Leila Mottley’s sophomore novel The Girls Who Grew Big emerges as a luminous exploration of young motherhood that refuses to sanitize or sentimentalize the experiences of teenage mothers. Following her critically acclaimed debut Nightcrawling, which earned Booker Prize recognition and became an international bestseller, Mottley ventures into the sun-baked landscape of the Florida Panhandle, where secrets simmer beneath the surface like heat waves rising from asphalt.
The narrative centers on Adela Woods, a sixteen-year-old swimming prodigy whose Olympic dreams evaporate the moment she reveals her pregnancy to her Indianapolis parents. Their solution is swift and clinical: exile her to her grandmother’s ramshackle house in Padua Beach, Florida, with the expectation that she’ll surrender the baby and return home as if nothing happened. But Florida has other plans for Adela, weaving her into a tapestry of young mothers who challenge every assumption about teenage pregnancy, resilience, and what constitutes family.
The Triumphant Trinity of Protagonists
Adela: The Displaced Dreamer
Adela arrives in Padua Beach carrying more than just an unwanted pregnancy—she bears the weight of shattered expectations and a carefully constructed identity now in ruins. Mottley crafts her as neither victim nor villain but as a fully realized young woman grappling with circumstances that would challenge anyone, regardless of age. Her journey from reluctant exile to fierce protector of her chosen family forms the novel’s emotional backbone.
The author particularly excels in depicting Adela’s internal conflict between her former life of privilege and competitive swimming and her emerging understanding of what true strength looks like. Her relationship with water—once a medium for athletic achievement—transforms into something more primal and healing, culminating in her daughter’s beach birth that serves as both literal and metaphorical rebirth.
Emory: The Academic Achiever
Emory Reid represents the complex intersection of ambition and motherhood that society rarely acknowledges in teenage mothers. Determined to graduate valedictorian while nursing her infant son Kai, she embodies the relentless drive that Mottley suggests is often overlooked in discussions of young motherhood. Her character arc wrestles with the false choice between being a good mother and pursuing personal dreams.
Mottley’s portrayal of Emory’s academic struggles feels authentic and nuanced, avoiding both the trap of making her unrealistically perfect and the opposite extreme of suggesting that young mothers cannot achieve academic success. Her eventual decision to pursue college while navigating custody arrangements with her son’s father presents a realistic complexity that many readers will recognize.
Simone: The Fierce Matriarch
At twenty, Simone serves as both the founder and heart of “the Girls,” having established their mobile community in the back of her red pickup truck. Her twins, Luck and Lion, anchor her to responsibility while her fierce protectiveness extends to every young mother who finds refuge in their makeshift family. Mottley uses Simone’s voice to critique societal assumptions about teenage pregnancy while never diminishing the real challenges these young women face.
The author’s decision to open the novel with Simone’s raw, unflinching account of giving birth in a truck bed immediately establishes the book’s tone—this will not be a sanitized portrayal of young motherhood. Simone’s narrative voice crackles with intelligence, humor, and hard-won wisdom that belies her age.
A Masterclass in Authentic Voice and Vernacular
Mottley demonstrates remarkable skill in creating distinct narrative voices for each protagonist while maintaining consistency in the novel’s overall tone. The author’s use of African American Vernacular English (AAVE) and Southern dialect feels natural and respectful, never caricatured or exploitative. Each character speaks with a voice that reflects their background, education, and personality while contributing to the novel’s larger conversation about class, race, and regional identity.
The rotating perspective structure allows readers to understand each character’s motivations and internal struggles without judgment. Mottley trusts her readers to engage with complex moral questions without providing easy answers, particularly regarding Adela’s deception about her baby’s paternity and the subsequent fallout among the Girls.
Themes That Resonate Beyond the Page
Redefining Family and Community
The novel’s central strength lies in its exploration of chosen family versus biological family. The Girls create a support system that functions more effectively than many traditional family structures, sharing resources, childcare, and emotional labor. Mottley suggests that love and commitment, rather than blood relations or legal documents, create the strongest familial bonds.
Economic Realities and Systemic Challenges
Without becoming didactic, the novel illuminates the economic challenges facing young mothers, particularly those without family support. From Simone’s entrepreneurial jungle juice business to Emory’s careful budgeting for college applications, Mottley shows how these young women navigate financial constraints with creativity and determination.
Body Autonomy and Choice
The novel handles reproductive choice with nuance, presenting Simone’s decision to terminate a pregnancy alongside Adela’s choice to become a mother. Mottley avoids judgment while honestly depicting both the medical and emotional realities of these decisions, treating them as complex personal choices rather than political statements.
Where the Novel Occasionally Stumbles
Despite its many strengths, The Girls Who Grew Big occasionally suffers from pacing issues, particularly in the middle section where relationship dynamics sometimes overshadow character development. The love triangle involving Adela, Chris (Tooth), and Simone feels somewhat contrived, serving plot mechanics rather than emerging organically from character motivations.
Additionally, some secondary characters feel underdeveloped, particularly the younger Girls like April and Jamilah, who seem to exist primarily to populate the group rather than as fully realized individuals. The novel might have benefited from a tighter focus on the three main protagonists rather than attempting to service a larger ensemble cast.
The resolution, while emotionally satisfying, arrives perhaps too neatly for some storylines. Emory’s acceptance to the University of Washington and Adela’s family reconciliation feel slightly rushed given the complexity of the issues involved.
Literary Connections and Comparative Context
Readers familiar with Mottley’s debut will recognize her continued commitment to centering marginalized voices and experiences. While Nightcrawling focused on sex work and urban poverty, The Girls Who Grew Big explores how geographic displacement and class differences impact young women’s choices and opportunities.
The novel joins a growing body of literature that challenges stereotypes about teenage pregnancy, including works like The First Part Last by Angela Johnson and Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen. However, Mottley’s work stands apart for its unflinching examination of the intersection between race, class, and geographic location in shaping young women’s experiences.
A Testament to Resilience and Growth
The Girls Who Grew Big succeeds as both an engaging coming-of-age story and a thoughtful examination of contemporary social issues. Mottley’s greatest achievement lies in creating characters who feel fully human—flawed, complex, and capable of growth. The novel argues persuasively that these young women are not problems to be solved but individuals deserving of respect, support, and agency in their own lives.
The beach setting serves as more than mere backdrop; it becomes a character itself, offering both refuge and revelation. From Simone’s placenta burial to Adela’s shoreline labor, the ocean witnesses these young women’s transformations while remaining constant and eternal.
Similar Reads for Further Exploration
For readers drawn to The Girls Who Grew Big, consider these compelling alternatives:
- The Mothers by Brit Bennett – Explores teenage pregnancy and its long-term consequences in a tight-knit community
- Such a Pretty Girl by Laura Wiess – A raw examination of young women navigating trauma and recovery
- Push by Sapphire – An unflinching look at teenage motherhood in urban America
- The Book of Lost Names by Kristin Harmel – While different in setting, shares themes of female resilience and chosen family
- An Unkindness of Magicians by Kat Howard – Though fantasy, explores themes of sisterhood and challenging oppressive systems
Final Reflections on an Arc Well-Received
In the spirit of transparency that Mottley herself brings to her work, I should note that I received an advance reader copy of this novel, arriving like driftwood on my literary shore with the understanding that honest reflection was the only acceptable currency in return. Like the shells the Girls collect on their Florida beaches, this book revealed new facets each time I turned it over in my mind, its complexity deepening with consideration rather than diminishing with familiarity.
The Girls Who Grew Big establishes Leila Mottley as a vital voice in contemporary American fiction, one unafraid to tackle difficult subjects with both compassion and unflinching honesty. This novel deserves its place among the year’s essential reads, offering both entertainment and enlightenment to anyone willing to challenge their assumptions about young motherhood, family, and the many ways we learn to love.