Okay, I’ve downloaded and read this book now. It’s a whodunnit, and a fair discussion of Rowling’s attitudes to ME/CFS would be tricky without spoilers. So if you are keen on overlong detective novels, please read it yourself and ignore this post.
The co-creator of a cartoon series is murdered, and the suspects are all members of - or somehow connected to - the cartoon’s vocal fandom.
Several of the characters have disabilities or chronic illnesses. This partly serves to chart the hero’s evolving attitude to his own disability (by the end of the book, he has seemingly accepted the limits of stoicism), but also serves a plot purpose: we learn early on that the murderer is a carer.
Let’s look at these characters first, and then address the wider question of JKR’s attitude to PwME.
Inigo has ME, although his main symptoms alongside fatigue and wheelchair use (even indoors) seem more Parkinsonian: his illness is evidenced as real to the detectives when he spills his herbal tea all over himself. An overbearing, self-pitying and peevish domestic tyrant, his conversation and online output covers very S4ME themes, including the iniquity of graded exercise therapy and psychological diagnoses. His illness is portrayed as essentially real and not psychosomatic, although his rage at cruel fate is compared (through juxtaposition) with other, more stoical invalids.
Cormoran, for instance, the hero of the series, has part of a leg missing, but thumps gamely around London and uses mobility aids as little as possible. Like JKR’s most notable authorial proxy, Albus Dumbledore, he explicitly believes that it is one’s reactions to adversity that define one’s character, rather than the misfortune itself, and he has little sympathy for Inigo.
We don’t see much of Vikas, but he is a wheelchair-using cerebal palsy sufferer, who nevertheless has become a Cantabrigian astrophysicist. He is lauded by other characters for doggedly overcoming his disability.
Kea identifies as having CFS. The seriousness of her condition is suspiciously varied and perhaps selective: she runs away in awkward situations, sudden fatigue is cured with a glass of coke, and the explanation of “good days and bad days” is relayed with clear authorial snark.
Kea may just possibly be faking the whole thing: members of the fandom regularly pose as sufferers from chronic conditions in order to enter into dialogue with Inigo, whose wife is the cartoon creators’ agent. That would imply, though, that Kea is also deceiving her mother and primary carer. JKR leaves the matter open.
Kea’s online musings on illness and life are portrayed as mawkish, self-pitying and defensive. She posts that it is okay to use mobility aids without being advised to by a clinician: this is juxtaposed snidely with Cormoran’s avoidance of canes.
A member of the detective agency quits early on because he has MS and can no longer soldier on bravely. Another character’s mother has lupus.
The killer turns out to be Inigo’a put-upon son Gus, who suffers from hives, which he secretly excacerbates by eating unsuitable foods. Gus’s hives (alongside his virtuoso cello playing and his care for his father) initially serve as sympathy-inducing misdirection.
By contrast, Kea and Inigo are deeply unsympathetic characters from the start. That said, most of the characters are unlikeable - after all, this is a whodunnit, and JKR wants the reader to suspect all of them, at various points, of being the murderer.
JKR uses Kea’s possibly spurious illness and Inigo’s self-pity as indicators of potential villainy, but to be fair, she has a seemingly inexhaustible list of characteristics which she clearly regards as reprehensible. This eclectic list includes: dropping aitches, t-fronting or any other non-U diction; chewing noisily; exposed bosoms; shabby clothing; great wealth; having any interest in money; playing loud music; prolific social media output and spending time on the internet in general.
It’s a rather Daily Mail-ish mix of snobbery, inverted snobbery and anti-present nostalgia, which prejudices JKR seems to assume that her readers will share in full. It must be a huge relief for her to write for an audience of peers, rather than for the dewy-eyed children who morphed into the creepy adult Potter fandom which so clearly inspired much of this book.
Because fundamentally, what JKR hates isn’t PwME, it’s Internet People. Would she hate all of us? Undoubtedly. We’re on an online echo chamber of doom, complaining about reputable academics instead of somehow making the best of things. Like Kea, we write absurdities about “spoons” and may even list our comorbidities by way of online introduction.
And JKR has decided (understandably), to hate every aspect of microsocial platforms, especially the snap judgements and over-sharing of Twitter. Kea’s online activity is cast as risible, but then so is all online social communication.
I don’t think that JKR is good at writing about the Internet. She’s always had a tendency to write the dialogue of minor characters lazily and to lapse into parody, but this fault is much more glaring in the epistolary sequences of online communications. And it comes across as parodic, I suspect, because it has been lifted from quick scans of both primary online activity and secondary analysis. Her whiny ill people on Twitter are unsatisfactory for the same reason that her online pick-up-artists and Odinists are flimsily delineated: she doesn’t like them enough to put much work into them.