James Halier Gardiner was imprisoned in solitary confinement for 5 years. In that time, he wrote 9 books (5 nonfiction, and 4 novels) committed to memory. His first 10 days out were spent typing, transcribing all nine books from memory and delivering them to his publisher. When asked about his time in prison, he remarked it was âproductive, but frustrating,â because while he re-read from memory every book heâd ever read and wrote 9 of his own (including 2 histories, 2 science books, and a chess treatise), he had forgotten some words of page 83 of Count of Monte Cristo which heâd intended to quote in the planned 10th book, an epic poem about prisons throughout history, the frustration of which led him to abandon it (though it did inspire his novel âThe Elephant and The Goldfish, which won a Pulitzer) and now that heâs out, he has "far too much to do to bother with such trifles". Though the entirety of his fortune had been confiscated upon his initial imprisonment, his publishing deal, combined with his considerable percent of their considerable sales, quickly leveraged into some public market trading and a small industrial factory, soon retrofitted with new assembly practices and machine innovations he says were inspired by his experiences in âthe canâ, within 18 months left his fortune at more than double the size it had been upon its initial confiscation, and 5x a year after that.
I do not know why the famously press-hostile Dr. Gardiner chose me to interview him, nor had I ever encountered him before nor had reason to think him familiar with my work. But upon accepting, and being flown and then helicoptered to his office for our 90 minute interview, I was surprised when he greeted me by asking me to sign a copy of my 14 year old poem, âThe Heartâs Deficitâ, written when I was in high school and published only in my rural townâs local school newspaper. âOne of the great works of our eraâ, said Gardiner, much to my befuddlement. âYour stuff since then has been just fine, but letâs see what we canât do to return that spark of genius which youâve since been coasting by cannibalizing as a tradesman. Perhaps you have the skill to tell a story of my greatness, and perhaps doing so just may reignite your own.â (While it humbles and embarrasses this author to include such details, I do so at the subjectâs insistence as a condition for the interview to follow.)
ââ
Okay, I am recording.
["Halier" (as he will ask me to call him) grimaces and looks at the recording device dismissively.]
Is that okay?
I am aware that some aspects of memory are genetic, and that in this regard I have likely been blessed, but as with athletics, one should only judge the limits of capability at their edges, and until one has worked for years and failed to enter the Olympics, it always strikes me as a kind of cowardice to avoid practice and achievement. As such, if you feel your mind is sufficiently handicapped as to the require the aid of such aâŚ. âdeviceâ, then I would request â no, stipulate as a condition of this interview, on your honor, that you will first attempt to transcribe the conversation from memory, and only then if needed refer back to the⌠recorder.
[Halier is famous for his memory, as noted above. But his seeming disgust with the alternative is news to me.]
Is this another part of your attempt to better me?
Ha. No. The presence of mind you will have to bring to this conversation to save it to memory when you know you will later be attempting to recall it, will itself improve you as a conversation partner and make richer the dialogue itself. I want your best, not for your sake, but my own. My time is expensive, and I am vain and easily bored.
[The author here notes that this piece is indeed recounted from memory -- though my editor did indeed refer back to the recording and make some, to my surprise minor, corrections.]
