One of the book’s most common refrains is the notion that “ideas are wilder than memories” (261). This is naturally a comforting thought for a woman like Addie, whose curse causes her to be lost to the collective memory of the world, yet when she first hears this axiom, it is delivered as a taunt rather than a comfort. When Luc forcibly ejects Addie from Madame Geoffrin’s salon, he tells her that while she is free to reenter the room, given that the artists and intellectuals will have already forgotten her, “I think you’ll find my word won’t fade as fast as yours. They will not remember you, of course. But ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root” (210). The implication is that the vague idea of Addie as a liar and con artist will linger, even if the conscious mind forgets. It is a variation of the concept explored by the 2010 film Inception—that an idea planted in the subconscious mind is far more persuasive than a conscious memory. Indeed, it may happen that one’s memories are not their own at all, but rather distortions fed by more deeply ingrained biases or attitudes.

Like so many of Luc’s cruelties and restrictions, Addie finds a way to subvert this notion to her own benefit. The first time, it happens entirely by accident: The broken wooden bird, which is either lost or stolen when Addie freezes on the streets of Paris, reemerges on a plinth in the National Gallery. It is part of a sculpture of five birds by the fictional artist Arlo Miret. Ironically, the work is titled Revenir, which in English means “to come back.”

The next few times are also by accident. An artist at Madame Geoffrin’s salon draws Addie and her distinctive constellation of freckles as she listens to Voltaire, Diderot, and other luminaries of the Enlightenment. A half-century later, the artist Matteo Renatti sketches Addie the morning after one of their many trysts, and the sketch later serves as a model for future works. Addie discovers she may be able to leave her mark on the art world with greater intention, as opposed to doing so incidentally. By the 21st century, Addie is able to serve as more than a muse; she can be an artist herself. With Toby, for example, she is directly responsible for writing the piano melody that forms the basis of his hit song, “Dream Girl.”

The fragility of memory is also expressed through Henry. As soon as Addie leaves, his memory of her begins to degrade:

It’s not that he’s fallen victim to her curse. She has not been erased in any way. The details are simply fading, as all things do, glossing over by degrees, the mind loosening its hold on the past to make way for the future. But he doesn’t want to let go. He is trying not to let go (437).

Indeed, even Henry, who wants more than anything to remember every detail about Addie, finds his memory is insufficient to the task of preserving her as she was and is. This is why he throws himself so fully into the task of converting her life story into a novel.