Strout, Elizabeth. My Name is Lucy Barton. New York: Random House, 2016.

I want to be more elegant to review this title. Yesterday and unexpected snow day allowed me the privilege of reading an adult book that I have been eager to get at since it arrived at my public library. I read it quickly, and to review it more elegantly and intellectually, I would need to read it again. I am not anticipating another snow day, so I am just going to talk about what I loved.

I love that Strout returned to the short story style that I loved so much in Olive Kitteredge. She masterfully weaves together a series of stories that could potentially stand individually to create a beautiful novel. I love the glimpses into the lives of the folks from Lucy’s hometown, told primarily through the lense of her mother, perhaps a fractured lense. And through these individual stories, Strout explores what is universal in our experiences.

I love that Strout frames the novel from the point of view of a novelist. The pieces with the published novelist workshopping Lucy Barton’s work are intriguing. I love that she helps Lucy to envision that which she cannot quite see on her own in terms of her life and her writing. But I also feel a little like Strout is instructing me...here is what you might take away from THIS part of the novel. I felt more of a nudge than a slap, and on a snow day the nudge was lovely.

I love the slow burn to the reveal of Lucy Barton’s childhood. The hints and suggestions that work together much like the stories mentioned earlier. And then...and then...in the ends, I was still left just a little uncomfortable wondering just exactly what happened to Lucy Barton as she grew up in her dysfunctional home - one that didn’t break her. Her gratitude at having her mother by her side in the hospital is real as is her grief when her mother leaves. Her mother is not bowed by Lucy’s adult self. She maintains her attitude throughout (oh how she reminds me of Olive).

I love that I could read this novel in an afternoon, but that I want to read it again this summer and savor it word by word, story by story, and chapter by chapter. I hope to mine some short story gold for my AP Literature class.

I wish I could elevate my writing in this review to the level of Strout’s in My Name is Lucy Barton. I'd love to pull out all of my AP Literature chops and formally analyze the novel like a champ. Hopefully, my love of the title will stand on its own for now. Read the book.