By Jenna Tomlinson
Books have and will always be my main vice. As a disabled person, books remain one of the few truly accessible forms of leisure and a fantastic arena for inclusivity and diversity. Unfortunately, inclusive representation wasn't and isn’t always at the forefront. Like many demographics, historically disabled readers were typically faced with either poor representation, or none at all. One dimensional characters were typecast by disability and resigned to serve as minor characters or plot devices. Fundamentally, the prominently ableist perspective skewed representation.
Ultimately, disabled characters were immature, hidden, pitied or feared. Noises in the attic; tragic cautionary tales to be saved or gotten rid of. Consider: The Secret Garden's sickly Colin; spoiled and confined to his bed. Dickens' Tiny Tim, the innocent catalyst for Christmas pity. Charlie Bucket's bed-bound grandparents: too frail to even raise their heads from the pillow until Charlie secures a ticket to the town's most interesting landmark. Jane Eyre's Bertha was locked in the attic; Of Mice and Men's Lenny is a childlike plot device and books by disabled authors (i.e My Left Foot) presented disability as a purely physical issue.
Any representation disregarded the nuanced myriad that actually exists. Under the Equality Act 2010, “disability” not only covers physical and sensory impairments, but any needs that have a long standing and substantial impact on your daily life; encompassing mental health, learning difficulties, neurodiversity and chronic illnesses. The definition is wide-reaching and diverse, therefore the representation should be too.
Step by small step, the changing world of publishing and literature is making amends. Increasingly, disabled characters are at the forefront of fiction books: fully-fledged, three dimensional protagonists within meaningful stories. A Little Life's Jude is a successful New York lawyer and part of the novel's central quartet. His self awareness and image is focused around the psychology of coping. He self-excludes, concerned about burdening his friends when he’s too tired, or in too much pain. He vehemently resists visible disability aids in his home and worries about having the finances to fund the future care he may need. It is a real and honest portrayal of someone trying to come to terms with a lifelong disability.
In Christina Henry's The Girl in Red (a post-apocalyptic Red Riding Hood inspired story) Red is an amputee navigating her escape to safety following a global health crisis. Whilst underestimated by some, Red's limb difference gives her tenacity and pragmatism, but she doesn't shy away from sharing the increased difficulties it causes on her journey. In Carty-Williams’ Queenie, we see Queenie battle with her mental health alongside the trials and tribulations of work, relationships and adult life including the expectations of her cultural heritage. Where Red’s strength is physical, Queenie’s is emotional as she works through therapy and self help.
Increasingly, disabled characters are multi-faceted with layered, complex emotions. They are messy; sometimes making bad decisions but ultimately living life as everyone around them does, albeit with a disability. They're romantic leads, like in Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute. Characters with sensory impairments are rising in prominence. From the compassionate salt-of-the-earth blind oracle Annie Device, in Her Majesty's Royal Coven and Mirabel's use of an augmentative and alternative communication device in One Two Three, to True Biz’s trio of characters each experiencing hearing impairment in a different way, the main takeaway is that whilst their disabilities are prominent, it's never their defining feature.
Similarly, children's and YA fiction is seeing a surge in books featuring disabilities ranging from epilepsy, anxiety and mental health to cystic fibrosis, paraplegia and OCD. Disability representation is getting better and that is, in no small part, because representation amongst authors is getting better. Just as we are now reading more authors who identify as BIPOC, LGBTQIA+ and Indigenous, we are also reading more disabled authors.
Lived experience is gradually breaking through the noise. Get A Life Chloe Brown portrays a romantic lead living with a chronic illness, one the author experiences herself. It shows the stress and strain such an illness can place on relationships without negating someone’s capability to be in one. Rosie Jones has created the Edie Eckheart series, giving children a character living with cerebral palsy. With greater frequency, non-fiction sees famous personalities and real people openly discuss their experiences of chronic illness, disability, mental health and neurodiversity in the literary arena, with an increasing focus on awareness. Fern Brady's memoir Strong Female Character discusses her diagnosis of ASD during adulthood, something notoriously under-diagnosed in women due to gender bias in the assessments. Matt Haig frequently draws upon his experiences with mental health and neurodiversity to create award winning novels and non-fiction.
There may still be a long way to go, but it's inspiring to know that we are benefiting from reading more diversely. What's more, these books are no longer hidden or hard to find. They are bestsellers; hyped on BookTok and Bookstagram and revered just as some of the classics are, with technology and format variety making them accessible to all. Visibility is not only important for those identifying as disabled but also for the education and understanding of those outside of the demographic. What better way to do it than through books?