To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. further, do I not possess the intelligence to acquire a first class degree in Mathematics, without even sleeping with the professor? © 2003 - 2017 BookMovement, LLC. Bummi smiled demurely at the pastor when his goal had been achieved, and swiftly reassembled herself, she wrapped herself back up in her blue and purple outfit and retied her headscarf while he re-zipped his flies and re-buckled his belt. Reviews and discussion questions for Girl, Woman, Other are listed along with links to key places and things relevant to the story. Sexy, punchy [and] fresh' Independent on Sunday on The Emperor's Babe. Best discussion we’ve had about a book so far. money they could ill afford, Augustine had believed the pastor’s sermons, that to commit financially to his church was to commit to God, and to commit to God would lead to prosperity untold and a reserved front row seat in heaven, she saw it for what it was, a very lucrative business for a very clever man, her husband had also been a clever man, except his brains were fried with garlic when it came to believing every word that came out of Bishop Obi’s mouth, he would not be swayed otherwise, even when the bishop bought a private jet and a private island in the Philippines, one Monday evening when there was no service scheduled, the pastor arranged to meet her about her loan in the parlor of the old bingo hall that was now his mega church, she let him undress her with his greedy hands in the vestry, she let him excitedly caress her released C-cup breasts—as if it was Christmas, she let him pull down her lacy new undies (ten for the price of one). Ask Your Own Question All rights reserved. Excerpted from Girl, Woman, Other. Home Girl, Woman, Other Q & A Ask a question and get answers from your fellow students and educators. Copyright © 2019 by Bernardine Evaristo. Mostly women, black and British, they tell the stories of their families, friends and lovers, across the country and through the years. Girl, Woman, Other Questions and Answers. November 6, 2019 Share: Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) ... Evaristo is the first black woman to receive this highest literary honor in the English language. Girl, Woman, Other follows the lives and struggles of twelve very different characters. The Question and Answer sections of our study guides are a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss literature. Sign up for your FREE email about the latest top book club picks, exclusive book giveaways, new releases, and online author events. Joyfully polyphonic and vibrantly contemporary, this is a gloriously new kind of history, a novel of our times: celebratory, ever-dynamic and utterly irresistible. Members, please login. Create a login & Join us! Sister Bummi, hallelujah! and she asked herself—how can I rise above my situation in order to raise my child as the sole wage-earner in a parenting situation of one? Reprinted with the permission of the publisher, Black Cat, an imprint of Grove Atlantic, Inc. All rights reserved. She is Anglo-Nigerian and the author of eight distinguished books. Mostly women, black and British, they tell the stories of their families, friends and lovers, across the country and through the years. Each section has its own voice and style while the characters interact with each other throughout (so the reader gets different versions/perspective I snuck one more book in from the Booker Prize shortlist before it is awarded tonight. Not a member? Girl, Woman, Other follows the lives and struggles of twelve very different characters. Girl, Woman, Other Bernardine Evaristo. Couldn’t see the point. • Girl, Woman, Other is published by Hamish Hamilton (£16.99). Bummi and Augustine migrated to Britain where he again could not find work befitting his qualifications, he settled into the seat of a minicab until he had saved enough money to set himself up in business (import-export), and researched trade possibilities between Britain and West Africa via the sweatshops of Turkey, Indonesia and Bangladesh, sadly, London was more expensive than he had imagined, saving was impossible and when the Nigerian economy went on a downturn, he had to send cash transfers back home, Bummi and Augustine agreed they were wrong to believe that in England, at least, working hard and dreaming big was one step away from achieving it, Augustine joked he was acquiring a second doctorate in shortcuts, bottlenecks, one-way streets and dead ends, while transporting passengers who thought themselves far too superior to talk to him as an equal, Bummi complained that people viewed her through what she did (a cleaner) and not what she was (an educated woman), they did not know that curled up inside her was a parchment certificate proclaiming her a graduate of the Department of Mathematics, University of Ibadan, just as she did not know that when she strode on to the graduation podium in front of hundreds of people to receive her ribboned scroll, and shake hands with the Chancellor of the University, that her first class degree from a Third World country would mean nothing in her new country, especially with her name and nationality attached to it, and that job rejections would arrive in the post with such regularity she would ritualistically burn them in the kitchen sink, and watch them turn to ash to be washed down the plughole, which is why when their daughter was born, they named her Carole without a Nigerian middle name, Augustine worked nights, collapsed fully clothed on to their bed, smelling of the cigarettes he smoked all day and the can of extra stout he drank when he got home, to join her tribe of bleary-eyed workers who emerged into the dimmed streetlights of her new city to clamber aboard the red double-decker buses that ploughed the empty streets, she sat in sleepy silence with others who had hoped for a better life in this country, huddled in her eiderdown jacket in winter, her feet in padded boots, longing to sleep, afraid to miss the stop for the office building where she scraped away hardened faecal matter in toilet bowls and disinfected everything that came into contact with human waste, where she hoovered up dead skin cells into vacuumed fluff, mopped and polished floors, emptied paper baskets and rubbish bins, cleaned keyboards and wiped down monitors, polished desks and shelves and generally made sure everything was spotless and dust free, striving to do her best, even if her job was not, Augustine said the least he could do was be a good father to Carole, as his mother continued to advise him by letter, do not be distant, authoritarian and uncommunicative, my son, be close to your daughter when young and you will remain so when she is older, Bummi loved seeing her husband play rough-and-tumble with Carole, pretending he was a horse as she rode on his back for hours, she loved it when he made Carole a doll’s house from market crates, painting it, furnishing it with cardboard furniture, making dolls from pegs—what an exceptional man he was, she felt sad when he said to her one day, if we cannot make it here, perhaps our child will, dear Augustine, who died of a heart attack while driving over Westminster Bridge transporting drunken partygoers in the early hours of New Year’s Day, after too many unbroken nights with junk food on the go, doubling his salary in the busiest period of the year while halving, his already unknowingly, genetically, chronically heart-diseased life, Bummi lost her Faith the minute she walked into the Chapel of Rest and saw her beloved Augustine lying there in body only, his brown complexion was drained of life and tinged with grey, his mouth was forcibly closed, his jaw clenched shut, as if pinned together, he did not open his eyes when she entered to look lovingly at her, he did not hear her when she spoke to him, he did not hold or soothe her when she sobbed, she decided there was no great spiritual being watching over her, protecting her and the people she loved, Bummi went through the motions of going to her church, the Ministry of God, it was expected, she found solace with her friends there, but she no longer believed any of the words that came out of her mouth in prayer or psalms or hymns, the space once occupied by God was now hollow, and with no god to promise everlasting salvation, it hit her hard how much she was on her own, and how she and Augustine had been trapped in a despair that had paralyzed their ability to snap out of it, devastated by the weight of a rejection that had not been part of their dreams of migration.