If Elizabeth Strout’s Oh William! (2021), which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize this year, lets the sunlight in, then, her latest novel, Lucy by the Sea, takes it out. I do not mean this in a gloomy way even though that’s the hard bar that Strout seems to aim for. It still occasionally lets the breeze in, but that’s about it.
The formerly married couple can go wherever they want to only because of the money they have. They belong to a social class that allows them to move to another place at the drop of a hat. In Maine, they can breathe freely and even take walks every now and then. But this isn’t a novel that wraps itself around the boilerplate of what-ifs. Strout doesn’t go there. And neither does her protagonist, Lucy. They’re both happy to be where they are (the coast of Maine), and the first part of the story mostly touches upon the weather and the other small things that people usually notice when they find themselves in a fresh environment.
Lucy by the Sea is a quiet reflection of our current times. But it cannot speak for all of us because it deals with the struggles of only a certain section of the population. It, nevertheless, cleverly ropes in the unpredictable nature of the pandemic to raise the stakes. This is what Lucy says in the beginning, “Here is what I did not know that morning in March: I did not know that I would never see my apartment again. I did not know that one of my friends and a family member would die of this virus. I did not know that my relationship with my daughters would change in ways I could never have anticipated. I did not know that my entire life would become something new.”
All of these incidents will unfold in the next few hundred-odd pages. And within them, grief will, perhaps, turn out to be the most familiar theme. But even as Lucy gets acquainted with the hand of death, she keeps vulnerability at a safe distance. She definitely worries a lot about many things. Who doesn’t? However, she comes across as a person who’s used to putting her mind before her heart. And when doubts regarding her capabilities creep in, a friend, who always has the right words, casually lists the bold steps she has taken in her life (from leaving a marriage to writing books).
That conversation helped me to define the novel in my mind. I must say that Strout has a strong ear for dialogue — whether it’s between strangers or old friends, they run along the length of nicety.
William’s half-sister, who appeared as a supporting character in Oh William!, returns in Lucy by the Sea as an extra. And this time, she agrees to meet him; she spoke to only Lucy earlier. The pandemic must have changed her inner wiring, after all. I wanted to be a fly on the wall during their meeting, really, since I’m always curious about the evolving equation between siblings. But their interaction takes place outside the pages and I was thrown back to square one — picking up the pieces of misery and extra-marital affairs (this is where the daughters come in).
As long as I was swimming in the narrative, I didn’t mind it. When a writer doesn’t hurry to tackle the horns of the next plot point at the slightest chance she gets, it’s a clear sign that indicates the amount of control she holds over her craft. Strout’s prose isn’t full of important happenings. There are many languorous passages that pop up at random. As much as they are fillers, they can also be counted as brief pauses that we often take, like naps. I’ll dip into some of them a year or two from now just for the fun of it.
I wouldn’t classify Lucy by the Sea as a beach read despite its title. It works much better in a garden, but if a beach is where it goes, then, surely one must give it the gentle time it requires and not pick it up with the mere intention of finding out who has an affair, or who dies.
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