Inside 'upward bound': a novel unveils dignity in a forgotten place
Woody Brown’s debut novel, Upward Bound, isn’t a polemic against inadequate care facilities; it's a quiet, devastatingly compassionate portrait of the lives lived within one. The book, born from Brown’s own experiences navigating the complexities of neurodiversity and aging out of traditional support systems, offers a perspective rarely seen—a nuanced exploration of a Los Angeles suburban adult daycare center that feels, at times, more like a holding pen than a haven.
A world apart, yet intimately observed
The setting, Upward Bound, is starkly rendered: “poop-colored” walls and a small, uninspiring pool offer little respite. Yet, Brown resists easy condemnation. Instead, he casts a spotlight on the humanity thriving—or merely surviving—within its confines. The narrative's strength lies in its shifting viewpoints, seamlessly weaving between first-person accounts from Walter, Brown’s profoundly autistic alter ego, and third-person observations of staff and fellow clients. This structure dismantles the pervasive misconception that autistic individuals lack empathy, revealing instead a spectrum of complex emotions and interactions.
Walter, who communicates primarily through fragments of pop culture—snippets from Thomas the Tank Engine and Toy Story 3—is the novel’s emotional core. His struggle to articulate his thoughts, a reality faced by countless non-speaking autistic individuals, is portrayed with heartbreaking precision. He yearns for a career as a writer, a dream seemingly out of reach given the challenges of communication. But it’s in these very limitations that Brown finds a profound beauty, showcasing Walter’s keen observations and genuine connections.
The staff, often overlooked, are given their due. Jorge, a man deemed a “problem case,” simply craves the comfort of his well-worn toy. Dave, the perpetually stressed manager, bears the weight of a system stretched thin. And Carlos, a former troublemaker, discovers purpose and passion in his role as a caregiver, embodying the novel’s central theme: the inherent dignity found in unexpected places.
Brown’s prose isn't just descriptive; it’s connective. A brief detour into the thoughts of Avery, a bored Target cashier who observes the Upward Bound residents arriving by bus each Friday, underscores the novel’s broader message of inclusion. Avery’s initial observation – “People. Of course they’re people. It’s just that they look fuzzy around the edges, as if they haven’t fully materialised after their interplanetary transport” – encapsulates the subtle othering that these individuals often face.
Upward Bound is episodic, a series of vivid character sketches that coalesce around Carlos’s search for the missing Jorge. It’s a novel that doesn't shy away from the difficult realities of adult care, but it approaches them with a remarkable grace and a deep well of compassion. While the narrative occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own exposition—a common pitfall for debut authors—its power lies in its ability to illuminate the lives of those too often rendered invisible.
Ultimately, Upward Bound isn't just a story about a daycare center; it’s a poignant reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary worlds exist right under our noses, populated by individuals yearning for connection and understanding. Brown’s debut is a stirring testament to the resilience of the human spirit and a powerful call for a more inclusive and empathetic society. The author's career trajectory, leaping from a lifetime of limited expression to a published novel, speaks volumes—a testament to the power of narrative to break down barriers and offer a glimpse into worlds unseen.