Memory Theatre isn't like much I've ever read. Somewhere between a short story and a novella, it tells the tale of the author, or perhaps someone like him. A philosophy professor, gifted, or accidentally left, several boxes by the death of an old friend, each containing wonderful manuscripts and items related to his craft, including star charts for many eminent philosophers, those who had changed their field for the better. Oh, and several works relating to the concepts of memory theaters and palaces.
You might be familiar with the idea of memory theater from the most recent season of the BBC's Sherlock, or from a book at some point or another, or a play. They occur time and again in fiction, and the conceit is always the same. Take a house. Place objects within it, and remember the location as a kind of spatial puzzle. In remembering the location, recall the object. Behold, a miracle of modern memorization, wherein life becomes easy, simply by placing everything you wish to know in your childhood home, or your first apartment. Or, in the case of the men of the Italian renaissance, a theater, specifically built to show Plato's theories to the world, and filled with sculptures detailing the various disciplines and marches of history. And, being a proper philosopher, fill that memory theater with philosophy, in an attempt to achieve the Hegelian ideal at the moment of your death, and know everything, and in doing so ascend to godhood.
What follows, of course, is Crichley's attempts to inhabit his memory theater, aided by the strangest star chart that he finds, his own.
The whole book moves far too quickly, both beautiful and haunting. The prose is short and effective, and honestly, it is the easiest, most troubling read I think I have ever experienced. I currently question the point of my memory, the goals of my own retained sanity, and whether or not I could make the same choices. And if so, how would they shape me? Memory is a funny thing, and the concept of memory theater could be one of two – the rewatching of old memories, a la black mirror, or a theater in your mind a memorization aid, as shown here. Both are haunting and ominous. What, even, is the difference? Surely, watching an object in a specific location is just an atemporal memory. But can a memory be atomporal, not a memory of a time or place? Surely, this is what memorized facts are, but they also come to light in specific moments.
Anyway, this digression aside, take a chance on the book. It will make you think. And if it doesn't, it's still only 69 pages. Hardly a risk at all. ( )