When I tell you that I SOBBED.
Why you may not like this book: This is part autobiographical with a strong element of fabulism, but it's fabulism in a very matter-of-fact way. I think a lot of times when people think of magical elements in contemporary stories, they expect a certain type of magic and writing-- flowery, atmospheric. I was thrown off myself a bit when the magic shows up here and it's just... bald. Most of it is metaphoric, though parts are just unexplained. If you come into this expecting something that's more fantasy or expecting the text to convince you this magic exists, I don't think you'll like it.
Additionally, this is heavy. Content warnings for rape, sexual assault, death of a parent, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, child abuse, poverty, and a hit and run. I say this so that you can prepare yourself if needed, but also to note that I've seen lots of people complaining in reviews that "it's a lot." (To clarify, not because of triggers, but in the sense that it's too much for one story.) Considering that it's inspired by true events, and it's, you know, the point of the book that black and brown folk have to deal with a lot, this complaint feels a little obtuse and privileged to me, but be warned: it's a lot. You may not like Black Girl Unlimited if you can't deal with that.
Why I loved this book: It took me a bit to settle into this because it read so differently than most of what I read. Brown shares this almost autobiographical story slightly removed from it, as a narrator from the future who knows what happens. Her use of magic feels literal and acts metaphorically. She interrupts her timeline and has these sections that tell of dueling events, interwoven. It feels disruptive, making it an incredibly effective tool to compare these big moments in Echo's life.
From about 50% of this book on, I was routinely crying. I was switching between an ebook and audiobook version (both from my library) and I ended with listening to Brown's voice fill with tears while reading her acknowledgments, ending by thanking her younger self for surviving. There is no explaining what that did to me, and how this story in general made me consider the dreams I've buried in order to survive, the word seeds planted in my life that I believed and let flourish.
The way this book spoke of pain, tragedy and recovery is not something I'll soon forget. It pours hope in the strength of black women, but doesn't romanticize it. Surviving is a bloodbath, as Brown says. It's a bloodbath. We shouldn't have to do it, but we do.
I know that I will hold this story in my thoughts for a long, long time and it's one I imagine I'll read again. It deserves to take up a lot of space, for being so beautifully composed and achingly real.