Thread by @Inadarkwood

Forty years ago today, Christy Brown died at the age of 49. He was the author of four novels, and three collections of poetry. Here is a thread on Brown, and what his work has meant to me as a disabled writer.

In his lifetime, Brown feared he would be remembered by My Left Foot, a book he published in his early twenties. By the time his bestselling debut novel, Down All the Days, appeared 16 years later, he called My Left Foot 'the bleating of a naive cripple.'

Today, the thing Brown feared so much in his life has come to pass. He's now remembered, if at all, for My Left Foot, a book that he regarded as apprentice work, and the subsequent film that's nothing but inspiration and pity porn.

All my life, Christy Brown has been a constant presence. He was often the only reference point people had for CP. Whenever I'd tell people I had CP, they would nearly always reply, 'like Christy Brown?'

Far from being an albatross, Brown's life and work have been a guiding light for me, as well as a warning about the ways disabled writers can be mistreated by the literary world, even in death.

When his debut novel appeared in 1970, John Banville wrote in the Irish Times that the book 'will surely stand beside Joyce.' Reportedly, after reading the novel Samuel Beckett said, 'what vitality!'

The novel was a bestseller. In one day alone, the publisher sold 1,500 copies. Brown wrote in a letter to his brother that he feared he was 'a literary freak, a one book man.' Here was the affirmation he needed. He was a writer, and not only that, but a great one.

Two more novels appeared in his lifetime, alongside three collections of poetry. A Collected Poems, alongside another novel, were published posthumously.

The response to his debut novel was ecstatic, but the ableist responses that Brown would get from critics for the rest of his life also began to appear. Time Magazine wrote, 'how he even manages to shift the key on his typewriter amazes me.'

Even from beyond the grave, Brown's work was belittled. Here is the headline of one review of his Collected Poems, 'Poems from a Left Foot.' All his life, Brown was infuriated that many critics focused on HOW he wrote, rather than focusing on WHAT he wrote.

At first, obituaries acknowledged Brown's literary achievement, with almost all the major paper obituaries remembering him as the author of the bestselling, critically acclaimed smash, Down All the Days. Then, just a handful of years later, Brown's legacy changed forever.

When My Left Foot, the movie, premiered, it ensured that the very thing Brown so despised would come to pass: My Left Foot, a book he effectively disowned, would become his legacy. Of his seven books, only one is still in print. You guessed it: My Left Foot.

Even as a teenager, I sensed that there was more to Christy Brown than anyone was letting on. And so, book by book, I read every word he ever published. One of my most prized possessions is this, a signed edition of his first collection of poems.

Ever since, Brown has been a foundational writer for me, both due to the sheer panache of his words, and as a cautionary tale about the ways the literary world can mistreat and misrepresent disabled writers, even after they're gone.

I've written about Brown many times, but unfortunately no paper wanted to publish anything to commemorate his achievement on the fortieth anniversary of his death. I'm not going to lie, it is disappointing. If it's not about My Left Foot, editors don't want to know.

No twentieth-century disabled writer continues to be as wildly misrepresented as Christy Brown.

If you take nothing else away from this thread, let it be this: Christy Brown was so much more than My Left Foot. He was a genius, a word I don't use lightly, and a pioneer of disabled literature.

Because my tweet scheduling didn't go through when it was supposed to, I need to post a correction! Christy Brown died forty years ago, on the 7th September. But the gist of the thread still stands. I also want to mention that Brown was also a painter!

My Left Foot, the film, ends with Brown getting married and a happily ever after. But the truth is much sadder. Brown died after choking on a piece of lamb chop, and many of Brown's siblings believe that Brown died because his wife didn't watch him carefully enough during meals.

TW abuse

It was also found that Brown had significant bruises on his body, with all signs pointing to Brown's wife having been abusive. In his later years, Brown's frequent depressions worsened, and his alcoholism deepened.

In a poem, Brown wrote, 'god grant me this, when I die it will be under an Irish sky.' Brown didn't get his wish. He died in Somerset, isolated from his family and the country he adored.

One of the peculiarities with talking about Brown is that he's at once very well known, due to My Left Foot, but also profoundly unknown, as his best literary achievements are almost entirely forgotten.