The New York Apartment as a Symbol in Lucy by the Sea
The New York Apartment as a Symbol in Lucy by the Sea
In Elizabeth Strout's Lucy by the Sea, the New York apartment that Lucy Barton has rented since leaving her first husband, William, functions as far more than a setting. It is a concrete, recurring object that carries the weight of Lucy's pre-pandemic identity, her marriage to David, her independence as a writer, and—crucially—the source of the panic attacks that have shaped her adult life. Over the course of the novel, the apartment shifts from a place of comfort and self-definition to a source of dread, and finally to something Lucy must consciously relinquish in order to move forward. Tracing this symbol reveals how Strout uses a physical space to dramatize the novel's central themes of grief, isolation, memory, and the slow work of rebuilding a self.
What the Apartment Literally Is
The apartment is a small, rented space in Manhattan that Lucy has occupied for roughly twenty years—she notes that she acquired her large plant when she first moved out from William, and that plant has been with her for two decades. It is the home where she raised her daughters, where she wrote her books, and where she lived with her second husband, David, until his death a year before the novel opens. The apartment is modest: William later describes it as "a tiny place," and when he proposes moving her belongings out of it, he emphasizes how little there is to retrieve. It contains, among other things, David's cello, which becomes a painful reminder of his absence. The apartment is also the place where Lucy has experienced panic attacks severe enough that she takes prescription medication for them—pills she must call her New York doctor to refill once she is in Maine.
Where the Apartment Recurs
The apartment appears throughout the novel as a point of reference, even when Lucy is physically far from it. In Chapter One, as William drives her out of the city in early March, Lucy does not know she will never see the apartment again. She leaves with only a small violet suitcase, assuming she will return in a couple of weeks. The apartment is implicitly present in the errands she runs before leaving, in the plant she asks her neighbor to water, and in the rent she continues to pay while quarantining in Maine. In Chapter Three, Lucy reflects that the apartment now "unsettles" her, especially when she thinks of David's cello sitting there. In Chapter Five, the apartment becomes the explicit subject of a conversation: Lucy tells William that her New York apartment "bothered" her more and more, and that each time she thought about it, she thought, "No." William asks when the lease renews, and when she says the end of September, he urges her to give it up. Lucy resists at first, insisting she cannot go to New York with the virus to move her things, but William proposes that Bob Burgess and some local men will retrieve whatever she wants. This scene marks the turning point in the symbol's meaning.
Later, in Chapter Eight, Lucy finally returns to New York for a week, staying in an Airbnb rather than her own apartment. As her train pulls into the city, she sees the building where she once lived and feels nothing—an emptiness that signals how far she has traveled emotionally. She walks the empty streets, notices the closed stores and the signs reading "We Are All In This Together," and reflects that her daughters were "never really mine, any more than New York City was ever really mine." The apartment itself is never entered; it exists only as a memory and a decision already made.
How the Symbol's Meaning Changes
Early in the novel, the apartment represents Lucy's established life: her independence, her writing career, her role as a mother, and her marriage to David. It is the place where she felt at home in the world, the place she left each morning for book tours and returned to each evening to call David. The apartment is also the site of her panic attacks, which she has managed with medication for years. In this sense, it is both a sanctuary and a source of anxiety—a space that holds her identity but also her vulnerability.
Once Lucy is in Maine, the apartment begins to acquire a different valence. It becomes a symbol of everything she has lost and everything she cannot control. Watching New York's crisis unfold on television, she feels a strange distance from the horror even as she recognizes the streets as her own. The apartment, now empty and unreachable, stands for the life that has been suspended—the life she assumed would resume. But as the months pass, Lucy's feeling shifts from longing to unease. She cannot concentrate on reading, takes disorienting afternoon naps, and feels "split" between Maine and the apartment. The thought of David's cello sitting there, unplayed, makes the apartment feel like a mausoleum rather than a home.
By Chapter Five, the apartment has become an active source of distress. Lucy's repeated "No" when she thinks of it signals a rejection not just of the physical space but of the identity attached to it—the identity of a woman who lives alone in New York, who writes, who has a husband (even a dead one) whose presence lingers in every room. William's suggestion to give up the lease forces Lucy to confront what she is willing to let go. Her initial refusal—"I can't give it up!"—reveals how deeply she is attached to the idea of the apartment as her true home, the place she could always return to. But William's practical proposal, and Bob's willingness to help, makes the relinquishment possible. The apartment, once a symbol of permanence, becomes a symbol of the past that must be actively released.
When Lucy finally returns to New York in Chapter Eight, the apartment's absence is the point. She does not go to it; she stays in an Airbnb with lace curtains that make her feel "like I was inside a coffin." The city itself feels emptied out—Grand Central eerily quiet, taxis scarce, stores shuttered. Seeing the building where she once lived, she feels nothing. This emotional flatness is not a failure of feeling but a sign that the apartment has already been given up internally. The symbol has completed its arc: from home, to haunting, to something she can look at without attachment.
Character and Theme Connections
The apartment is inseparable from Lucy's relationship with David. His cello, which she cannot bear to think of, represents the creative and intimate life they shared. The apartment is where they were a couple, where David adored her, as Chrissy later reminds her. Giving up the apartment means, in part, accepting that David is truly gone—that she will not return to the rooms where his presence still lingers. This is why the apartment is so closely tied to Lucy's grief, which she says is harder in the second year of widowhood than the first. In Maine, she is "struck anew" by grief, and the apartment becomes the physical locus of that recurring pain.
The apartment also connects to Lucy's identity as a writer. She has never had a room of her own to work in, as she tells William and Bob when they surprise her with a studio in Maine. The New York apartment was where she wrote, but it was also a space shared with David and, before him, with her daughters. The studio Bob and William find for her—a plain room above a bookstore in Crosby—offers something the apartment never did: a dedicated, solitary workspace. This contrast underscores the theme of freedom versus responsibility. The apartment represents the responsibilities of her old life—rent, maintenance, the weight of memory—while the studio represents the freedom to create without those burdens. Lucy's eventual acceptance of the studio, and her willingness to give up the apartment, marks her movement toward a new kind of self-definition.
The apartment also connects to the theme of isolation and connection. In New York, Lucy was surrounded by people—friends, neighbors, the old woman in the Village who sat on the sidewalk with her coffee. In Maine, she is isolated, walking a narrow road and speaking only occasionally to an old man named Tom. The apartment, in memory, becomes a symbol of that lost connectedness. Yet the novel complicates this: the city Lucy returns to is empty and frightening, and the connections she once had have frayed. The apartment, like the city, is no longer the source of community it once was. This is why Lucy can say that New York was never really hers—she was always, in some sense, a visitor to a life that circumstances could take away.
Finally, the apartment is tied to the theme of family reconciliation. Lucy's daughters, Chrissy and Becka, grew up in that apartment. When Lucy returns to New York, she reconnects with them there—Chrissy confesses her near-affair and her miscarriage, Becka announces her acceptance to Yale Law School. The apartment, though never entered, provides the backdrop for these conversations. It is the place where the family's history resides, and where its future is renegotiated. Lucy's decision to give up the apartment coincides with her acceptance that her daughters are adults with their own lives, and that her role as mother must change. The apartment, as a symbol of the past, must be released so that the family can move forward.
Study Questions and Answers
1. Why does Lucy initially resist William's suggestion to give up the New York apartment, and what does this resistance reveal about her attachment to it?
Lucy resists because the apartment represents her established identity as a New Yorker, a writer, and a woman who has lived independently since leaving William. She insists she cannot go to New York with the virus to move her things, but the deeper reason is that giving up the apartment feels like giving up the life she assumed she would return to. The resistance reveals how much of her self-worth is tied to the physical space—the place where she raised her daughters, wrote her books, and lived with David. Letting go of the apartment means accepting that her old life is truly over, which is a painful and frightening prospect.
2. How does the apartment's meaning shift from a symbol of home to a symbol of the past that must be relinquished?
Initially, the apartment is Lucy's home—the place she expects to return to after a short quarantine. As the pandemic stretches on, the apartment becomes a source of unease, especially when Lucy thinks of David's cello sitting there. By Chapter Five, she tells William that the apartment "bothered" her more and more, and she thinks "No" whenever she considers it. The shift occurs because the apartment comes to represent not comfort but the weight of memory and the impossibility of returning to a pre-pandemic life. William's practical proposal to move her belongings makes the relinquishment possible, and by the time Lucy returns to New York in Chapter Eight, she feels nothing when she sees the building—a sign that she has already let go internally.
3. What role does the apartment play in Lucy's experience of grief over David's death?
The apartment is the physical space where Lucy and David lived together, and David's cello remains there as a painful reminder of his absence. In Maine, Lucy is often struck by grief, and the apartment becomes the locus of that recurring pain—a place she cannot bear to think about because it holds so many memories of David. Giving up the apartment is thus a way of beginning to accept David's death, of acknowledging that she will not return to the rooms where his presence still lingers. The apartment's relinquishment is intertwined with Lucy's slow movement through grief, from the shock of the first year to the deeper, harder work of the second.
4. How does the apartment connect to the theme of freedom versus responsibility in the novel?
The apartment represents responsibility: rent, maintenance, the obligations of a life in the city, and the emotional weight of memory. In contrast, the studio that Bob and William find for Lucy in Maine represents freedom—a dedicated space to write without the burdens of her old life. Lucy has never had a room of her own to work in, and the studio offers her something the apartment never did. By giving up the apartment, Lucy chooses freedom over the responsibilities of her past. This choice is not easy, but it allows her to imagine a new identity as a writer and a person, one not defined by the physical space she once called home.