Excerpt from Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

these days she wears silver or gold trainers in winter, failsafe Birkies in summer

winter, it's black slacks, either baggy or tight depending on whether she's a size 12 or 14 that week (a size smaller on top)

summer, it's patterned harem pants that end just below the knee winter, it's bright asymmetric shirts, jumpers, jackets, coats

year-round her peroxide dreadlocks are trained to stick up like candles on a birthday cake

silver hoop earrings, chunky African bangles and pink lipstick are her perennial signature style statement



Yazz

recently described her style as 'a mad old woman look, Mum', pleads with her to shop in Marks & Spencer like normal mothers, refuses to be spotted alongside her when they're supposed to be walking down the street together

Yazz knows full well that Amma will always be anything but normal, and as she's in her fifties, she's not old yet, although try

telling that to a nineteen-year-old; in any case, ageing is nothing to be ashamed of

especially when the entire human race is in it together

although sometimes it seems that she alone among her friends wants to celebrate getting older

because it's such a privilege to not die prematurely, she tells them as the night draws in around her kitchen table in her cosy terraced house in Brixton

as they get stuck into the dishes each one has brought: chickpea stew, jerk chicken, Greek salad, lentil curry, roasted vegetables, Moroccan lamb, saffron rice, beetroot and kale salad, jollof quinoa and gluten-free pasta for the really irritating fusspots

as they pour themselves glasses of wine, vodka (fewer calories), or something more liver-friendly if under doctor's orders

she expects them to approve of her bucking the trend of middle-aged moaning; instead she gets bemused smiles and what about arthritic flare-ups, memory loss and hot sweats?



Amma passes the young busker

she smiles with encouragement at the girl, who responds in kind she fishes out a few coins, places them in the violin case

she isn't ready to forgo cigarettes so leans on the riverside wall and lights one, hates herself for it

the adverts told her generation it would make them appear grown-up, glamorous, powerful, clever, desirable and above all, cool

no one told them it would actually make them dead

she looks out at the river as she feels the warm smoke travel down her oesophagus soothing her nerves while trying to combat the adrenaline rush of the caffeine

forty years of first nights and she's still bricking it

what if she's slated by the critics? dismissed with a consensus of one-star reviews, what was the great National thinking allowing this rubbishy impostor into the building?

of course she knows she's not an impostor, she's written fifteen plays and directed over forty, and as a critic once wrote, Amma Bonsu is a safe pair of hands who's known to pull off risks

what if the preview audiences who gave standing ovations were just being kind?

oh shut up, Amma, you're a veteran battle-axe, remember?

Excerpted from Girl, Woman, Other copyright © 2019 by Bernardine Evaristo. Reprinted with the permission of the publisher, Black Cat, an imprint of Grove Atlantic, Inc. All rights reserved.