‘Disability Intimacy’ starts a vital conversation
Tbelong? How about love and care? These are the questions at the heart of “Disability Intimacy,” a new book of essays and ephemera collected by San Francisco activist Alice Wong, and the answers are painfully obvious: Those human experiences are for everyone. What’s less obvious to many, and acutely painful to some of us, is that those questions needed to be asked and answered. This book needed to exist.
It is a long-standing and unfortunate truth that disabled people often are seen as undesirable and even as unable to experience desire, love or care in the ways that all individuals do. As disabled people we understand how false that notion is and how harmful it can be. Giving and receiving love — physically or verbally, in a context of romance, sex, close friendship or family bonds — is as much our right to experience as anyone else’s, and our stories of intimate connections and losses are worth telling as much as anyone else’s. So I commend Wong and the collection’s 40 contributors for taking on this topic.
“Disability Intimacy” is not an extended lament. Many of its standouts are downright celebratory, as well as lessons in engaging storytelling. “The Last Walk” by Melissa Hung explores the grief of losing a beloved friend while simultaneously cherishing their last moments together and the sling bag that became a physical memory of her friend Judy. In “Hi, Are You Single?” by Ryan J. Haddad, one of the standout poems in the collection, Haddad explores the messy, awkward and welcome way a hookup can support their collective desire for pleasure.
Having contributed to and read Wong’s anthology from 2020, “Disability Visibility,” I thought I knew what I was getting into, but the two collections are quite different. It was disappointing to come away from “Intimacy” without a theme as clear as that of “Visibility,” perhaps in part reflecting the older collection’s more straightforward subject matter. Love is complicated. And 40 contributors is a lot.
As one of the first of its kind to attempt what it is attempting, “Disability Intimacy” has the unfair expectation to be everything for everyone, to answer the question of desirability for an entire community that is not monolithic. Wong refuses to shut out the “other” in favor of the conventionally digestible. This collection shines in its entries that take big swings, discussing topics such as BDSM, queer love and intergenerational relationships — and even laziness, a concept that one essay reclaims and celebrates as a purposeful act of rest, epitomized by the love between a father and son who connect over turning out the light and climbing in bed to take naps. In these pieces, the authors seem to be living as unapologetically on the page as they do in life.
Tucked among the essays, readers will be delighted to also discover poems and even a conversation between two disabled people of color about redefining intimacy for themselves, ableism and what they refuse to call intimacy. It’s a refreshing and effective shakeup of the anthology form. It’s also a lot to take in.
I had to reread certain sections as some of the points got lost along the way, and sometimes I found myself mentally rearranging the book because entries felt misplaced. Although many of the pieces could have been shorter, none should have been left out. Might the cause have been better served with these many entries divided between two volumes? This could have encouraged the reader to sit with the thoughts and feelings that come up rather than rushing onward.
There is often a lot of pressure placed on books of this kind that amplify marginalized voices or tackle taboo topics, but remember: Sometimes a book does the world a service not because it is full of answers but simply because it raises questions and starts conversations.
In the end, what we readers ask of ourselves is what counts. Whom do we allow ourselves to desire, and why? Toward whose stories do we gravitate, and whom do we leave in the margins? How will we expand our own worldview?