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The process of retrieving information in memory allows humans to recall and forget things. It is an active approach to determining our mutable identity, as memory never remains static. But what occurs if this dynamic process of iteration and interaction becomes fixed and fails to establish a rapport based on sympathy and solidarity with nonWestern 'others?' This paper investigates the intricate relationship of language, memory, trauma, and power, particularly focusing on the precarity induced by the manipulation of language in the context of historical and political narratives. Apropos how such manipulation can also distort collective memory and ignite trauma; shaping perceptions and moulding societal narratives. Through an examination of Joy Kogawa's Obasan and by employing theoretical frameworks such as Freud 's concept of \"screen memories \" and Deumert's notion of \"scripts of supremacy, \" the paper examines the intersection of precarity and the politics of language. Additionally, it investigates the concept of \"Historiographic Metafiction \", as proposed by Hutcheon, highlighting the fusion of history and fiction in preserving collective memory and aiding in the process of healing from trauma. Thus, the main objective of this study is to critically examine how language manipulation distorts collective memory and triggers trauma, emphasising how literature functions as a corrective tool and a representation of cultural memory to counteract this precarity, navigate power dynamics, and preserve collective memory.

An analysis of the transcripts of interviews by Claude Lanzmann with Benjamin Murmelstein in the documentary The Last of the Unjust, dealing with Jewish collaboration with the Nazis in World War II, reveals the speaker producing a \"screen confession,\" an ambiguous text that dissociates between explicit and implicit contents, and while presenting an eloquent and coherent narrative actually rewrites emotional, maybe even factual, history. Unlike Freud's \"screen memory,\" which refers to the way in which a marginal memory covers another emotionally charged one which cannot be remembered, the notion of screen confession refers not to memory itself but to how it is construed in language. Omitted from this kind of confession are not the concrete facts, but their meaning. Distortion does not attach to the factual details but interferes with the syntax, which plays havoc with the original utterance, taking away its meaning even if its components are accurate and correct.

Nearly all analyses of Ousmane Sembène’s novella La Noire de… (Voltaïque, 1962) and its eponymous film adaptation (1966) mention the fact that Sembène found inspiration for his text and film in a French newspaper report of a real suicide. However, scholars have not tracked down a copy of the original report or excavated the history of Diouana Gomis, the real woman whose suicide in 1958—on the heels of the 1958 Referendum and on the eve of Senegalese independence (1960)—served as the inspiration for one of the most iconic of African films. Indeed, the figure of Diouana has become synonymous with Sembène’s literary and cinematic character, in particular her “screen memory” as Senegalese actress’s Mbissine Thérèse Diop’s powerful performance in the film. Until now, traces of the “real” Diouana have remained buried in French police archives, her story receding from view. My essay makes a significant contribution to the study of Sembène’s art and to the memory of Diouana Gomis by reconstructing the backstory of her suicide through unstudied archival documents. Diouana Gomis (1927–58), a thirty-oneyear-old, unmarried woman from Boutoupa in the Ziguinchor region of Senegal arrived in Antibes during the second week of April in 1958 and died by suicide less than three months later. The faint archival traces sewn in the wake of her suicide make it possible, and necessary, to reconstruct some of the details of her life and death so that the ghostly signature of this real woman might shadow the “Diouana” whom we see and hear on screen.

One of the most prominent intellectual attempts to grapple with human extinction in recent decades is existential risk studies. For its proponents, like Nick Bostrom and Toby Ord, there is a one-in-six chance that humanity will go extinct in the next century, whether from an asteroid hit, nuclear Armageddon or misaligned artificial intelligence. The field has powerful supporters, with Silicon Valley billionaires like Elon Musk and Jaan Tallinn donating large sums to institutions researching existential risk. In this article, I consider the ideological function of the imaginaries of catastrophe proposed by existential risk studies. To this end, the article begins by examining the distinctive mode of politics, termed extinctiopolitics, elaborated by Bostrom and Ord. Via a critical comparison with the concept of biopolitics, I suggest that extinctiopolitics aims to optimise the future life of humanity through the prediction and prevention of risks that threaten its annihilation. Borrowing the Freudian notion of screen memory, I then argue that extinctiopolitics both acknowledges and represses the ecocidal tendencies of contemporary capitalism. The image of the collective death of the species evokes a range of disastrous events in the present, especially the climate crisis, but in such a way that their social conditions are obscured. By way of conclusion, I briefly reflect on how science fiction texts use the image of human extinction to unpick the ideological manoeuvres of extinctiopolitics and restage the real contradictions of capitalism.

This essay on The Remains of the Day and modes of reading takes as its starting point the novel’s historical setting of July 1956, which coincides with the beginning of the Suez crisis. Although the crisis never explicitly registers in the narrative, various moments of imperial affirmation and anxiety suggest that it may have the status of a symptom. I read with and against this supposition. In the essay’s first section, I show how the repression of imperial crisis in Stevens’s narrative is entangled with his memories of fascist appeasement and complicity. Prompted by the text’s pervasive and self-conscious interest in Freudian figures of memory—its untimeliness and displacements—the second part argues that The Remains of the Day incorporates the symptom as an aesthetic and historical strategy in order to itself theorize a postcolonial symptomatology. The novel thus helps us complicate the proposition that symptomatic reading is something critics do to texts and suggests, in its allegory of symptomatic reading, the contours of a postcolonial interpretive method.

Objectives: We aimed to evaluate and compare the diagnostic capacity of five cognitive screening tests for the diagnosis of mild cognitive impairment (MCI) in patients consulting by memory loss. Methods: A cross-sectional study involving 140 participants with a mean age of 74.42 ± 7.60 years, 87 (62.14%) women. Patients were classified as MCI or cognitively unimpaired according to a comprehensive neuropsychological battery. The diagnostic properties of the following screening tests were compared: Mini-Mental State Examination (MMSE), Addenbrooke’s Cognitive Examination III (ACE-III) and Mini-Addenbrooke (M-ACE), Memory Impairment Screen (MIS), Montreal Cognitive Assessment (MoCA), and Rowland Universal Dementia Assessment Scale (RUDAS). Results: The area under the curve (AUC) was 0.861 for the ACE-III, 0.867 for M-ACE, 0.791 for MoCA, 0.795 for MMSE, 0.731 for RUDAS, and 0.672 for MIS. For the memory components, the AUC was 0.869 for ACE-III, 0.717 for MMSE, 0.755 for MoCA, and 0.720 for RUDAS. Cronbach’s alpha was 0.827 for ACE-III, 0.505 for MMSE, 0.896 for MoCA, and 0.721 for RUDAS. Correlations with Free and Cued Selective Reminding Test were moderate with M-ACE, ACE-III, and MoCA, and moderate for the other tests. The M-ACE showed the best balance between diagnostic capacity and time of administration. Conclusions: ACE-III and its brief version M-ACE showed better diagnostic properties for the diagnosis of MCI than the other screening tests. MoCA and MMSE showed adequate properties, while the diagnostic capacity of MIS and RUDAS was limited.

This book argues that Freud's mapping of trauma as a scene is central to both his clinical interpretation of his patients' symptoms and his construction of successive theoretical models and concepts to explain the power of such scenes in his patients' lives. This attention to the scenic form of trauma and its power in determining symptoms leads to Freud's break from the neurological model of trauma he inherited from Charcot. It also helps to explain the affinity that Freud and many since him have felt between psychoanalysis and literature (and artistic production more generally), and the privileged role of literature at certain turning points in the development of his thought. It is Freud's scenography of trauma and fantasy that speaks to the student of literature and painting. Overall, the book develops the thesis of Jean Laplanche that in Freud's shift from a traumatic to a developmental model, along with the undoubted gains embodied in the theory of infantile sexuality, there were crucial losses: specifically, the recognition of the role of the adult other and the traumatic encounter with adult sexuality that is entailed in the ordinary nurture and formation of the infantile subject.

Screen memories, seen by Freud, Greenacre and other analysts of a past generation as a key source of data for the reconstruction of psychic and historical reality, have been relatively neglected in contemporary analysis. A fresh look shows that these durable, constant memories have a dual relation to childhood experience: they memorialize both a specific organization of trauma, wish and defense, and a private childhood act of remembering. Close attention to the screen memory itself and the context in which it appears indicates that both aspects of screen memory have meaning for the individual and are represented in fantasy. Both currents of meaning can be seen in a literary screen memory and in the clinical situation, where both play out in transference and countertransference.

The fact that Denmark was deeply engaged in the practices of the slave trade and slavery from the seventeenth century to 1848 often goes unnoticed—even in Denmark. For this reason, a number of Danish scholars and artists have characterized Danish ignorance of the colonial past as repression. This article demonstrates that the colonial past has in fact never been repressed, but has instead been subject to figurations, as theorized by Olick (2007). The initial experiences of colonialism have been screened at different points in time rendering the past in versions very far from the actual historical events themselves. Recently, new claims for reparations for slavery and colonialism in the former Danish West Indies have challenged the existing notions of the colonial past in Denmark. These claims have not resulted in an official Danish politics of regret (Olick 2007) as witnessed in other former colonial states. Whereas, a radical break away from the earlier conceptions of the colonial past is demanded, instead new figurations and renarrations have been used to try to incorporate the new challenges to the historical imaginary into the older layers of memory without radically breaking away from it, creating somewhat surprising results that questions the notions of a uniform global memory and understanding of historical injustices.