Lewis’s attempt to tell her life story is shallow, alarming, and only passingly spiritual. She sweeps through her teen years in New Orleans, her institutionalization for borderline personality disorder, and her undergraduate life as a pretty white redhead waitressing in 1990s Berkeley, before focusing on her tumultuous relationship with black maybe-assassin Truth, whose presence in her life opened her eyes to issues of race in America. A torrid romance and marriage became a financially successful partnership in the budding field of Internet pornography, but Truth began to abuse Amy, driven by jealousy, work stress, and a need for control. Lewis’s textbook apologetic approach to Truth’s behavior is disturbing, especially in light of the next phase of her story. Although she feels freed by Truth’s untimely death, her primary comfort comes in the form of afterlife communication with him in which she sees him as her protector, nearly deifying her abuser. The final piece of the memoir, detailing her search to find herself as an actress in L.A., feels merely vain and self indulgent. Lewis may feel she’s achieved mystical awareness, but she seems not to have achieved self-awareness, and without that, this memoir has little to teach. (BookLife)