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My Name Is Lucy Barton: A Novel Hardcover – Deckle Edge, 12 January 2016
Elizabeth Strout (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY
The Washington Post - The New York Times Book Review - NPR - BookPage - LibraryReads - Minneapolis Star Tribune - St. Louis Post-Dispatch
Lucy Barton is recovering slowly from what should have been a simple operation. Her mother, to whom she hasn't spoken for many years, comes to see her. Gentle gossip about people from Lucy's childhood in Amgash, Illinois, seems to reconnect them, but just below the surface lie the tension and longing that have informed every aspect of Lucy's life: her escape from her troubled family, her desire to become a writer, her marriage, her love for her two daughters. Knitting this powerful narrative together is the brilliant storytelling voice of Lucy herself: keenly observant, deeply human, and truly unforgettable.
LONGLISTED FOR THE MAN BOOKER PRIZE
Praise for My Name Is Lucy Barton
"A quiet, sublimely merciful contemporary novel about love, yearning, and resilience in a family damaged beyond words."--The Boston Globe
"It is Lucy's gentle honesty, complex relationship with her husband, and nuanced response to her mother's shortcomings that make this novel so subtly powerful."--San Francisco Chronicle
"A short novel about love, particularly the complicated love between mothers and daughters, but also simpler, more sudden bonds . . . It evokes these connections in a style so spare, so pure and so profound the book almost seems to be a kind of scripture or sutra, if a very down-to-earth and unpretentious one."--Newsday
"Spectacular . . . Smart and cagey in every way. It is both a book of withholdings and a book of great openness and wisdom. . . . [Strout] is in supreme and magnificent command of this novel at all times."--Lily King, The Washington Post
"An aching, illuminating look at mother-daughter devotion."--People
"This slim, perceptive novel packs more sentiment and pain into its unsparingly honest and forthright prose than novels two and three times as long. Strout . . . has always awed us with her ability to put into words the mysterious and unfathomable ways in which people cherish each other."--Chicago Tribune
- Print length208 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRandom House Publishing Group
- Publication date12 January 2016
- Dimensions15.24 x 2.03 x 21.84 cm
- ISBN-101400067693
- ISBN-13978-1400067695
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Review
"Sensitive, deceptively simple . . . [Elizabeth] Strout captures the pull between the ruthlessness required to write without restraint and the necessity of accepting others' flaws. It is Lucy's gentle honesty, complex relationship with her husband, and nuanced response to her mother's shortcomings that make this novel so subtly powerful. . . . My Name Is Lucy Barton--like all of Strout's fiction--is more complex than it first appears, and all the more emotionally persuasive for it."--San Francisco Chronicle
"A short novel about love, particularly the complicated love between mothers and daughters, but also simpler, more sudden bonds . . . It evokes these connections in a style so spare, so pure and so profound the book almost seems to be a kind of scripture or sutra."--Newsday
"Spectacular . . . Smart and cagey in every way . . . A book of withholdings and a book of great openness and wisdom. . . . [Strout] is in supreme and magnificent command of this novel at all times."--The Washington Post
"An aching, illuminating look at mother-daughter devotion."--People
"This slim, perceptive novel packs more sentiment and pain into its unsparingly honest and forthright prose than novels two and three times as long. Strout . . . has always awed us with her ability to put into words the mysterious and unfathomable ways in which people cherish each other."--Chicago Tribune
"Lucy Barton is . . . potent with distilled emotion. Without a hint of self-pity, Strout captures the ache of loneliness we all feel sometimes."--Time
"There is not a scintilla of sentimentality in this exquisite novel. Instead, in its careful words and vibrating silences, My Name Is Lucy Barton offers us a rare wealth of emotion, from darkest suffering to--'I was so happy. Oh, I was happy'--simple joy."--Claire Messud, The New York Times Book Review
"Deeply affecting."--The Guardian
"Strout allies herself less with recent autobiographical fictions than with Ernest Hemingway, whose style remains unmatched for its capacity to convey the effects of trauma without sentimentality. . . . Reading My Name Is Lucy Barton, I was frequently put in mind of Hemingway's famous injunction to write 'the truest sentence that you know.'"--The Wall Street Journal
"Impressionistic and haunting . . . With Lucy Barton, [Strout] reminds us of the power of our stories--and our ability to transcend our troubled narratives."--Miami Herald
"Writing of this quality comes from a commitment to listening, from a perfect attunement to the human condition, from an attention to reality so exact that it goes beyond a skill and becomes a virtue."--Hilary Mantel
About the Author
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Product details
- Publisher : Random House Publishing Group (12 January 2016)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 208 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1400067693
- ISBN-13 : 978-1400067695
- Dimensions : 15.24 x 2.03 x 21.84 cm
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Elizabeth Strout is the author of the New York Times bestseller Olive Kitteridge, for which she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize; the national bestseller Abide with Me; and Amy and Isabelle, winner of the Los Angeles Times Art Seidenbaum Award and the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize. She has also been a finalist for the PEN/Faulkner Award and the Orange Prize in London. She lives in Maine and New York City.
Customer reviews
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My Name Is Lucy Barton is a short, sparse novel and every word, every incident related is carefully chosen. There's a veil of ambiguity over the whole novel that made me constantly question what I was reading. It's clear that Lucy's mother, Lydia, remembers certain things very differently to the way Lucy does. Was Lucy's childhood really as bad as she believes it to have been, or - as someone who tells stories for a living - is she creating an embellished narrative to express some other, even deeper problem? There's an extra layer of uncertainty, too, as Lucy is looking back on her hospital stay and relating her conversations with her mother to us at a much later date, long after the two children she worries about while in hospital have grown up. We're not just relying on memories: we're relying on memories of memories. What, exactly, are the vague, undiagnosed complications she's suffering after her appendectomy - and is it just a coincidence that, having spent her childhood wary of a volatile, disturbed father, she is almost obsessively attached to the kind, calm and paternal doctor who oversees her care? Lucy may have left behind her traumatic past for New York, comfortable affluence and literary acclaim, but she'll never be able to escape her family's influence completely, and her relationship with her own daughters seems far from clear-cut.
It's not often that a novel says so much in so few words. Strout's prose is beautifully economical and Lucy's recollections are shaped by her traumatic experiences, some of which she is clearly repressing, so what's left out is sometimes just as important as what's included. This is a thoughtful exploration of fractured, complicated family relationships and the ripple effect of childhood poverty and neglect through the generations.

This book is different, I bought it because I went to the theatre a few months back to see the play with Laura Linney and I was so deeply touched by her performance!it made me want to re live the story, a story that I feel belongs to all of us, one way or another, about families, our relationship with our parents,our fears, our lives and how everything comes full circle at the end. Always.
Elisabeth Strout doesn't write a story, she whispers it to our ears to remind us that it's alright to cry and be human and scared. One of the best.

Lucy’s mother had come from Illinois to New York City to visit her daughter, who was in hospital there, with unexplained complications after an appendectomy. They had not seen each other for many years; but the mother stayed by her bed, day and night, for five days, cat-napping in the chair by the bed. She never asked her daughter anything about her life, and instead reminisced about her own childhood and, quite inconsequentially, about a number of people she knew.
On the fifth day, Lucy had an X-ray, and her doctor saw a blockage, and said she might need surgery. Her mother then left abruptly, against Lucy’s protests. Lucy had no memory of her mother kissing her good-bye or indeed of her ever having kissed her. Lucy would see her only once more in her life – nine years later, when her mother was terminally ill.
Is that a credible relationship?
Lucy has her own reminiscences, some of them as inconsequential as her mother’s; but other, more interesting ones, are about her own childhood. These were only mental reminiscences, since her mother did not ask her anything about her life.
Her father had worked on a farm. The family was very poor and lived in an unheated garage. Lucy had spent a lot of time after hours in her school, where it was warm. She was an ardent reader and so successful a student that she had won a free place at a college outside Chicago, and eventually became writer.
It was at the college that she had met William, who was working there as a lab assistant. She had married him when she was twenty, and they had two daughters. William was the son of a German prisoner of war and the wife of a farmer for whom he had been working. Lucy’s father was ill at ease with his son-in-law: he had fought in the Second World War, and felt guilty for the rest of his life at having shot two young German civilians, and the blond William looked like one of them.
It turned out that Lucy did not need surgery; and, after another five weeks, she was allowed home.
William had come a few times to visit her in hospital. He had been left a lot of money, and the couple were now well off. When Lucy’s novels came out, they were a great and profitable success. We are told, without any details, that her and William’s marriage would be bad; that she would leave him and their daughters, and that they would both remarry, in her case a man who had also been born in great poverty, but who had become a brilliant cello player That story will be told by Elizabeth Strout in a later book, “Oh William!”
Unsatisfactory as I found the depiction of the mother-daughter relationship, I was sufficiently interested in Lucy to want to read that sequel.

While narrated solely through Lucy Barton’s voice, unlike the multiple voices in “OK”, Lucy’s voice is uncertain, prone to revision and wavering, as she looks back on her long hospital stay as a young wife and mother. Her mother’s visit triggers stark memories of her impoverished (and possibly abusive) childhood and informs her ambivalent relationship with her mother, as she sees both of them through others’ eyes.
Written like a confessional or a memoir, the novel is made up of moments, side stories, recounted conversations, ponderings, stitched together. Lucy tells of her struggles as a fledgling writer, and her determination to write what is real, following the advice of a writer that “if you find yourself protecting anyone as you write this piece, remember this: You’re not doing it right”. What comes through in Lucy’s own narrative about her family is her inability at times to do just that as she reports on her parents’ neglect and abuse, but which is mingled with apology and excuses made in their behalf as she also tries to show the tender side to them, which gives her whole writing exercise a metafictive slant, revealing much about Lucy Barton herself. She reminds the reader at several points in the story that this is not a story about her marriage and yet it seeps through, over and over again, as it is part of her story and cannot be left out.
A quietly moving novel, that draws the reader in to all the hopes, fears and dreams of a character in all her vulnerability and brokenness, as she finds a way to grab onto herself and define who she is.

Again, I expected to find a novel, but I'm not even sure I would call this a book. Very brief - only 191 pages, large text, and lots of empty space. Some of the "chapters" were only one paragraph! The chapters consisted of a series of vignettes, almost conversations between the central character (who was herself an author; convenient) and her mother, or with the reader. I felt no connection with any of the characters in this series of vignettes. The only positive aspect (if you could call it that) was that I had several ah-ha moments, as I recognised names from the "Anything is Possible" chapters.
I was really expecting this book to be the story of Lucy Barton, but it wasn't (at all). It was Lucy Barton having conversations with herself.
I think Elizabeth Strout must be one of those Marmite authors who lots of people love but a substantial minority don't like at all. Count me in the latter. I won't be giving her another chance. Two strikes and you're out.