I love Taskmaster – it’s the perfect daft and gentle antidote to the stress and worry and sadness of life. The five contestants are usually a good mix of familiar and new funny folk and series 14 was my introduction to Fern Brady. (Incidentally, what a great series 14 was – it was also the first time I saw John Kearns who was fantastic – I already liked Sarah Millican and Dara Ó Briain.) Fern was immediately appealing. She has this absolutely gorgeous raspy Scottish accent, her make up and clothes were colourful and she’s refreshingly blunt. I didn’t know that she was autistic until I started following her on social media. Strong Female Character is the perfect title for her memoir – it’s so exactly who she is. It shouldn’t be surprising to read such an honest account and yet it is. Crikey, I wish more of us were courageous enough to say here I am, this is me. If we were all open about the realities of life perhaps there would be more understanding and compassion.
Fern’s story is not an easy one – her adult diagnosis of autism is such a long time coming she endured years of pain, meltdowns, behavioural issues, and distress despite repeatedly trying to access support and help from family and professionals. The assumption that because someone is intelligent and can make eye contact they can’t be autistic is so reductive. There’s a lot of damage here – from Fern’s parents’ treatment of her to the casual indifference of a variety of health professionals. It could be a bleak read but as you’d expect there’s also plenty of dark humour with lines like, “Prozac didn’t stop me from insulting people in everyday conversations; it just lent a zen-like calm to my delivery.” Brady employs all the tools she has to get people to read this book and gain an understanding of autism – her candour embraces details of stripping, relationships, sex, the difficulty of being a female Scottish comedian, her parent’s apparent inability to see who she is. There are heart-breaking descriptions of not understanding social rules, of taking comments at face value and responding, of sincere efforts to fit in and do the right thing only to have others assume rudeness. The meltdowns are truly shocking. Brady does all of us a massive service by sharing her personal experiences. The idea that this attractive, successful, smart, and hilarious woman goes home and smashes her furniture and screams shines a light on a world which forces neurodiverse people to mask their behaviours in order to be seen as neurotypical. In my lifetime there has been a lot of progress in accepting humans don’t come cookie cutter shaped. Dare to delve beneath the surface of any of us and you’ll discover we are a mash of our own curious thoughts and behaviours. However, it doesn’t take much difference for a group of people to start commenting on it – ooh, she’s so loud, they’re too fat, why does he do that weird thing with his mouth? For a neurodiverse person to say so clearly that they are takes huge courage in a world where we are constantly drip-fed ideals to aspire to on social media, TV, newspapers etc. Brady is open about concerns that her career would be affected. What an eye-opener of a book. And bravo Fern Brady!
Sara Crowley 