Irwin Shaw "Lucy Crown"
Here I’m going to scream, because this entire book irritated me to no end - and only somewhere near the very end will I finally tell you about something to praise. So keep reading.
Lucy Crown is a novel by the American writer Irwin Shaw. It tells the story of a wife and a mother - the same woman - who, in the summer of 1937, begins an affair with a young man the Crown family has hired as a companion for their fragile son, Tony.
And from this point on I start tearing into the characters, so SPOILERS ahead (which I rarely do):
How could grown adults force a child to take part in their emotional warfare? To make “thoughtful” decisions at thirteen? Yes, he witnessed his mother’s affair. Yes, he is angry. But given time, he would have begun to understand things. Of course the mother completely lost her mind. As a woman, I understand her entirely - her feelings, her frustrations, the reasons behind her actions - but not when a child is involved. What kind of mother shifts responsibility for her son’s life onto the father’s shoulders and just walks away? Claims that he hates her, while herself deciding, like a child, to never see him again? What kind of infantilism is this? Teenage maximalism stuck in the body of a thirty-year-old woman?
I understand that the situation demanded a decision, and no good one was available. Yes, if she loved her husband and chose to stay, rebuilding her relationship with her son would take at least a decade. But it feels as though she doesn’t even want to try. She was attached to him like to a toy, because she had nothing else in her life she was trusted to be responsible for. And once she imagined a life without those shackles - she liked it. With her own hands, she destroyed everything that supposedly mattered to her, only to realize that she never truly cared in the first place.
Oliver chooses his wife over his son - which is simply inhuman. And how can people like this be called parents? One gives up so easily on earning her son’s forgiveness, and the other couldn’t care less about how the boy will cope with all that trauma on his own. You reap what you sow, Oliver, so don’t be surprised when you see a frightened, withdrawn son two years later.
This is a story about how you can ruin a person’s life from early childhood - about all the wrong steps, all the irresponsible decisions that shape the fate of a small human being. He has every right to believe that he was not loved; otherwise, why did his parents all but abandon him for two crucial years of puberty?
Selfish Lucy is even afraid to be alone with her son during their first meeting after all that time. She only cares about her own feelings, without considering what the boy is thinking or feeling. A boy. He is still only fifteen. She is so preoccupied with not being hurt or deprived that she fails to notice how horribly she treats her own child.
As for the ending:
We’ve come a long way with this family. It’s good that the heroine finally speaks up and that everything unfolds the way it does - and that the son is finally able to see her not as a still-young, passionate tramp and libertine, but as an aging woman full of sorrow and regret, a widow and a mother. It’s fascinating how much depends on perception. I’m glad the ending was kind; I desperately needed that after the entire book.
A friend once described this novel as “a pastry without filling”, and I agree - the story lacks properly developed character motivation.
Now, let’s give credit where it’s due:
The book undoubtedly left a lasting impression - which means it worked. I loved how smoothly the narrative flows. Reading it was genuinely pleasant: the lines connect effortlessly, and the sentences seem to have a rhythm that carries you forward.
All in all, as a cultural artifact - I approve. Your blood will boil for a couple of days afterward.