![]() ![]() We glimpse the humiliating poverty of her childhood-a father who struggled to hold a job, the family living in a relative's unheated garage. The narrative weaves between five days and nights in the present-mother at daughter's bedside, often gossiping about acquaintances from back home-and Lucy's past. The visit makes Lucy "feel warm and liquid-filled, as though all my tension had been a solid thing and now was not," yet she wouldn't think of expressing this to someone embarrassed by the slightest show of emotion. This is no small thing it's the mother's first time on a plane, and the women haven't seen each other for the better part of a decade. ![]() ![]() Lucy lies in a New York City hospital suffering from an undiagnosed illness when her mother unexpectedly arrives from rural Illinois, where Lucy grew up. In her spare and mesmerizing novel My Name Is Lucy Barton, Elizabeth Strout elegantly probes the chasm between what is said and what is felt as a daughter and her undemonstrative mother shyly reconnect. ![]()
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