A mismatch of salience: explorations of the nature of autism from theory to practice

The title of this book had the online autistic community buzzing with expectation before release, with the intriguing phrase ‘mismatch of salience’ catching on like wildfire. Having browsed Milton’s previous tome 10 Rules for Ensuring People with Learning Disabilities and Those Who Are on the Autism Spectrum Develop ‘Challenging Behaviour’: And Maybe What to Do About It (Milton, Mills, and Jones 2016), I had presumed a practical-leaning set of theory-based recommendations would be released. In some sense that wish is fulfilled, but A Mismatch of Salience is so much more (Milton 2017).

Having watched the (justified) following of Dr Milton online and in classrooms, I had an inkling as to his dedication to activism and sound theoretical mind. Considered one of the pioneers of ‘nothing about us, without us’ in the United Kingdom (a motto the community has adopted from the Autistic Self Advocacy Network), Milton’s influence is impressive with current roles including Head of Autism Knowledge and Expertise (Adults and Community, NAS), MA Education (Autism) at London Southbank University, consultant for Transform Autism Education and projects for the Autism Education Trust. Recently he joined the Tizard Centre at the University of Kent as a lecturer in Intellectual and Developmental Disability. From this long list of achievements, one could expect a collection of essays that respects both sides of the fence. What this book offers is more than a distanced, measured perspective on autism and disability that one could find anywhere else.

Milton’s offering, pitched to undergraduates and beyond, blends his unique experiences and deep subject knowledge with real heart. The logical, researched points are voiced with emotion and determination, taking the reader on the journey with him. The essays are collected in subheadings: ‘This Thing Called Autism’, ‘A Mismatch of Salience’, ‘From Theory to Practice’ and ‘Participation’.

I would propose that the chapters have stand-alone value as the research and theory does not skip a beat, but reading together rewards the reader with a thorough account of the journey of an autistic academic. If doing so, I would suggest the reader makes notes of prominent theoretical models, definitions or developments to keep track in what could be a heavy read.

However, Milton’s writing style is succinct, personally passionate but professionally delivered in a style many of us can only aspire to. Language is clear and addresses the reader as a peer. At times I did struggle with the academic, scientific structure of sentences, even after a year on an MSc course. However, this is addressed in the book and I feel that to expect a different style would be to lose the author’s authentic voice. One could argue that this style is necessary for Milton to propel this powerful discourse into the wider academic sphere.

With his roots in sociology, with frequent nods to psychology, Milton draws very real and transferable parallels. For example, he uses Durkheim (1895) to portray the personal need of equilibrium within society, and the manifestations of this being difficult to achieve; for example, suicide being prevalent in our (autistic) community. Milton shows talent in answering these difficult questions with incredible subject knowledge, tact and detail.

Tackling issues like the origin of tropes such as ‘the autistic person as machine’, which can be seen to have created harmful discourses and practices, is dealt with confidently and with great metaphors (which reminds me of another stereotype in need of myth busting). Even chapters like this, heavy in theory and reference, do not lose the feeling of heart or soul. A heart that is relentless in promoting autistic ability and worth. These impassioned myth-busting sections would be of use to many, but those around ‘communication and socialization’ would be particularly indispensable in a teacher’s toolkit.

This book could go toe-to-toe with any sociology tome in terms of quality, but this does not mean it lacks ‘teeth’ and personal values. Milton’s chapter on autism ‘interventions’ is as eloquent as it is visceral. To encounter the online autistic activism community is rarely without reading tales of applied behaviour analysis-related post-traumatic stress disorder. At times there is a temptation to become an ‘ostrich’ with a head in the metaphorical sand but Milton can guide you through some difficult topics.

The chapter on #107Days for Connor Sparrowhawk (aka ‘Laughing Boy’ or ‘LB’) left me breathless, my heart in Milton’s hand as I read every viscerally honest word. This honesty, a sense present throughout the book, comes to a pinnacle here. Milton gives us insight into his own struggles, not in an overshadowing manner, but rather in a palpable display of empathy and grief. The flow of academically backed but almost poetic words lets the reader feel the hurt that inspires Milton to become the force and influence he has. Meticulously written with deep subject knowledge, idiosyncrasies and emotional honesty are layered throughout. This is an even more impressive feat when he reveals:

I did not write more than a paragraph of continuous prose until I was 17-years-old

and

I was bottom of the class at spelling, useless at grammar, and had various other issues with ‘learning’. (137)

However, reader, do not take this revelation as an attempt at ‘disability inspiration’ rhetoric, but rather a detailed account of autistic resilience in a world built by differently wired brains. Damian Milton is open as a writer but, rather than focusing on his own merits, educates the reader about every hierarchy and system that has stood in his way.

Hayley Morgan, Student, MSc
Autism and Related Conditions, School of Medicine,
Swansea University, Swansea, UK
[email protected]