I guess, I was meant to read this book. I mean, it feels like this whole Amgash series, it was actually meant for me.
Now I came to appreaciate better how this story of Lucy being slowly unfolded from the first book to this third book. It prepared me for the worst, like the author knew it might be too much for me to take in everything all at once.
This book is centred around her previous husband, William, who is also the father of her two daughters. It tells us what she felt of William on occasions, what she thought of him, what kind of person he is, and down to the history of his family life. It’s basically the life of a William. And how they stayed as good friends even after whatever happened in their marriage.
I’m not going to talk about their marital business here because you can read it yourself, but let’s dive deeper into what actually shapes Lucy Barton as Lucy Barton, on why she felt the way she felt, and the thorough impact of her mother onto herself, as an individual (it's always an interesting topic to talk about, please pardon me).
Strout finally reveals more on Lucy Barton’s difficult childhood in this third book, in fact, more than she ever revealed in her two previous books from this Amgash series, which will give you a better sense of why she is the way she is. Because I remember reading the first book in this Amgash series, My Name Is Lucy Barton, and feeling frustrated and parched for more. And the whole story felt rather fleeting when I finished it, because I thought it holds so much pontentials, only if the author dived deeper into the mother and daughter relationship. And when I finished reading most of the books from the series, I understand it was for the best, it was meant to be that way, one thing at a time.
Reading the first book, when her mother was there to look after her at the hospital, you will get this sense of Lucy's deep longing for her mother, and how she seemed unable to reach for her mother when she was just there. You know, how some people are physically close yet unreachable, yes, that’s what it felt like between Lucy and her mother.
“But I think I know so well the pain we children clutch to our chests, how it lasts our whole lifetime, 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."
Finishing the third book from the series, it felt like the puzzles in my head finally got completed. Now I got the full picture of all the whys I had been asking myself regarding why Lucy Barton felt certain ways about herself and the root-cause of it. Honestly, it’s not because I don’t really know why (one will always figure it out), or the possible answers to those whys, but it felt like I just needed a confirmation of my thoughts and understanding. Because deep down, I do know why, of course I know why, for all the time I spent searching for answers, way before I know the existence of the Elizabeth Strout and her enthralling works.
“I feel invisible, is what I mean. But I mean it in the deepest way. It is very hard to explain. And I cannot explain it except to say—oh, I don’t know what to say! Truly, it is as if I do not exist, I guess is the closest thing I can say. I mean I do not exist in the world.”
In this third book, she talked about the sense of invisibility encloaking her all her life. I came to understand why she felt like that, because when people spent most of their life wondering if their mother had ever loved them, they will struggle to feel if they even matter in this world, resulting to the the sense of invisibility for most of the time. And those people will come to (always) struggle to believe in their self-worth. Not to mention this gaping hole, incurable, deep loneliness they need to deal with. There’s also this feeling that they always feel rather detached, floating away from themselves. She did mention on how she doubted if her mother ever said she loved her.
And also, in this very book, it was revealed how incredibly hard her mother was to her during some important events of her life. To me, it’s interesting to try to understand the character of Lucy’s mother because that's what shaped her, and the whole story.
I don’t know why but I feel like I understand Lucy’s mother in certain ways. Because for someone to be that cold, hard and rather detached from their loved ones, there must be this unsurmountable pain she’s struggling with on her own, and to live with such pain, could make you oblivious on how you're going to inflict similar kind of pain to the people around you. And to be that hard, so hard to those people she shared her blood with, imagine how hard she was with herself in the first place.
And this is truly sad and hearbreaking, to realise, there are people out there living with with such pain like Lucy and her mother.
If you have such a deep mother wound, you will come to understand that you are going to carry the painful longing to the end of your life, and those pain will shape you along the way, molding a certain type of woman you will become. And this is also mentioned in this very book, which's true. The moment that realisation hit you, it could feel like the worst feeling ever. If only most people thoroughly understand the colossal impact a mother could have on a child.
Now, let’s talk why I think Elizabeth Strout is a brilliant writer (and why it seems thousands of people think the same way, and why it’s another writer I want my future kids to read from).
She has this enormous capability, to capture every human’s joy and suffering in a very intricate ways, and that always leaves me wondering how someone is able to capture those subtleties of life, whether she went through them herself or she’s simply a spectacular observer of life, but is it enough to observe just from the side lines without going through them herself to be able to write complex subjects that well, with all the details?
Her writing possesses this quality of striking honesty that makes her characters so human that you can’t help yourself but to feel compassion for them, if not relatable. I remember after reading a fraction of this third book of Amgash series, i was lying on my bed, in the middle of the night, staring into the unknown, was kept awakened by her lingering words, and then, all I know, my quiet cries had turned into this rasping ugly sobbing that I had to muffle myself for not wanting to be so loud. And that lasted for a few hours, until the morning sun had risen.
I loved the second book so very much, I was left feeling bouyant, and weeks of book-hungover, to the point, books I read after that felt rather flat (I'm still feeling guilty over Dead-End Memories by Banana Yoshimoto). But this book, those bits of details just hit me hard in the throat, invoking all kinds of emotions and certain painful memories and feelings I always wish to quiet down and to pretend I have moved past them, that they don’t matter anymore. It had ripped me raw, felt almost forced (in a good way) to sit with the feelings and emotions, and then processed the pain for the nth times. Most importantly, I felt understood, and that's important to me, because that only happens very rarely.
If you are dealing with this type of pain, I am sorry, but please know that God will always be there to guide you through, and for those who couldn’t make any sense of my writing, be thankful, because there's always bliss for our incapabilities of understanding certain things in life.
I am recommending you this book, and the first two books from this series (haven’t read the final book myself, but definitely will) with all my heart.
