Blistering, wise, empathetic ... Mottley has brought the physicality and pain and beauty of birth and new motherhood into the light. That she has done so by way of teenage girls who have too often been shamed and shunned and told to hide themselves away makes her novel all the more vital to behold.
When her lyricism is balanced with concrete details, Mottley excels ... The most compelling sequence is when Simone finds herself pregnant again ... However, it’s disconcerting to have Simone, Adele and Emory narrate with the same, arresting voice. Furthermore, the book is a touch oversteeped in wisdom, symbolism and, above all, love. In earnestly exhorting us to adulate these women, the book—while not saccharine—can seem cloyingly sweet despite its darkness. Plus, motherhood, so celebrated here, is undermined by how one-dimensionally awful the girls’ own mothers are ... Poignant.
The pity is that her considerable energy hasn’t translated into a more satisfying second book ... Lands awkwardly, emerging as a mawkish paean to motherhood. This is a well-meant novel about decent things – sisterhood and solidarity – but its sentiment is never more sophisticated than this, and the writing too often sinks into the syrupy ... Too often The Girls Who Grew Big feels overly ambitious, a virtuous rhapsody, determined to say something transcendent about young motherhood but stuck peddling folksy wisdom instead.
