Years ago, Lucy Barton, a successful New York writer, spent time in hospital, with her mother at the foot of her bed to keep her company.
Avoiding the distance between them, they spoke at length about people from their home town, the rural, dusty town of Amgash, Illinois.
Writing these stories, Lucy imagines the lives of the people that she especially remembers. And the people she has imagined that, in small ways, have remembered her too.
For isn't it true that we all hope to be remembered? Or to think in some way even fleetingly that we have been important to someone?