Information about the book
Chapter One
I may have found a solution to the Wife Problem. As with so
many scientific c breakthroughs, the answer was obvious in
retrospect. But had it not been for a series of unscheduled
events, it is unlikely I would have discovered it.
The sequence was initiated by Gene insisting I give a lecture
on Asperger’s syndrome that he had previously agreed
to deliver himself. The timing was extremely annoying. The
preparation could be time- shared with lunch consumption,
but on the designated evening I had scheduled ninety- four
minutes to clean my bathroom. I was faced with a choice of
three options, none of them satisfactory.
1. Cleaning the bathroom after the lecture, resulting in
loss of sleep with a consequent reduction in mental
and physical performance.
2. Rescheduling the cleaning until the following Tuesday,
resulting in an eight- day period of compromised
bathroom hygiene and consequent risk of disease.
3. Refusing to deliver the lecture, resulting in damage
to my friendship with Gene.
I presented the dilemma to Gene, who, as usual, had an
alternative solution.
‘Don, I’ll pay for someone to clean your bathroom.’
I explained to Gene – again – that all cleaners, with the
possible exception of the Hungarian woman with the short
skirt, made errors. Short- skirt Woman, who had been Gene’s
cleaner, had disappeared following some problem with Gene
and Claudia.
‘I’ll give you Eva’s mobile number. Just don’t mention me.’
‘What if she asks? How can I answer without mentioning
you?’
‘Just say you’re contacting her because she’s the only
cleaner who does it properly. And if she mentions me, say
nothing.’
This was an excellent outcome, and an illustration of
Gene’s ability to find solutions to social problems. Eva would
enjoy having her competence recognised and might even
be suitable for a permanent role, which would free up
an average of three hundred and sixteen minutes per week in
my schedule.
Gene’s lecture problem had arisen because he had an
opportunity to have sex with a Chilean academic who was
visiting Melbourne for a conference. Gene has a project to
have sex with women of as many different nationalities as
possible. As a professor of psychology, he is extremely interested
in human sexual attraction, which he believes is largely
genetically determined.
This belief is consistent with Gene’s background as a geneticist.
Sixty- eight days after Gene hired me as a post- doctoral
researcher, he was promoted to head of the Psychology
Department, a highly controversial appointment that was
intended to establish the university as the Australian leader in
evolutionary psychology and increase its public profile.
During the time we worked concurrently in the Genetics
Department, we had numerous interesting discussions which
continued after his change of position. I would have been
satisfied with our relationship for this reason alone, but Gene
also invited me to dinner at his house and performed other
friendship rituals, resulting in a social relationship. His wife
Claudia, who is a clinical psychologist, is now also a friend.
Making a total of two.
Gene and Claudia tried for a while to assist me with the
Wife Problem. Unfortunately, their approach was based on
the traditional dating paradigm, which I had previously abandoned
on the basis that the probability of success did not
justify the effort and negative experiences. I am thirty- nine
years old, tall, fit and intelligent, with a relatively high status
and above- average income as an associate professor. Logically,
I should be attractive to a wide range of women. In the
animal kingdom, I would succeed in reproducing.
However, there is something about me that women find
unappealing. I have never found it easy to make friends, and
it seems that the deficiencies that caused this problem have
also affected my attempts at romantic relationships. The
Apricot Ice- cream Disaster is a good example.
Claudia had introduced me to one of her many friends.
Elizabeth was a highly intelligent computer scientist, with a
vision problem that had been corrected with glasses. I mention
the glasses because Claudia showed me a photograph,
and asked me if I was okay with them. An incredible question!
From a psychologist! In evaluating Elizabeth’s suitability
as a potential partner – someone to provide intellectual stimulation,
to share activities with, perhaps even to breed
with – Claudia’s first concern was my reaction to her choice
of glasses frames, which was probably not even her own but the result of advice from an optometrist. This is the world I have to live in. Then Claudia told me, as though it was a problem: ‘She has very firm ideas.’
‘Are they evidence- based?’
‘I guess so,’ Claudia said.
Perfect. She could have been describing me.
We met at a Thai restaurant. Restaurants are minefields for
the socially inept, and I was nervous as always in these situations.
But we got off to an excellent start when we both
arrived at exactly 7 . 00 p.m. as arranged. Poor synchronisation
is a huge waste of time.
We survived the meal without her criticising me for any
social errors. It is difficult to conduct a conversation while
wondering whether you are looking at the correct body part
but I locked on to her bespectacled eyes, as recommended by
Gene. This resulted in some inaccuracy in the eating process,
which she did not seem to notice. On the contrary, we had a
highly productive discussion about simulation algorithms.
She was so interesting! I could already see the possibility of a
permanent relationship.
The waiter brought the dessert menus and Elizabeth said,
‘I don’t like Asian desserts.’
This was almost certainly an unsound generalisation,
based on limited experience, and perhaps I should have recognised
it as a warning sign. But it provided me with an
opportunity for a creative suggestion.
‘We could get an ice- cream across the road.’
‘Great idea. As long as they’ve got apricot.’
I assessed that I was progressing well at this point, and
did not think the apricot preference would be a problem.
I was wrong. The ice- cream parlour had a vast selection
of flavours, but they had exhausted their supply of apricot.
I ordered a chocolate chilli and liquorice double cone
for myself and asked Elizabeth to nominate her second
preference.
‘If they haven’t got apricot, I’ll pass.’
I couldn’t believe it. All ice- cream tastes essentially the
same, due to chilling of the taste buds. This is especially true
of fruit flavours. I suggested mango.
‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
I explained the physiology of taste bud chilling in some
detail. I predicted that if I purchased a mango and a peach
ice- cream she would be incapable of differentiating. And, by
extension, either would be equivalent to apricot.
‘They’re completely different,’ she said. ‘If you can’t tell
mango from peach, that’s your problem.’
Now we had a simple objective disagreement that could
readily be resolved experimentally. I ordered a minimum size
ice- cream in each of the two flavours. But by the
time the serving person had prepared them, and I turned to
ask Elizabeth to close her eyes for the experiment, she had
gone. So much for ‘ evidence- based’. And for computer
‘scientist’.
Afterwards, Claudia advised me that I should have abandoned
the experiment prior to Elizabeth leaving. Obviously.
But at what point? Where was the signal? These are the subtleties
I fail to see. But I also fail to see why heightened
sensitivity to obscure cues about ice- cream flavours should
be a prerequisite for being someone’s partner. It seems reasonable
to assume that some women do not require this.
Unfortunately, the process of finding them is impossibly
inefficient. The Apricot Ice- cream Disaster had cost a whole
evening of my life, compensated for only by the information
about simulation algorithms.
Two lunchtimes were sufficient to research and prepare my
lecture on Asperger’s syndrome, without sacrificing nourishment,
thanks to the provision of Wi-Fi in the medical library
café. I had no previous knowledge of autism spectrum disorders,
as they were outside my specialty. The subject was
fascinating. It seemed appropriate to focus on the genetic
aspects of the syndrome, which might be unfamiliar to my
audience. Most diseases have some basis in our DNA , though
in many cases we have yet to discover it. My own work focuses
on genetic predisposition to cirrhosis of the liver. Much of
my working time is devoted to getting mice drunk.
Naturally, the books and research papers described the
symptoms of Asperger’s syndrome, and I formed a provisional
conclusion that most of these were simply variations
in human brain function that had been inappropriately medicalised
because they did not fit social norms – constructed
social norms – that reflected the most common human configurations rather than the full range. The lecture was scheduled for 7 . 00 p.m. at an innersuburban
school. I estimated the cycle ride at twelve minutes,
and allowed three minutes to boot my computer and connect
it to the projector.
I arrived on schedule at 6.57 p.m., having let Eva, the
short- skirted cleaner, into my apartment twenty- seven minutes
earlier. There were approximately twenty- five people
milling around the door and the front of the classroom, but
I immediately recognised Julie, the convenor, from Gene’s
description: ‘blonde with big tits’. In fact, her breasts were
probably no more than one and a half standard deviations
from the mean size for her body weight, and hardly a remarkable
identifying feature. It was more a question of elevation
and exposure, as a result of her choice of costume, which
seemed perfectly practical for a hot January evening.
I may have spent too long verifying her identity, as she
looked at me strangely.
‘You must be Julie,’ I said.
‘Can I help you?’
Good. A practical person. ‘Yes, direct me to the VGA
cable. Please.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You must be Professor Tillman. I’m so
glad you could make it.’
She extended her hand but I waved it away. ‘The VGA
cable, please. It’s 6 . 58 .’
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘We never start before 7 . 15 . Would you
like a coffee?’
Why do people value others’ time so little? Now we would
have the inevitable small talk. I could have spent fifteen minutes
at home practising aikido.
I had been focusing on Julie and the screen at the front of
the room. Now I looked around and realised that I had failed
to observe nineteen people. They were children, predominantly
male, sitting at desks. Presumably these were the victims
of Asperger’s syndrome. Almost all of the literature focuses
on children.
Despite their affliction, they were making better use of
their time than their parents, who were chattering aimlessly.
Most were operating portable computing devices. I guessed
their ages as between eight and thirteen. I hoped they had
been paying attention in their science classes, as my material
assumed a working knowledge of organic chemistry and the
structure of DNA .
I realised that I had failed to reply to the coffee question.
‘No.’
Unfortunately, because of the delay, Julie had forgotten
the question. ‘No coffee,’ I explained. ‘I never drink coffee
after 3 . 48 p.m. It interferes with sleep. Caffeine has a half- life
of three to four hours, so it’s irresponsible serving coffee at
7 . 00 p.m. unless people are planning to stay awake until after
midnight. Which doesn’t allow adequate sleep if they have a
conventional job.’ I was trying to make use of the waiting
time by offering practical advice, but it seemed that she preferred
to discuss trivia.
‘Is Gene all right?’ she asked. It was obviously a variant on
that most common of formulaic interactions, ‘How are you?’
‘He’s fine, thank you,’ I said, adapting the conventional
reply to the third- person form.
‘Oh. I thought he was ill.’
‘Gene is in excellent health except for being six kilograms
overweight. We went for a run this morning. He has a date
tonight, and he wouldn’t be able to go out if he was ill.’
Julie seemed unimpressed and, in reviewing the interaction
later, I realised that Gene must have lied to her about his
reason for not being present. This was presumably to protect
Julie from feeling that her lecture was unimportant to Gene
and to provide a justification for a less prestigious speaker
being sent as a substitute. It seems hardly possible to analyse
such a complex situation involving deceit and supposition of
another person’s emotional response, and then prepare your
own plausible lie, all while someone is waiting for you to
reply to a question. Yet that is exactly what people expect you
to be able to do.
Eventually, I set up my computer and we got started, eighteen
minutes late . I would need to speak forty- three per cent
faster to finish on schedule at 8 . 00 p.m. – a virtually impossible
performance goal. We were going to finish late, and my
schedule for the rest of the night would be thrown out.
Chapter Two
I had titled my talk Genetic Precursors to Autism Spectrum Disorders
and sourced some excellent diagrams of DNA structures.
I had only been speaking for nine minutes, a little faster than
usual to recover time, when Julie interrupted.
‘Professor Tillman. Most of us here are not scientists, so
you may need to be a little less technical.’ This sort of thing
is incredibly annoying. People can tell you the supposed characteristics
of a Gemini or a Taurus and will spend five days
watching a cricket match, but cannot find the interest or the
time to learn the basics of what they, as humans, are made
up of.
I continued with my presentation as I had prepared it. It
was too late to change and surely some of the audience were
informed enough to understand.
I was right. A hand went up, a male of about twelve.
‘You are saying that it is unlikely that there is a single genetic
marker, but rather that several genes are implicated and
the aggregate expression depends on the specific combination.
Affirmative?’
Exactly! ‘Plus environmental factors. The situation is
analogous to bipolar disorder, which –’
Julie interrupted again. ‘So, for us non- geniuses, I think
Professor Tillman is reminding us that Asperger’s is something
you’re born with. It’s nobody’s fault.’
I was horrified by the use of the word ‘fault’, with its negative
connotations, especially as it was being employed by
someone in authority. I abandoned my decision not to deviate
from the genetic issues. The matter had doubtless been
brewing in my subconscious, and the volume of my voice
may have increased as a result.
‘Fault! Asperger’s isn’t a fault. It’s a variant. It’s potentially
a major advantage. Asperger’s syndrome is associated
with organisation, focus, innovative thinking and rational
detachment.’
A woman at the rear of the room raised her hand. I was
focused on the argument now, and made a minor social error,
which I quickly corrected.
‘The fat woman – overweight woman – at the back?’
She paused and looked around the room, but then continued,
‘Rational detachment: is that a euphemism for lack of
emotion?’
‘Synonym,’ I replied. ‘Emotions can cause major problems.’
I decided it would be helpful to provide an example, drawing
on a story in which emotional behaviour would have led
to disastrous consequences.
‘Imagine,’ I said. ‘You’re hiding in a basement. The enemy
is searching for you and your friends. Everyone has to keep
totally quiet, but your baby is crying.’ I did an impression, as
Gene would, to make the story more convincing: ‘Waaaaa.’ I
paused dramatically. ‘You have a gun.’
Hands went up everywhere.
Julie jumped to her feet as I continued. ‘With a silencer.
They’re coming closer. They’re going to kill you all. What do
you do? The baby’s screaming –’
The kids couldn’t wait to share their answer. One called
out, ‘Shoot the baby,’ and soon they were all shouting, ‘Shoot
the baby, shoot the baby.’
The boy who had asked the genetics question called out,
‘Shoot the enemy ,’ and then another said, ‘Ambush them.’
The suggestions were coming rapidly.
‘Use the baby as bait.’
‘How many guns do we have?’
‘Cover its mouth.’
‘How long can it live without air?’
As I had expected, all the ideas came from the Asperger’s
‘suff erers’. The parents made no constructive suggestions;
some even tried to suppress their children’s creativity.
I raised my hands. ‘Time’s up. Excellent work. All the
rational solutions came from the aspies. Everyone else was
incapacitated by emotion.’
One boy called out, ‘Aspies rule!’ I had noted this abbreviation
in the literature, but it appeared to be new to the children.
They seemed to like it, and soon were standing on the chairs
and then the desks, punching the air and chanting ‘Aspies rule!’
in chorus. According to my reading, children with Asperger’s
syndrome frequently lack self- confidence in social situations.
Their success in problem- solving seemed to have provided a
temporary cure for this, but again their parents were failing to
provide positive feedback, shouting at them and in some cases
attempting to pull them down from the desks. Apparently they
were more concerned with adherence to social convention
than the progress their children were making.
I felt I had made my point effectively, and Julie did not
think we needed to continue with the genetics. The parents
appeared to be reflecting on what their children had learned
and left without interacting with me further. It was only
7.43 p.m. An excellent outcome. As I packed up my laptop, Julie burst out laughing.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I need a drink.’
I was not sure why she was sharing this information with
someone she had known for only forty- six minutes. I planned
to consume some alcohol myself when I arrived home but
saw no reason to inform Julie.
She continued, ‘You know, we never use that word. Aspies.
We don’t want them thinking it’s some sort of club.’ More
negative implications from someone who was presumably
paid to assist and encourage.
‘Like homosexuality?’ I said.
‘Touché,’ said Julie. ‘But it’s different. If they don’t change,
they’re not going to have real relationships – they’ll never
have partners.’ This was a reasonable argument, and one
that I could understand, given my own difficulties in that
sphere. But Julie changed the subject. ‘But you’re saying
there are things – useful things – they can do better than . . .
non- aspies? Besides killing babies.’
‘Of course.’ I wondered why someone involved in the
education of people with uncommon attributes was not
aware of the value of and market for such attributes. ‘There’s
a company in Denmark that recruits aspies for computer
applications testing.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Julie. ‘You’re really giving me a
diff erent perspective.’ She looked at me for a few moments.
‘Do you have time for a drink?’ And then she put her hand
on my shoulder.
I fl inched automatically. Definitely inappropriate contact.
If I had done that to a woman there would almost certainly
have been a problem, possibly a sexual harassment complaint
to the Dean, which could have consequences for my
career. Of course, no one was going to criticise her for it.
‘Unfortunately, I have other activities scheduled.’
‘No flexibility?’
‘Definitely not.’ Having succeeded in recovering lost time,
I was not about to throw my life into chaos again.
Before I met Gene and Claudia I had two other friends. The
first was my older sister. Although she was a mathematics
teacher, she had little interest in advances in the field. However,
she lived nearby and would visit twice weekly and
sometimes randomly. We would eat together and discuss
trivia, such as events in the lives of our relatives and social
interactions with our colleagues. Once a month, we drove to
Shepparton for Sunday dinner with our parents and brother.
She was single, probably as a result of being shy and not conventionally
attractive. Due to gross and inexcusable medical
incompetence, she is now dead.
The second friend was Daphne, whose friendship period
also overlapped with Gene and Claudia’s. She moved into the
apartment above mine after her husband entered a nursing
home, as a result of dementia. Due to knee failure, exacerbated
by obesity, she was unable to walk more than a few
steps, but she was highly intelligent and I began to visit her
regularly. She had no formal qualifications, having performed
a traditional female homemaker role. I considered this to be
an extreme waste of talent – particularly as her descendants
did not return the care. She was curious about my work, and
we initiated the Teach Daphne Genetics Project, which was
fascinating for both of us.
She began eating her dinner in my apartment on a regular
basis, as there are massive economies of scale in cooking one
meal for two people, rather than two separate meals. Each
Sunday at 3 . 00 p.m. we would visit her husband at the nursing
home, which was 7 . 3 kilometres away. I was able to
combine a 14 . 6 -kilometre walk pushing a wheelchair with
interesting conversation about genetics. I would read while
she spoke to her husband, whose level of comprehension
was difficult to determine but definitely low.
Daphne had been named after the plant that was flowering
at the time of her birth, on the twenty- eighth of August.
On each birthday, her husband would give her daphne
flowers, and she considered this a highly romantic action.
She complained that her approaching birthday would be the
first occasion in fifty- six years on which this symbolic act
would not be performed. The solution was obvious, and
when I wheeled her to my apartment for dinner on her
seventy- eighth birthday, I had purchased a quantity of the
flowers to give her.
She recognised the smell immediately and began crying. I
thought I had made a terrible error, but she explained that
her tears were a symptom of happiness. She was also
impressed by the chocolate cake that I had made, but not to
the same extent.
During the meal, she made an incredible statement: ‘Don,
you would make someone a wonderful husband.’
This was so contrary to my experiences of being rejected
by women that I was temporarily stunned. Then I presented
her with the facts – the history of my attempts to
find a partner, beginning with my assumption as a child that
I would grow up and get married and finishing with my
abandonment of the idea as the evidence grew that I was
unsuitable.
Her argument was simple: there’s someone for everyone.
Statistically, she was almost certainly correct. Unfortunately,
the probability that I would find such a person was vanishingly
small. But it created a disturbance in my brain, like a
mathematical problem that we know must have a solution.
For her next two birthdays, we repeated the flower ritual.
The results were not as dramatic as the first time, but I also
purchased gifts for her – books on genetics – and she seemed
very happy. She told me that her birthday had always been
her favourite day of the year. I understood that this view was
common in children, due to the gifts, but had not expected it
in an adult.
Ninety- three days after the third birthday dinner, we were
travelling to the nursing home, discussing a genetics paper
that Daphne had read the previous day, when it became
apparent that she had forgotten some significant points. It
was not the first time in recent weeks that her memory had
been faulty, and I immediately organised an assessment of
her cognitive functioning. The diagnosis was Alzheimer’s
disease.
Daphne’s intellectual capability deteriorated rapidly, and
we were soon unable to have our discussions about genetics.
But we continued our meals and walks to the nursing home.
Daphne now spoke primarily about her past, focusing on her
husband and family, and I was able to form a generalised
view of what married life could be like. She continued to
insist that I could find a compatible partner and enjoy the
high level of happiness that she had experienced in her own
life. Supplementary research confirmed that Daphne’s arguments
were supported by evidence: married men are happier
and live longer.
One day Daphne asked, ‘When will it be my birthday
again?’ and I realised that she had lost track of dates. I
decided that it would be acceptable to lie in order to maximise
her happiness. The problem was to source some daphne
out of season, but I had unexpected success. I was aware of
a geneticist who was working on altering and extending the
flowering of plants for commercial reasons. He was able to
supply my flower vendor with some daphne, and we had a
simulated birthday dinner. I repeated the procedure each
time Daphne asked about her birthday.
Eventually, it was necessary for Daphne to join her husband
at the nursing home, and, as her memory failed, we
celebrated her birthdays more often, until I was visiting her
daily. The flower vendor gave me a special loyalty card. I calculated
that Daphne had reached the age of two hundred
and seven, according to the number of birthdays, when she
stopped recognising me, and three hundred and nineteen
when she no longer responded to the daphne and I abandoned
the visits.
I did not expect to hear from Julie again. As usual, my
assumptions about human behaviour were wrong. Two days
after the lecture, at 3 . 37 p.m., my phone rang with an unfamiliar
number. Julie left a message asking me to call back, and I
deduced that I must have left something behind.
I was wrong again. She wanted to continue our discussion
of Asperger’s syndrome. I was pleased that my input had
been so influential. She suggested we meet over dinner,
which was not the ideal location for productive discussion,
but, as I usually eat dinner alone, it would be easy to schedule.
Background research was another matter.
‘What specific topics are you interested in?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I thought we could just talk generally . . .
get to know each other a bit.’
This sounded unfocused. ‘I need at least a broad indication
of the subject domain. What did I say that particularly
interested you?’
‘Oh . . . I guess the stuff about the computer testers in
Denmark.’
‘Computer applications testers.’ I would definitely need to
do some research. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘I was wondering how they found them. Most adults with
Asperger’s syndrome don’t know they have it.’
It was a good point. Interviewing random applicants
would be a highly inefficient way to detect a syndrome that
has an estimated prevalence of less than 0 . 3 per cent.
I ventured a guess. ‘I presume they use a questionnaire as
a preliminary filter.’ I had not even finished the sentence
when a light went on in my head – not literally, of course.
A questionnaire! Such an obvious solution. A purpose built,
scientifically valid instrument incorporating current
best practice to filter out the time wasters, the disorganised,
the ice- cream discriminators, the visual- harassment complainers,
the crystal gazers, the horoscope readers, the fashion
obsessives, the religious fanatics, the vegans, the sports
watchers, the creationists, the smokers, the scientifically illiterate,
the homeopaths, leaving, ideally, the perfect partner,
or, realistically, a manageable shortlist of candidates.
‘Don?’ It was Julie, still on the line. ‘When do you want to
get together?’
Things had changed. Priorities had shifted.
‘It’s not possible,’ I said. ‘My schedule is full.’
I was going to need all available time for the new project.
The Wife Project.
