But while Evaristo acknowledges that it’s “interesting” that she’s won at this point in her career (and laughs when we observe that she’s “been doing this”), she’s amused by the idea that she’s come out of nowhere. In the days following her win, she largely avoided social media – “it’s too much right now” – but still managed to see someone calling her an “obscure writer”.

For Evaristo, being a slow burner has allowed her to grow and nurture her craft whilst continually “exploring and experimenting”. She graciously shrugs off the suggestion that she should have won a major literary prize before 2019, noting that some writers “never get awarded for their craft”. Reeling off the names of authors who debuted alongside her in the early 90s, she laments that some of their voices have faded away – their legacy now a mere footnote in the archives of Black British literature.

Arguably, some of the controversy over Evaristo’s win was fuelled by surprise that the lived experiences of Black and mixed-heritage women were able to inspire a full and rich body of work. Maybe Evaristo’s ability to excavate the Black female consciousness in a way that celebrates strengths, rather than exploiting pain, felt too unfamiliar. Evaristo says her work was birthed from her frustration at Black women’s “absence from literature”; she wanted to write a piece that included “the stories of as many Black British women as possible”. It’s fair to say she did us complete justice.

Bernardine Evaristo meets Black Girls Book Club: “There’s everything to play for”