The Man Who Tasted Shapes [Anglais] [Broché]

In 1979, neurologist Cytowic met a man who literally tasted shapes, and a woman who heard and smelled colors. These otherwise normal people had synesthesia, an exceedingly rare perceptual disorder in which the senses become intermingled. What Cytowic learned from them is told here through the portraits of the synesthetes and through his own detective work and consultations with medical colleagues. There is an appealingly suspenseful quality to this reportage, and the--worth waiting for--denouement is that synesthetes see nothing less than the building blocks of perception normally hidden from consciousness. Artfully drawing back the curtain of consciousness, the author suggests that synesthetes temporarily experience a shutdown of the left hemispheric cortex. The interesting implications he extracts from this finding are that consciousness is emotional rather than rational, that the emotional part of the brain--the limbic system--evolved just as much as the cortex, and that our actions are guided by a wisdom that is not apparent to the conscious mind. Also noteworthy is Cytowic's discussion of art and creativity. Artists are among the few who are able to tap into their emotive knowledge, he maintains. Among Cytowic's conclusions: Ravel and Kandinsky were synesthetes, and Scriabin and Kodaly were aware of the condition,whose existence motivated them to find colors to match tones. Photos not seen by PW.
Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

A practicing neurologist, Cytowic has authored journal articles as well as a textbook on synesthesia. In this popular account, he describes this rare medical condition, in which one sense of the synesthete involuntarily conjures up another. An artist whose sense of taste elicts the sense of touch became the primary subject of a series of experiments in which Cytowic demonstrated that the limbic system is essential for the expression of synesthesia. This discovery has profoundly influenced our understanding of the brain and the primary role played by emotion. In a series of thought-provoking essays, the author expounds upon the issue of subjective experience. Readers familiar with Oliver Sacks's extraordinary neurological tales will find Cytowic's book equally engaging.
- Laurie Bartolini, Lincoln Lib., Springfield, Ill.
Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Although synesthesia has appeared in medical literature for 200 years, few doctors have heard of it and fewer still understand how it occurs. After years of testing the brain patterns of patients, Cytowic concludes that the limbic brain, which deals with emotion and memory, is where the synesthetic joining of senses occurs. Even those without multisensory experiences can get more out of life by paying attention to what comes out of the limbic brain. Says Cytowic, 'We know more than we think we do--yet aren't we always surprised at our insights, our creativity, and similar examples of our inner knowledge'? --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

When a curious-minded neurologist meets a neurological curiosity--in this case, a neighbor who experiences tastes as physical shapes--the result, at least here, is a mixed bag: a fascinating scientific exploration of that rare sensory linkage and overlapping called synesthesia plus less interesting ponderings on the nature of the human mind. Washington, D.C., neurologist Cytowic was so intrigued to learn that his neighbor ``Michael'' possessed synesthesia--a trait found in only ten people per million--that he enlisted him in a research project to explore this mysterious phenomenon. Here, Cytowic divides his report on synesthesia into two sections. The first, ``A Medical Mystery Tale,'' is an account of his research and medical findings. Michael, the author tells us, cooperated in countless tedious tests and eventually even agreed to an angiogram to determine the pattern of blood flow in his brain. From this research, Cytowic concluded that synesthesia is localized in the limbic system of the brain's left hemisphere-- and that it's a normal brain function that's always existed in everyone but has been lost from conscious awareness in all but a few individuals. Apparently solving the mystery of synesthesia, Cytowic created a new conception of the organization of the mind- -one that places greater importance on the limbic system and thus on the primacy of emotion over reason. While the cortex analyzes what's going on in the world, he contends, the limbic system gives value to events. In the second part of the text, ``Essays on The Primacy of Emotion,'' the author looks at the implications of his findings. In pieces that discuss imagination, objectivity and subjectivity, consciousness, reason, and spirituality, he would have us understand that behind the rational mind is another irrational, emotional one that's really in charge. An absorbing tale of medical detection coupled with less- than-gripping philosophical musings. (Photographs, line drawings- -not seen) -- Copyright ©1993, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Richard Cytowic is a revolutionary, proposing an iconoclastic theory of how our brains are organized that has far-reaching implications for how we regard ourselves as human beings. This is an important book that everyone should--and can--read. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

"Space constraints prevent me from giving more than a mere flavour of the richness of Cytowic's thinking. With broad sweeps, he outlines a new landscape. . . . Read this book--and the more objective you think you are, the more open-minded you will need to be to appreciate it." -- The New Scientist In 1980, Richard Cytowic was having dinner at a friend's house, when his host exclaimed, "Oh, dear, there aren't enough points on the chicken." With that casual comment began Cytowic's journey into the condition known as synesthesia. The ten people in one million who are synesthetes are born into a world where one sensation (such as sound) conjures up one or more others (such as taste or color). Although scientists have known about synesthesia for two hundred years, until now the condition has remained a mystery. Extensive experiments with more than forty synesthetes led Richard Cytowic to an explanation of synesthesia--and to a new conception of the organization of the mind, one that emphasized the primacy of emotion over reason. Because there were not enough points on chicken served at a dinner almost two decades ago, Cytowic came to explore a deeper reality that he believes exists in all individuals, but usually below the surface of awareness. In this medical detective adventure, he reveals the brain to be an active explorer, not just a passive receiver, and offers a new view of what it means to be human--a view that turns upside down conventional ideas about reason, emotion, and who we are. * Not for sale in the United Kingdom and Eire

The ten people in one million who are synesthetes are born into a world where one sensation (such as sound) conjures up one or more others (such as taste or color). Extensive experiments with more than 40 synesthetes led Richard Cytowic to an explanation of synesthesia and reveals the brain to be an active explorer, not just a passive receiver--a fascinating breakthrough in our understanding of what it means to be human. 15 illustrations.

Capitol Neurology, Washington, D.C. Text describing and discussing synesthesia: where one sensation, such as sound, conjures up one or more others, such as taste or color. For neuroscientists, psychologists, and lay people. Previously published by Putnam, c1993. DNLM: Taste-physiology.

The Man Who Tasted Shapes brings us the solution to a bizarre medical mystery, and leads us to a new understanding of the human mind that turns our conventional notions about reason and emotion inside out. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Richard Edmund Cytowic, M.D. has authored both neurology textbooks and popular works. He was nominated for the 1982 Pulitzer Prize for his New York Times Magazine cover story about the condition of White House Press Secretary James Brady, who received a gunshot wound to the brain during the attempted assassination of President Ronald Reagan.

Dr. Cytowic has appeared often in National and International media, including All Things Considered, Voice of America, and Good Morning America. His work has been reported in publications such as US News & World Report, the Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, and the London Observer. The New Jersey native is a Distinguished Alumnus of the Hun School in Princeton. He received his B.A. in chemistry from Duke University, and his M.D. from the Bowman Gray School of Medicine of Wake Forest University. Dr. Cytowic went on to study at the University of London's National Hospital for Nervous Diseases, subsequently trained in ophthalmology and neuropsychology, and later served as Chief Resident in neurology at George Washington University before founding Capitol Neurology, a private clinic. He now lives in Washington, D.C. The son of a physician and an artist, his artistic and metaphysical interests are broad. He has long explored the harmony between science and art, and his brief medical biographies of Chekhov and Ravel have won awards. He has several times been a Resident Fellow at the Hambidge Center and the Virginia Center for Creative Arts, both Southern artist's colonies.

Dr. Cytowic has been an invited speaker at the World Congress of Neurology, the National Science Foundation, and the American Association for the Advancement of Science. He appears in Who's Who in America and Who's Who in the World, serves on the editorial boards of the journals Brain & Language and Brain & Cognition, and is a Fellow of Britain's Royal Society of Medicine. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Chapter 1 -- Not Enough Points on the Chicken

"Keep me company while I finish the sauce," Michael beckoned, pulling me away from the other guests. I followed, scrutinizing the curious layout of his home. Both is and my new neighbor were pretty hip for suburban North Carolina. His house had no inside walls. Its "rooms" poured into one another instead of keeping to well-defined spaces as rooms in most homes do. When I sat down among the appliances--what he called the kitchen--it struck me how jarring the open funkiness of a Bohemian loft was in the Bible belt. Yet I suppose it made sense, because Michael taught at the School of the Arts. Artists were supposed to be eccentric.

I quickly identified with the offbeat atmosphere of Michael's house, an attraction that stirred up and old conflict. I was supposed to wear the conservative mask expected of physicians, yet the house spoke to the eccentric and artists in me, too, a part that had to express itself with care. I was glad Michael had invited me to dinner. I had long preferred the company of creative people over that of stuffy medical types, which is why I liked living next to the conservatory. I sat nearby while he whisked the sauce he had made for the roast chickens. "Oh dear," he said, slurping a spoonful, "there aren't enough points on the chicken."

"Aren't enough what?" I asked.

He froze and turned red, betraying the realization that his first impression had been as awkward as that of a debutante falling down the stairs. "Oh, you're going to think I'm crazy," he stammered. "I hope no one else heard, "he said, quickly glancing at the guests in the far corner.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Sometimes, I blurt these things out," he whispered, leaning toward me. "You're a neurologist, maybe it will make sense to you. I know it sounds crazy, but I have this thing, see, where I taste by shape." He looked away. "How can I explain it?" he asked himself.

"Flavors have shape," he started, frowning into the depths of the roasting pan. "I wanted the taste of this chicken to be a pointed shape, but it came out all round." He looked up at me, still blushing. "well, I mean it's nearly spherical, " he emphasized, trying to keep the volume down. "I can't serve this if it doesn't have points." An old-fashioned and odd diagnosis came to mind, but I wanted to hear more in Michael's own words to be sure.

"It sounds as if nobody understands what you're talking about," I finally said.

"That's the problem," sighed Michael. "Nobody's every heard of this. They think I'm on drugs or that I'm making it up. That's why I never intentionally tell people about my shapes. Only when it slips out. It's so perfectly logical that I thought everybody felt shapes when the ate. If there's no shape, there's no flavor."

I tried not to register any surprise. "Where do you feel these shapes?" I asked.

"All over," he said, straightening up, "but mostly I feel things rubbed against my face or sitting in his hands."

I kept my poker face and said nothing.

"When I taste something with an intense flavor," Michael continued, "the feeling sweeps down my arm into my fingertips. I feel it--its weight, its texture, whether it's warm or cold, everything. I feel it like I'm actually grasping something." He held his palms up "Of course, there's nothing really there," he said, staring at his hands. "But it's not an illusion because I feel it."

One more question, to be certain. "How long have you tasted shapes?"

"All my life," he said. "But nobody ever understands." He shrugged and carved up the chickens. "Am I a hopeless case, Doc?"

"Not at all," I answered.

Just as there were no walls between the rooms of his house, I knew that Michael had no walls between his senses. Just as his rooms flowed into each other, so too taste, touch, movement, and color meshed together seamlessly in his brain. For Michael, sensation was simultaneous, like a jambalaya, instead of neat, separate courses. Still, my self-satisfaction at recognizing one of the rarest of medical curiosities must have been perfectly clear. Michael's glower tore me out of me reverie.

"What are you grinning about?" he scolded. "I thought you would be sympathetic!"

"I'm not making fun of you," I laughed. "I'm just delighted to know someone with synesthesia. I've never met anyone who had it."

"Synes. . ." he sputtered.

"Syn-es-the-sia," I repeated. "It's Greek. Syn means 'together' and aisthesis means 'sensation.' Synesthesia means 'feeling together," just as syn-chrony means at the same time, or syn-thesis means different ideas joined into one, or syn-opsis means to see all together. You've never heard of the word?" I asked.

A glow of recognition washed over Michael's face. "Yea mean there's a name for this? Is that why you're grinning?"

"Sure, and I know a little about it. People with synesthesia have their senses hooked together," I started to explain. "The can hear colors or feel sounds. Yours is--well, it looks like you taste shapes."

"What a relief!" Michael interrupted. "You mean I'm normal?"

"Normal is such a relative term. Let's just say that you're a rare bird," I suggested, "difference, but not unheard of." And with that roast chicken dinner started a research effort and a friendship that has lasted more than a decade. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.