I'm hesitant to make more of my experience of this book than what it was. I may invent reactions and may present myself as being an insightful and attentive reader, which would displease me very much. I'll offer just a few things, then.
During the reading I know I was lulled (I mean by Lucy, intentionally), at points, so that I did not perceive the bend put on some scenes that hid what an attentive reader would note. This book rewards a vigilant reader, in that the interest that it has may be significantly in the untangling of spin and substance in Lucy's narrative; it also, frustratingly, does not reward vigilance, in that intensity of concentration will never divulge everything that Lucy wishes to obscure. Regardless, any reader actually looking at every word on every page cannot fail to be satisfied with the moments when Lucy's inner, vital self shows itself to the outside world.
Lucy has plenty of encounters with Reason, Disappointment, and other ideas as proper nouns, and I reacted negatively to what seemed to me the copiousness of these occurences. I can't help but admit, however, that these are so central to Lucys characterization as having a wildly active (and interiorly confined) imagination. So I do not really condone this criticism.
What overwhelming, what toppling force has the observance of Ms. Bronte's mastery of language!