The city of Urville occupies much of an island off the Côte d'Azur, between Cannes and St Tropez. Its population of 11,820,257 makes it the largest city in Europe. Never heard of it? No - because Urville exists only in the mind and art of its creator, Gilles Tréhin.
Gilles, 34, is autistic. When he was five, he began drawing in three dimensions, untaught. His mother, Chantal, says that he was classically autistic - speech first delayed, then echolalic, aloof from other children, hypersensitive to certain sounds (thunder, balloons, crackers and circus whips were all terrifying), obsessed with aeroplanes, phone numbers, mountains and unusual buildings to the exclusion of all else. "From 15 months, I knew he was different. But both Paul [Gilles' father] and I, even before Gilles' birth, liked people with different minds. So we always tried to see Gilles' good points, and help him make the most of them."
Chantal had been a maths teacher, and Paul worked for IBM. But their extraordinary son changed their lives, for the better, they feel. Chantal is now a psychologist, which she much prefers, and Paul is head of Autism: Europe. "And our daughter Anne-Marie, having built during her childhood an intimate and intuitive knowledge of autism, now works with autistic people," not due to pressure from them, the parents insist. As a family, the Tréhins have fully explored and accepted autism.
Urville arose from Gilles' childhood need to provide a setting for the Lego airport he built for his toy planes. The city, he realised, would be immense - far too big for Lego. Drawing was the solution. A book of Gilles' pencil drawings, with his own explanatory notes, was published in France in 2004; it's now available in English.
At first glance, the drawings reminded me of the autistic English artist Stephen Wiltshire. There's the same dizzying grasp of perspective and astonishingly intricate detail, but the approach is different. Wiltshire observes a building for a few moments, then recreates it from memory. Gilles (who has great respect for Wiltshire's work) draws entirely from his imagination.
As the mother of two autistic sons, I'm fascinated by the endlessly various ways in which the condition manifests itself. Autism is usually defined in terms of deficits or impairments - of communication, social interaction and imagination. Autistic strengths, such as the ability to systemise or to pay close attention to detail, are often overlooked. Not only is Gilles an accomplished draughtsman, he's also fluent in several languages and has musical and mathematical ability. Clearly, his intellectual strengths outshine his "deficits", but what about his communication and social skills? I was curious to find out whether he had developed compensatory strategies.
I flew to Nice to interview him. He met me at the airport - he knows the timetable by heart - looking studenty in jeans and a rugby shirt, his long hair in a pony tail. He greeted me with a handshake and a friendly smile; there's something subtly different about his eye contact, but this, and his particularity about dates and times, are the only immediate signs of autism. We drove along the bay. "Can you see Urville out there?" I asked, indicating the dazzling, empty sea. "Yes, definitely," he replied. Urville is real to Gilles.
Accompanied by Paul, we went to the flat Gilles shares with his girlfriend, Catherine Mouet, who is also an artist. Paul tactfully directs operations, wary that Gilles could go off on an obsessional tangent; Gilles admonishes his father when he feels he is being over-controlling. "Let Catherine say it for herself," he remonstrates, when Paul is showing me her art. Paul accepts the rebukes good-humouredly; he is obviously bursting with pride for the pair.
I'm intrigued by Catherine's role in Gilles' life: it's rare for an autistic person to form a long-lasting and satisfactory relationship. I can't imagine my sons being capable of it. Catherine is tiny and pretty; she's 35, but looks 20. Five years ago she discovered that she had Asperger's syndrome, a variant of autism. She says that the diagnosis was a relief. "It enabled me to understand what I've lived previous." (Her English isn't fluent, but it's better than my French.) Meeting Gilles, she says, was the best thing that ever happened to her. Communication between them is "easy, simple, without hidden meanings or ambiguities. We are not identical, but we are complementing each other."
Gilles and Catherine are a delightfully affectionate couple, solicitous of each other's welfare, hugely admiring of each other's art. Unlike Gilles, Catherine uses colour and a variety of materials. Her designs look fluid, but they are worked out on mathematical principles; for her, as for Gilles, concepts have a physical reality. "For me, mathematics isn't an abstract science, but on the contrary made of concrete objects that can be visualised. I physically feel these objects, as if they were parts of my body."
They spend 50 or 60 hours a week working together in the small flat in what feels like complete contentment. We joined Chantal in a nearby restaurant for lunch; as Gilles and Catherine held hands and cheerfully discussed their menu choices, Chantal told me, sotto voce, "This is a miracle for us."
The couple met on the internet. Catherine saw the Urville website and emailed Gilles to say she'd like to live there, specifically in Place des Tégartines, a tree-filled square built in 1882 by Hugues Pizerotto (1831-1907). Place des Tégartines is, of course, entirely imaginary, but in a sense Catherine has moved into Urville; she knows it almost as well as Gilles, and has made a series of artworks based on its topographical outline.
Catherine was diagnosed soon after meeting Gilles online. She suffered from chronic fatigue, the result, she believes, of struggling and failing to fit herself into the neurotypical world. Her mother, searching the internet for help for her daughter's ill-health, was by chance directed to Chantal Tréhin, who suggested Asperger's. This was confirmed by a psychiatrist, but, as Catherine says, Gilles is her best therapist. "He asked me the good questions to express clearly the details of what happened in my life."
Gilles was luckier than Catherine in that his autism was identified at age eight, when the Tréhins moved to the US. Both father and son regard the States as far ahead of France in recognising and accommodating autism. "The French education system is disastrous for us," says Gilles, "there's no tolerance." He's concerned about the rights of all "people with differences", as his father points out, there's a wheelchair-user in each of his drawings. He and Catherine speak at conferences, in the hope of improving understanding. "I'm always anxious of boring people," says Gilles, but, given his formidable talents and open and engaging manner, I think this unlikely.
Gilles hopes that his art "will enable me to make a living as a full member of society". Certainly, Urville will provide him with enough work to last a lifetime. He's working on a gigantic street map, translating his 3D drawings into 2D. He also wants to make a series of historical maps. History, he says, is the best way to know a city; he has traced Urville's evolution from its foundation by the Phoenicians in the 12th century BC to recent anti-Bush demonstrations.
Out-and-out fantasy doesn't interest him: Urville "has to be something that could be real". Yet the drawings are curiously timeless, swept clean of the detritus of human lives. The Lowryesque figures add visual rhythm but no sense of character. Gilles isn't interested in the personalities of his imaginary people. For him, history is about the emergence of civilisations through the impact of human activity. New York, which he also loves for its skyscrapers, is an especially fascinating example.
Most autists don't possess "savant" abilities - my sons certainly don't. But Gilles insists there will always be at least one area of relative strength. "There are no people without talents," he says. The talent supported by family and professionals can make inclusion in society a lot easier." He's excited about the benefits to both sides if neurotypicals can learn to accept and celebrate the "differently abled". "It is an historical chance which can make our society become more human." Gilles' altruism is surprising given that autists have difficulty with empathy, but, as Chantal says, "Gilles has kept surprising us all along his life."
Catherine and Gilles respect each other's need for solitude and silence. They manage housework and shopping unaided, but need help from Paul and Chantal when dealing with other people, because they find it hard to interpret intentions or know whom to trust. Catherine feels emotions "too strongly and at face value", she's confused by sarcasm or exaggeration.
It's rare, and exhilarating, to meet people who can explain so clearly, and through their art, what it means to be autistic. In the frustrating world of autism, Gilles is a success story. Much credit must go to his parents for their support and tolerance. "We have learned not to make plans for him, but to accompany his progress instead of mapping his life." I returned home fired with enthusiasm to work harder at understanding my own sons. Gilles and Catherine saw me off at the airport. When I turned to wave goodbye, they were on the down escalator, flinging their arms round each other, utterly absorbed in mutual delight.
· Urville, by Gilles Tréhin, is published by Jessica Kingsley. George & Sam: Autism in the Family, by Charlotte Moore, is published by Penguin
