Death of the Author
A poignantly meta reclamation of identity, an exploration of the connection between artists, AI and their art, and a celebration of West African culture (spoiler-free)
“What I think of my own work doesn’t matter. The reader decides what it’s about, right? Isn’t that what you said, ‘death of the author’ meant?”
Now and then, a book surprises you, renewing or setting the foundation for the belief that stories have a way of finding you when you need them. For me, this is one of those books.
First impressions
I had no expectations before purchasing this novel as I, admittedly, was not familiar with Nnedi Okorafor’s vast, award-winning body of work; it’s not the genre I veer towards as a reader or writer.
Ultimately, what motivated me to purchase this book was there’s an aspect to it that makes me feel seen. “Death of the Author” centers on a disabled (paraplegic), headstrong, late 30-something-year-old Nigerian American writer (Zelu) who is prone to self-sabotage, navigating a journey of self-invention and freedom. Like Zelu, part of my ancestry is West African, and I’m a headstrong, serial self-sabotaging, neurodiverse writer who lives with chronic illness, navigating a journey of self-invention amid career transition.
Upon receipt, I knew this book would be something to treasure. From the striking blue, green, red, and orange Ankara graphic surrounding the shadow of the protagonist’s profile on the jacket cover to the cyan edge painting, it’s a work of art. But the real showstopper is the reveal behind the jacket, which is when I knew this book would be an experience.
A literary theory
Upon reading the title, I wondered if this book is connected to “The Death of the Author” literary theory, which it is not but instead explores.
French philosopher Roland Barthes introduced the first known record of this controversial literary theory in his 1967 essay, “The Death of the Author,” which argues that the meaning of a text is not determined by the author’s intention but rather by the reader’s interpretation. Suggesting a text takes on a life of its own once published, becoming open to interpretation by readers.
It removes the author’s agency as this theory argues the author’s intention—their life and perspective used to mold and shape their experiences into a story— are irrelevant, placing full ownership of meaning and how it’s interpreted in the hands of readers. Barthes believed an author’s feeling of ownership of their story and what they meant when they wrote it, to be arrogance: a byproduct of Western culture.
This literary theory, while interesting in the sense of challenging what I (think I) know, is one I wholeheartedly disagree with. Denying an author’s intention suppresses the author’s voice and, in turn, dismisses the essence of storytelling.
“I loved where stories took me. How they made me feel. How they made everyone around me feel. Stories contain our existence; they are like gods.” Death of the Author (Okorafor)
At their core, stories connect us, inspire us, and change us. They’re a fundamental aspect of the human experience that transcends time, linguistics, cultures, and societal constructs, reminding us that we’re more alike than not.
It’s through stories we find meaning. Hope. We view lives through different perspectives, fostering empathy and insights into the human condition. It’s through stories we find answers to the questions that plague us. It’s through stories we find ourselves.
To me, stories' accessibility and inclusivity make them one of the most powerful forces we’ll encounter. How we relate to them—what resonates with us, what moves and transforms us, leaving an invisible yet indelible mark within us— is what makes the experience unique.
It’s our why.
“I was the only one who always watched the water, looking not for fish but for mysteries.”
Zelu finds comfort in the water; she finds strength. To the surprise of many, one of her favorite pastimes is swimming in the ocean, as she’s blessed with unusual upper body strength. Swimming is connected to what drives and inspires her; it’s where she feels independent and free of barriers.
Like Zelu, the ocean is a force of nature that can reinvigorate and renew. Within its hidden depths is an underlying current, a connection that resists constraint.
To some, it’s peaceful. Whereas others view it as rageful, something to be feared. It could be a source of joy, a representation of independence and strength, or conversely, a thing to look down on with sorrow or misplaced grief. It’s as misunderstood as it is mysterious. It’s as simple as it is nuanced, moving in ways we’ll never understand as we’re not meant to.
It just is.
And that’s Zelu: a profoundly complex protagonist who moves in ways not meant to be understood. She just is. Which is what makes her such a beautifully developed character.
I fear and am fascinated by the ocean—any vast body of water, really. I can’t imagine not living within walking or driving distance of a river, lake, or sea; what draws me to it shares space with what prevents me from going into it.
I’m not much of a swimmer anymore, though I used to be at some point, as I have vivid memories of gleefully playing water-based games in pools between somersaults and underwater handstands. I remember wading barefoot into brown-hued creeks to catch crawdads in the summer at camp.
I readily picture the periwinkle blue and white polka dot Tweety bird bathing suit I excitedly donned the first time I worked up the courage to dive into the deep end of a pool from a diving board. When I look back on my childhood, it smells of chlorine and joy. A weightlessness that comes with the freedom of pathways and possibilities.
I wonder when I lost it.
I can’t pinpoint when I allowed my fears of what lies beyond what I could see to outweigh the freedom of possibilities. But, at some point, I became terrified of fully submerging into any large body of water if I couldn’t see what surrounded me below its surface.
I do, however, remember the moment I found the courage to live with that fear as I climbed down a boat's sun-warmed metal ladder, slipping into the Tyrrhenian Sea while island hopping during a solo trip to Italy several years ago.
It was a day of pride.
It was also the day I nearly died.
I was no longer a strong swimmer then. Thankfully, someone else on the boat noticed I was missing as its captain, unable to hear my pleas while the choppy shades of blue waters splashed over me, began to pull away. That someone happened to be a former Olympic swimming hopeful.
A suddenly strong current and a mind at peace had allowed me to drift farther than I’d realized. Anxiety paralyzed me. I was alone. It was as quiet as it was loud.
I carry that moment with me serving as a reminder to never lose hope. That when all seems lost, when I feel like I’m drowning, there’s a lifeline. Sometimes it’s another person. Most times, it’s me.
That and to invest in adult swimming lessons.
“All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were…It is emotional memory—what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared.” – Toni Morrison, The Site of Memory
Because this book is a bit longer than most I read, I intended to finish the last half over a few days. That’s not what happened.
Instead, day melted into night, as did my immersion in the story. With the rain as my soundtrack, I absorbed every line, every visual, every emotion. I annotated. Just as I thought it was heading in one direction, I was delighted to find I was wrong.
It’s not the type of book you can skim or condense into an arbitrary reading schedule. It’s deeply complex, vibrant, and relatable, regardless of your knowledge or connection with West African culture.
And, if you’re expecting a sci-fi book, prepare to be mildly disappointed, as that’s not what this book is. It’s different. It’s a story within a story within a larger story. That being said, don’t skip the sci-fi chapters of this book if that’s not you’re preferred genre; as you progress, the intentionality behind how Okorafor weaves Death of the Author with Rusted Robots is remarkable. It’s nothing short of inspiring.
This is the first work of Okorafor’s I’ve read, and I’m grateful for this experience.
Lines that linger
“You don’t fight the ocean. You have to trust it to carry you. And once you do, you can be anything.”
“…she settled into the familiar invisibility she always felt when among most of her relatives.”
“A dolphin should not seek to be a leopard.”
“It never grew or died; it just was.”
“Wherever I went, stories were my way to find where I belonged.”
“Zelu was tough, but she was also deeply sensitive. Maybe that’s why she was always retreating—always disconnecting from us.”
“She didn’t know what direction she was going, but she was in motion.”
“I don’t expect, but maybe I am hoping. Tomorrow is where my hope lives. I can’t be normal, so I’ll be something else.”
“I don’t think I’m strong enough to be who I am.”
“…but sometimes focusing on the worst problem yielded the best result.”
“And when you were aware of the moment you harnessed power, that was when it was the most difficult to navigate.”
“Sometimes it was better to get what you needed than what you wanted.”
“Narrative is one of the key ways automation defines the world…Stories are what holds all things together. They make things matter, they make all things be, exist.”
“It’s time. Create yourself. See what happens. Only then can you really know.”
Books
This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone: Epistolary sci-fi with poetic, layered prose and an identity-driven love story across time.
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: Quiet dystopia that raises moral and philosophical questions about humanity, control, and identity.
The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey: A thriller involving cloning, ethics, and complicated female relationships with a sharp voice.
Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu: Metafictional novel that uses a screenplay format to critique race, stereotypes, and representation. Note: you can watch the recently released series adaptation on Hulu.
The Every by Dave Eggers: A techno-dystopian satire about surveillance, free will, and how narratives are manipulated.
Exhalation by Ted Chiang: Especially the story “The Lifecycle of Software Objects”—AI, ethics, identity, and relationships.
The Employees by Olga Ravn: A fragmented, speculative workplace novel interrogating humanity through interviews with humans and humanoids.
A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan: Experimental structure, fragmented storytelling, and themes of identity and digital lives.
Movies
Ex Machina: Intimate AI-focused thriller questioning power dynamics, authorship, and sentience.
Adaptation: A meta-film about a screenwriter struggling to adapt a book; it plays with authorship and identity.
I’m Thinking of Ending Things: Surreal, intellectual, and eerie; plays with perspective, memory, and metafiction.
Coherence: A low-budget sci-fi dinner party that spirals into a multiverse thriller. Mind-bendy and existential.
Her: A man falls in love with an operating system. Beautiful, melancholic, and questions the nature of connection and consciousness.
Annihilation: Philosophical sci-fi that explores transformation, identity, and what it means to be human.
TV Shows
I recently learned that many of these shows fall into a genre called “Mystery Box.”
Black Mirror: Especially episodes like “Be Right Back”, “White Christmas”, and “Joan is Awful”. FYI, a new season is dropping this year, yay!
Severance: Corporate dystopia where people’s work and personal lives are severed. Brilliantly strange and philosophical.
Devs: A slow-burn sci-fi series about determinism, tech, and surveillance with a moody, eerie tone.
Undone: A rotoscope-animated series about time travel, mental illness, and questioning reality and narrative.
Russian Doll: Time loops, existential crises, and a sharp-tongued protagonist unraveling personal and cosmic mysteries.
Maniac: Surreal, mind-bending, and layered; explores trauma, identity, and experimental technology.
What would you add to this list? Are you familiar with Okorafor’s work?
Author interview
I highly recommend reading this NYT piece for a deeper understanding of this book, it’s autobiographical nature, and the influences behind it.
Just in case you reach a paywall, here’s an interview with the author:
TLDR
Page count: 448
Pub year: 2025
Genre(s): Literary Fiction, Africanfuturism
Themes: Identity, the relationship between artists and their art, AI, family dynamics
To read the synopsis & buy: Support indie (and me) by clicking here to purchase this book1
And just like that, we’ve reached the end.
Until next time,
A reminder for the week: Do something kind for yourself, something that brings you joy. Go the extra mile and do something kind for someone else while you’re at it.
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Chronic self-saboteur, Serial over-sharer, sounds like me!
Love the nice excursion across space time, the feel of feeling! thanks captain "JG", That moment in Italian island hopping, the sun warmed swim ladder, in the water realing the boat is pulling away, horror with "it will be ok, & will it wow! then the peace of getting back on board what was literally the life boat, Ive felt that!