“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Woody Brown communicates using his communication board. Brown, who combines formality with humor and remarkable eloquence, possesses an incredible knack for weaving narratives that delve deep into his characters’ thoughts, including their perceptions of how others view them. Brown is both autistic and non-verbal.
His debut novel, Upward Bound, unfolds in a day care center for adults in southern California, a setting that is paradoxically named given that its attendees, young adults, are hardly on an upward trajectory. Mostly, they experience condescension and invisibility, despite the staff’s flaws being depicted with unexpected warmth.
Narrated from various angles, the plot introduces us to characters like Walter, who is inspired by Brown and understood only by his mother; Tom, a man of striking looks who attempts to communicate his understanding to the neurotypical world through blinking; Ann, a volunteer looking to enhance her resume who is smitten with Tom, oblivious to the appeal of other clients; and Dave, the center’s director who yearned to be an actor and treats the center’s annual event as a grand theatrical production. Brown masterfully captures the essence of individuals who are largely misunderstood by society due to the disconnect between their minds and bodies, a point he playfully punctuates with a pun.
At 28, Brown lives in Los Angeles with his mother, Mary, who assists him during our conversation by holding the letter board. She voices the words he spells out. Occasionally, Brown speaks phrases or words himself, often in a repetitive, high-pitched tone—a speech pattern known as echolalia.
The bond between Brown and his mother is palpably strong. She embraces him warmly when he feels overwhelmed, patiently waits for his responses, and seems to understand him deeply. “She has been with me every step of the way,” Brown indicates. “Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am.”
The reasons behind the condition of non-verbal autistic individuals like Brown remain largely mysterious. However, his family has always believed in his potential, despite early dismissals by specialists who considered him a hopeless case. Inspired by Soma Mukhopadhyay, who taught her non-verbal autistic son to communicate, Mary sought similar instruction for Woody. At the age of three, he correctly spelled “cat” from jumbled letters, revealing his untapped potential.
Yet, this revelation changed little at school, where educators labeled him unteachable and excluded him from meaningful education. When asked in class for a synonym for ‘sad,’ Brown spelled ‘melancholy’ perfectly. Still, his intelligence was overlooked, and frustration led to behavioral issues, including throwing chairs. “I was in a very dark place,” Brown communicates. His turnaround began at age 12 when he was finally placed in a class that offered some educational content.
“I was not even supposed to be in the remedial class, which was demoralizing. At least in remedial, there was some attempt to teach us basics,” he elaborates.
“Sorry boss! Sorry boss!” he exclaims in a cartoonish voice, which is startling upon first hearing.
Is he content now? “I am quite happy now, having found a true purpose and productivity. I wish this for all autistic individuals. One of my motivations to excel in writing was to craft a book that neurotypical people would appreciate for its quality, allowing me to bridge the gap with those who underestimate and simplify us, revealing our depth and brilliance,” he explains.
Brown, wearing a T-shirt adorned with Japanese trains, shares his interests. “I adore trains and Murakami. Hence, Japanese trains. Murakami is my favorite author; his books captivate me. We read daily, and I can never get enough,” he says, noting that Mary reads to him due to his difficulty concentrating on written words due to visuospatial challenges.
You have a style akin to Murakami’s, I observe. He smiles. “He’s also not very social, much like myself,” he taps.
Mary inquires, “Woody, when you mention ‘the pit of despair,’ what does that metaphor signify to you?”
“Murakami often discusses a well, representing depression and isolation in his novels,” he responds. “I view Murakami’s wells as a symbolic representation of my solitude.”
As he communicates, I notice he occasionally looks away. Initially, I assume it’s due to discomfort with eye contact. However, I soon realize he sometimes looks directly at me, and his gaze often wanders when he is engaged in an activity. I inquire about his actions.
“May I say that I think better with my screens on?” Brown says.
Mary smiles, “Should we show Simon?”
“Yes!!!” he exclaims.
Displayed on a mobile cart are three computer screens: one plays his favorite cartoon, Thomas the Tank Engine; another runs the game Angry Birds; and the third streams videos of old-school steam locomotives.
I ask if he is multitasking with the screens because he finds me dull. “No,” he taps. “May I say that my mind is always bustling with activity. I need multiple channels to occupy it. Focusing solely on you might just make my head explode! It’s tiring to limit my view to just one aspect.”
Our interviews are conducted in 30-minute segments, as longer periods are too taxing for Brown.
“Hey mom, sorry you just don’t understand. You just don’t understand,” he repeats in a high-pitched voice.
“Do you need a break?” she asks. “Yes,” he responds in a deeper tone, which I presume to be his natural voice.
See you later, I say.
Brown is already moving away with his cart of screens.
“Byyyyyyee. Goodbye Molly,” he says, using the cartoon voice again. Mary explains that Molly is a character from Toy Story 3.
Thirty minutes later, we resume. Brown appears reenergized. I ask how he relates to Upward Bound’s Walter. “Walter is my alter ego. We share traits of disability and personality,” he explains. “The common frustrations of being misunderstood due to non-verbal autism are reflected in our experiences. I aim to illustrate how Walter is misjudged by others through their interactions, highlighting the narrow slice of understanding his mother provides, which is crucial for him.”
During a gathering, Walter’s mother invites friends over to watch a film about Temple Grandin. Walter, lingering in the background, becomes infuriated by the portrayal of the autistic animal scientist by an actress he describes as “lovely, lithe,” which contrasts starkly with the real Grandin, whom he sees as “big and awkward, magnificently so.” Overwhelmed, Walter smashes a window. “The Temple Grandin story is autobiographical,” he reveals, showing me his scar.
Your mother seems more relaxed than Walter’s, I comment. “She used to be more tense,” he taps. “We’ve both worked on managing our anxiety, which has improved our interactions.” Is anxiety a fundamental aspect of autism? “Anxiety is a constant presence, but I’ve learned to cope better. Meditation has been very helpful,” he shares.
In Upward Bound, Tom, despite his attractiveness, is misunderstood by everyone. “I recall a boy similar to Tom from my childhood, and he has always been on my mind,” Brown taps. “I worry that he was never truly heard and that he remains isolated.” Does he believe many autistic individuals are similarly overlooked? “Absolutely! People often project their own interpretations onto a blank slate that they fail to read accurately,” he taps.
“Us! Us!” he shouts.
When did you last see him? “Maybe when I was 10.” Was he also strikingly handsome? “Definitely! He was beautiful!”
At Upward Bound, the least understanding character is Dave, the director. “Dave represents the well-meaning but ultimately self-centered caregivers who inadvertently find themselves in the disability sector,” Brown taps. Did you have caregivers like Dave? “Certainly!” he taps. “Their voices are louder than those of genuine believers.” What does he mean by that? “People who truly understand tend to be quieter and more reflective. They listen more and speak less,” he taps.
One character who does understand is Carlos, a caregiver with a troubled past. “I adore Carlos. He is the hero of the story,” Brown taps.
“Us!” he shouts.
“We’re starting to lose him,” Mary says. We agree to continue tomorrow at 10am.
“I have more to say, but I’m all out for now,” Brown taps.
“Wowowoowo! Goodbye James, see you tomorrow,” he says. James is a locomotive from Thomas the Tank Engine.
The following day, they arrive five minutes late, and Brown seems slightly agitated.
“In trouble,” he repeats.
You’re not in trouble with me, I assure him.
“Sorry boss, sorry boss!” he exclaims in his high-pitched cartoon voice.
Mary gives him a comforting hug, which calms him.
In 2022, Brown made history as the first non-speaking autistic graduate from the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), where he earned top writing honors from the English department. He completed his master’s degree at Columbia University in 2024. Mary accompanied him to both programs, and he brought his cart and three screens to aid his focus during lectures and seminars. In his bedroom at home, he has even more screens simultaneously active.
Mary, also an English graduate, spent two decades as a story analyst in the film industry, working with figures like Steven Spielberg. Brown’s father, Drew, is the head of production at Paramount TV. While some may speculate that Mary has influenced Brown’s writing, she asserts her role is limited to transcribing his communications from the letterboard and occasionally checking punctuation. She insists she plays no part in the creative process.
Observing them together, it becomes clear that while Mary is highly articulate, Brown’s command of language surpasses even hers. Sometimes she asks him to clarify thoughts she cannot fully articulate herself. For instance, Brown not only cherishes Thomas the Tank Engine with childlike enthusiasm but also uses train metaphors to describe complex mental processes, reminiscent of a doctoral thesis in metaphysics. “My mind is like thousands of train tracks, all active at once, but not on a flat plane—they’re all in 3D, floating around above me, and I’m riding all these trains simultaneously,” he explains.
Why do so many autistic people love trains? “It’s the parallel lines and the smooth progress,” he taps. Yet, with countless trains traversing this vast, floating network, tranquility is elusive. A documentary about Brown features the cacophonous sounds of a nightmarish train station.
Is that constant din what you always hear? “My mind is as noisy as Grand Central during peak hours. When alone, I turn up the volume on all my screens to the maximum. It drives my parents crazy, but ‘cacophony’ is the only way to describe it.” Does the external noise bring some peace? “Oddly, yes. My mom prefers quiet, but I find solace in chaos,” he explains. Does he genuinely enjoy the chaos, or does it help him find some inner calm? “The external chaos helps balance the turmoil inside,” he taps.
Woody Brown, you are indeed a complex individual, I remark.
“Sir Topham Hatt!” he exclaims in a high pitch.
I ask Brown about the romantic dynamics in Upward Bound, all of which are unreciprocated. Walter is in love with Emma, another non-verbal autistic individual. He believes, or hopes, that he can sense her love through her vibrations. “Emma is a real person, a childhood friend,” he taps. “And I truly love her. I believe we connect through what I call ‘autistic energy fields.’ Our sensory perceptions are disordered, making us less responsive to some stimuli and overly sensitive to others. My naive hope is to find someone who will choose to share a life with me despite my challenges.”
Why do you consider that hope naive? “Perhaps ‘fantastical’ is a better term. It’s difficult for people who are so dependent to maintain relationships in the real world,” he explains.
Could you envision living independently of your parents? “Yes. They are aging, and I will likely outlive them. My sister Annie and her husband, Matt, have expressed their desire to include me in their lives when my parents are no longer able to care for me. They genuinely like me, surprisingly,” he notes with a hint of humor.
Well, there’s a lot to like about you, I say.
“Locomotives!” he exclaims.
Mary shares insights into Brown’s echolalia. She initially believed his repeated words were random until she discovered they served as a form of shorthand. “Should I tell Simon the story of ‘straight’?” she asks him. He nods in agreement. “Woody used to watch videos featuring a blue dog—I can’t mention the name as it upsets him. He would often meltdown and repeat ‘straight’ incessantly. How old were you then?”
“About six,” Woody taps.
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Fatima Clarke is a seasoned health reporter who bridges medical science with human stories. She writes with compassion, precision, and a drive to inform.
