Man, Gus's amnesia in that story is such a weird, sticky plot device. It’s not a clean slate; it’s more like a corrupted hard drive where some files are just gone, others are fragmented, and a few boot up at the worst possible moments. The author uses it to create this constant low-grade tension because he can't trust his own recollections, and neither can we. The memories that do resurface are often sensory—the smell of a specific flower, the feel of a rough wall—before any concrete events. It makes his emotional reactions feel unearned yet totally valid to him, which is frustrating in a compelling way.
There's this one scene where someone mentions a name, and his hand just clenches into a fist before he even knows why. The body remembers what the mind forgot. That's the real impact: it divorces instinct from knowledge, making every interaction a potential minefield. You're never sure if a gut feeling is a recovered memory or a new prejudice.