Tag: place
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There is something I keep coming back to when I think about memoir. It is this: the places in our lives do not just contain our stories. They are part of the stories. They become the architecture of who we are, long after we have left them behind.
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I have never walked through a door I could not see through. That sentence sounds strange until you realise what it means. Every door I have ever encountered exists only as language. And yet I know thousands of rooms – the kitchen that opened onto the living room, the bedroom…
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Why do memoir writers always start with the layout of childhood homes, and what does neuroscience reveal about the strange architecture of spatial memory?
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