I don't get the title. I get that the story is of an artist and of the "breaks" in her life. I get that the story is about finding, losing, finding, losing, finding. Love. I get that it's about endurance: the endurance of Nature, the endurance of Art, and the endurance of Love. I liked the story. I liked the ways in which it evolved across the pages and the words and their constructions that helped it do so. I liked Sophie and Eli and Claire and Luca and Nico. I liked that the conflicts (not to say the big one, WWII, that is the cause of so much of Sophie's inner and outer griefs) were resolvable in the terms set by Nature, Art, and Love in the terms, if you will, of those grand ideas as Sophie and her companions of the roads of the story envisioned and made use of them. I liked all of the colors and strange, to me, methodologies of Sophie's artistic ventures. I liked the resurgence, if you will, that is portrayed by Sophie's surviving "child" Nico's art that seeks to explores the mystery of timelessness, of endurance. I liked the story well enough to ignore the title. Maybe I'll wake up one morning and suddenly "get" it.