Discovering Dreams in the Complex Lives of Young Mothers: A Review of The Girls Who Grew Big
When I first heard about Leila Mottley’s The Girls Who Grew Big, I was instantly captivated—not just by its compelling title but also by the author’s powerful debut novel, Nightcrawling. Mottley—a voice that encapsulates the complexities of youth and struggle—has a unique ability to bring readers into the lives of her characters. This sophomore effort, focusing on a collective of teenage mothers in the fictional town of Padua Beach, Florida, promised to challenge my perspectives on motherhood, resilience, and identity, and it certainly delivered.
Divided into three semesters of pregnancy, the novel follows three narrators, each bringing her own story and struggles to the forefront. We first meet Simone, a sixteen-year-old thrust into motherhood under challenging circumstances. Her harrowing experience of giving birth in the back of her boyfriend Tooth’s pickup truck is both raw and striking. The quote, “Sometimes a dream isn’t worth the life you lose on the journey there,” hangs over her narrative, begging readers to reconsider the definition of success and fulfillment. Simone’s journey from homelessness to becoming a maternal figure for other teen mothers showcases both the pain and the profound strength found in community.
Then there’s Emory, the only white girl in this group. Her focus on balancing her valedictorian status with the demands of being a new mother is a fascinating exploration of ambition and societal expectations. Through Emory’s dismissive attitude toward her devoted partner Jayden, Mottley hints at the complexities of love and obligation that many young mothers face.
Adela, the third voice, grapples with the weight of her family’s expectations after a life-altering decision. Her character highlights the struggles of shame and isolation intertwined with privilege, making her arc particularly poignant. Each character is woven with unflinching honesty that lays bare the harsh realities of being a young mother while also revealing their vulnerabilities and dreams.
Mottley’s lyrical prose brings life to these narratives, though at times it veers into overly elaborate territory. The pacing occasionally slows as she indulges in poetic descriptions, but it often serves to deepen the reader’s connection to these young women. The heartfelt struggles and triumphs of motherhood shine through, resonating long after the last page is turned.
However, I feel compelled to mention that Mottley’s depiction of Padua Beach struck me as a missed opportunity for authenticity. Having spent considerable time in Florida’s Panhandle, I couldn’t help but notice her somewhat stereotypical portrayal of the region and its inhabitants. While fiction often bends reality, her inaccurate representation of the area felt like a disservice to the vibrant communities that exist in this gorgeous part of the Sunshine State.
The Girls Who Grew Big isn’t just a story about teenage pregnancy; it’s a multifaceted exploration of resilience, community, and the redefining of family. It challenges stereotypes with heartfelt narratives that will resonate with readers seeking stories of genuine struggle and triumph.
I recommend this book to anyone interested in contemporary fiction that explores complex social issues and the nuances of identity and motherhood. It offers a reflective and often painful lens through which we can understand the motivations and experiences of young women caught in difficult circumstances. For me, reading this book was a journey into the heart of resilience and the bonds that form in the most unlikely of places.
So grab a cozy spot, and dive into the emotional world Mottley crafts—it might just open your eyes to the strength found in collective dreams.