A few years ago I came across an article hypothesizing that the character of Darcy as described by Jane Austen is a person with autism. Among the evidence for this was the fact that he is well liked by his friends but awkward and uncomfortable with strangers and in groups, and completely misreads what Elizabeth thinks of him. Among the best evidence is this specific passage: "I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."
I remember doubting that hypothesis, but as I've seen my own son with autism mature and change (he is fifteen now), it seems more plausible to me now, though I still don't think that the Darcy of canon has autism. For one thing Darcy is very articulate and able to change upon self reflection, two things that are a challenge for my son. I thought, however, that it might be interesting to explore what Darcy might really be like if he had autism, and whether Elizabeth could come to accept and love him just as he is, rather than how she might like him to be (rather the like the conversation in the movie Bridget Jones's Diary in which Mark Darcy says, "I like you, very much." Bridget says, "Ah, apart from the smoking and the drinking, the vulgar mother and . . . ah, the verbal diarrhea." Mark replies, "No, I like you very much. Just as you are.")
By the way, I take no position on whether people should use people-first language or not, but I do take issue with the viewpoint that autistics are somehow damaged or deficient. They may have their own set of challenges, but often their biggest challenge is trying to fit into a neurotypical world that labels them as less than and broken. While I need to help my son navigate this world, our relationship fundamentally improved when I learned to accept him as he is, rather than try to make him meet my neurotypical expectations. So this story will be from Darcy's point of view and will be loosely based on a hybrid between the Darcy of canon and what I imagine my son might be like at Darcy's age, but this Darcy is much more articulate in his self awareness than I expect my son would be at a similar age. Although I am very fond of Jane Austen's works, specifically loving Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion and Emma, and I have read a number of fan fiction stories, I am by no means an expert on the regency period, so all mistakes in this regard are my own.
This story begins basically mirroring canon, and then goes off in its own direction, but omitted scenes (especially near the beginning) should be imagined to proceed as in canon. With this story I wrote and posted every day, which is why the chapters are so short especially at the beginning. I enjoyed trying to make all the charecters complex and repurposing canon conversations and letters for other purposes. Bonus points if you catch what is reused in another context and how things are altered from the original.
Fair warning. I plan to take down this draft sometime in the summer of 2019 and then post a revised story. I welcome constructive criticism and am always happy to exchange pms regarding autism and parenting.
I had no wish to attend the assembly. I was just settling into a new environment and wished to work out the new schedule I would follow and get to know that routine which would set me at ease. Bingley has been very kind over the years. He accepts me as I am and understands what I need. Any time I am his guest he encourages me to order things to suit me as much as can be done with his sister trying to impress me. So of course she set me up in what she must have considered her finest guest suite but Bingley allowed me the suite farthest from everyone else and well away from the servants's quarters where I might be able to have the solitude I crave. It was my desire to remain there the following day to acclimate and rest from the stress of travel with so many unpleasant smells, the stress of having to say which refreshments I wished during my travels (if I had traveled alone with my valet I would have stopped at the usual coaching inns where Geoffrey would have know what to order), but the flexibility that Bingley offers to me can be overridden by Miss Bingley's strident commands. She talks too much on topics that are of no interest to me. I read books I have already memorized in her presence to avoid the need to respond. But she at least never offers anything unexpected and I might make her an offer just for the certainty that such a choice would afford me. Perhaps if I did she would quit trying to engage me in mindless gossip regarding people I have never noticed.
Bingley would have let me be, ensconced in the safety of my new room, but Miss Bingley insisted I should accompany them. I knew she wished to dance and I would do my duty by her and Mrs. Hurst, but had no wish to dance with ladies who would be unpredictable. I would much rather talk about my own interests but I have learned that as much pleasure as I take in talking upon my favorite topics that ladies expect a different kind of exchange in which I am at a decided disadvantage, so it is better to avoid all conversation. I would rather be judged as proud than as odd or perhaps simple minded. I have a family name and reputation to uphold.
I suppose since I consented to attend, Bingley must have thought it was time for me to take another step towards being more sociable. Bingley always encourages me to engage in more social interactions than I desire. I know he is trying to help me, but I cannot articulate why at some times I can rise to the challenge and at other times an almost identical situation is overwhelming.
So it was when he tried to induce me to dance with Miss Elizabeth. If I could have just danced with her in silence I might have heeded his request. Bingley knows I favor clever brunettes, even if I sometimes have trouble following their brilliant repartee, enjoying more the cadence of their voices over the sense of what they say. I actually prefer subtle imperfections because the most beautiful things in nature are like that. But I did not want her to see that bumbling gentleman I was at University, too wedded to the morality I was raised with to play at cards, at least that was the excuse I gave when the reality was that I was much too scared about what topics I could converse with when gentlemen were at ease and not talking the way I did with my father, my tutor or Bingley, Bingley who was the same cheerful friend in all settings, who did not expect anything from me but my time, who understood the feeling of not fitting in due to his background in trade, while I was the one who in status ought to have fit in everywhere, but could only fit in by saying little and looking at most people's foreheads instead of their eyes. Eyes are always too intense and convey hidden meaning that I cannot interpret. It is far easier to look out windows because nature does not stare back or expect anything. It was far easier to master riding, the rules for how to direct my mount once learned always remain the same while people most people provide uncertainty. And who was Miss Elizabeth anyway, but one connected with uncouth relatives who would attract unwanted attention when I would want new relatives to form a shield around me and allow me my invisibility rather than draw extra attention to me.
I think Miss Elizabeth heard me as I rejected her. Perhaps that will be enough to make her stay away. I would be tempted to marry my cousin Anne if my aunt were gone. I could have a retiring life and no one would expect me to entertain or travel much if I had an invalid wife. She is like me I think. She hardly talks, having learned that most people besides her companion have no interest in hearing her recite when each monarch was born and when and how they died, how long each ruled and the names of all their progeny. She has memorized her lineage through each branch of her family and can tell you how often certain names repeat. She has memorized what daily meals she has been served in order since childhood. It is in these lists that she is a true proficient but her mother's fear of others learning of her odd talent is what keeps her from having ever had masters to teach her other arts. I have no doubt that she would not have taken kindly to being taught how to sew, net a purse or paint. She has difficulty with small movements with her fingers and she dislikes bright colors and touching things with much texture, but perhaps she would have enjoyed playing the pianoforte with its smooth keys, its notes always the same. She must take comfort in the sameness of her mother, but not necessarily in the cage that is her life. But she has known no other and the world can be such a large and uncertain place.
