Matt Lee does a great job in writing this memoir and thought everything worked with what I was hoping for from the description. I enjoyed going on this journey and how well Matt Lee does a great job in showing us this story.

This was one of the most eye-opening books I have read in a long time. Every time I took some extra time to sit down and read a little more of it it revealed to me something I didn’t know or hadn’t thought about. I was aware of the more heinous history of Nazi Germany’s eugenics. I was not aware of Frida Kahlo being disabled or the passage in the Bible that discussed anyone who is disabled not being able to take communion. Leviticus 21: 16-23. It’s something that brought great discussion and disbelief between me and my mom and my sister. They didn’t believe it was real until I pulled out the Bible that’s been sitting on our shelves reading the passage and watching the pure look of shock and denial cross both their face. The hilarity that ensued at the end of it at the mention of crushed testicles. My sister asking, “What are they going to do? Pull down your pants check if your testicles are crushed or not?” It was a very enlightening and funny moment for all of us.

Just that one piece of information had me thinking about how it mentions any broken bone or any affliction where your vision isn’t perfect and you can’t take communion. While modern Christianity doesn’t take that verse to heart it is very telling of why a lot of people who actually read the Bible and take every word as law can become horrible people.
Another big theme in this memoir is what truly makes a monster? As well as the connection to monstrosities being disfigured often in film to portray someone as evil. Even tiptoeing into the idea that maybe the treatment of those who are disfigured causes the trauma that makes them want to hurt others. Ultimately though, the message is that it is our actions that make monsters of us. Not the afflictions for our bodies.

I was truly fascinated to learn more about the history of disability and the stories of people making their choices in their lives to become monsters or not. The ideas of eugenics and the true horror that those who are able bodied can decide to rob the disabled from their lives just because they think that the disabled are a waste of space and resources. How even some who have been disabled share in the idea like Hellen Keller advocating for babies born with disabilities to be euthanized.
Sometimes reality is truly more monstrous than fiction.

I highly recommend “The Backwards Hand” it’s truly enlightening and a fascinating read.

"The Backwards Hand" isn't just a straightforward memoir— it plunges into the depths of disability, identity, mental health, and societal perceptions with unapologetic rawness. This book is a genuine and uncomfortable examination about how we view disabilities and those who live with them through equal parts memoir, historic reference, and pop culture. Through his life, relationships, studies, and eventually introduction of his son, Lee unveils to readers the trauma too often faced in disabled spaces further unearthing the potential of the pain one may endure, or inflict, on themselves and others. While this read packs a punch, Lee's writing style remains heavily fragmented— disfigured in its own way. This may not be for everyone at first, intentionally, but it presents an unfiltered portrayal of one's lived experiences and sparks needed conversations.

The cover of the book caught my eye immediately when first choosing to read this. It perfectly set the tone for what turned out to be an enlightening and authentic read as well as expounding on the monstrous theme. Not only those who perform monstrous acts, but how we become monsters ourselves.

One of the most impactful aspects of the memoir is Lee's exploration of disability through the lens of horror films and historical contexts. I found it fascinating to discover so many disabled historical figures and their need to hide their injuries or disabilities as well as their treatment of, and by others. In film & art Lee skillfully, and playfully, examines how disabled individuals are used to portray the darkest aspects of human nature or less than human, prompting us to question ingrained stereotypes and biases. Why are they the monsters in your movies? The thing that keeps you up at night? What is it you really fear….

What stood out to me most was Lee's dedication to highlighting the erasure of disabled individuals throughout history, including chilling references to programs like the T4 program used by the Nazis. He also briefly touches on the intersectionality of disability with factors like race, socioeconomic status, and access to resources, underscoring the multifaceted challenges faced by the disabled community and the families that care for them.

While I appreciated the historical research and Lee's inward approach, I found myself torn in other aspects while reading. Some parts of the book—particularly repetitive discussions around sex and relationships—felt somewhat redundant. Lee never denies his treatment of those around him, forcing the reader to expand our perspective on how we view him as a disabled man. He wasn’t the best guy, but he was a son, a brother, and now he’s a husband and a father. He is a man, he is human. He can cheat, he can lie, he can sleep around. People change, we shapeshift. We all have that superpower I guess. Did his disability stop him from dating? Did you assign him pity too early? I found this to be an interesting lesson in judging a book by its cover. I left seeing Lee’s interactions with women as an introspective exploration of his inner monstrous perception and inability to see himself as someone worthy of being loved. Although, through alternative lenses one could see his use of women, relationships, and sex to have control—something he often in his life, and the lives of many disabled people, don’t have, fight for, or is taken from them within their disability identity.

Settling up, "The Backwards Hand" is a compelling and thought-provoking memoir that invites readers to reconsider their perceptions of disability and reflect on broader societal issues. It's a book that will leave a lasting impact, urging us to break down the question whether we are born monsters or if society's gaze shapes us into what we fear the most.

A fascinating memoir that blends the authors lived experience with historical information and people. It is an emotional discussion on what it means to be disabled and what makes us monstrous, and if both sometimes mean the same thing. Overall I thoroughly enjoyed this memoir in both content and formatting.
I enjoyed the use of horror movies to explore disability, showing how prevalent disabled folk are used in them for fodder or as monsters. It helped the way disability is shown to not make anyone a saint and showing the reality that disabled people can be awful, even monstrous, too. I loved the inclusion of disabled figures and the details of how disabled folk were treated by Nazis, while emotional it goes towards showing how prevalent disgust and hatred towards disabled folk is. Kind of like a monster.
The only real gripe I have is that the name of a Stephen King character is wrong. I will admit that the format can be at times hard to follow and leans towards flowery poetry.
However the raw emotions it dug up in me and the genuine fascination I had more than make up for that. I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in disability history, horror movies fanatics, or enjoys a good memoir. I'm absolutely purchasing a copy as soon as possible!

The combination of horror, history, and disability representation was something that I didn't know I needed. This is a hell of a good one.

Let me start by saying that I love the cover on this book. It caught my eye. And the book itself kept me engaged all the way through. I will say that the writing style was initially off-putting because of the frequent change from memoir, to disability information, to stories of others who have disabilities and how they handled it. Once I figured out the rhythm, it got a bit easier to follow along. Matt’s journey from birth to adulthood is filed with bullying, self-deprecation, anger, loathing, self-destructive, and ultimately, acceptance. It gives outsiders a glimpse into the struggles of those born with being born as someone who is not considered “normal”, and how that can breed fear and pity in those around them. Matt also provides frightening truths about those who believed in the purity of the human race, and wished to discard and destroy anyone deemed inferior. And as he grappled with his place in the world, his overall bleak view is a gut punch for a society that still isn’t sure how to treat those with disabilities. You won’t find Matt’s journey pleasant-in fact, you made be disgusted with his actions most of the time-but he accepts what he did, who he hurt, and why. His point is you can be the monster they think you are, or you can embody the worth you possess, if you can believe yourself to be worthy.

It's like if the 4th step was also an annotated film bibliography.

The Backwards Hand is the author's memoir, running from his birth to the birth of his child. Its story focuses on his prodigal status and general caddish behaviors, maybe from untreated mental illness, but part of the author's conclusion here is that there is not a connection between his behavior and any condition (he has congenital radioulnar synotosis: the eponymous backwards hand).

In general, the book follows the spiritual autobiography, the sinners life then redeemed, though the specific road to Damascus moment is unclear, either encountering other disabled individuals in a tutoring job or working with a great professor in grad school. A lot of the book is dedicated to how many women the author fucked and how he abused them, but I suppose the point there is to challenge views on the disabled. As the book also tells us, the disabled are not allowed to be sexy.

See, the memoir is only about a fourth of the book. The other threads are about the history of disability and of disabled persons, a series of exegesis on art with disabled characters, and a set of commentary on any of the above. At best this gets used to set up meta-commentary on what ideas are grouped how. At worst I imagined them as a VH1-style pop-up, strategically occluding the drug use and soft-core nudity.

The book is at its best when the author is willing to be wholly contradictory in his positions, and unapologetically so. Answers are not clear and things are not easy. And there are moments of real sentiment. But getting to that requires getting through so much artifice that it does not feel like it is worth it. However, this also one of those books where I feel like it is promising for the author's future work, even if it is weak in and of itself. In particular, some of the notes on film felt like there was some growing idea not quite manifest. I remain on the hunt for a book that captures the feeling of the monstrous.

My thanks to the author, Matt Lee, for writing the book and to the publisher, Northwestern University Press, for making the ARC available to me.