I decided I wanted to check my e-mail, So I picked up my computer. To my boyfriend that means I'll be on the computer for hours (I think he knows me better than I know myself) so he decided to play his modern warfare on his xbox. Now me being the loving girlfriend that I am didn't want to prove him wrong... so I decided to stay on my computer for hours. :) So what does a book worm do when she has to waste a couple hours on the internet, she book searches on Barnes and Noble!! Through many book and author searches I happened to come across Ann Brashare's new book (coming out in June) called My Name Is Memory. It reminds me of one of my favorite books, Reincarnation. I'm so excited for it to be released! I'll paste the synopsis below, along with an excerpt and the link to her web page.
Synopsis: Daniel has spent centuries falling in love with the same girl. Life after life, crossing continents and dynasties, he and Sophia (despite her changing name and form) have been drawn together-and he remembers it all. Daniel has "the memory", the ability to recall past lives and recognize souls of those he's previously known. It is a gift and a curse. For all the times that he and Sophia have been drawn together throughout history, they have also been torn painfully, fatally, apart. A love always too short.
Interwoven through Sophia and Daniel's unfolding present day relationship are glimpses of their expansive history together. From 552 Asia Minor to 1918 England and 1972 Virginia, the two souls share a long and sometimes torturous path of seeking each other time and time again. But just when young Sophia (now "Lucy" in the present) finally begins to awaken to the secret of their shared past, to understand the true reason for the strength of their attraction, the mysterious force that has always torn them apart reappears. Ultimately, they must come to understand what stands in the way of their love if they are ever to spend a lifetime together.
A magical, suspenseful, heartbreaking story of true love, My Name is Memory proves the power and endurance of a union that was meant to be.
Excerpt:
Well. It's a strange thing," I explained. "With each birth your body starts out fresh and mostly blank, but then you print yourself on it over time. You hold onto old experiences: injuries, injustices, and great love affairs, too." I glanced up at Sophia. "And you hold them in your joints and your organs and wear them on your skin."
"You do." She was giving me that same look of indulgence, but it was less confident.
"We all do."
"Because we live again and again?"
"Most of us."
"Not all of us?" Her indulgence showed more signs of genuinely wanting to know.
"Some live only once. Some a very few times. And some just go on and on and on."
"Why?"
I put my head back on my pillow. "That is hard to explain. I'm not sure I really know."
"And you?"
"I've lived many times."
"And you remember them?"
"Yes. That's where I'm different than most people."
"I'll say. And what about me?" She looked like she wasn't going to believe the answer, but slightly feared it anyway.
"You've also lived many times. But your memory is just average."
"Clearly." She laughed. "Have you known me for all of them?"
"I've tried. But no, not all."
"And why can't I remember?"
"You can more than you think. Those memories are in there somewhere. You act on them in ways you don't realized. They determine how you respond to people, the things you love and the things you fear. A lot of our irrational behavior would look more rational if you could see it in the context of your whole long life."
It was amazing the things I was will to tell her if she was willing to listen, and she was. I touched the hem of her sleeve. "I know enough about you to know you love horses and you probably dream about them. You probably dream of the desert sometimes and maybe taking a bath outdoors. Your nightmares are usually about fire. You have problems with your voice and your throat sometimes--that was always your weak spot . . ."
Her face was rapt. "Why?"
"You were strangled a long time ago."
Her alarm was a mix of real and pretend. "By whom?"
"Your husband."
"Awful. Why did I marry him?"
"You didn't have a choice."
"And you knew this man?"
"He was my brother."
"Long dead, I hope."
"Yes, but bearing a grudge through history, I fear."
I could see by her face, she was trying to figure out where to put all of this. "Are you a psychic?" she asked.
I smiled and shook my head. "Although most psychics, if they are any good, do have some memory of old lives. And so do most of the people we consider insane. An asylum is about the densest concentration of people with partial memory you will ever find. They get flashes and visions, but usually not in the right order."
She looked at me sympathetically, wondering if that's where I belonged. "Is that what you do?"
"No. I remember everything."
