Out of the - now limited - range of titles that the Southwark eLibrary offers these days, there are a few Lucy Barton books. I have tried not to read them in too quick a succession, and it's largely proved the be the right call.
While Strout remains a great story-teller, the feelings she leaves me with are always the same (even when her plots are different). The problem is that after a while the returns diminish, and the above-mentioned feelings get diluted. I was mind-blown by Strout's prose the first time I read one of her books, now I just read them as a pleasant intermission between books that I find either more engaging or more substantial.
I also have to admit that one of the reasons why I didn't particularly enjoy this book is my inability to understand a character who has such a troubled relationship with her mom because, like all good Italian kids, I love my mamma.
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