Flamingo Boy by (Sir) Michael Morpurgo has been a hotly anticipated book for the autistic community. Not only it is written by the critically acclaimed writer of War Horse, but it takes an extremely personal depiction of autism and puts it in a unique setting; during a time period where autistic representation is rare, if not unexplored: World War II.
In the interest of transparency, I should probably mention that I received an early copy of Flamingo Boy to review for the site. However, as you are about to read, this has not affected my opinion of the book: which I believe to be highly thoughtful, rich in content but ultimately frustrating to read.
What is Flamingo Boy About?
Flamingo Boy’s main story takes place in Camargue, a region of France which, when searched in Google, immediately comes up with a picture of, yep, you guessed it, flamingos. Known for its natural landscapes and diverse animal inhabitants, Camargue’s beauty is captured perfectly within the initial pages of Flamingo Boy, despite the presence of an ongoing world war.
Recounting the story of ‘Flamingo Boy’ is Kezia, a young Roma girl, at the time of Camargue’s invasion by German Troops and whose friendship with the autistic Lorenzo (the Flamingo Boy) is one which pushes forward the story’s more predominant themes: themes of friendship and unity or, as Morpurgo himself puts it – “how people from different cultures and different backgrounds can come together, especially when they are under threat”.
Should You Read Flamingo Boy?
Regardless of my personal feelings towards Flamingo Boy, it’s safe to say that this book is gorgeous. From well realised characters, with entirely believable motives, to the story’s messages and morals, which lie behind every word Morpurgo writes.
Even the book itself is something to behold, with a dreamlike front cover design and flying flamingo motifs occasionally appearing in the corner of pages. Put simply, if you are going to read this book, you need to get a physical copy (and that’s coming from a devoted kindle-man!).
Unfortunately, in spite of the sea of compliments I have for Flamingo Boy there is a single problem I have with it that severely affects my enjoyment of this, otherwise great, book – Flamingo Boy’s narrative is flat out bizarre.
When explaining this to someone before writing this review, I compared it to the film Inception. But instead of a dream, inside a dream, inside a dream, Flamingo Boy is a story, inside a story, inside a story told by a main character of the second story. This probably sounds more complicated than it actually is, however, this means that whenever a pivotal moment is set up, all tension is sucked out of it by the prior knowledge that the book’s protagonists are alive and well in the future.
Amongst this peculiar narrative style, which I was already less than impressed by, is the somewhat even more odd inclusion of constant foreshadowing to future events. There are so many times when reading Flamingo Boy that you are approaching a dramatic event, when suddenly the narrator tells you exactly what is about to happen. This wouldn’t be bad, if it happened just once. But it happens A LOT, with the last instance of this being the worst offender.
How is Autism Depicted in Flamingo Boy?
Flamingo Boy isn’t completely without surprises though: as the books biggest twist comes from its author’s belief that, despite having an autistic grandson, his understanding of autism is ‘too shallow’.
Yes, it’s true that Flamingo Boy isn’t filled to the brim with medical jargon and expertise, but in its place, Morpurgo has relied on his personal experience of autism. This results in a story which not only reads like a love letter from Morpurgo to his grandson, but also as one which is addressed to the entire autistic community.
Although, Lorenzo is hard to understand and struggles to communicate, this doesn’t mean the Flamingo Boy has nothing to say. Lorenzo is opinionated and clearly has a moral code and it’s incredible to see this ‘disabled’ character stand by his principles even as the rest of the world is losing theirs.
But perhaps my favourite example of Morpurgo’s admiration for autism (and something I want to finish on today), comes from an early moment in the book, when we first meet Lorenzo. It is a moment which, despite referring to one autistic character, could easily describe anyone on the spectrum. It puts forward the idea that, yes, people with autism may be restricted by our abilities and actions, but, in our thoughts and perspectives, we can often have a level of independence which is almost enviable to those without it:
(The following quote does not spoil anything from Flamingo Boy)
“He was like no one I had ever encountered before. He joined our world – the real world as we like to think of it – and left it as and when he felt like it. Everything he did was both spontaneous and meant. His words and his ways were his own”.
Carry on the Conversation
If it isn’t clear by now, I have a love hate relationship with Flamingo Boy. Given that I have only just finished it my feelings are still fresh and in need of some processing. Remember this is only my opinion, so let me know what you think of it, if and when you read it, in the comments below.
As always, I can be found on Twitter @AutismRevised and via my email: AutisticandUnapologetic@gmail.com.
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Thank you for reading and I will see you next Saturday for more thoughts from across the spectrum.
