![]() ![]() The story that Payne has altered the least – that of the bizarro afterlife of Einstein’s brain – seems less fully integrated than the others, its themes and characterizations oddly blatant. Do we have a character that is intrinsic or are we merely an assemblage of our thoughts and recollections? If we mislay those recollections or encounter new information that disrupts our stable identity, who do we become? Here, Payne’s larger concern is how memories and mental workarounds help to create an individual’s sense of self. ![]() Molaison’s condition and its implications for human identity are fascinating, but more moving is his love for his wife, whom he greets anew every minute. (The self-consciously arty choreography that introduces each new sequence doesn’t help either.) But one of his great gifts is the ability to poignantly meld complicated philosophic and scientific tenets with simpler human struggles. ![]() Payne can be too clever for his own good though, and some of Incognito’s formal notions – like titling separate sections Encoding, Storing, and Retrieving – don’t entirely succeed. The mind and its unmaking haunt both his previous play, Constellations, and his new one, Elegy. Payne is a writer who is more interested in the brain than most. ![]()
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