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The memory multiverse

Existential ruptures, familiar faces, and brain injury
Denielle ELLIOTT
Cet article est une traduction de :
La mémoire multivers

Résumé

As an ethnographic experiment, this paper considers the texture of temporality, reflecting on how we know what is real, unreal, a hallucination, a memory, a confabulation. The paper explores unusual sensory experiences associated with traumatic brain injuries, the seemingly irrational imaginings by seemingly rational beings. Jamais vu and déjà vu – sensory experiences associated with neurological disorders resulting from either injury or epilepsy – are mnemonic experiences, when the organic and psychic are indistinguishable. They are experienced as memory disorders, involving the play of time, blurring fantasy and reality. Readers are introduced to two characters – our narrator and her other self – and the polytemporality of brain injury. Here we see how these disorders are experienced by the narrator and her other self, confusing the mind, subverting space and time. The paper brings the anthropology of time, the social study of neurosciences, and sensory ethnography into one conversation, an imaginative ethnography that traces the affects and intensities of an injured mind.

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Texte intégral

“None of this is real and all of it is true.”
Jim Carrey

 “I represent to myself nothing but the molecular movements of cerebral substance.”
Henri Bergson,
Matter and Memory (1991 [1911], p. 9)

“It’s not enough to stick with empirical studies of apparently real things, for life is much more than that.”
Robert Desjarlais,
The Blind Man (2019, p. ix)

1It was hot and sweatily humid that night. A waning crescent moon was hidden by the dark thunder clouds that rolled in each evening from Uganda. It was darker than normal on the lakeside. I lay there in the umbra under the mosquito net and the papyrus reed roof listening to voices echoing off the lake, nighttime fishermen miles from shore collecting tiny Omena using the glimmer of paraffin lanterns to attract the fish. My old Nokia cell phone was my solitary night light as I messaged a friend back in Vancouver, halfway around the world – still daytime there. I loved those nights, too hot to sleep, the air still, save for the mosquitoes flying about, the little lizards scurrying along the walls, in and out of ceiling grass. I loved the darkness, how black the night was, no light pollution, gentle sounds. That was before Radio Lake Victoria at Osienala set up that blindingly bright security light. That was before Dunga Beach had power and the local hotel bar set up the speaker systems that blared Benga and Ohangla music all night long, with the bass turned up so you could feel the thud thud thud vibrate from half a mile away. That was before she appeared. This is a story about her. About her experiences with phantoms, delusions, memories, and ruptures in space-time.

  • 1 David Deutsch and Michael Lockwood, “The Quantum Physics of Time Travel”, Scientific American no.27 (...)
  • 2 Donna Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene, Durham, NC, Duke University (...)

2It was that hot, sticky, black night when there was a tear, a slight distortion, in the fabric of space-time, and she materialized to displace me, to replace me. Yet I remain, not with her, but left aside in another universe. There are two of me now. The me I imagine had the injury not happened; the me that she became. Not a past and present me; we exist in multiverses, different space-time planes. We exist the way in which quantum physicists explain how time travel might actually work should we ever discover “closed timelike curves.” “Physical reality consists of a collection of universes, sometimes called a multiverse … we too must exist in many copies, one for each universe.”1 Except in this version of multiverses, while her universe continues to scramble forward, my universe is stuck on repeat, as if I am trapped in a closed timelike curve, caught in time, forever 39 years old. We exist within a sort of polytemporality, like Haraway’s Terrapolis.2

  • 3 China Miéville, A City in the City, New York, Ballantine Books, 2010.
  • 4 Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. Nancy Margaret Paul & W. Scott Palmer, London, George Alle (...)

3We coexist. I see her clearly and thus I can tell you this story about her. Like Miéville’s “city in the city,” but neither of us can cross over to the other.3 But there is leakage, like a slow brain bleed. I appear as a vague memory to her, a confusing illusion, in the form of a delayed self-image; as Bergson argued, the self is itself a memory and “the past survives as a bodily habit.”4 I would like to think I am more than just a distant bodily echo to her, but, regardless, she does not recognize me except as a faint agitating whisper, a flash in her peripheral vision, a trace that lingers in her body. A shiver, a warm breath.

  • 5 Mario Blaser & Marisol de la Cadena, “Pluriverse: Proposals for a World of Many Worlds”, in Mario B (...)
  • 6 Robert Desjarlais, The Blind Man: A Phantasmography, New York, Fordham University Press, 2019, p. 8 (...)
  • 7 I take inspiration from Robert Desjarlais and Alan Klima, who both, in different ways, suggest in r (...)
  • 8 Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New Internation (...)

4And you, my reader? Like her, you may be unaware, or even sceptical, of the multiverses, but I ask you for this occasion to take heed of the ontological turn in anthropology and the conceptualization of the pluriverse.5 Consider this ethnographic story as what Robert Desjarlais has referred to as “a phantasmography, a writing of the flow and currents of phantasms,”6 or what might be best understood as a form of spectral realist ethnography, traveling between dreams, memories, and the strange and yet familiar.7 Might we re-envision ethnography as a means to open the imagination so that the distinctions between real and unreal, fictive and non-fictive, living and ghostly, in the lives we contemplate become blurred? Like Derrida’s “hauntology,”8 I ask you to suspend disbelief. I ask you to consider that a scholar might know her other self in another multiverse. I ask you to imagine time non-linearly. I ask you to embrace the phantasmagorical.

5This is a story about her and me, about memory, temporality, and perception. A story, too, about brain injuries, temporal lobe seizures, delusions, and déjà vu. She wouldn’t want to write this story, nor would she necessarily want me to write it, but I will anyway. That’s one of the differences between her and me: I am considerably braver, more daring, willing to take risks. She emerged, understandably so, a fearful, nervous, cautious version of me. I almost feel sorry for her, but she wouldn’t want that either. She works hard to hide her vulnerability, these new feelings and senses that she struggles to comprehend, and puts on a courageous front. She jumped right back on that horse after he threw her off, her raw nerves steadied with help from Pfizer and Sanofi-Aventis, pharmacological somethings.

  • 9 Details on that night and event can be found in: Denielle Elliott, “Staying in the Field: Living Ar (...)

6That dark night I was struck repeatedly with a hardwood runga, a type of weapon carried by certain men of particular ethnic groups in East Africa. While I lay there messaging Vancouver, the askari (the night watchman) came to the door reporting a hippopotamus in the garden. “Madam! Kiboko! Kiboko!” I hurried out into the blackness to help him scare the hippo back to the lake, hoping to save the local organic gardens tended by a few Luo men who had given up on fishing due to declining fish stocks. But there was no hippo. Perhaps it had already returned to the lake. I said good night to the askari, turned to retreat back to the house, expecting that the askari would return to his gate house, but instead I felt the force of the first blow to the head.9 In the momentsminuteshours that followed, the closed timelike curve opened up and, with it, another universe, another me. She emerged confused, bloodied and bruised, with a crushed skull and multiple subdural hematomas. Her glasses broken, blood in her eyes, dizzy, unfocused, confused. Today you would hardly know it to see her. She and I are almost identical except for the scar that runs along her hairline, along the temporal side of her head, ending at the right ear. You have to look closely to see it, but she can feel it, nerve damage from being cut once, twice, being stitched and stapled back together again. At work when she is feeling stressed you might see her lean over the table during a meeting, rubbing the indented, soft, taut stretched skin of the scar unconsciously. Her fingers follow it like a three-dimensional time map that leads her to then, an imaginary path back to me. Since that night, we both struggle with a sense of uncertainty of recognition, recollection, knowing, sometimes even selfhood.

7After the attack and injury, she sought medical help: neurologists, psychologists, cognitive counsellors, occupational therapists, experimental clinical trials, pharmacists. She grew frustrated and weary of their questions, their standardized assessments, their imaging, and their referrals. There were x-rays of her spinal column and limbs, CT scans and MRIs of her brain, assessment tools for sensory perception including vision tests and the Whispered Voice Test, analyses of motor function and balance, evaluations of the regulation of (inappropriate) social and sexual behavior, EEGs to measure her brain activity, examinations of her cognitive functions, and questionnaires for her post-injury adjustment. They asked her how she slept, if she was tired, if she had bad dreams. They asked her to pick up objects from the floor, to stand on one foot. On the neurology ward, she asked the psychologist how they could help her (she desperately needed help even though she knew she had had a remarkable recovery). The psychologist said he would refer her to the speech pathologist and occupational therapist. Wearily she asked, if he was having a difficult time understanding her. At another appointment at a brain injury clinic, after spending the morning completing more inane tests like counting backwards by three starting at 100, and identifying a rhinoceros, lion, and camel, she took her 30-minute lunch break and simply did not return. The man in the white lab coat called her mobile phone repeatedly in the following hour, but she just ignored it. She had lost her patience with the tests, the online assessments, and lack of solutions. It was then she realized, there was nothing they could actually do for her. Her brain was injured. Bruised, slow viscous blood that leaks. Healing created new pathways, new networks, and new possibilities. Her cognitive functions reorganized as her neurons healed and regenerated. You might say it was at that point that she realized she and I were no longer one. Caught in this other time-loop where she was injured, there was no going back.

  • 10 Allan Young, The Harmony of Illusions: Inventing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Princeton, NJ, Pri (...)

8Psychologists seemed intent on diagnosing her with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) even though she didn’t experience the prerequisite symptoms. Such a complicated clinical category, as many anthropologists have discussed over the years.10 Time after time, she was asked to recount the story of what happened, and they would ask, “But why did he do it?” It irked her, deeply. She thought psychologists ought to know better than to ask such a question, an unanswerable question that only added to her angst, guilt, shame, self-doubt. It was the one psychologist who didn’t ask the question whom she decided to continue seeing. She saw him weekly, working through the emotional rollercoaster, trying to understand herself why someone had tried to kill her and what it meant that she had escaped death. He told her that she most definitely did not have PTSD. She liked him, and not only because he agreed with her. She saw him weekly for about a year following her appearance in that parallel universe. She wasn’t supposed to drive because she had stopped the anti-seizure medicines early. The medicines made her feel confused, slow, tired, like wet cement, and it was impossible for her to escape a thick deep fog that made her feel fearful that she had permanent cognitive damage. Stopping the anti-seizure medicine, while a risk, was worth the lightness and the clarity it brought. She gave up driving and swimming temporarily, so she’d bicycle to the psychologist’s office along Broadway each week. She hadn’t had a seizure so the medicines were preventative, but the doctors warned her that she would be forever at risk of seizures. The seizures scared her, and she worked hard to avoid getting excessively tired or stressed, but she didn’t always have control over what life sent her way.

9Her biggest worry was that her mind would never be the same, synapses would fire slower, she would remember less. She could forgive the askari but she lived in fear that she would never be able to work again as a scholar, that she’d never fully understand the complex readings of Foucault the way she had, never enjoy Tolstoy again. Everyone around her seemed to focus on the brutal nature of the attack. She had survived that. The more pressing question haunting her was: could she survive the brain injury? Every stutter, every forgetful moment, every feeling of emotional fatigue, every intense light, loud noise, every time she got lost on streets she used to know – they all became foreboding signs that she might never be me again. She couldn’t.

10It became clear, perhaps more so for me watching her struggle through her recovery, that edges were blurred between neurology and psychology, sadness and depression, emotional and physiological. It was heartbreaking to observe but in the first six months she cried endlessly, at anything, anywhere, and often she could not stop. She reported to the various healthcare providers that she didn’t feel depressed – in fact, she was rather elated to be alive, to have survived, but she did feel sad. In a sense, she missed me, grieved the loss of me. She mourned the other universe, what might have been. Grief and clinical depression were two singular things for her, but healthcare professionals failed to understand the difference. Her doctor wanted to prescribe anti-depressants, but she refused (more fog!). Because the injury occurred during a violent attack, everyone was convinced her tears were a result of emotional trauma and suffering, but the worst of the damage was to both the frontal and temporal regions of her brain. Neuroscience defines the frontal lobe as the emotional control center and hers was bruised, swollen, and healing. How is it possible to distinguish between the emotional and the physiological in the case of such injuries? With time, the tears stopped, and she was able to get on with work. She experienced a host of other post-injury effects, but they were invisible, evanescent, hard to describe. Apparitions, confusion, ruptures in space-time.

11She made every effort to appear as me, as if what happened would not change someone, or in this case, engender another being. To admit that would have meant to admit “damage” or “disorder” or weakness. I watched her heroic efforts – returning to Kenya six months later to stay at the same house where the assault had occurred, continuing with the research, never admitting that she couldn’t sleep at night without the pills, or that she was deeply, utterly scared of being outside in the dark night, while for me the night and darkness brought peace and stillness. She made a valiant attempt at carrying on as I might have. And just as she had really become used to all the charades, she experienced something so perplexing, disturbing, and peculiar that it was almost unsayable. The first time it happened she was living in a new flat in a divided house on the east side of town, five years after the injury. She was getting close to her first sabbatical and so had moved into an upper floor of a small bungalow house, a short six-month lease so she could escape town. She specifically asked the landlord who the tenant living in the basement was, unwilling to rent the flat if it was a single man, nervous as she was about these things. “A single female who is a doctor,” the landlord replied. It turned out that the woman (not a doctor) lived there with her unemployed husband, who regularly abused his wife, assaulting her, degrading her. The house had not been properly renovated for multiple suites, so the sounds traveled easily through the house: screaming and yelling, glass breaking, walls being punched, or the woman being thrown into walls. She could hear the husband rudely belching. She called the police multiple times to report the assaults, each time the woman coming up to say thank you, and each time the man being released because the woman would not admit what had happened or press charges, each time the man then redirecting his rage at her living upstairs, whom he suspected had called the police. I was scared for both of them during those months.

12So began months of sleepless nights and increased stress levels that she could not control. It is not surprising, then, that the seizures started. Neural dysrhythmia is what her neurologist referred to it as. Micro-seizures, barely perceptible, even to her. She was experiencing temporal lobe seizures, the most common form of seizures experienced. She didn’t understand what was happening because when she was warned of seizures, she imagined grand mal seizures. Painful, public, vocal, incontrollable muscle spasms. She didn’t know temporal lobe seizures came in all kinds of muted forms: as sensory auras, auditory illusions, dreamy states, visual or even olfactory hallucinations. She smelled burnt toast where there wasn’t any toaster. She was unaware she had even had a seizure since these micro-seizures are also characterized by amnesia.

13In the months before, she thought her mind was betraying her, that perhaps she was going mad, because she seemed to be losing her grip on reality. The first time it happened, she was quite certain that the other person was simply mistaken, that they couldn’t remember her, that the fault lay with their memory. She was outside doing some gardening when a neighbor greeted her, introducing herself, and they began to chat casually, and it was then that she realized she knew this woman. Her sense of familiarity was so intense she was certain of it, but she couldn’t remember from where, nor she could remember from when, or even her name. She asked, “We’ve met before? How do we know each other?” The neighbor said no, they had not met before. “But I’m certain,” she replied. “Where do you work? Have you ever lived in Vancouver? Do you work overseas? What school did you go to?” She asked so many questions of the neighbor, and yet could not find a possible juncture in time when their paths might have crossed. For days she tried to remember how she knew the neighbor, but it escaped her, like it was just there beyond her grasp.

14These episodes persisted. A woman walking by on the street, a young man on the subway, a man in the airport bar as she waited for her connecting flight. After the third or fourth time, she realized it was just impossible that she recognized so many people who did not know her, not to mention it was becoming rather embarrassing and perhaps a little dangerous. She started to seek their gaze as way to verify mutual recognition. It was in the eyes that she would see that flickering light of knowing, that they remembered her. If she didn’t see that mutual knowing look, she stopped greeting them, ceased to stop them in the street to say hello. At times, her searching for that eye contact, her direct purposeful gaze, was misinterpreted as interest by some men. They caught her looking at their faces so intently and read it as desire! She was just confused and looking for answers. Did she really know them or was she losing her mind? A particularly unnerving experience of this kind happened in Minneapolis. She first saw him in the line-up for a coffee at the espresso counter on her way to the conference site. Their eyes met and he looked knowingly towards her; he also recognized her! She smiled and waved, assuming she would remember later how she knew him. Since her injury, her memory recall was sluggish. The memories still exist; it is not a matter of semantic memory loss, but simply a matter of slower recall. Yet, she could not place him. And the more carefully she studied him from the coffee line-up, the more she realized that he appeared to be a homeless man, waiting for donations from the coffee shop patrons. She had only ever visited Minneapolis-St. Paul once before, and only briefly, so it seemed unlikely they had met. Could he be an unusually unkept anthropologist also here for the conference? The eye contact, her smile and friendly wave seemed to be interpreted by him as some sort of invitation and he proceeded to follow her out of the coffee bar onto the street, and then into the lunch place where she met her colleague, and then into the bar where they decided to quickly warm up with an afternoon drink with more conference colleagues before heading to the plenary session. She attempted now to divert her attention away from him, to avoid eye contact, but he persevered, never leaving her but not speaking to her, just a few feet away, lounging in those big leather chairs like they were on a first date.

15American author Joseph Heller in Catch-22 writes of the strange sensation:

  • 11 Joseph Heller, Catch-22, New York, Simon & Schuster, Inc, 1989 [1961], p. 214.

For a few precious seconds, the chaplain tingled with a weird occult sensation of having experienced the identical situation in some prior time or existence… Déjà vu. The subtle, recurring confusion between illusion and reality that was characteristic of paramnesia fascinated the chaplain.11

16For her, the unusual sense of familiarity was based on facial features. She knew the face; she was certain she had met these people before. She didn’t recognize it as a form of déjà vu but probably because she didn’t know there were multiple forms of déjà vu, experiences that make it difficult to discern the present from the past. The experience in Minneapolis scared her even though eventually, once she escaped into the plenary lecture, the man disappeared. When she returned home, she made an appointment with her family doctor. “You’re going to think I sound mad but I’m having these really extraordinary experiences ...” At once her doctor recognized them as relating to her prior brain injury and she was referred to a neurologist.

  • 12 Sharrona Pearl, “A Super Useless Super Hero: The Positive Framing of Super Recognition”, Semiotic R (...)
  • 13 Oliver Sacks, The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, New York, Simon & Sc (...)
  • 14 Duncan Babbage et al., “Meta-Analysis of Facial Affect Recognition Difficulties after Traumatic Bra (...)

17The neurologist referred to them as jamais vu, a type of déjà vu experience caused by temporal lobe seizures (but more accurately it seems that what she experiences is déjà vécu). The psy-neuro literature on these sorts of quirky memory episodes is confusing: déjà vu, déjà senti, déjà vécu, déjà visité, jamais vu, jamais vécu. When she researched jamais vu, she found that problems with facial recognition and identification came in many forms, including the ability to remember and recall faces that one had only seen very briefly (“super recognizers”),12 those who believe different people are actually the same person simply disguised (known as Fregoli Syndrome), people who think someone familiar is a stranger (Capgras Syndrome), and those who don’t see faces at all (made famous by Oliver Sacks who wrote about ‘the man who mistook his wife for a hat’).13 One study found that between 13% and 39% of individuals with brain injuries experience difficulties with identification and facial recognition in some form following their injury.14 These experiences are associated with perception in brain injuries, but also with a range of other neurological and psychiatric disorders including brain lesions, epilepsy, and schizophrenia. Within the medical literature, these types of experiences, always considered disorders, were historically considered to be psychodynamic (related to mental and emotional health), but the most recent research indicates many of the cases are organic in nature, resulting from structural change in neuro matter. Even medical professionals have been challenged to determine the cause of these phenomenon. In the past, they’ve been associated with the paranormal.

18It is no wonder, then, that she felt a bit mad.

  • 15 Stefano Micali, “The Anticipation of the Present: Phenomenology of Déjà Vu”, Journal of the British (...)
  • 16 Alison Kafer, Feminist, Queer, Crip, Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, 2013. Also see Alia Al (...)
  • 17 Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time-Image, trans. Hugh Tomlinson & Robert Galeta, Minneapolis, Unive (...)
  • 18 Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, trans. Erica Segre & Simon Carnell, New York, Riverhead Books, 20 (...)

19Déjà vu is translated into English as “already seen.” It is defined temporally. And though her problem (medically speaking) lay in identifying people and with affective perception of recognition, she experienced these moments as disruptions in time. In these moments, her time-consciousness is distorted. “The future becomes unmoored,” explains Stefano Micali.15 Timelessness comes to define her, sort of in the way it defines my relationship with her. She confuses the present moment; now and then become complicated entanglements for her, as do dreams with life. Like “crip time,” she lives her own temporality that fails to be linear, and challenges normative theories of time.16 “Non-chronological time” is Deleuze’s phrasing.17 This is not a neurological condition, nor a matter of madness; it is simply physics, according to theoretical physicist Carlo Rovelli, who writes, “[T]here are not just two times. Times are legion: a different one for every point in space. There is not one single time; there is a multitude of them.”18 Seen this way, déjà vu and the other phenomena related to temporal lobe seizures challenge dominant understandings of time and memory and make visible local experiences of time. She’s not mad. Time and space are implicated. I am at once a memory to her, an affective haunting, and an unconscious companion elsewhere. She is not delusional, nor perhaps am I for imagining that she and I coexist in a polytemporal world.

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Notes

1 David Deutsch and Michael Lockwood, “The Quantum Physics of Time Travel”, Scientific American no.270/3 (1994), pp. 68-74.

2 Donna Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene, Durham, NC, Duke University Press, 2016.

3 China Miéville, A City in the City, New York, Ballantine Books, 2010.

4 Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. Nancy Margaret Paul & W. Scott Palmer, London, George Allen and Unwin, 1991 [1911], p. 86.

5 Mario Blaser & Marisol de la Cadena, “Pluriverse: Proposals for a World of Many Worlds”, in Mario Blaser & Marisol de la Cadena (eds), A World of Many Worlds, Durham, NC, Duke University Press, 2018, pp. 1-22.

6 Robert Desjarlais, The Blind Man: A Phantasmography, New York, Fordham University Press, 2019, p. 86.

7 I take inspiration from Robert Desjarlais and Alan Klima, who both, in different ways, suggest in recent publications that anthropologists have been too confined by realist ethnographic approaches which limit the possibilities of exploring the imaginary, hallucinations, and the unseeable in daily life. Alan Klima, Ethnography #9, Durham, NC, Duke University Press, 2019.

8 Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International, trans. Peggy Kamuf, London, Routledge, 1994. Also see Avery Gordon, Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1997.

9 Details on that night and event can be found in: Denielle Elliott, “Staying in the Field: Living Arrangements, Violence, and the Female Anthropologist”, in William H. Leggett & Ida Fadzillah Leggett (eds), Fieldwork Stories: Experiences, Affect, and the Lessons of Anthropology in the Twenty-Firstt Century, Lanham, MD, Lexington Books, 2021, pp. 95-111.

10 Allan Young, The Harmony of Illusions: Inventing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1997.

11 Joseph Heller, Catch-22, New York, Simon & Schuster, Inc, 1989 [1961], p. 214.

12 Sharrona Pearl, “A Super Useless Super Hero: The Positive Framing of Super Recognition”, Semiotic Review 7 (2019). Available at: https://www.semioticreview.com/ojs/index.php/sr/article/view/41.

13 Oliver Sacks, The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, New York, Simon & Schuster, Inc., 1985.

14 Duncan Babbage et al., “Meta-Analysis of Facial Affect Recognition Difficulties after Traumatic Brain Injury”, Neuropsychology no.25/3 (2011), pp. 277-285.

15 Stefano Micali, “The Anticipation of the Present: Phenomenology of Déjà Vu”, Journal of the British Society for Phenomenology no.49/2 (2018), pp. 156-170.

16 Alison Kafer, Feminist, Queer, Crip, Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, 2013. Also see Alia Al-Saji, “The Memory of Another Past: Bergson, Deleuze and a New Theory of Time”, Continental Philosophy Review, no.37 (2014), pp. 203-239.

17 Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time-Image, trans. Hugh Tomlinson & Robert Galeta, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1989, pp. 110. Also see Michael Jackson, The Varieties of Temporal Experience: Travels in Philosophical, Historical, and Ethnographic Time, New York, Columbia University Press, 2018.

18 Carlo Rovelli, The Order of Time, trans. Erica Segre & Simon Carnell, New York, Riverhead Books, 2018.

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Denielle ELLIOTT, « The memory multiverse », Terrain [En ligne], 76 | mars 2022, mis en ligne le 03 mai 2022, consulté le 20 mai 2022. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/terrain/23439 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/terrain.23439

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Auteur

Denielle ELLIOTT

Denielle Elliott is a socio-cultural anthropologist at York University, where she is the Graduate Program Director of the Science and Technology Studies graduate program. She is currently working on two projects: a sensorial ethnography of traumatic brain injuries and a social history of Canadian scientists and infectious disease research. She is a founding member of the Centre for Imaginative Ethnography, co-editor of Réinventer L’ethnographie: pratiques imaginatives et méthodologies créatives (Laval, 2021), and the lead author of Reimagining Science and Statecraft in Postcolonial Kenya: Stories from an African Scientist (Routledge, 2018). She has also published papers in Cultural Studies Review, Anthropology and Humanism, Catalyst, Medicine Anthropology Theory, among other journals and edited books.

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