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Nerd-dom
exists the world over; any hobby that allows participants
to collect or amass too much information or proclaim superiority
is appealing to nerds. Nugent visits these scenes as an insider,
so he does not write with the keen outsider's eye needed to
observe what is universal, what is unusual, and what make
these activities of special interest to nerds.
There
is also a very vexing and troublesome chapter on race that
never really goes anywhere, where he asserts that Americans
perceive Africans as very sexual, so they can't be nerdy,
but anyone viewed as more machine-like (Asians, Jews) are
all viewed as nerdy. No word on where the South Americans
fall on this scale—probably somewhere between the sexy
Africans and the neutral Europeans. There is something very
important in this chapter that relates to his analysis of
the film Blade Runner. He notes that the replicants,
who are persecuted, "are obliged to prove that their affiliation
with machines hasn't robbed them of emotional lives. […] The
replicants suffer the ways nerds suffer."
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Benjamin
Nugent, author of American Nerd.
Photo by Kathryn Mauger |
What
Nugent describes as a nerd seems to be a person who might
identify as having Asperger's Disorder. He identifies two
types of nerds, and "one type, disproportionately male, is
intellectual in ways that strike people as machinelike, and
socially awkward in ways that strike people as machinelike."
These people are not outcasts based on physical characteristics
or being too smart—they deal with social and emotional
issues differently from the average person, also known in
the autistic community as "neurotypical." He describes the
second nerd type as being "a nerd who is a nerd by sheer force
of social exclusion."
Both
types miss the majority of nerds I know, who were nerds in
the classic Square Pegs TV show way. We had different
priorities that didn't involve hair and makeup, cars, or making
out with the captain of the football team. Spending two hours
in the morning on makeup seemed as absurd to us as spending
two hours reading a non-required book seemed to "them." But
we were not autistic. My nerd friends in high school had social
skills, and we even wanted complex sexual relationships with
people outside of our circle. We were nerds by virtue of our
GPA, and our lack of interest in team sports, somewhere between
nerd one and nerd two.
After
high school, I found that some of my college friends (all
male, by the way) had a quixotic relationship with the idea
of autism. "I think I'm autistic," they would muse misty-eyed,
like someone who just realized that he found the love of his
life. These men seemed to use their imagined autism as an
excuse for poor social skills that in most cases were caused
by over-indulgent parents. Precious little snowflakes often
have problems adjusting to the real world. My friends who
neglected to shower or bit their nails in public or behaved
like jerks were not autistic—they were assholes. Smart
assholes, but assholes nonetheless. I admit that I too romanticize
the notion of having Asperger's—imagine how easy art
history would have been if I could just absorb all those dates
with no effort! But I know people with Asperger's, and their
lives are not easy, despite their abilities to retain facts
and work out complex word problems. And so, I found Nugent's
romanticizing to the typical autistic personality as the typical
nerd personality to be predictable and incorrect.
But where
American Nerd shines is where Nugent tells the stories
of his childhood friends, how Dungeons & Dragons helped them
navigate their complex and difficult home lives. Some had
moms who were drug addicts or were fixated on religion, or
they had parents who were overly permissive to the point of
not caring. My memories of childhood have faded to lavender-scented
sun-tinged afternoons in my friend Margaret's backyard, reading
Somerset Maugham and Ray Bradbury, or making invisible ink
with the chemistry set in my cold and musty basement, trying
not to disturb my brother's Napoleon at Waterloo war game
on the workbench. I'd forgotten the tears after realizing
that the cool girls thought I was gross, the horror at having
worn the wrong shirt to school, the sadness when the cute
guys would call me and Vickie "dogs." Nugent brings all that
back, making me feel sad for, and proud of, all of us who
survived and thrived as nerds.
Ultimately,
the good about American Nerd outweighs the bad. Sure,
he completely ignores Star Trek and Mystery Science
Theater 3000 and spends too much time on Lisa and Todd
from the early seasons of Saturday Night Live. True,
he spends almost two chapters on the Society of Creative Anachronism.
Yes, he never shows us how nerds make all our lives better
or discusses the role of nerd-chic popular culture. But the
stories about young Ben and his childhood friends, Darren
and Kenneth, redeem the book admirably. Don't be surprised
if American Nerd inspires you to dust off your Monster
Manual and roll your 12-sided die. American Nerd
rolls a 14 for intelligence, and an 18 for charisma.
(May,
2008)
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