My Name Is Lucy Barton: A Novel

Cynthia Ozick has defined modernism as "the kind of overt self-consciousness that identifies and interrogates its own motions and motives." Is Elizabeth Strout's My Name Is Lucy Barton modern by this definition? It's certainly self-conscious, in the sense that it is a book about Lucy Barton, written by Lucy Barton, which recognizes that it is a book about Lucy Barton written by Lucy Barton. It clearly identifies and interrogates its own motives and recitations of events because it is, in essence, Lucy Barton asking herself how she feels - about motherhood, marriage, mental illness, and more - by tracing her relationships with her parents, her husband, and her daughters. Yet it is also the antithesis of modern, because Lucy constantly shies away from any true insight, both by doubting her own memories and by obscuring the traumas in the lives of the Barton family. Strout, in her persona as Lucy, is quite coy, particularly when it comes to sex, but the book is set in New York City in the 1980s and 1990s. Even though Lucy is primarily recounting events from her childhood in rural Amgash, Illinois, one would expect her to filter those experiences through her adult eyes and come to some definite conclusions; spoiler alert: she does not. Something about Strout's tone led me from the very beginning to think that we were in the 1950s, and that temporal disconnect left me unsettled throughout the entire book. Fortunately, My Name Is Lucy Barton is a very short book, so I don't consider the couple of hours I spent reading and reviewing it wasted. However, it has now been relegated to my "meh" pile. I received a free copy of My Name Is Lucy Barton from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Anytime you pick up a novel by Elizabeth Strout, you are sure to learn more about the inner life of we humans. MY NAME IS LUCY BARTON is no exception. I picked this book up after finishing Strout's newer OH, WILLIAM - which is about Lucy Barton's relationship with her husband, William. This book, about a time early in her marriage, sheds light on Lucy's family of origin and upbringing, with a primary focus is on a period when Lucy was ill and hospitalized - and her estranged mother came to visit. The two sit together, alone, for days - trying to connect. It is SUCH a truly touching story. About a daughter's lifelong yearning for parental love and about a mother's limitations in expressing emotion. Always believable and true to life, Strout's multi-dimensional characters show us that we simply CAN'T always get what we want. But sometimes, if we work really hard, we CAN make peace with something less. It's a short, fast read -- told in an episodic style -- a bit sad, and very emotional.

3.5 stars This story kept my interest the entire time, but I don't really know what the point was. I felt like maybe it was about how we all make mistakes or how we have to love our parents even if they weren't always good parents? I really just don't know. It's like a lady just telling random things in her life.