TV empowerment and overly moralistic breakthroughs with a terrifying defiance. Most of the growing number of books on this subject are written by celebrated doctors and celebrities and shamen-dudes who address the uplifting and fascinating cases of high-functioning children who just need the right push to find a grip on reality and rise up to lead satisfying lives. As desperately as Karl seems to want this, growing up stoned and alienated in 1970s and ‘80s Pacific Palisades, it refuses to materialize.
Instead, Karl’s memoir addresses the ineffable, the humanity that inhabits a well-educated and successful family whose child does not get better. Karl’s father, screenwriter Josh Greenfield, who himself wrote three highly-regarded books on Noah, and his mother, Foumi, who wrote novels based on her experience, do everything that superhuman parents can do: they shatter the prevailing Freudian treatment models that imprison their child, pioneer operant conditioning, create diets and schools and routines for caregivers. They devote 20 years of their lives. And they admit that they fail.
With the same honesty and ear for storytelling that has made Karl’s other books and stories such great reads, he rips into one of the most un-American of subjects: helplessness. When the lottery doesn’t hit. When wanting yields nothing. And in the end, he deploys a literary device that is cruel and devastating, driving the point home with a hammer blow. He’s such a good writer that it really hurts – even now, weeks after finishing this book. And for that he’s to be admired. And forgiven.