My Name is Lucy Barton: Talking about Trauma without Saying that Word

I love Elizabeth Strout’s writing. I just finished My Name is Lucy Barton and couldn’t put it down. I underlined whole paragraphs, folded pages, read quotes out loud to others. She writes so well about how developmental trauma feels but uses non-clinical language. It’s SO good. Here are some quotes I love that won’t give away the plot.

“We were not as close as you might expect; we were equally friendless and equally scorned, and we eyed each other with the same suspicion with which we eyed the rest of the world. There are times now, and my life has changed so completely, that I think back on the early years and I find myself thinking: It was not that bad. Perhaps it was not. But there are times, too-unexpected-when walking down a sunny sidewalk, or watching the top of a tree bend in the wind, or seeing a November sky close down over the East River, I am suddenly filled with the knowledge of darkness so deep that a sound might escape from my mouth, and I will step into the nearest clothing store and talk with a stranger about the shape of sweaters newly arrived. This must be the way most of us maneuver through the world, half knowing, half not, visited by memories that can’t possibly be true. ut when I see others walking with confidence down the sidewalk, as though they are free completely from terror, I realized I don’t know how others are. So much of life seems speculation.” Pg. 14

“But the books brought me things. That is my point. They made me feel less alone. This is my point. And I thought: I will write and people will not feel so alone?” Pg. 24

“Looking back, I imagine that I was very odd, that I spoke too loudly, or that I said nothing when things of popular culture were mentioned; I think I responded strangely to ordinary types of humor that were unknown to me. I think I didn’t understand the concept of irony at all and that confused people.” Pg. 28

“…I see now that he recognized what I did not: that in spite of my plentitude, I was lonely. Lonely was the first flavor I had tasted in my life, and it was always there, hidden inside the crevices of my mouth, reminding me.” Pg. 41-42

“But with my mother, I didn’t dare cry. Both my parents loathed the act of crying, and it’s difficult for a child who is crying to have to stop, knowing if she doesn’t stop everything will be made worse.” Pg. 100-101

“This is the story about a mother who loves her daughter imperfectly. Because we all love imperfectly. But if you find yourself protecting anyone as you write this piece, remember this: You’re not doing it right.”
Pg. 107

“… the happy memories hurt me,” Pg. 176

“The rage of my girls, during those years! There are moments I try to forget, but I will never forget. I worry about what it is they will never forget.” Pg. 185

“But I think I know so well the pain we children clutch to our chests, how it lasts our whole lifetimes, with longings so large you can’t even weep. We hold it tight, we do, with each seizure of the beating heart: This is mine, this is mine, this is mine.” Pg. 190