Alice Jolly
Bloomsbury
Otago Daily Times, January 31st 2026
English writer Alice Jolly’s latest novel, The Matchbox Girl, is a powerful and moving story that shines a light on those whose pioneering contribution to our understanding of Autism has been overlooked.
It opens in1934 on the day of 12-year-old Adelheid Brunner’s admission to the Curative Education Ward at Vienna Children’s Hospital, armed with nothing but the notebooks where she writes, in her idiosyncratic vernacular, “all [her] Questions when they have become too Big for [Her] Brain”, her collection of matchbox covers, and her pet rat, Franz Joseph.
Specialising in the study of children with socially challenging conditions such as poor Mental Hygiene, Moral Degeneracy, and Psychopathic Neurosis, the ward’s medical staff are remarkably progressive; rather than provide a specific diagnosis, they regard each child as uniquely gifted and design individualised intervention to help them realise their full potential. Key personnel include Anni Weiss and Georg Frankl, whose research was later appropriated by Asperger and Kenner (the men credited with ‘discovering’ Autism), and Dr Joseph Feldner and Sister Viktorine, who believe in the giftedness of every child and work tirelessly to create “a caring home where the Doctors and Nurses and Children all live together”. And, of course, Dr A, in whom Adelheid, who is non-verbal and would today be described as Autistic, sees a kindred spirit: a “Man who understands Observations, Reports and the Proper Ordering of the World.”
Things start to change after German annexation, and the introduction of a Genetic Purity initiative places Dr A, the Ward’s medical director, under increasing pressure to direct his efforts towards the separation of “who can be Educated from those who cannot.” Although he initially resists the Nazi’s directives, Adelheid’s feelings toward him become increasingly conflicted as she finds evidence he has begun referring more severely affected children to a new hospital, Am Spiegelgrund, for an entirely different kind of research. Dr Feldner and Sister Viktorine, meanwhile, do their utmost to protect their vulnerable charges, creating a “Fortress of Friendship” in which she feels, at least temporarily, safe. But their resistance comes with dangers of its own.
Adelheid may not be able to speak, but she is far from is far from a silent witness and her narration is assured and distinctive. Dealing with stress by “[Concentrating] on Small Things which are Well Organised…[A] Way of Thinking is usually good for keeping things in their place”, she keeps meticulous written notes of everything she sees and hears because “One must be Properly Informed or how can one know What To Do?” These records, which form the core of the novel’s first-person, posthumous narrative, combine the articulate self-awareness of an adult with child-like innocence about what is unfolding around her to disconcerting effect. The fact that we understand more about the extent of the horrors being perpetrated around her than she does further adds to the tension. And, while Adelheid herself is fictional, most of the people and events depicted are true and based on extensive research.
Given current rhetoric around the Autism ‘epidemic’, Jolly’s re-presentation of an all-but-forgotten history is timely and illuminating.