I am in the middle of consuming this book. John Elder Robison writes with punctuated grace, endless wit, tenderness, and edginess about bringing up his only child, who has Asperger’s just like Robison does. 

Robison tells a unique story; I have yet to hear of a memoir by a parent with Asperger’s raising their fellow Aspergian. Though the situation may be rare in literature, and maybe out in the world, Robison’s experiences, outlooks and emotions are simultaneously specific and universal. (P.S. Professor Elena Georgiou, I 100% remember and appreciate this advice about poetry! Thanks Hunter College.)

Part of the joy in reading “Raising Cubby” is the style of Robison’s writing. He is not florid, nor does he write overlong sentences. He is not exceptionally sentimental. Whether this is conceivably a function of having Asperger’s, or it is a planned conceit, it doesn’t matter to me: the writing drives you emotionally without being particularly emotional. 

There is value in this book if you are a parent, or a relative to someone on the autism spectrum, and there is value in this book if you are just a parent (or not.)