In which the reader is invited to become sceptical, look into hard and soft science and consider whether dyslexia is benign or malignant.
It was ‘M’, many years ago, who started the scales falling from my eyes. Although diagnosed as ‘severely dyslexic’ at an internationally renowned dyslexia centre his progress in the weekly adult literacy class was rapid and solid. ‘M’ travelled faster than most.
After a few weeks he suddenly remarked 'It’s very odd!'
'What’s odd?' I asked.
'You’re the first teacher I’ve ever had who really expects progress and the odd thing is – that’s exactly what we’re getting!'
And then, 'You don’t believe I’ve got dyslexia any longer, do you?'
Well yes, it did seem odd that progress was so suddenly (and so easily) attainable after such a long history of consistent and effortful failure. And no, ‘M’ was clearly not dyslexic, if we take dyslexia to mean an innate neurological disability specifically disabling the learning and management of literacy.
What was going on?
Over the years since ‘M’ left tuition (for university and a degree) I have come to believe that dyslexia is much underestimated. I believe it is a malign and depressing diagnosis of a condition which probably doesn’t exist. I do not believe I am alone in this opinion, indeed I know I am not, but it is an opinion which needs to be defended, or explained, nonetheless, in a world in which dyslexia seems to be unquestioningly accepted everywhere and by everyone. This defence, or explanation, is what this chapter will be about.
The term ‘dyslexia’ is used, by most of us, very casually. We pick the word up lazily; without thought. We use it without properly defining it, or we define it in terms so broad as to be next to pointless. We apply the term even when we are perfectly well aware that we have no clear definition of it, or satisfactory explanation for it. When we discuss dyslexia it can be correspondingly difficult to see what, precisely, we are discussing, if anything. The word is commonly used to mean nothing more scientifically exact than a difficulty with written language which we do not understand, or perhaps do not care to understand. We tend to use the term to denote a problem with reading &/or writing &/or spelling (and sometimes much more besides) which appears to be inexplicable - especially where there appears to be a discrepancy with what we'd otherwise expect from a particular person. We find the discrepancy so peculiar, so personally threatening, so deeply and intimately offensive, that we are driven to believe, almost to hope, that there must be something constitutionally wrong with the victim; that the cause must be a specific neurological deficit, beyond blame, safely located among all the other medical conditions beginning with ‘dys-’. Are we, as we so often do in other contexts, blaming the victim in order to pass the buck?
There is an established, and very rewarding, dyslexia industry. There is considerable academic and commercial vested interest. There seem to be as many aetiologies for (causes for or origins of) dyslexia as there are researchers into it, give or take, and as many wonderfully special assessment methods, remedial schemes, dedicated schools and distinguished gurus as the market will carry. There are breathtaking illogicalities, inconsistencies and outrageous assumptions throughout the scientific literature and beyond. The media cheerfully mangle and distort. Fantastically various definitions and explanations tumble around each other. Weird and colourful creatures appear fleetingly through the muddied waters - are they fish, fowl or beast? Mostly, they rapidly disappear again. But none of this seems to bother us nearly enough.