Caro
Dead Batteries
Dead Batteries looks like a post apocalyptic survival story on the surface, but it's really about one mother and her autistic, nonverbal son trying to hold their tiny routine together after a virus wipes out almost everyone. May and Davis live in an abandoned library, and the whole world has narrowed down to scavenging batteries for Davis's old Game Boy. That little lifeline carries so much weight, and Maupin clearly writes it from the inside.
What stayed with me is how honestly the book shows the labor of caring for a kid who can't speak for himself. The mental load, the physical exhaustion, the constant scanning for the next meltdown, none of it ever lets up. As someone neurodivergent myself I found a lot of it painfully familiar, even though Davis's needs are nothing like mine. May carries something that would flatten most people, and the book never turns her into a lesson or a tragedy. She just gets to be tired and scared and fiercely loving.
My one real gripe is that the middle drags. Once Bird turns up with his proposition the pacing slows to a crawl, and that same exhaustion that makes the book powerful starts to feel repetitive on the page. A few things get implied rather than explained too, so I reread some passages and still wasn't sure what happened. The ending won me back though, and it's surprisingly tender. Four stars, and I'll be thinking about May for a while.
Dead Batteries looks like a post apocalyptic survival story on the surface, but it's really about one mother and her autistic, nonverbal son trying to hold their tiny routine together after a virus wipes out almost everyone. May and Davis live in an abandoned library, and the whole world has narrowed down to scavenging batteries for Davis's old Game Boy. That little lifeline carries so much weight, and Maupin clearly writes it from the inside.
What stayed with me is how honestly the book shows the labor of caring for a kid who can't speak for himself. The mental load, the physical exhaustion, the constant scanning for the next meltdown, none of it ever lets up. As someone neurodivergent myself I found a lot of it painfully familiar, even though Davis's needs are nothing like mine. May carries something that would flatten most people, and the book never turns her into a lesson or a tragedy. She just gets to be tired and scared and fiercely loving.
My one real gripe is that the middle drags. Once Bird turns up with his proposition the pacing slows to a crawl, and that same exhaustion that makes the book powerful starts to feel repetitive on the page. A few things get implied rather than explained too, so I reread some passages and still wasn't sure what happened. The ending won me back though, and it's surprisingly tender. Four stars, and I'll be thinking about May for a while.