Book review: “A Grotesque Animal” by Amy Lee Lillard

In her new hybrid memoir, Amy Lee Lillard begins slowly and points out to the reader that A grotesque animal (University of Iowa Press) is about a middle-aged woman finding herself after a late-onset diagnosis of autism. That’s the premise, but it’s not a fair summary of this book.

The first sections focus on the everyday facts (not yet recognized as traumas) of living with undiagnosed autism—masking, for example, gets its own chapter (of sorts) at the beginning, structured like dictionary entries, each a new version of what it means to hide and why we do it. (“masking” is the term used to describe how neurodiverse people cope in an allistic world by disguising or hiding the symptoms of their difference.) The introduction leads us to expect a complicated narrative, but this is where the storytelling begins to take shape.

There are sections where text is used to bring the subject closer, as a lens through which Lillard looks at her own life. Sometimes the chapters are self-contained, braided essays, other times they are written in the second person. My favorite section describes a series of paintings depicting the queer body and its impact. At one point, she tells a story, notes that the story is fictional, and gives the reader footnotes to help them read through her words the true story that inspired the story she is presenting.

Lillard uses every literary device at her disposal to craft a narrative from multiple modes, perspectives, and forms. And in her work, she presents a coming-of-age story that is relatable to those of us who have always tried to fit in somewhere and therefore could never find ourselves, who have always tried to get to that quiet place. By being willing to show her own wounds, she opened a door for others like her.

“…(T)he disabled were lives not worth living,” she writes, reflecting on the first victims of the Nazis and how disabled people – her future ancestors – were treated in the United States until recently. “Of all the words you’ve found over the years to describe a feeling and a way of being – queer, bisexual, childless, queer – autistic feels the most revolutionary.”

Lillard’s story is about unlearning everything she learned before she was diagnosed with autism. But it’s also a story of not fitting in with your family, of being poor and vulnerable, of abuse, of queerness and art and all the ways we try to bend ourselves to make life easier. Most of all, it can be a guide to loosening up, forgiving ourselves and finding ourselves.

This article was originally published in the June 2024 issue of Little Village.