Pounded in the Feels by Good Autistic Representation

I recently finished reading the horror novel Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle, and I absolutely loved it! There are many great aspects I could talk about—the riveting plot, the heartfelt found family trope that develops along the way, the genius act of taking the implicit horror of gay conversion therapy and making it explicit—but what I really want to focus on is the main character, Rose Darling. Rose is a well written, fully developed, and quite unique horror heroine. She is clever, curious, brave, and most importantly, autistic.

If you’re not familiar with Chuck Tingle, that’s okay. Camp Damascus is his first traditionally published novel, but he has been self-publishing on Amazon for years. In fact, he’s well known for the ridiculous titles of his satirical gay erotica stories, titles like Pounded in the Butt by My Own Butt or My Billionaire Triceratops Craves Gay Ass. Even though he now has a mainstream novel out there, he still self-publishes his stories, with his most recent one being called Pounded by the Aches and Pains I Get After Doing a Simple Physical Task That I Wouldn’t Even Think Twice About Doing When I Was Younger, a title that this aging millennial feels deep in her creaking bones.

Chuck Tingle has often been written off as nothing more than a meme, although anyone who has actually read his books has known for years that he’s a good writer. Yes, he writes absurdist and often very meta erotica that typically follows the same formulaic plotlines as other self-published erotic fiction, but there’s a lot of creativity in his work and his ability to write satire so well shows some real writing skills.

There’s not much known about Chuck Tingle. His name is a pseudonym, he claims to have a PhD in holistic massage from DeVry University (DeVry offers no such degree), and whenever he appears in public, he wears sunglasses and a pink bag over his head with the words “Love is real” written on it. There is conflicting information about him online, and what we know of him from social media reveals a rather bizarre persona—some claim this persona is made up, others believe at least certain aspects of it are real. But he has been open about being autistic, and after reading Camp Damascus, I believe his claim is genuine. The character of Rose Darling feels like an authentic representation of being on the spectrum, so if Tingle’s autism is merely part of some satirical online persona, he at least did his homework.

Often when I see autism represented in fiction, I do not see myself in those characters. They are usually inaccurate stereotypes whose autistic behaviors seem to exist only to emphasize their strangeness. While I admit I do feel strange as an autistic person in a neurotypical world, that strangeness is because everyone else is strange. In my head, I’m the normal one. Seeing the world of Camp Damascus from the point of view of the autistic Rose, with her behaviors treated as normal by her, even if discouraged by others, and her frequently being puzzled by the behaviors of neurotypical people made me feel seen in a way other autistic representation never has.

Some writers might have given her one or two traits that show up on occasion, but Rose Darling has several notably autistic traits—ones that I can truly relate to—and they aren’t just mentioned once or twice to add flavor to her character. Her autism is an inherent and significant part of her character. In fact, I believe it is because of her autism that she is the hero of this story.

Before I go further, I want to give a quick, non-spoilery summary of the book. Camp Damascus is about a young woman living in a small and deeply religious town that is well known for its gay conversion camp. Camp Damascus touts its reputation for having a one hundred percent success rate, something no other gay conversion camp can claim. Rose Darling is a devout high school senior about to graduate. Camp Damascus is the last thing on her mind—she’s not gay, she has no need to go there. Except that some strange events begin to occur around her, and she feels herself drawn to a beautiful young woman who seems to know her somehow. Rose’s curiosity and need to understand what is happening to her leads her down a dark and dangerous path as she discovers the secrets behind Camp Damascus—and herself.

In this story, Rose goes on a path of self-discovery—I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say she realizes she is in fact gay over the course of the book—and she also finds a small but loyal group of people who embrace and accept her as who she is. And that acceptance doesn’t just include her sexuality but also her neurodivergence. Her autism is confirmed about halfway through the story in a casual, almost offhand way, but it can be seen in her characterization from the beginning.

When we first meet Rose, she is hanging out with a couple of friends at a local swimming hole. We soon learn she has a love of facts—facts she spends her free time learning and that pop into her head in moments when things related to those facts occur, such as the number of deaths that have happened at the very cliff her friends are trying to get her to jump into the water from. It also becomes quickly apparent that she struggles with social interactions. She can’t read people well, and she isn’t very good at coming up with topics to speak about. She likes to prepare trivia and questions ahead of time for any social interaction she anticipates engaging in.

From these first few pages, it is obvious she’s autistic.

Rose’s obsession with facts and trivia clearly speaks to the special interests and hyperfixations that many autistic people experience. When we become fascinated by something, we do extensive research to find out everything we can about that topic. We tend to amass a large number of obscure and seemingly random facts. For some of us, learning random trivia is our special interest. And I know that at least in my case, I have a tendency to connect the various pieces of information gathered from my obsessions to any relevant thing around me. One of my oldest special interests is mummies (that is, mummified corpses, not British mothers). If I see someone growing orchids, my thoughts immediately go to the fact that a common growing medium for orchids is sphagnum moss, which grows in bogs and contributes to the preservation of bog bodies. Or if someone’s new hobby is making their own soap, I think of how the natural saponification process converts human fatty tissue into adipocere, which is nicknamed grave wax, and can preserve a body as a soap mummy.

Then there’s Rose’s difficulties with social interaction. One of the main diagnostic criteria for autism is having difficulties with communication and social interaction, and Rose certainly qualifies. Social interactions are my Achilles heel. I can’t always tell what people are thinking, although I have gotten better over the years at reading nonverbal cues. Conversation, though, is where I inevitably fail. I hate small talk and I can never think of what to say in the moment. I don’t prepare lists of trivia like Rose does, but I do rehearse possible conversation topics in my head (usually these are topics I would love to engage in but, realistically, are not ones anyone else would enjoy—like a discussion about how lead poisoning did not in fact play a significant role in the demise of the Franklin Expedition).

These few traits alone would have made Rose a believable autistic character—especially since these traits appear throughout the story—but there are a couple more autistic traits that really stood out to me.

For one, Rose stims whenever she is under stress. Stimming is a repetitive movement or vocalization common among autistic people. There are multiple possible reasons for stimming, such as it being a calming technique to help when experiencing intense emotions or sensory input. I know that I engage in stimming when I am under stress, frustrated, or overstimulated by something like too much noise or an uncomfortable tactile sensation. Rose taps her fingers in a countdown, over and over again. I will often flick my fingernails in a certain order or tense the muscles in my hands and feet. Reading Rose stimming during moments that would have caused me to stim as well made me love this character even more.

Rose also shows some obvious signs of sensory issues. In particular, she hates the smell and taste of coffee and alcohol. Autistic people tend to be very sensitive to strong smells and tastes, as well as to loud (or too many) noises, rough textures, bright lights, and many other sensations that can seem too overwhelming for us. Not all autistic people hate coffee and alcohol, but as an autistic person who does hate both of those, I greatly appreciated Rose’s disgust at the taste and smell of two things that have always been disgustingly offensive to my senses.

All of these traits are clearly a big part of who Rose is as a person/character. And while her autism might seem like a weakness at times, like when she struggles to fit in with her peers, her autism is also her biggest strength. Rose is one of the few people to figure out the truth about what is happening at Camp Damascus thanks to her autistic tendency to hyperfixate. She researched the problem and wouldn’t let it go, even when in danger. Her curiosity and her extensive knowledge of different subjects allowed her to make connections no one else had, and it gave her a way to fight the evil caused by the camp. It was because of the unique way her mind works—her autistic mind—that she was able to save herself, her friends, and everyone affected by the atrocities done at Camp Damascus.

Reading about a heroine who saves the day because of—and not despite—her autism, filled my heart with joy. In a world where people think being autistic means being unable to function in society—to the degree that some people doubt the diagnoses of anyone who doesn’t “look autistic” in their mind—this is the type of representation the autistic community needs. We need the world to see that autistic people have value, that our unique attributes can be beneficial to society. Stories like this can give neurotypical people a look into our world, and hopefully they will see we aren’t robots or aliens, but people who see the universe in a different way.

So thank you, Dr. Chuck Tingle! I am glad you had the chance to publish a book like this, and I am glad I got the chance to read it. And now I look forward to your next self-published work, Pounded in the Butt by Readers’ Appreciation for Authentic Autistic Representation.