“At times these days I think of the way the sun would set on the farmland around our small house in the autumn. She also remembers with what appears to be great affection, the landscape of her childhood, even claiming to have been able to hear the corn growing in the fields. Lucy grew up not really knowing true affection – instead she remembers the terror of being locked in a car while her parents were away from the house. The children were singled out for ridicule at school.

For many years, Lucy and her family, her parents, brother and sister lived in an unheated garage at the side of an uncle’s house. The two gossip lightly about the people from Lucy’s childhood, and as they talk the memories of Lucy’s poverty stricken childhood return. Lucy loves just hearing the sound of her mother’s voice, there is comfort in her presence, in hearing herself called by her old pet name. For several days, her mother stays with her constantly, refusing offers of a cot bed next to her daughter she takes occasional naps in the chair. One day while lying in her hospital bed with its view of the Chrysler building, Lucy wakes to find her mother sat by her bed. Lucy has been living in New York for some years, since before her marriage, and it has been years since she has seen her mother, who she left behind her in Amgash, Illinois. Her husband was left at home with their two daughters. Lucy herself narrates the story, she recalls a time, now many years in the past when she was confined to a hospital bed for several weeks. “Lonely was the first flavour I had tasted in my life, and it was always there, hidden inside the crevices of my mouth, reminding me.” It is a story of memory, of how the past shapes us, moulding us to who we become, and it is hard to shake that off. In part, My Name is Lucy Barton is a story of mothers and daughters, though it is also much more than that. Still, this novel is deserving of all the accolades it has received, I loved the restrained, subtlety of the writing, and was impressed with how much is actually going on in less than 200 pages, when, on the surface there is little plot. It is a novel I have been told by others will make it on to their books of the year list – that’s a lot to live up to, and yes, I enjoyed it a lot but it hasn’t made my end of year list (it seems I have read a lot of superb books this year) – which I shall post tomorrow, if I get my act together.

Longlisted for this year’s Booker Prize – My Name is Lucy Barton was also hugely popular with readers.

It seems as if just about everyone has been reading this book this year, and I, as so often, came rather late to the party.

My name is lucy barton book review