Transcript
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Narrator (0:16)
Rest of the story Once upon a time, there was a man who remembered everything. A Russian journalist named S.V. shereshevsky. It was his editor who noticed first, who once even admonished his reporter for not taking notes on his assignments, but then learned that notes were completely unnecessary for the young man. It was in the 1920s that Shereshevsky came to renowned psychologist Alexander Luria to be tested, and Lauria was dumbstruck. In fact, he would continue studying Shereshevsky's remarkable memory for the next three decades. And much of what he discovered, well, it was just unbelievable. For instance, he, Shereshevsky, could memorize a list of words. A list of any length, could memorize it instantly, and then recall it perfectly 16 years later. They're not just words, numbers, images, nonsense, syllables, anything. You know, many people memorize names and lists and long numbers and so forth using tricks, learnable gimmicks. But Shereshevsky, he was a natural just absorbed information, everything naturally, without thinking about it. He was also a synesthete. That means he could not merely see or hear or smell or taste or touch. If he did one, he would somehow experience all of them together. To him, the visual image of a fence might taste salty and feel rough and even make a piercing sound. Someone's voice might sound yellow and crumbly, while that of another could send black flecks swarming before his mind's eye. And yes, of course, that presented occasional problems. For instance, he could not comfortably read and eat at the same time, because the taste of the food would drown out the meaning of the words. But his inborn memory system worked, reported psychologist Alexander Luria. It was impossible to establish a limit to the capacity or the duration of his memory, or to find any indications that his memory traces were extinguished over the course of time. And so powerful was his imagination that he could even control his pulse rate simply by envisioning himself running. Or he could alter his body temperature at will just by picturing an ice cube in the palm of his hand. But there was one thing Shereshevsky's brilliant mind could not accomplish, something that quite nearly drove him mad. And by now you ought to have guessed what that was. You see, the good news was that Shereshevsky remembered everything. But the bad news was that Shereshevsky remembered everything. And try as he might, he couldn't undo it. He would take the numbers he'd memorized and he'd write them down on pieces of paper, and then he'd. He'd burn the paper in the fireplace, only to see the numbers hovering over the embers. So an imperfect memory is a blessing as well, something Keats called forgetfulness divine. Because S.B. shereshevsky could remember anything. Problem was, there was nothing he could forget. A haunted genius, history calls him. And that was so. Only now you know the rest of the story.
