What is it about?
Winner of the Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2015, Ali Smith’s beloved, How to Be Both is a novel composed of two linked narratives: one set in contemporary England, following a teenage girl processing her mother’s death, and another narrated by a Renaissance painter whose life moves through questions of gender, artistic practice, and observation. The two sections are printed in different orders in different editions, so readers encounter the story along alternate paths. The connection between the narratives is built through thematic echoes, visual details, and overlapping concerns, rather than a shared plot. The novel shifts across periods, registers, and perspectives as part of its formal design. Depending on which copy you pick up at random, you will either be presented with George’s story first or with Francesco’s. The two narratives twist around each other – one of George’s last trips with her mother was to see the Ferrara frescoes and the painter, Ferrera del Cossa, in the other narrative is haunted by strange visions of a teenage girl who uses “a votive tablet” (i.e her iPad) and holds it to heaven “like a priest raising the bread”.
Why we Adored it!
The book’s dual structure works with unusual precision. Each narrative alters how you read the other, and the effect is cumulative without being heavy-handed. The Renaissance voice is unexpectedly fluid and convincing, avoided the stiffness that often comes with historical ventriloquism. Smith’s playfulness has purpose; it opens the story rather than decorating it. The prose moves quickly and confidently, letting the novel deal with grief, perception, and art without losing lightness. The biggest strength is how cleanly Smith integrates risk and sheer joy- the form does real work. This duality is at the core of the book: the dead coexist with the living and their stories intertwine,in surprising and poetic ways.
What might not work
It is true that the formal cleverness is occasionally visible, and readers sensitive to structure may notice the seams. But honestly, these aren’t fatal flaws, just reminders that the novel’s architecture is part of the experience. And if you are no fan of Sylvie Vartan of our times, you might not be too thrilled with the nostalgia about a key image in the story. But even in such an instance, there is more at play than just an image from another time.
Why you should read it
Read it to see a novel that uses structure, and delights in it without being trapped by it. The two narratives echo each other in ways that stay with you, not as a message but as a shift in how you observe things. There is so much emotion and depth behind the playfulness. That Ali Smith pulls both off and figuring it out, is sheer delight. Ali Smith manages to make a complicated design feel light, and the book maintains an unusual balance of intelligence and ease. It’s a precious example of a formally ambitious novel that remains genuinely readable and so memorable.
Score: 9.5/10
Babel School of Languages 