It is a novel, too, about the connections that form between people over time – between Lucy and the doctor who is kind to her and the writing teacher who inspires her.

There is little sentimentality in the way Strout captures the deep need that exists between Lucy and her mother as well as their ability to hurt one another.

Her style is simple but at times profound and, in its own delicate way, it is often deeply moving. The Pulitzer-winning author of Olive Kitteridge is a writer of considerable emotional insight. But it is about the incredible richness of meaning that can be contained in one small phrase: “I’m glad you’re here.” It is a story full of silences just as families are full of silences. Nor do Lucy and her mother discuss her father’s temper or the reason for her own deep terror of snakes. Much in this goes go unsaid, including the words “I love you”. These experiences – half remembered, rarely discussed, always there – Lucy carries with her into marriage and life in New York. She grew up on the fringes of a small town in Illinois and spent some years living in the garage of a great uncle. Lucy’s childhood was one of considerable poverty. It is also a story of beginnings and the way people are shaped by their backgrounds. My Name Is Lucy Barton encompasses Lucy’s marriage and her path to becoming a writer, but it is in the intimacy of these five days, with Lucy’s mother taking catnaps in the chair beside her bed, that we come to understand the nature of the bond between them.

Elizabeth strout lucy barton