My Name Is Memory: Fuckton of Foreplay, Fizzled Climax


Our Rating

I was so fucking excited.

I came across this book on Amazon. Read the synopsis and thought to myself, “HELL YEAH.” Without another glance (now in hindsight I really should’ve paid closer attention), I downloaded a copy and guzzled it away on my flight back home.

Daniel is 1500 years old. Give or take. He’s lived hundreds of lives and he remembers everything. He knows countless languages, is rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, yet perpetual life has been a curse upon him. In his very first life, he burned down a house and killed who would later become his one true love — Sophia. Later known as Lucy and Constance. Wrought with guilt and an inability to forget, his lives soon starts to revolve around her. Determined to earn her love and forgiveness, he spends an eternity trying to find her and convince her that they belong together.

Thrilling, no? Or at the very least, intriguing. I’ve always personally been fascinated with reincarnation and timeless romances, so this book seemed like the perfect fit for the inner romantic.

Let me break it down for you.

This book is 90% foreplay and 10% shitty ass climax.

Don’t get me wrong, I fucking loved the foreplay. Being transported to another world, another time, and to be able to see it through the eyes of a man who has seen everything is fucking awesome. The writing is descriptive and incredible visual. I found myself aching and sighing along to Daniel’s many misfortunes and heartaches for his beloved. Seeing him change from a pauper to a sultan, from a soldier to a sailor, it was incredibly exhilarating to finally understand how a man who was hundreds of years old would feel.

So much so that every time we switched from Daniel’s POV to boring old Lucy’s POV made me want to hit the fast forward button. I found my eyes glazing over whenever I hit one of Lucy’s chapters. Going from the Ancient Roman Empire to current day Charlottesville was like going from espresso to decaf. Honestly, would you wanna read about forlorn teenage Lucy working at a juice bar or read about some guy sailing the high seas looking for his lost love? Just askin’.

Joaquim is supposedly the omnipresent threat on Daniel’s and Sophia’s life. He supposedly also has the gift of remembering his past lives, but since he has a heart of evil, he’s able to possess occupied bodies. A bodysnatcher, essentially. However, I say ‘supposedly’, because he’s mentioned rarely enough in the book that he would barely qualify for a supporting character, let alone the main antagonist. When he finally shows up in the last 20 pages of the book, whisks Lucy away and they head off to Mexico. He’s doing it supposedly because he’s held a grudge against Daniel for the last 1500 hundred years and is incapable of letting anything go (just like Daniel).

Murky intentions aside, reading this book was like edging towards the big-O, almost almost almost almost ALMOST THERE, but then nothing. Jack squat. Absolute disappointment and a sour taste in your mouth.

The big climax in the end of was the two of them swimming out into the Pacific Ocean into the middle of a thunderstorm. Because dying together would be better than falling captive to Joaquim (who probably wasn’t going to kill them anyway, because what’s the fucking point). Then, no, they don’t die. Then Daniel sends Lucy off to the mountains of Tibet or something and he heads off to kill Joaquim. Somehow.

Trust me, this is as clear as I can be, because the last 20 pages of the book was a clusterfuck of the author going “I have no idea how to end this book so fuck it”.

It was only after I finished the book and rage quit my iBooks app that I searched the book up on Amazon again. Written by Ann Brashares. AKA Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants abomination.


I don’t know if I’d recommend this book, even though I thoroughly enjoyed Daniel’s story. I just don’t want you to go through the same disappointment that I went through. It just isn’t worth it.

The Breakdown

One day she hopes to reach a new state of being which requires no sustenance other than alcohol and pure, unadulterated rage. Imagine the shit she’ll write then, huh?

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