In his book, “Moonwalking with Einstein,” Joshua Foer delves into the science of human memory. He unpacks the inner workings of the brain, providing valuable insights into how we encode, store, and retrieve information. Foer take the reader on a captivating journey through the realms of memory with an exploration of the science of human memory and what makes events memorable, an account of the author’s personal participation in memory competitions (from zero to hero?), the evolution of memory as a scholastic endeavor (how was knowledge passed before the written word?), in addition to examining case studies of individuals with extraordinary and impaired memories (would you rather remember everything or not be able to remember at all?). Foer’s narrative combines a comprehensive history and scientific understanding of the world of memory set against an existing first-person foray into the sub-culture of memory training and competition. This book is not a self-help book on how to improve your memory—it is much more tantalizing story than that.
Most people’s lives are boring. They revolve around a cyclical story involving cubicles, coffee, cheerleading practice, and the latest courtroom drama on Netflix. Because your life is unmemorable, for lack of a better term, your memories can tend to blend together—or disappear outright. One of the central tenets of memory, according to Foer, is making the mundane become memorable. Your mind is an efficient machine, always looking for ways to streamline internal processes to maximize your reasoning, logic, and creative efforts. Let’s do a memory engine check: think of what you had for breakfast today, is it easy to recall? Now think of what you had for breakfast three days ago, can you picture the dish? Better yet, can you reiterate the first sentence of this paragraph? Probably not. The trick to encoding a key piece of information into your brain is to make it exciting. Make it worth remembering. Use your imagination and creativity to take something commonplace, like a grocery list, and turn “eggs, pickles, and laundry” into the spectacular—envision a cart of eggs come to life, decked out as characters from Harry Potter, battling the evil Pickle-mort against a cascading background of dirty laundry. Ridiculous? Certainly. Memorable? You ‘betcha.
I, like everyone, enjoy a story well-told, better yet—I enjoy a firsthand account of an experience. I don’t want a simple historical recount of an event that happened to someone else, I want to hear about something that happened to you: a story where you weren’t simply a casual observer, but an active participant in the action. An author’s decision to jump right into the thick of action adds substantial accountability to a story. I can write a short story about skydiving, or recount a history of the hobby—but wouldn’t you rather hear about the deafening fear in my heart as I sit in the back of a single-engine plane, biding my time before I step off into the abyss? Praying to the Lord Almighty that I don’t end up as cautionary tale for use by the next crop of skydiving safety instructors? In the same vein of “The Biggest Bluff” and “The Comfort Crisis,” Foer does just that. After witnessing a memory competition firsthand, he asks the question can an average person train hard enough to compete—and possibly even win—a memory competition? The narrative of “Moonwalking with Einstein” is set against the author’s efforts in deliberate practice to expand his ability to memorize a variety of different things: multiple decks of playing cards, random digits and words, and even full-length poems. His work culminates in his entry into the USA Memory Championships, where he competes head-to-head with professional mental athletes—his progress and ultimate placing might surprise you.
Foer spends a great deal of time detailing what life was like before books, weaving together a history of writing, books, storytelling, and cultural hertiage. Before the written word, knowledge was transmitted through oral traditions, from person to person. Take a moment and think about the volumes of all information that are needed to preserve the traditions, folkways, and mores of a culture: poems, histories, religious texts—all cultural narratives needed to be memorized and passed down from one generation to the next. This forced the collective act of memorization to become a formal area of study in itself, with storytellers and bards acting as the torchbearers of knowledge, wisdom, and history. The classical study of memory played a crucial role in the protection of cultural integrity, as memory techniques were essential for maintaining the accuracy of the stories being passed down. Memory training was considered a crucial component of an education—on par with grammar, logic, and rhetoric among other subjects. But human memory is prone to change and error. We all can name that one friend that has a great story—that changes slightly every time it is told: are they actively deciding to embellish the story, or is it a symptom of the fragility of memory? In order to remember such a large amount of information, scholars would simplify a story into its base elements, adding stylistic language as needed to brand the most important parts of a story. Foer discusses the ongoing analysis of Homer’s works (that might not have been even penned by Homer), which include formulaic storylines and odd character descriptions, likening them to thumbprints by a potter: material evidence of mnemonic aids that helped an author better remember the essence and theme of a story. By creating unique characters set against a recurring narrative, a poet would greatly decrease the cognitive difficulty and effort required to remember an extensive manuscript like the Iliad and the Odyssey, as two prime examples.
In “Moonwalking with Einstein,” Foer introduces readers to two unforgettable case studies: “S”, a man with a seemingly unflappable memory, and “EP”, an individual with debilitating amnesia, not able to form new memories or recall old memories—except for those before 1950. The question remains: would it better to be able to remember everything or not able to remember anything at all? The author presents the first case of S, a man introduced to us working as a reporter—who never seem to pay attention or take notes during weekly meetings, to the ire of his boss. Fed up after another apparent wasted briefing, S’s boss confronts his employee about his careless attitude about his work—and is astounded when S recalls every morsel of information spoken during the previous hour, word for word. The gift of a perfect memory is not as alluring as it seems. S is able to remember huge parcels of ingested information and recall at will, but this ability does not come without a price: swimming in mounds of data, S is unable to prioritize the thoughts, ideas, and facts he is taking in. Without a filter, S cannot separate the important from the benign—he simply remembers too much.
EP does not share the same problem. EP’s story begins when he contracts viral encephalitis, which results in severe damage to his brain, specifically the hippocampus—an area crucial for the formation of new memories. Because of this brain injury, EP is left with a duality of misfortune: he cannot remember anything except for events from his distant past (just after WWII), and he cannot form new memories—all of his thoughts persist in his mind only for a few fleeting minutes. Is this a curse or a gift? EP is in a constant upbeat, positive mood: there are no memories present of lost loved ones, marital fights, or past due bills. There are no memories of the past decades at all. No reflecting on his wedding or the years of happiness shared with his wife. Upon hearing of his grandchildren being born he tears up, minutes later confused and not able to recall why his eyes are now red and swollen. Must be allergies this time of year. All in all, EP’s story is tragic, leaving the reader to wonder what it would be like if your brain, the camcorder, was left running—with no tape inserted.
In “Moonwalking with Einstein,” Joshua Foer masterfully weaves these themes into a rich and enlightening narrative built upon his personal transformation into a professional mental athlete. He takes readers on a voyage through the worlds of memory and cognition, demonstrating that memory isn’t a static ability but a dynamic skill that can be cultivated and honed. Will this newly developed “memory muscle” result in scholastic, professional, or intelligence gains? That is question if open to debate. So—who is this book for? I would say anyone who enjoys a well-written story where the author inserts themselves directly into the fire would benefit from reading this book. Anyone interested in cognitive science, anthropology, and history would enjoy the story as well. If you have ever pondered what life was like before the invention of the written word, or how civilizations maintained their culture heritage and traditions in the past, buy this book. It is full of plenty of scientific background about the science of memory, without becoming bogged down or too complicated for the layperson to understand and appreciate. The book is packed with an unforgettable cast of characters: the interesting sub-culture of mental athletes, classical proponents of the study of memory, charlatans and stewards that have attempted to profit on selling memory enhancement techniques, and fascinating case studies about true savants with photographic memories—and those who cannot remember at all. There is simply no way that one reads this book and does not come away with an enjoyable experience. You really have nothing left… wait…
What was I just talking about?