![]() When I first heard a description of the novel, I wondered if it was a ghost story. And, like a child, Lucy both relishes her mother’s presence and pines for more attention, at one point wishing her mother would ask more about her life, and at another, blurting out her achievements and then, almost immediately, dismissing them as “dumb.” ![]() As Lucy lies in her hospital bed like a child lying poorly on the sofa, she listens to her mother tell stories about the people of their home town. But the hospital is a neutral space that allows Lucy and her mother to make a brief reconnect. Lucy and her mother are not exactly estranged, but as the novel proceeds it becomes evident that they are as distant as parent and child can be, Lucy living in New York with her husband and children while her mother and the rest of the family remain in the rural Illinois town of Lucy’s childhood. Lucy Barton wakes, three weeks into a long-term hospital stay, to find her mother sitting at the bottom of her bed. ![]() And I think that approach absolutely complements My Name is Lucy Barton. ![]() I like a book I can read in one sitting, so I can sink into its world and live with the characters. ![]()
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