Along these lines, there are a few times the narration sells Peter short, even if we end up being proven otherwise. For example, at one point, Barry interrupts their dinner, and the narration explains:
Peter felt completely helpless. He couldn’t stand up to Barry and he couldn’t stop him from hurting Russ. All he could do was watch.
I’m sorry, but this guy races wheelchairs; I’m pretty sure he could do something other than just watch. . . . And the thing is, he does. He jabs Barry enough to get him to leave. So why have this rather ableist language at all? I could understand if the text meant that Peter felt helpless in a general sense, because it’s hard to fully shake someone from an abusive relationship, etc. But this just felt insulting, and unnecessarily so, since Peter is obviously able to take care of himself (and Russ).
Again, perhaps you’re thinking I’m being overly critical. But the issues don’t end here. For one thing, I’m extremely confused about Peter’s level of injury. Granted, SCI is not something I’m as familiar with as some other disabilities/diseases, but I know enough that A Helping of Love left me confused. Apparently, Peter is fully functional sexually, is completely continent, and has plenty of movement in his hips and significant enough sensation there (and in his legs). Of course, every injury is different, and anything is possible, but it seemed to me if he’s this functional, he should be walking. Especially with stance-control orthotics, I would imagine he’d be able to do so. What it impressed upon me was that the author wanted a paraplegic character, but he was afraid of dealing with some of the issues that come along with SCI–including sexual, bladder, and bowel dysfunction, and sensation/movement issues, so he just kind of skipped over all that.
So, OK, fine. Let’s say I ignore the poor writing, the inconsistent and occasionally insulting characterization of Peter, and the poorly researched SCI. That doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Grey apparently knows little about wheelchairs, particularly wheelchair racing. For one thing, Peter’s everyday chair doesn’t disassemble, it folds. I know not everyone who uses a chair on a daily basis has a rigid-frame one, but most due for various reasons I won’t go into here. Most regular chair users also don’t have handles on their chairs, either, but I’ll ignore that, too. No, what really irked me was the fact that while wheelchair racing is an important part of Peter’s life and character development, Mr. Grey didn’t seem to bother to do much (if any) research on the sport.
For one thing, racing wheelchairs are highly specialized. I actually wonder if Mr. Grey confused a racing wheelchair with a basketball (or other sport) chair, which more closely resemble everyday chairs than racing chairs do. A racing chair (see above) generally is a triangle: two wheels near the seat that the user uses to punch their way forward (yes, using special gloves most racers “punch” the wheels rather than pulling/pushing them), with a third wheel in front for stability and steering. As a result, a chair like that can’t simply be tossed in the back seat (the way you would your normal everyday chair). They’re also often a little challenging to get into, depending on the design, because you’ll tuck your feet up under the seat to make sure they’re out of the way and to increase your aerodynamic profile. As a result, most racers would transfer to their everyday chair, then from there to the racing chair. The fact that none of these details are right is bad enough–and I was willing to swallow hard and overlook them–but then, toward the end, we’re told that Peter leaves his everyday chair at home (I can’t imagine anyone who requires a chair to get around doing this) and later goes to the restaurant–and pulls into a table!–in his racing chair. Most basketball/sport chairs don’t fit through most doors (even wider doors) because of the camber of the wheels, so a large, bulky racing chair wouldn’t, and it definitely wouldn’t fit under a table like a regular chair would.
Writers who don’t do their research are one of my biggest pet peeves–especially with the internet, it isn’t hard to put in a modicum of effort to add a little more authenticity to your story. Maybe most people don’t notice, but I do, and it annoys me. I can’t recommend this book; there’s just too much at fault here.
I want to see more stories featuring persons with disabilities, but I don’t want them if they’re going to be written and researched poorly, or if we’re going to sink to assumptions and stereotypes. If there’s anything I can say for this book as far as redeeming value goes, at least it does portray Peter as a sexual being who deserves a relationship as much as anyone else. If you can overlook all its flaws, then, on that level, you may enjoy it. I didn’t. In fact, I returned it for a refund.
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