Window umbrella

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

When I started the book, I sensed that it wouldn’t be for me. So informally written, no care for capitalizing words, sentences start and end without any notice, it was like a bunch of tweets. After a couple of pages, I noticed that I am quite enjoying these accounts of snappy words. After a few more, my anticipation was totally broken. Bernardine showed me that books can be written this way too, breaking the ground rules of traditional hard-core literature and entering deep inside the reader's brain with smacking truths.

The book contained four main parts, each with three stories of three individuals. The individuals had diverse identities. Their lives centered around London, and some’s path crossed with others in some ways. I won’t go into details of their lives and struggles, but will go into how I experienced reading them.

Words were snaps and whacks-

home was a derelict factory in Deptford with concrete walls, a collapsing ceiling and a community of rats that defeated all attempts at extermination

sex was a simple, harmless, human pleasure

Though sex is a much complex agenda for a much more complex social being like us, I liked the bold attempt of Bernardine to simplify it in few plain words. No more going into description to explain the words. (Though I kept thinking about this sentence later. For the body, it’s really that simple. But not for the mind. And our body and mind are interconnected more than in any species.)

her girlfriends du jour, as Dad puts it (hey, why speak English when you can speak French?), are two white women, Dolores and Jackie, although Mum has been with every ethnicity known to humankind (it’s called multiracial whoredom)

This is the kind of informality that made the writing exceptional. Bernardine didn’t wait for the next sentence to gather the thoughts that popped into her mind. It was like you were chatting with someone, you chat about whatever comes first into your mind.

it’s unfortunate that she’s coming of age as one of the Swipe-Like-Chat-Invite-Fuck Generation where men expect you to give it up on the first (and only) date, have no pubic hair at all, and do the disgusting things they’ve seen women do in porn movies on the internet

Tell me about it. Loved this account so much. I was gossiping with my boyfriend, and suddenly the topic of pubic hair came up and he was surprised to know that women have hairs on their armpits! How would he know, no tv commercial or intimate movie scene showed any sign of hair when the actresses raise their arms in a very sexy fashion. (I wonder how many hours models and actresses have to spend on making their body hair-proof.)

This book reminded me of Arundhati Roy’s style. I felt, both Arundhati and Bernardine share part of their viewpoint. The writing shows the proof.

even though she’s considered reasonably attractive (as in not 100% ugly), with her own unique style (part 90s Goth, part post-hip hop, part slutty ho, part alien), she’s having to compete with images of girls on fucksites with collagen pouts and their bloated silicone tits out

they pass the arts centre with a gallery and a café inside it selling unaffordable coffee and unaffordable cakes for the posh people who come on to campus to use it

Tell me about that.

yes but I’m black, Courts, which makes me more oppressed than anyone who isn’t, except Waris who is the most oppressed of all of them (although don’t tell her that)
in five categories: black, Muslim, female, poor, hijabbed

LOL

Nenet was now ‘Nenet who lives in a huge house near Hyde Park’, something Yazz couldn’t mentally undo or un-factor into her opinion of her friend
she realized that knowing someone comes from money isn’t the same as witnessing the extent of it in close proximity

Girl, Woman, Other was successful in revealing the both sides of a coin. It showed the power of feminism, but also the distress of a working mother. Showed immigrants climbing the ladder of privilege, but also how lonely they felt when the next generation forgets the root. Showed the fame and success of a rising star, but also the fine powder that needed to be lined inside her nostrils to stand the harsh comments of the rivals.

she wished Augustine was there to witness their little girl making it, she also wished Carole had come home to continue celebrations with the pot of bush stew Bummi had cooked specially, hoping that now her daughter had graduated, she would return to her real culture and even eat with her hands again instead of side-glancing her mama for doing so, as if she was a savage from the jungle

they fled the toxic fumes that made breathing the very air difficult because to inhale deeply was to die slowly

Wasn’t that a bit like The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati? Though the context is London instead of India, both the books share snappy words with dark humor.

she wrapped herself back up in her blue and purple outfit and re-tied her headscarf while he re-zipped his flies and re-buckled his belt
she was now a businesswoman
this was her first transaction

Another thing I need to mention is, I could hear the character’s accents (few writers bother to mention accents in English), thanks to Bernardine’s brave writing-
it’s a vocation, a calling, my contribution to the world, y’unnerstan?

And the words rhyme-

you can’t work here, they said, when Clovis asked down at the quay
you can’t eat here, they said when we entered a little caff
you can’t drink here, the barman said when we entered a pub, all eyes on us
you can’t sleep here because your colour will come off on the sheets,

others were showing off the jobs they’d got, the boyfriends who’d proposed, the babies on the way, the countless nights on the lash where they’d had the best time of their lives clubbing-partying-festivalling-getting-drunk-high and being happyhappyhappyhappy happyhappyhappyhappy, with complexions filtered to perfection, waistlines digitally slimmed, their smiley friendships and relationships, and even though she knew a few of these girls were annies, bulimics, had been bullied, were depressed, had social anxiety

This was an amazing book. But I would have wanted it to be a bit shorter. Of the main four parts, I liked the first two ones and the last two were kinda redundant to me. Because, it’s my habit to get to know half a dozen characters from a fiction, one full dozen was a bit more for me.

One hell of a ride with them all- black, woman, lesbian, trans, other.



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