Of all narratives in the world, the one most important to us is the narrative of our own life – its loss shatters our sense of self. A glimpse into such an unpopulated universe comes from Lev Zasetsky, a 23-year-old Russian soldier who received a severe head wound during the 1943 battle of Smolensk. In the notes written later, he poignantly states that this was the day he died:

The damage to the left occipito-parietal region left Zasetsky with severe amnesia: while he eventually recovered memories of his childhood, he had trouble remembering the recent past and the functions of everyday objects. Zasetsky also suffered from aphasia, where linguistic forms became disconnected from their referents: looking at objects, plants or animals he could not remember their names, hearing words he could not interpret their meanings, nor could he recall words at will. He also partially lost his vision and spatial orientation skills: he could not see his own right side and everything he perceived appeared as fragments in a constant state of flux. “It was depressing, unbearable to realize how miserable and pathetic my situation was”, states Zasetsky in his diary, “You see, I’d become illiterate, sick, had no memory” (Luria, 1972: 35).