Charlotte is a polarizing character who is exceptionally beautiful, incredibly vain and proud of the advantage she gains from her light skin tone. A cynical and chaotic character, she offers no apology for her flaws and relies on her looks to skate through life.

She fails to bond with daughter Corinna, whom she describes as having “reptilian eyes and a peanut-butter complexion” that aren’t only off-putting, they remind her of Corinna’s father. Looking at her daughter turns Charlotte’s stomach.

The greatest kindness Charlotte shows Corinna is marrying David, a construction worker she meets at a bar who engages with the child instead of ignoring her, like Charlotte’s other boyfriends do. Although their relationship is volatile and their fights turn physical, David provides a level of stability for Corinna that Charlotte can’t maintain once her frequent DUIs and public-intoxication arrests result in her unemployment.

Initially, Charlotte comes off as a quintessentially unlikeable character. But Johnson imbues her with a humanity impossible to dismiss. Something profound occurred in Charlotte’s past that provoked her to abandon a life of access and privilege for one of alcoholism and poverty. Uncovering that trauma drives the narrative forward as Charlotte tries desperately to suppress the ghosts from her past.

While Corinna is neglected by her mother, David assumes a fatherly role and they bond. It’s heartbreaking to watch Corinna grow into a sweet child desperate for maternal love. But once Johnson’s narrative shifts to Corinna’s perspective, the author does a compelling job of using that estrangement to cultivate a unique and complex character with an entirely different set of dysfunctions.

Life in fictional Chilly Springs leaves a lot to be desired, especially once Charlotte’s wealthy mother, Evelyn, surfaces. It’s unclear why mother and daughter are estranged and Charlotte chose a life of squalor over privilege. That question probes the nucleus of Charlotte’s character and takes the bulk of the narrative to reveal.

Charlotte’s resentments toward her daughter eventually thaw as Corinna becomes an independent teenager and they settle into a roommate relationship. As Charlotte’s ability to relate to her daughter improves, she isn’t entirely dismayed when Corinna comes home pregnant at 18, wanting to keep the child and excited for “her very own baby to grow and love.” By this time, Charlotte is ready to be a mother and offers her assistance.

Men are of secondary importance in this immersive story that mainlines through the heart of complex mother-daughter relationships. Save for David, fathers are largely absent from both their children’s lives and the women’s conversations. This is never more apparent than when Charlotte fails to inquire about the father of Corinna’s baby.

Corinna’s daughter, Camille, experiences a wildly different upbringing from her mother. Charlotte and David have mellowed. They aren’t as drunk; their fighting isn’t as explosive. After David falls off a ladder and is disabled, he becomes infinitely more agreeable. Camille views David through rose-tinted glasses and doesn’t believe her beloved grandfather could ever put her grandmother in the hospital. And Charlotte dotes on Camille, a beautiful child whose hair she braids each morning before driving her to school.

But it’s the difference in Camille’s relationship with her mother that speaks the loudest to how each generation seeks to improve on their own experience. Camille and Corinna have a good relationship in the beginning. Corinna sees her daughter as someone who “sobered up two far-gone alcoholics.” And Camille favors her mother’s tender touch over her grandmother’s tight cornrows.

Unfortunately, Corinna’s attempt to give Camille a father goes south when she marries a bartender with extreme religious views who believes in corporal punishment. It seems the ghosts from Charlotte’s past have been unleashed on her granddaughter when she discovers bruises on Camille.

Weaving back and forth between their three narratives and spanning from the mid-70s to the 2010s, Johnson leaves no stone unturned as she delves into the complex web of jealousy and competition between Charlotte and Corinna as each woman, in different ways, seek to give Camille a better life.

The intrigue mounts when Evelyn reenters the picture and Charlotte is forced to face her biggest ghost: the truth of what happened with Corinna’s dad. As Charlotte grapples with her inability to forgive Evelyn for the injustices she endured in her youth, Corinna must decide if Charlotte is worthy of redemption. And Camille’s charge is to overcome the controlling nature of all three “mothers” as she journeys toward her own definition of freedom.

Sarai Johnson’s family saga is an ambitious novel that accomplishes a lot. It is a visceral and provocative examination of motherhood. It’s a tear-jerker seeped in nuance and tenderness. But, ultimately, “Grown Women” is a riveting portrait of four generations who toil endlessly to free themselves from the past.

FICTION

“Grown Women”

by Sarai Johnson

Harper

400 pages, $30