This gorgeous, full, moving book follows the loosely connected lives of twelve Black womxn throughout England. I’d liken it a bit to the musical RENT, with a glorious cacophony of people existing in imperfect concinnity. 

What I found most mesmerizing about Evaristo’s novel is the way it deftly arouses empathy for each flawed, fully human character. The level of interconnectedness of each story varies, but ultimately highlights the validity of varied experiences, the truth that we cannot understand the depth of a single person’s life or internal narratives, and the need for radical compassion above most anything else. 

Stylistically, GIRL, WOMAN, OTHER is unlike any book I’ve ever read. Each chapter illuminates the life of a specific character, and is delivered in a train-of-thought style with nearly no punctuation. In a way, it felt like sitting at a loud dinner party with people who love each other actively reminiscing and telling stories simultaneously. Once I got into the flow of it, I found it perfectly fit the spirit of the book.