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Strong Female Character
INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER • "Witty, dry, and gimlet-eyed, this is a necessary corrective in a world where Autistic women are all either written off as quiet and docile, or erased entirely." -Devon Price, Ph.D., author of Unmasking Autism
Scottish comedian Fern Brady was told she couldn't be autistic because she'd had loads of boyfriends and is good at eye contact. In this frank and surreal memoir, she delivers a sharp and often hilarious portrait of neurodivergence and living unmasked.
After reading about autism in her teens, Fern Brady knew instinctively that she had it-autism explained her sensory issues, her meltdowns, her inability to pick up on social cues-and she told her doctor as much. But it took until she was thirty-four for her to get diagnosed.
Strong Female Character is about the years in between, and the unique combination of sexism and ableism that so often prevents autistic women from getting diagnosed until adulthood. Coming from a working-class Scottish Catholic family, Fern wasn't exactly poised to receive an open-minded acceptance of her neurodivergence. With the piercing clarity and wit that has put her at the top of the British comedy scene, she now reflects on the ways her undiagnosed autism influenced her youth, from the tree that functioned as her childhood best friend to the psychiatric facility where she ended up when neither her parents nor school knew what to do with her.
In a memoir as hilarious as it is heartbreaking, Fern leaves no stone unturned while detailing her futile attempts at employment, her increasingly destructive coping mechanisms, and the meltdowns that left her mind (and apartment) in ruins. Her chaotic, nonlinear journey-from stripping to getting arrested to finding a lifeline in comedy to her breakout appearance on the Taskmaster TV show as her full, unmasked self-is both a remarkable coming-of-age tale and a dark but poignant tribute to life at the intersection of womanhood and neurodiversity.
Strong Female Character is a story of how being female can get in the way of being autistic and how being autistic gets in the way of being the 'right kind' of woman.
Scottish comedian Fern Brady was told she couldn't be autistic because she'd had loads of boyfriends and is good at eye contact. In this frank and surreal memoir, she delivers a sharp and often hilarious portrait of neurodivergence and living unmasked.
After reading about autism in her teens, Fern Brady knew instinctively that she had it-autism explained her sensory issues, her meltdowns, her inability to pick up on social cues-and she told her doctor as much. But it took until she was thirty-four for her to get diagnosed.
Strong Female Character is about the years in between, and the unique combination of sexism and ableism that so often prevents autistic women from getting diagnosed until adulthood. Coming from a working-class Scottish Catholic family, Fern wasn't exactly poised to receive an open-minded acceptance of her neurodivergence. With the piercing clarity and wit that has put her at the top of the British comedy scene, she now reflects on the ways her undiagnosed autism influenced her youth, from the tree that functioned as her childhood best friend to the psychiatric facility where she ended up when neither her parents nor school knew what to do with her.
In a memoir as hilarious as it is heartbreaking, Fern leaves no stone unturned while detailing her futile attempts at employment, her increasingly destructive coping mechanisms, and the meltdowns that left her mind (and apartment) in ruins. Her chaotic, nonlinear journey-from stripping to getting arrested to finding a lifeline in comedy to her breakout appearance on the Taskmaster TV show as her full, unmasked self-is both a remarkable coming-of-age tale and a dark but poignant tribute to life at the intersection of womanhood and neurodiversity.
Strong Female Character is a story of how being female can get in the way of being autistic and how being autistic gets in the way of being the 'right kind' of woman.
Editorial Reviews
"Strong Female Character is a testament to the importance of self-knowledge. Fern Brady is a natural and engaging writer, weaving bleak episodes with moments of pure comedy as she reappraises crucial moments in her life through the lens of her autism diagnosis. Brutal honesty and a talent for storytelling combine to make an insightful memoir that's not only very funny, but will no doubt provide invaluable moments of recognition for many readers."―Rachel Healy, The Guardian
"Fern Brady's book is alive in your hands. Brave doesn't cover it and I'm not sure what will. Fizzing with intelligence, it will hit you in the heart, lungs, and liver. You'll laugh, cry, be still, and if you're not autistic-by God you'll learn. If you are autistic, you'll be seen, heard, held, rocked, and loved here."-Deborah Frances-White, author of The Guilty Feminist
"Glorious. Frank but nuanced, a memoir that doesn't sacrifice voice or self-awareness. And it has brilliant things to say about being autistic and being funny."―Elle McNicoll, author of Show Us Who You Are
"So funny and brilliant."―Holly Smale, author of Geek Girl
"Fern's book, like everything she does, is awesome. Incredibly funny, and so unapologetically frank that I feel genuinely sorry for her lawyers."―Phil Wang, comedian and author of Sidesplitter
"Of course it's funny-it's Fern Brady-but this book is also deeply moving and eye-opening."―Adam Kay, author of This Is Going to Hurt
"An absolute riot. I'm literally going to read it again once I've finished, and I'm a miserable bastard...it's a belter."―Frankie Boyle, comedian and author of Meantime
"Witty, dry, and gimlet-eyed, Fern Brady's Strong Female Character is a necessary corrective in a world where autistic women are all either written off as quiet and docile or erased entirely. Brady offers a compelling, messy, highly resonant portrait of what masked autism feels like to experience."―Devon Price, PhD, author of Unmasking Autism
"Fern Brady's book is alive in your hands. Brave doesn't cover it and I'm not sure what will. Fizzing with intelligence, it will hit you in the heart, lungs, and liver. You'll laugh, cry, be still, and if you're not autistic-by God you'll learn. If you are autistic, you'll be seen, heard, held, rocked, and loved here."-Deborah Frances-White, author of The Guilty Feminist
"Glorious. Frank but nuanced, a memoir that doesn't sacrifice voice or self-awareness. And it has brilliant things to say about being autistic and being funny."―Elle McNicoll, author of Show Us Who You Are
"So funny and brilliant."―Holly Smale, author of Geek Girl
"Fern's book, like everything she does, is awesome. Incredibly funny, and so unapologetically frank that I feel genuinely sorry for her lawyers."―Phil Wang, comedian and author of Sidesplitter
"Of course it's funny-it's Fern Brady-but this book is also deeply moving and eye-opening."―Adam Kay, author of This Is Going to Hurt
"An absolute riot. I'm literally going to read it again once I've finished, and I'm a miserable bastard...it's a belter."―Frankie Boyle, comedian and author of Meantime
"Witty, dry, and gimlet-eyed, Fern Brady's Strong Female Character is a necessary corrective in a world where autistic women are all either written off as quiet and docile or erased entirely. Brady offers a compelling, messy, highly resonant portrait of what masked autism feels like to experience."―Devon Price, PhD, author of Unmasking Autism
Readers Top Reviews
DM
Loved this book and can relate to a lot of it. I liked the straightforwardness of the writing. Heartbreaking, funny, and unvarnished. My thanks to Fern Brady for writing the book and hopefully spreading a bit more awareness about autism.
Rowan
Fern Brady came to my attention on Taskmaster so much so that I wanted to know more about her. Now, thanks to this brilliant book I have learnt much much more not just about Fern but also autism. Fern is very open holds nothing back and makes you more aware of autism and the coping and sometimes not coping with the condition. She is very frank so don't expect a sanitised version of her life. Utterly brilliant.
El
Strong Female Character is an eye-opening and interesting insight in to what it is like to be a woman with Autism. In a world where so much has been previously written about the male experience of Autism but very little has been written from a woman’s perspective this is a much-needed book. The book covers Fern’s life from childhood to the present day and details her struggles socially at school whilst being a strong academic achiever, how her undiagnosed Autism affected her in the workplace (both positively as a stripper and also in her Comedy Work but also negatively in her jobs at places such as Boots or in an office environment) and how sensory overload affects her everyday life and leads to meltdowns. The shining beacon within this book is the honesty with which Fern writes, she notes within the book that this is a symptom of her Autism and she is unable to be any other way, she says what she thinks, she cannot sugar coat it and whilst this is obviously something which causes her significant issues within her life, within this book it is a breath of fresh air. I learnt a lot about the symptoms of Autism in women that I didn't already know. Whilst I quickly read this book within a few days and it was a book I continually wanted to read, it was not an easy read, Fern’s experiences in her childhood where she was repeatedly labelled as evil, naughty and weird are at times difficult to read but an important part of her story as I’m sure many others will resonate with her experiences. Having read the book and obviously knowing beforehand that Fern has Autism it makes her story more harrowing as you know that her early life would have been very different if she had been diagnosed as a child and you want to shout at the adults in her life to cut her some slack. This is why this book is so important, maybe a parent reading it will recognise the symptoms in their own Daughter and subsequently get a diagnosis which will get them the support and understanding that Fern lacked. I think this book will be a great comfort to any female who is questioning whether they may be Autistic or those that are learning to navigate the world post-diagnosis. It would be nice to read a follow-up to this book in the future as the ending leaves Fern learning to unmask as much as possible and attempting to find a healthy balance in her work and personal life, at this point it is a work in progress after 30+years of attempting to mask her symptoms and I think it would be interesting to catch-up with her in a few years (maybe an extra chapter could be added to this book or a whole new book in itself) to see how Fern is getting on. I keep thinking about this book after i've finished reading it and for me that is the marker of a truely great book.
ASLucy C.
I had an interest in Fern after seeing her live at a comedy gig in Glasgow. She made a big deal out of "being from Bathgate" so as a Bathgate native I was keen to see how well she did in her career. Now she has obviously a success of her career its odd this Bathgate bashing continues in written form. There have also been the headlines of sex work and Autism diagnosis which would obviously be covered in her biography. So after it dropped to 99p I took the plunge. While there are a few positive reviews of this from her comedy mates, I would warn anyone who ended up in her social circle to avoid this book. She appears to hate everybody and has very little positive to say about anyone. She seems to still be peddling this narrative that Bathgate is some kind of lower class wasteland populated by mutants. Really? It seems like a perfectly fine little town that has great links to both Glasgow and Edinburgh, where many locals work and socialise. Its not doing too bad culturally either with theatre, live music and cinema all catered for. But we get it, she was bullied for being "different". It appears that she is still stuck in her adolescent phase when it comes to life in West Lothian. There is a lot in this book about autism. In fact there isn't a single chapter, possibly page in the book which doesn't mention it. Which becomes a bit tedious towards the midway point. She seems fairly pleased to have been given a diagnosis. However anyone with experience of mental health knows a diagnosis doesn't mean very much. Having one neither rules out having other disorders, nor does it mean you have what the DSM says you do. That is why the professionals whose opinions she seems to dismiss responded the way they did. They know mental health diagnostic criteria are at best a rough guesstimate and will vary widely depending on who you see. There is a sense at an injustice at not being diagnosed earlier, however CAMHS has a very high threshold for treatment anyway and besides there is some evidence that these services can make kids worse not better. Her parents would have did what they did because kids dont come with a manual, let alone for ones with disorders they don't know anything about. If anything many of the things they did to manage her issues sounded pretty insightful. What is also apparent is that for some young people, this diagnostic label seems to start them off on a TikTok/Instagram frenzy of developing an identity around the diagnostic label. I am autistic which means I do this etc...... Unfortunately none of these social media people have any qualifications, their self appointed qualifications are they have the disorder and this makes them an expert in their opinion. Its all very social constructionist. The problem with this approach is that it can lead to people who are hyper-focused on their own behaviours and emotional state, as well as a...
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
A couple of times a week I'd have long phone chats with my dad as he commuted the two hours back home from his job in London. It was on one of these phone calls that I told him something I had dreaded bringing up since I'd found out a few days before.
‘So I got diagnosed with autism on Tuesday.'
‘Who told you that?' His tone implied disbelief.
‘A doctor at the Lorna Wing Centre who specializes in diagnosing adult women with autism,' I said, already irritated that he thought someone had just mentioned it in passing or that I'd done an online quiz.
‘Oh right. Traffic in London's mental, eh?'
(One time my granda had had his leg amputated and Dad mentioned it as breezily as you would if you were making small talk about the weather: ‘Granda's in hospital and we think he's getting his leg cut off.' This was followed by a call the next day with a matter-of-fact ‘Well, Granda's deid.')
I paced back and forth around the kitchen trying to keep my cool, my phone still pressed to my face.
‘You know, I actually had a dream where I told you about the diagnosis and you were so uncharacteristically compassionate and nice about it that I woke myself up laughing.'
‘Oh right. I had a dream that there weren't enough blankets on the bed, and I asked Julie to put more on 'cause I was freezing.'
I began to load the dishwasher while he continued telling me about his dream, oblivious to my lack of interest. I waited for him to finish before I said: ‘Well, they say autism can be inherited from one parent, so I guess that's answered the question of which one.'
‘Who? Your mother?' he asked in earnest.
I slammed a knife into the dishwasher in frustration.
‘Are you kidding me? It's you! It's you, ya maniac! Have you ever noticed you've no ability to read social cues or people's emotions?'
Dad and I were similar in that we'd both run into trouble at work for pointedly telling people when they were in the wrong. We both had odd ways of communicating.
I tried to picture his response. I knew he was driving calmly, glancing blankly at the satnav, totally unbothered by any of it.
Mildly, he added, ‘I dinnae even know what a f***ing social cue is.'
‘Right. Well, it'd be like if your daughter phones you up and says she's just been diagnosed with autism, a normal person would go, "Oh, and what's prompted you to get diagnosed? How do you feel? Are you okay?" You know? Any kind of response like that?'
I was shouting now. I liked talking to my dad because whereas I had to tiptoe around my mum's unpredictable moods, I could shout at him and his emotional response would still be flatlining.
‘Well, I hope they went up and arrested your mother.'
I didn't know why I kept putting the same information into this computer and waiting for a different output. He wasn't capable of it.
‘Why would they do that? Mum's feeling guilty about it, about how yous never got me help when I was younger.'
‘She's the bloody autistic one!' Dad is now throwing the word around joyfully, like a child who's discovered a new swear word.
‘I don't think so. She's had a pretty normal, human response about the whole thing and been dead helpful.'
‘Right,' he said, sounding distracted. I could tell from the change in tone he was checking his texts.
Actually, Mum had been crying a lot since taking part in the assessment. She was full of guilt and had been going over and over how obvious my autistic traits were: like not wanting to be held or cuddled as a baby; or having special interests, such as teaching myself Danish when I was eight; or having violent meltdowns over the sensation of my own clothes on my skin. She felt bad the signs hadn't just been missed but were viewed as me being deliberately difficult. Growing up, I'd been told repeatedly that I was very, very clever but also very, very bad-and yet neither of my parents understood why I now enjoyed doing a job that involved people alternately cheering or booing at me.
‘I'm still waiting for you to say one normal thing about this, Dad. There's still time.'
I could hear the cogs turning in his brain on the other end of the phone while watching the satnav.
There was a pause.
‘. . . What did you have for dinner tonight?' he offered.
I leaned my forehead on a kitchen cupboard, opening and closing a drawer I'd smashed repeatedly over the years and had never been right since.
‘Pad Thai.'
‘Never heard of it.'
A couple of times a week I'd have long phone chats with my dad as he commuted the two hours back home from his job in London. It was on one of these phone calls that I told him something I had dreaded bringing up since I'd found out a few days before.
‘So I got diagnosed with autism on Tuesday.'
‘Who told you that?' His tone implied disbelief.
‘A doctor at the Lorna Wing Centre who specializes in diagnosing adult women with autism,' I said, already irritated that he thought someone had just mentioned it in passing or that I'd done an online quiz.
‘Oh right. Traffic in London's mental, eh?'
(One time my granda had had his leg amputated and Dad mentioned it as breezily as you would if you were making small talk about the weather: ‘Granda's in hospital and we think he's getting his leg cut off.' This was followed by a call the next day with a matter-of-fact ‘Well, Granda's deid.')
I paced back and forth around the kitchen trying to keep my cool, my phone still pressed to my face.
‘You know, I actually had a dream where I told you about the diagnosis and you were so uncharacteristically compassionate and nice about it that I woke myself up laughing.'
‘Oh right. I had a dream that there weren't enough blankets on the bed, and I asked Julie to put more on 'cause I was freezing.'
I began to load the dishwasher while he continued telling me about his dream, oblivious to my lack of interest. I waited for him to finish before I said: ‘Well, they say autism can be inherited from one parent, so I guess that's answered the question of which one.'
‘Who? Your mother?' he asked in earnest.
I slammed a knife into the dishwasher in frustration.
‘Are you kidding me? It's you! It's you, ya maniac! Have you ever noticed you've no ability to read social cues or people's emotions?'
Dad and I were similar in that we'd both run into trouble at work for pointedly telling people when they were in the wrong. We both had odd ways of communicating.
I tried to picture his response. I knew he was driving calmly, glancing blankly at the satnav, totally unbothered by any of it.
Mildly, he added, ‘I dinnae even know what a f***ing social cue is.'
‘Right. Well, it'd be like if your daughter phones you up and says she's just been diagnosed with autism, a normal person would go, "Oh, and what's prompted you to get diagnosed? How do you feel? Are you okay?" You know? Any kind of response like that?'
I was shouting now. I liked talking to my dad because whereas I had to tiptoe around my mum's unpredictable moods, I could shout at him and his emotional response would still be flatlining.
‘Well, I hope they went up and arrested your mother.'
I didn't know why I kept putting the same information into this computer and waiting for a different output. He wasn't capable of it.
‘Why would they do that? Mum's feeling guilty about it, about how yous never got me help when I was younger.'
‘She's the bloody autistic one!' Dad is now throwing the word around joyfully, like a child who's discovered a new swear word.
‘I don't think so. She's had a pretty normal, human response about the whole thing and been dead helpful.'
‘Right,' he said, sounding distracted. I could tell from the change in tone he was checking his texts.
Actually, Mum had been crying a lot since taking part in the assessment. She was full of guilt and had been going over and over how obvious my autistic traits were: like not wanting to be held or cuddled as a baby; or having special interests, such as teaching myself Danish when I was eight; or having violent meltdowns over the sensation of my own clothes on my skin. She felt bad the signs hadn't just been missed but were viewed as me being deliberately difficult. Growing up, I'd been told repeatedly that I was very, very clever but also very, very bad-and yet neither of my parents understood why I now enjoyed doing a job that involved people alternately cheering or booing at me.
‘I'm still waiting for you to say one normal thing about this, Dad. There's still time.'
I could hear the cogs turning in his brain on the other end of the phone while watching the satnav.
There was a pause.
‘. . . What did you have for dinner tonight?' he offered.
I leaned my forehead on a kitchen cupboard, opening and closing a drawer I'd smashed repeatedly over the years and had never been right since.
‘Pad Thai.'
‘Never heard of it.'
