Chock Full O' Whatever

I tend to fret over all that I do not remember. Though apparently not enough to do anything about it as evidenced by the neglected copy of How to Develop a Brilliant Memory Week by Week: 52 Proven Ways to Enhance Your Memory Skills. I quickly lost interest after deducing that the secret to improving memory involves, well, memory.

The book asserts that the potential to retain information is fairly constant. In other words, those who appear to have more innate ability to remember just have more tricks up their sleeve. So the question then is if we could remember more, why do we remember relatively little? Why do we remember what we remember?

Which brings me to my point (at last). Books trigger strong visceral memories for me. I have read thousands of books at this point, though don’t ask me what 95% of them were about (see above regarding my poor memory). But what I do tend to remember is the circumstances of my life at the time of reading. While I can’t say why books have this effect I thought it might be interesting to do a little memory experiment.

I selected three books randomly from my shelf, which has been culled quite dramatically over the years I’m afraid so it’s not a representative sample. I will now relate to you, dear readers, my associations with each and provide the first and last line of each (props to my Ex Libris crew).

In no particular order …

The Master and Margarita
by Mikhail Bulgakov

My sophmore year at a Cal State school (before transferring to UCLA), it was a book I read in my Russian Lit class. This “ironic parable on power” from the Soviet era left me a little baffled but in that way that things you don’t completely understand but like do when you’re 19. It was my favorite class during my early college days because it was completely abstract and intellectual in contrast with my otherwise unimaginative and all-too-concrete reality outside of school.

First line: “At the hour of sunset, on a hot spring day, two citizens appeared in the Patriarchs’ Pond Park.”

Last line: “So Margarita spoke, walking with the Master to their eternal home, and it seemed to the Master that Margarita’s words flowed like the flowing, whispering stream they had left behind.”

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep (Blade Runner)
by Philip K. Dick

Early days with G. We decided to start a mini book club. Clearly, we weren’t much in the mood for heavy fare. This book makes me think of the book store on Market – Books Inc – where we’d stop in on occasion. It makes me thing of our days in Duboce Triangle. Of course, our conclusions about the book itself (points for plot, not so good writing-wise) were virtually identical, so it also reminds me of what kindred spirits we were and are.

First line: “A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard.”

Last line: “And feeling better, fixed herself at last a cup of black, hot coffee.” (completely bad!)

Animal Farm
by George Orwell

This one because I just read it again. I don’t remember the actual circumstances of the first reading, but a bookplate placed carefully on the inside cover of this tattered thrift store paperback with my name in neat green felt tip screams high school. It’s just sort of touching to me that my younger self would have thought so highly of books and the ideas they contain to label even the lowliest edition.

First line: “Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes.”

Last line: “The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.”

So your turn. A book and a memory associated with it? Pronto!