My Name Is Lucy Barton

As much as I loved the Olive Kittridge books Elizabeth Strout so finely constructed, I found this one kind of disturbing and depressing. The title of the book in its original form doesn't give much away, the German translation thereof does: Die Unvollkommenheit der Liebe. Of course love is complex, each love different from the next but the story paints a rather detached, bizarre and twisted picture of what love meant to Lucy and frankly, I am glad I am not living her life. I know critics raved and she won a prize for this book but if I had read this book first, I wouldn't be reading any others by this author.