Christopher Nolan was an Irish poet and author, son of Joseph and Bernadette Nolan. He grew up in Mullingar, Ireland, but later moved to Dublin to attend college. He was educated at the Central Remedial Clinic School, Mount Temple Comprehensive School and at Trinity College, Dublin. His first book was published when he was fifteen. He won the Whitbread Book Award, for his autobiography in 1988. He was also awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Letters in the UK, the medal of excellence from the United Nations Society of Writers, and a Person of the Year award in Ireland.
Due to birth complications, Nolan was born with cerebral palsy, and could only move his head and eyes. To write, Nolan used a special computer and keyboard; in order to help him type, his mother, Bernadette Nolan, held his head in her cupped hands while Christopher painstakingly picked out each word, letter by letter, with a pointer attached to his forehead. He communicated with others by moving his eyes, using a signal system.
Oddly perhaps Bono drew my attention to this amazing Irish poet, whose outpouring of love and vocabulary is simply mind-blowing. I loved his made up - yet totally right - words and his terrific positivity. You'll hear Miracle Drug in a different way after reading Christie's work.
I read this at the recommendation of my sister who is currently teaching a poetry and disabilities course. Christopher Nolan was born a paraplegic. They didn't figure out that he could communicate, wanted to communicate until he was eleven years old and was given a drug that loosened a muscle in his neck, his mother plopped a unicorn on his head, and he bent over and started typing. It is incredible the language that comes from a brain, a perfectly perfect working brain that happens to be housed in a completely unfunctional body. Because he had nothing but his brain, much like someone who loses their sense of hearing over-develops their sense of sight, he would play with language, with words like toys, coupling sounds and meanings in entertaining ways. Reading this collection I was acutely aware of the amount of effort that went into every single word. One word would take 15 minutes to type. One single word. Though all of these poems have such a peculiar and sad and euphorically freeing tone to them, "Lovely Months" struck me as particularly beautiful in which Nolan goes through each month of the year documenting his own realization of his condition and his struggle and joy to be able to finally communicate. He also wrote a play called Nobody. I must read that.
Brought to my attention by a friend who explained to me the story behind U2’s 2004 song “Miracle Drug,” Christopher Nolan was born a paraplegic, suffered from cerebral palsy, and was only able to communicate with his eyes using a signal system. That is, until the age of 10 when he was given a medication that sufficiently relaxed his muscles and allowed him to type using a wand attached to his head. What came pouring out of him nobody could have expected: a torrent of poetry, autobiography, plays, and prose that was, four years later, collected and published under the title “Dam-Burst of Dreams.”
Nolan’s writing is remarkable on many levels, from the sheer determination required to get the words down at all (it could take as long as 15 minutes to type a single word) to the maturity of the work itself (these do not read like the writings of a typical eleven-to-fourteen-year-old). Full of alliteration, mixed meanings, and, when vocabulary fails him, made-up words and self-built portmanteaus, the works are evocative, playful, euphonious, and intense in their bleakness and their beauty. I found it all interesting but did not find it all good. When Nolan’s writings worked for me, they really worked; when they failed me, they failed miserably. I most enjoyed his poetry and found his earliest works to be the most immediate. The brief autobiography which opens the book was moving, engaging, enlightening, and wholly original. The two short plays, written at the ages of 13 and 14, were, for me anyway, Nolan’s weakest material. While I understand and can appreciate their inclusion, the book, and my experience reading it, would have been greatly enhanced by their absence.
Like anything else, “Dam-Burst of Dreams” isn’t for everyone. But Hibernophiles, lovers of Yeats and Joyce, fans of U2 who want to gain a deeper understanding of and appreciation for “Miracle Drug,” and anyone who likes a story of triumph over adversity will find more than enough to savor in Christopher Nolan’s unlikely debut.
At the weaker moments in the book, it was easy to slip into to harsh judgment of Christy Nolan. Yet, I have to recall the crap I was writing when I was his age. It was certainly worse.
A eleven years old child writing poetry as a poet: Wonderful! But if you discover his life, you will understand that the word wonderful can not describe what this book is, what this human being is: Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim.