The second-person narration of "Girl" situates the reader squarely in the girl’s shoes, as the recipient of a barrage of overbearing advice on coming of age. The resulting mood is dizzying. The reader feels harried, as if they are bustling in Mother's wake. The first of the two brief interjections from the girl in italics, "But I don't sing benna on Sundays at all," comes two lines after Mother's initial injunction against singing benna in Sunday school, contributing to the feeling of breathlessness: the girl and thus the reader are stumbling a few paces behind, unable to catch up and fully voice any kind of argument.
The story's mood is permeated with the girl’s sense of frustration and unfairness. Against the inevitable crush of societal expectations, her voice is weak, and Mother’s logic—society’s logic—is indefatigable. The story’s style contributes to this: the unbroken block of text (the sentences not even separated by periods) is intimidating just to look at, as the prospect of womanhood on society’s many terms is intimidating to consider. As a result, the mood is one of dread. There is also a feeling of bitterness. The girl is the character to whom the reader relates. Readers also feel that she is the author, curating this memory of her mother—and what she remembers or wants to communicate about her mother is judgment and overwhelming restriction.