Mind Before Matter

    Around 1440 AD, the german inventor Johannes Gutenberg introduced Europe to the sublime gift of the printing press. His own twist on the invention sent shockwaves throughout the continent, having effects potentially unknown even to him at the time. Literary skyrocketed, hierarchies shattered, and all of a sudden the educated elite found themselves privy to reading the same material as serfs, who happily flipped away at their own copy of the bible. Johannes Gutenberg changed hundreds of millions of lives in a thousand unforeseen ways, and his contributions (as well as his contemporaries in the east) have objectively changed our society for the better. 

How much information do you think a book can store? Theoretically the answer is an infinite amount, because all you would have to do is shrink the font and increase the number of pages, but how much information really is that? We consider a novel that's less than 200 pages a novella, which somehow isn't a book but is also just enough detail to be considered complete. Dictionaries are hundreds of pages of words, with definitions for those words, using the exact same terms it defines. One of the grandest pieces of literature of all time is a Super Smash Bros fanfiction. It's over 4,000,000 words long.

But knowledge is cumulative, and just because you write something doesn't mean it has any intrinsic intellectual value. A monkey with a typewriter could write all the most extraordinary works that'll ever exist, but it would have to type gibberish first. Who's going to supply all of that paper? Is there something to be salvaged in the pile of scrap? Should we make a book out of it?

Imagine this is your brain. Or maybe you're an evil zoologist.

Our brain answers these questions monotonously and with a mere (on average) 20 watts of energy. Constantly and throughout our day, like clockwork, our mind will reshuffle itself like a deck of cards. Reminders will pop up in your head, old memories from past moments will flood into consciousness, and all the while, older memories are quietly thrown out the back. Do you know what you had for breakfast this morning? Do you remember the first time you cried? 

The human brain is a fascinating organism, but it is an organ, and as far as we know, in the current state of things, these organs are limited by space. Actual evidence about how we store this information is limited. Ironically, the thing the brain knows least about is itself. But there is one nugget of truth we can know for sure: We use it. 

Our brain makes room for other memories and allows us to experience things without remembering them. We designate specific memories as more valuable than others, birthdays or important dates, until we eventually replace those memories with different ones. Diseases of the mind ravage us. By the time we die, we'll have experienced a lifetime of memories, both lost and found, and the ones we hold on to will define how we write verses of our history.

Or just be an elf; they remember everything.

Light-Weightedness, Light-Headedness

I like elves. There's a natural appreciation to be had for the concept, especially the effect they've had on popularizing fantasy and all of its variations. Tolkien had a good thing going with them; tall, swanky, perfectionist figures with fae-like features and an impeccable historical edge. But of the many crumbs of knowledge left behind in LOTR's wake, one bothers me, specifically when it is hijacked (at times incidentally) by other IPs. That crumb is memory. 

I don't hate the notion, far from it, but I hate how it is treated. Call me out for being finicky, tell me I'm picking at straws, I'll accept those taunts, but I refuse not to die on this hill. Elves in LOTR are synonymous with spirit creatures, but their relatives in TTRPG settings, such as the Forgotten Realms, do not have this benefit. They are living things with lives and expiration dates, but it's more or less assumed that with their long lifespans comes a long memory, exacerbated through trancing.

Living long does not need to be synonymous with memory. In fact, people who live a long time often forget quite a lot more. A solid majority of people suffer some form of memory loss by the time they enter their 60s.

Art by Lizzart

"Oh, but author!" you may say, running your fingers through speculative evolution textbooks, "Elves aren't human! They're an entirely different species; obviously, they won't have the same form of memory as us!" and you would be correct. That is why I argue that if your elves are disconnected entirely from human mechanics, why not explore that? If the human brain is arguably inferior in terms of raw storage space, why in the seven hells wouldn't a human being explore that beyond ethical concerns? 

I want to reiterate when I say that you do not have to do any of these things. Your story is yours; I fully support any and all approaches to the medium, including the softest soft fiction. As a representative of the H.F.F. (Hard Fiction Fans), however, I cannot help but push an alternative perspective.

Humans explore art partly because our lives are so short. Fragile and brief, we create things that will far outlive us. In a thousand years, our society will be nearly unrecognizable to us, but our novels and sculptures will surpass even the ideas which made them. Is that process lost entirely when your species remembers generations past? At what rate does a culture record history that isn't at risk of being forgotten? 

Is it only long-term memories? Can a member of that race recall ancient history as if he were there but deflect the memory of his meals like a mesh screen deflects flies? What changes can be found in their diets compared to another race? Is it specialized? Do they consume far more than other races, or are they just efficient with their energy? If I plucked two prods into their brain, could I turn on a lightbulb? For how long?

When an alien writes a novel, what words does it think will fit best?

What Makes A Brain?

Within Elkem enclaves, there is a silent understanding of the weight of one's words. Language was one of the first things taken from the Sun-Walkers when they arrived in Bromeilles, and it has cost them centuries to stitch something together resembling it. Most of those alive now were born on the cracked continent, but the population of pre-storm Elkem is still staggeringly high, an act proven to be no small feat.

It's the ears and skin texture specifically that, to me, fit the Elkem's design. You can imagine how difficult it is to do things myself when you can't draw!
Art from Ava's Demon, a webcomic by Michelle Czajkowski Fus

Elkem culture is an exceptionally compact encyclopedia. What knowledge has been lost— save for fragments—is presumed to be gone forever, but what remains on the minds and persons of its kind is ripe for the taking. Elders are revered among the colonies, comforted and protected for the secrets they have yet to share. The oldest are treated with a deistic fervour, known as Ytrl, where they become specialized in their role.

Human biology differs greatly from incursors. What few connections can be drawn are made regarding limbs and general shape, but the most confusing difference lies in the brain. An Elkem's mind is composed of three distinct lobes, the whole approximating sack more than a spheroid, with its third positioned in front of the others just below the eyes. This third lobe almost exclusively handles the processing of visual stimuli, providing the rest of the brain with the space required to perform its calculations.

Elkem physiology supports slow-acting but constant processing. While Republic-backed studies have shown a marginal decrease in quick-response proficiency compared to humans, their ability to retain and expout information is substantially improved so long as they remain un-malnourished. 

State-sanctioned expeditions to the Elkem enclaves have revealed the presence of massive tree-like growths constructed with the help of an unknown fungal biopsy. Ytrl are often found within the growths in varying degrees of entanglement, presumably fed either by hand or the growths themselves. Despite their condition, these Elkem are still capable of speech, a feat the others treat with reverence. 

Every word spoken from the shaman's mouth is frantically inscribed in an exalted process. Every bit of information, from the devout to the seemingly mundane to the incomprehensible, is stored and retained for study. The enclaves call it Yr Grullik: "The Message". 

Knowledge is sacred to the Elkem. Knowledge of any capacity, of any calibre, is a requirement for archivization and study. This is often confusing from the perspective of archivists' within The Republic, but the cultural impact is prevalent. Humans, in their brief and fragile lives, attempt to refine the details of their history to the finest grain of sand, constructing a picture of reality which lacks any bloat or redundancy. To the Elkem, everything known is already known, but the new is an act of the sublime. What is found may never be found again, nor may it ever be experienced by another living thing, and so it must be saved.

It is a violent, emotional conflict. While the archivists of The Republic dream of a return to the old world, the sculptors of the Elkem struggle to recover what remains of it.

Down the rabbit hole.
Mycelium Sun by Raya Wolfsun