Owning It
Owning It, an anthology of stories by top writers in the disabled community, is out this month. Praising it as ground-breaking and vital, Dr Rebecca Butler interviewed its editors, Jen Campbell and James Catchpole for Books for Keeps.
Can you tell me what inspired the idea for this ground-breaking and vital book?
James: I honestly can’t remember if Jen first said the word ‘anthology’ to us, or one of us to her – probably the former. But it came up during the online launch for my book What Happened to You?, which Jen was hosting back in Covid times. Inevitably, we’d been discussing the still-radical idea of stories about disability being written by disabled people. And I think we stayed on the video link afterwards, to natter.
There’s often an easy solidarity among disabled people – it’s intriguing and cathartic, when you get to talking about the strange ways people respond to you and your disability. But in common with a great many disabled people of our generation, we didn’t grow up having those conversations. The internet didn’t exist, for one thing – but nor did the mainstream use of the term ‘disabled’ as a flag to fly and follow with pride. I think we both, Jen and I, had an awareness of how much a book like this would have meant to us, as children. Lucy became disabled at nineteen, just as the first online message boards were going up in 1998 and had felt the benefit of them. For all three of us, there was a very immediate and clear purpose: we wanted our generation to be able to share our experiences with current and future generations of disabled kids, to give them true stories of disability written by real-life disabled writers, rather than the ableist stereotypes that still saturate our culture.
How did you choose the contributors and, with hindsight, is there anything you would change about the process you used?
Jen: As a disabled bookseller and book reviewer, I’ve been on the hunt for good books by disabled authors for what feels like my entire life, and 
they’ve been thin on the ground — not because disabled folk don’t write good books, obviously, but because of frustrating barriers within the publishing industry, and because non-disabled books about disability are often prioritised over Own Voices (I could write an essay on this, but we don’t have time here). I have a whole bookcase dedicated to books by disabled authors that I’ve loved over the years, and it was so exciting to be able to reach out to some of my favourite people, asking them if they’d like to try their hand at writing something for this anthology. Due to the nature of the book, there were some writers who wanted to take part but were unable to do so because of illness etc, even with extended time frames, and whilst this isn’t something that we can change in hindsight, because this is just the reality of disabled life, perhaps there will be an opportunity to recruit these writers for another project further down the line.
James: We also couldn’t have made this book without the internet. A few of our contacts we knew from the real world… I used to play amputee football with the poet Daniel Sluman, and with Ali Abbas, who became disabled as a child during the Iraq War. But Lucy and I know the majority of our contributors through Instagram, where there’s a thriving community of disabled creators – and the same for Jen with both Instagram and YouTube. Steven Verdile with his satirical website The Squeaky Wheel was clearly a writer, as were our academics (Jan Grue, Leona Godin) and poets (Daniel Sluman, Ilya Kaminsky), but so are the online creators who write their own scripts to deliver to camera, like Nina Tame, Imani Barbarin and Jessica Kellgren-Fozard. The challenge was to find writers, first and foremost, who could translate their charisma onto the page for children.
The second criterion was to cover as many different disabilities as we could. Then geographical location and a range of ethnicities felt important, to make sure we were casting the net as wide as we could. Oh, and making sure we had enough men! It was easier finding female voices, we discovered. So with hindsight, perhaps if we’d have been aware of this discrepancy from the outset, we’d have made a concerted effort to find more male disabled writers sooner than we did. There may be something about the intersection of disability with masculinity which makes it harder to find them.
The emotional depth of all the writing was impressive. Did you give the contributors a structure or questions in order to write their piece? And were there any submissions you felt that you couldn’t include?
Jen: When we approached writers, James and I had already written our pieces, so we were able to share those as examples if anyone wanted to see them before writing their own. This wasn’t really for the purpose of inspiration, but more camaraderie; we know how difficult it can be to write about something so personal, so in that respect we wanted to lead the way. We were keen to highlight that everyone could write their pieces however they felt worked best; for instance, James wrote his in the past tense, looking back on his childhood, and I wrote mine in the present tense so the reader could relive it in the moment. Some contributors decided to write letters to their past selves instead. Something we did ask everyone to do initially was to send us one or two ideas before writing everything out in full (a one-sentence pitch), so that we could make sure no one was writing about the same thing. This seemed unlikely, given the range of disabilities and experiences, but we thought it best to make sure! In the end, there were no submissions we felt we couldn’t include. Our brief was essentially this:
‘What we’re asking contributors to do is describe a memory from their childhood. The memory doesn’t have to solely focus on disability, but it should touch on it somewhere along the way. It might be a memory about school, family, friendship, travel, food — anything, really. We’re looking for memories that explore disability joy, as well pieces that tackle topics of ableism — moving moments, funny moments, and everything in between, however you’d like to approach it. Basically, we just want writers to write about what they want to write about, showcasing us as we are/were: no inspiration nonsense, no pity party — just us living our lives.’
Was there anything that came up in any of the contributions that you think would surprise a non-disabled reader?
James: I’m always surprised by how much surprises the non-disabled reader! That’s not to say we disabled folk have a particular monopoly on empathy – not at all. Just that human beings are less able to imagine themselves into others’ shoes than we might suppose. So a great deal of what’s in this book will come as a surprise, I think.
The vexed relationship between disabled people and charity, which Steven nails in The Price of Free, will be controversial for some readers. People cling to these comforting narratives and often don’t want to see them challenged. But the same issue comes up for Rebekah Taussig and for Ali Abbas. And if it’s the same whether you’re in Kansas or Kuwait, that becomes harder to dismiss.
Another vexed relationship, this time between disability and religion, comes to the fore in stories by Imani Barbarin and Matilda Feyisayo Ibini – however different the practices of Christianity may be from Nigeria to the US, the similarities are striking, when disability is involved.
Something that surprised me was how many of these stories ended with a flash forward to adulthood, marriage and children (my own included). Will that surprise non-disabled readers? If so, maybe that’s why so many of us chose to include this.
Were there any issues that you expected to be highlighted, that weren’t?
James: I can’t say this was unexpected, but relations between parents and disabled children aren’t always plain sailing. That’s not somewhere our writers were keen to go, by and large – for understandable reasons.
Another angle one might have expected to come up is the supercrip narrative: I don’t see myself as disabled, because I’ve never let my disability hold me back! This is such an easy way of thinking, for those whose bodies can fit into that category, that it’s understandable that so many adopt it. Society certainly rewards it. But it makes for dull reading. So, it’s a mindset we did consciously avoid. You’ll find stories about disability and sport, here – and in fact, the book was even illustrated by Sophie Kamlish, a Paralympian sprinter – but all of them take a more nuanced approach.
What was the hardest part for each of you in the process of editing this collection and why?
Jen: It’s a real privilege and a big responsibility to be trusted with everyone’s personal memories. That was the most wonderful and also the hardest thing, I think, for me. Making sure that the stories were the best they could be, editorial wise, without overstepping the mark and asking people to dig deeper than they felt they were able. Another excellent thing which could have been difficult to navigate if everyone hadn’t been on board with it, was allowing the anthology to be created through crip time. James, Lucy and I have been working on this book for four years and, as we are all disabled, we have allowed each other, ourselves, and contributors, to feel safe enough to disclose access needs and ensure that we’re working around those, taking time to bring work together. I have felt very protective of everyone in that respect, which is a lot of responsibility, making sure that everything is accessible — including a simultaneous release of paperback, e-book, and audio versions of Owning It, which is how all books should be published but is not always the reality. We actually created the audiobook ourselves, with the brilliant Faber team editing it all together, which was a lot of work but ultimately so rewarding!
James: I’d echo all that. Editing someone’s own story – a story from their life – is a special responsibility. Teasing out the narrative arc sometimes puts you in the position of therapist, trying to help the writer discern meaning from the scenes they are recounting. So it’s both a responsibility and an honour.
If you had to pick one story that resonated most, which would it be and why?
Jen: I honestly don’t think I can choose. All the pieces sing to each other in some way, and I think that collective voice is the thing that resonates the most. How, despite all the differences, there is a common thread that links all of these stories, and that’s so powerful.
James: Without picking favourites, I think I can choose one that resonated with me particularly because of shared experience. Funnily enough, it’s not either of the wonderful pieces by Daniel Sluman and Christa Couture, both of whom had a leg amputated in their early teens. That wasn’t my experience of having one leg at all – though I did learn to strum a guitar and perform on stage, as did they. No, I recognised myself most in Eugene’s Grant’s piece, about dwarfism and sport. Eugene played basketball and skateboarded. I played badminton and then football. What links us is the experience of being constantly underestimated and feeling the need to prove ourselves, and with it, the crazy adrenaline rush of keeping up with and even besting non-disabled opponents. Talk about the intersection of disability and masculinity!
What would you like disabled and non-disabled readers to take from this book?
James: I hope the riches in here for disabled readers will be obvious. There’s so much to gain from being exposed to the experiences of others like yourself, and given the majority of disabled children don’t share their disability with immediate family members, the need for the book is clear. It was by no means clear to me, at eleven, that I could ditch my false leg, pick up my crutches, play football at all (let alone for England), travel the world with friends and on my own, find love, get married and have a family of my own… Somehow I did all this, but each step was a discovery I made myself – I had no reason to think any of it would be possible for someone with one leg, because I knew no one else with one leg. On one level, it can be as simple as that.
For non-disabled readers, especially for children with disabled friends and classmates, I’d hope we’ve given them a window into the experiences of their peers. Talking about this stuff is not remotely easy. I don’t think I ever really discussed it with my friends. They saw some of what it was like for me, being constantly eyeballed and interrogated. As my friends, they must have been aware of the eyeballs on them, too – in some measure, they will have shared a part of that with me: the stigma of disability. We never discussed it, though. Would we, had they had a copy of Owning It to hand? I can’t say. But I’d have been glad to know they understood.
How would you like this book to be used in schools?
James: We’re putting together teaching notes with Katie Renker, a young disabled teacher up in Scotland. There’s so much in here for teachers to use: various aspects of disability, of course, but also the art of autobiography. Twenty-two different ways to tell your own story – a story no one but you can tell…
Oh, and we hope teachers will enjoy reading it, too. They don’t always come out of these stories with flying colours. But as Katie says in her teaching notes, having disabled children in your class gives you the chance to be an ally, instead of a traumatic memory!
Are there any plans for volume two?
Jen: I think we all need a rest first! It’s been a lot of hard work, but we wouldn’t say no… ask us again in a year or two.
James: Owning It 2, our messy disabled adolescences… That really would be an exercise in trust!
Dr Rebecca Butler writes, lectures and tutors on children’s literature and is a regular reviewer for Books for Keeps. She is also an active member of the IBBY UK committee.
Owning It, Our disabled childhoods, edited by James Catchpole, Lucy Catchpole and Jen Campbell, illustrated by Sophie Kamlish, is published by Faber & Faber, 978-0571380022, £12.99 pbk.
