“Usually people look at you when they’re talking to you. I know that they’re working out what I’m thinking, but I can’t tell what they’re thinking. It is like being in a room with a one-way mirror in a spy film.” – Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (p. 22)
The process of mind-reading—and often its lack—plays a fundamental role in Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. One of the most important means of mind-reading, of course, is achieved by observation. In conversation, this can be most effectively achieved by eye contact. As discussed by Bailenson in “The Virtual Laboratory,” another component essential to communication is mimicry of nonverbal movements. Eye contact can, and must, be classified in this category.
At many key points in Haddon’s novel, implied eye contact—or, again, its lack—has a vital influence on the mind-reading capabilities of the characters, primarily Christopher. Early in the novel, Christopher quite clearly spells out his deficiencies in eye contact-related mind-reading, as seen in the excerpted passage above. He goes on to say, “But this was nice, having Father speak to me but not look at me” (23). Only when neither party is engaged in eye contact does Christopher feel on even footing.
More frequently, Christopher’s aversion of eye contact—or perhaps his inability to mind read even in this context—results in miscommunications. For instance, when he is speaking with his mother and a policeman about living with her, Haddon gives us the following exchange:
And then he said, “Do you want to go back to Swindon to your father or do you want to stay here?”
And I said, “I want to stay here.”
And he said, “And how do you feel about that?”
And I said, “I want to stay here.”
“And the policeman said, “Hang on. I’m asking your mother.” (195)
The ambiguous “you” in that third line, meant for Christopher’s mother, was misinterpreted, most likely due to Christopher’s failure to perceive a shift in the policeman’s gaze. Christopher’s inability to recognize this key signal sets him up for a mistake.
Bailenson describes a study in which subjects were presented with agents that either mimicked their motions or did not, with results that indicated the importance of mimicry in social situations: “The participants rated mimicking agents as more persuasive than the other agents, but also rated them as more credible, trustworthy, and intelligent.” This correlation likely holds true for a character like Christopher. His insufficient mind-reading toolkit strikes a double blow: not only is he handicapped in his ability to discern the emotions of others by their facial expression or nonverbal movements, but he also alienates himself by failing to engage in mutual mind-reading interactions such as eye contact.
This has severe implications for his fate in the novel, setting him up for many challenges that a typical person would never encounter. Haddon renders these moments of miscommunication with the sparest detail, and yet makes their ramifications glaringly obvious. The relationship can be carried beyond the novel as well. People with autism spectrum disorders—or, even in the absence of a diagnosis, people with trouble maintaining eye contact and other such gestures—are at a double disadvantage. The implications of this may point toward, if nothing else, a necessary push for awareness and empathy; we may be hard-wired to prefer eye contact, but understanding and accepting those who don’t is the first step toward inviting them into a previously inaccessible social world.
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