Girl, Woman, Other
Bernardine Evaristo's Booker-Prize-Winning Novel
In my off-line life, I write a lot of technical
stuff where clarity is of overriding importance. Short sentences are better
than long-winding ones. Punctuation
should be used wherever needed. Grammatical
rules should be observed.
Unsurprisingly, when I realised that the lack
of full stops and commas in Bernardine Evaristo’s Booker-prize winning novel was
no technical glitch in my Kindle file but part-and-parcel of the reading
experience, my linguistically-rigid self was sorely tempted to put the (e-)book
down. My cynical persona was also quick to chip in and mischievously
suggest that, to be considered for a literary award these days, a novel should:
(i) avoid the use of
punctuation and traditional sentences and
(ii) proclaim itself as
woke from the outset, in this case by featuring as protagonist of the very
first chapter an Anglo-African feminist lesbian playwright
A few pages into Girl, Woman, Other
however, these dissenting voices were laid to rest. Evaristo adopts an adventurous approach but
is, at heart, a masterful storyteller. In this work she presents us with twelve tales
about twelve British women, one identifying as non-binary, all of whom have
African roots and/or connections. Each
of the individual stories could potentially be a self-standing novella.
When the reader takes a step back, Evaristo’s skill in structuring her novel becomes readily apparent. The stories, linked in four related groups/chapters of
three, all result to be, in some way or another, intertwined. They are framed by a specific event, the
premiere of Amma’s feminist play at the National Theatre. At the end, we discover an unexpected coda
which ties up a few remaining loose ends and provides an almost old-fashionedly satisfying conclusion.
As for the women’s stories themselves, Evaristo
commented as follows in a recent interview for the Guardian:
I wanted to put
presence into absence. I was very frustrated that black British women weren’t
visible in literature. I whittled it down to 12 characters – I wanted them to
span from a teenager to someone in their 90s, and see their trajectory from
birth, though not linear. There are many ways in which otherness can be
interpreted in the novel – the women are othered in so many ways and sometimes
by each other. I wanted it to be identified as a novel about women as well.
Indeed, I felt that the theme of the “Other” is
central to the novel. The structural complexity
of the Evaristo’s work mirrors the complexity of interactions in the
contemporary world. The “black British
womenhood” alluded to by the author is not a monolithic structure, but more of
a colourful tapestry or mosaic. The novel’s
choral approach is eminently suited to portray this. In this respect, Girl, Woman, Other is
not just a good, but, even, a necessary novel
yes, necessary
unlike punctuation which
despite the well-worn garb of habit
I found myself
not missing
Kindle Edition, UK, 464 pages
Published May 2nd 2019 by Penguin
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