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★★★★★
"This is my story. This one."
Perhaps, as Lucy Barton’s writing instructor Sarah Payne says, we really only have one story within us. If this is so, then Elizabeth Strout’s consistent story is about imperfect love and striving for connection. Or, to use Sarah Payne’s own words, “…to report on the human condition to tell us who we are and what we think and what we do.”
Elizabeth Strout rose to the occasion beautifully with her creation of Olive Kitteridge – a flawed, closed-down woman who has steeled herself from the world with layers of self-protection. There are wisps of Olive Kitteridge in Lucy Barton’s mother, but for Lucy herself, the world still gives ample reasons for amazement.
We meet Lucy during her nine-week stay at a NYC hospital for an undisclosed illness. Her mother, who never did enough to protect her from an impoverished life and an unpredictable father, flies to her bedside. The “meat” of the story focuses on what is NOT said during this time period. While her mother compulsively talks about “marriages gone bad”, she is unable to give Lucy what she really needs: verbal affirmation that she is loved.
Yet this is more than a simple story of a mother and daughter reconciliation. It goes right to the heart of how we remember and convey our own truths. When Lucy does connect to the writer Sarah Payne, she thinks this: “I liked her books. I like writers who try to tell you something truthful.” At the same time, she muses, “”And then I realized that even in her books, she was not telling exactly the truth, she was always staying away from something. Why, she could barely say her name!”
Owning one’s own truth – embodying one’s own name -- is the vital element for redemption and acceptance. This book does not only peer into the heart of one woman with a need for healing; it also peers into the heart of how fiction can heal.
November 2015 · Books