{"product_id":"the-electricity-of-every-living-thing-isbn-9781612199603","title":"The Electricity of Every Living Thing","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eWintering\u003c\/i\u003e writes a life-affirming exploration of wild landscapes, what it means to be different and, above all, how we can all learn to make peace with our own unquiet minds . . .\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn anticipation of her 38th birthday, Katherine May set out to walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path. She wanted time alone, in nature, to understand why she had stopped coping with everyday life; why motherhood had been so overwhelming and isolating; and why the world felt full of expectations she couldn't meet.  She was also reeling from a chance encounter with a voice on the radio that sparked her realisation that she might be autistic. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAnd so begins a trek along the ruggedly beautiful but difficult path by the sea that takes readers through the alternatingly frustrating, funny, and enlightening experience of re-awakening to the world around us…\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Electricity of Every Living Thing\u003c\/i\u003e sees Katherine come to terms with that diagnosis leading her to re-evaluate her life so far — with a much kinder, more forgiving eye. We bear witness to a new understanding that finally allows her to be different rather than simply awkward, arrogant or unfeeling. The physical and psychological journeys of this joyous and inspiring book become inextricably entwined, and as Katherine finds her way across the untameable coast, we learn alongside her how to find our way back to our own true selves.\"Easy to devour, an incredibly raw and heartfelt story of one woman's wondrous journey of self-discovery.\" \u003cb\u003e—Porchlight\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"May writes about her journey in vivid, exuberant prose...\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—The Star Tribune\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \"A graceful memoir of startling self-discovery.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"In this powerfully descriptive work, a grueling hike becomes a metaphor for a woman’s experience with Asperger’s syndrome...Candid, rough, and uplifting, this moving account shines.\"   \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Her  journey to understand her own atypical mind takes her across 630 miles  on England’s South West Coast Path, through pesky rain, cheerful lemon  shandies, and interior landscapes that, thank goodness, don’t conform to  anyone else’s boundaries.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Orion Magazine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"As in her bestseller Wintering, May’s attention to detail and  poetic voice clear a path for readers to pause and reflect. In sharing  her experience, she invites readers to examine their own.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e —BookPage\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eKatherine May\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of  \u003ci\u003eWintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eEnchantment: Awakening Wonder in an Anxious Age.\u003c\/i\u003e A writer of  both fiction and nonfiction, May's articles and essays have appeared in a range of publications including \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Times \u003c\/i\u003e(London\u003ci\u003e), Good Housekeeping,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan.\u003c\/i\u003e She lives by the sea in Whitstable, England and is an avid lover of the outdoors.\u003ci\u003ePrologue\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Isle of Thanet, November   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLate afternoon in November, and it’s dark already. I’m driving. To my left is the sea at Westgate; to my right,  the low sweep of Pegwell Bay. Not that I can see either of them in the gloom, but I know this stretch of road well. The land feels spacious when the sea’s nearby, and this is the furthest tip of Kent, the jutting hound’s nose where you’re suddenly surrounded by water. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I’m late. I hate being late. I switch on the radio for company. A man is interviewing a woman. She is talking about the intensity of everything around her; the way all her senses are heightened to light, noise, touch and smell. They make her anxious. I turn on the windscreen wipers and clear myself two arcs in the drizzle. She finds people hard to understand; she would prefer it if they said what they meant. \u003ci\u003eToo true\u003c\/i\u003e, I think. \u003ci\u003eGood luck with that.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e   \u003cbr\u003eThen the interviewer says that his son is on the autism spectrum too, and he needs to write everything down or else he won’t be able to take it in, and I think, \u003ci\u003eYes but I’m like that, too\u003c\/i\u003e. I hate plans made on the hoof; I know I won’t remember them. I can’t ever recall names unless I see them in writing. Mind you, I can’t remember faces, either. People just fade in and out of the fog, and I often have no sense of whether or not I’ve met them before. My life consists of a series of clues that I leave in diaries, and address books, and lists, so that I can reorient myself every time I forget. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIt’s like that for everyone, though. We’re all just trying to get by.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e‘All autistic people suffer from a degree of mind-blindness. Is that true of you?’ asks the interviewer. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘To some extent,’ says the woman. ‘I’m better at it than when I was young, because I’m more conscious of it as an issue. I’m constantly searching for clues in people’s faces and tone of voice and body language.’ \u003ci\u003eThank God for my social skills\u003c\/i\u003e, I think. \u003ci\u003eThank God I can get on with anyone\u003c\/i\u003e. There’s a twinge of discomfort there, as I push away the sense of what that costs me, of how artificial it all feels. \u003ci\u003eI am good at this\u003c\/i\u003e, but I have to qualify it with \u003ci\u003enowadays\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘By and large, do you tend to think visually more than you think in language?’ he says. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Yes,’ says the woman, ‘I have an eidetic memory.’ \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI certainly don’t have one of those. Although I suppose I do remember whole pages of books sometimes, like an imprint on my eyelids. At school, my French teacher laughed as I recalled pages of vocabulary: ‘You’re cheating!’ she said. ‘You’re just reading that from the inside of your head.’ And me, at thirteen, squirming in my seat, because I couldn’t work out if this was a compliment – in which case, I should laugh along – or an accusation \u003cbr\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e‘Were you interested in other children, as a child?’ says the man. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No, I just didn’t see the point. When I got a bit older, I would try to play with other people, but I wouldn’t get it right. By the time I got to seventeen I had a breakdown, because I couldn’t deal with all the stuff that was going on.’ The memory surges up of those blank days when I thought I might just give up talking for ever, because the words seemed too far away from my mouth; of the red days when I would hit my head against the wall just to see the white percussive flashes it brought; of the sick, strange days when the drugs made everyone else say I was nearly back to my old self again, but I could feel them in my throat, tamping everything down so that it didn’t spew back up . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘One cliché about autism is that romantic relationships are very, very difficult,’ he says. ‘You’re married. How did courtship work for you?’ \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e . . . And I find myself nearly spitting at the radio, saying, out loud, ‘How fucking dare you? We’re not completely repellent, you know . . .’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd that word, \u003ci\u003ewe\u003c\/i\u003e, takes me quite by surprise.","brand":"Melville House","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305488109797,"sku":"NP9781612199603","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781612199603.jpg?v=1767739145","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-electricity-of-every-living-thing-isbn-9781612199603","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}