Akwaeke Emezi Won’t Tell You How to Feel

The novel began a decade ago and initially took the form of a short story written for Sable LitMag, a U.K. literary magazine. “It was a particularly brutal short story,” they recall. “It’s basically chapter two [of Little Rot]. I didn’t even have to change it much to put it into the book; I just expanded the book around it.” Ahead of the writing process, they were spending a lot of time back home in Nigeria and had a revelation that serves as the thrust of the novel (and also explains why Emezi chose to set the story there). “I was just like, ‘Oh, we are corrupt,’” they explain. “It shows up in a way it doesn’t show up in the States. In the States, people pretend more. In Nigeria, it’s very in your face. It’s just like, ‘I’m a bad guy. What are you going to do about it?’ I wanted to lean into that more.”

While some authors shy away from reading early reviews of their work, Emezi has enjoyed scouring Goodreads in the weeks leading up to Little Rot’s release. “I know people say never read your reviews, but I always read mine prepublication,” they say. “It lets me know how the readers are approaching it. So far, the common refrain has been that it is very violent and that it needs a lot of trigger warnings. And I was like, ‘That is completely accurate. I can’t argue with you on that.’”

One particular aspect of the book that may elicit that reaction from readers is a plot line involving an underage sex worker. Exploring taboo and unsavory topics isn’t new territory for Emezi. Their 2020 novel, The Death of Vivek Oji, depicted incest, much to the dismay of some readers. “I think there’s a media literacy issue that we’re experiencing everywhere where people think that because you write about something, it means you’re condoning it,” they say. “I’m like, ‘No, I write about it because it happens.’ With The Death of Vivek Oji, several people couldn’t believe there was incest in it. People think that this thing of marrying cousins is a redneck, white thing. And it’s very common in cultures outside of the West. That’s why I wrote it like that. With Little Rot, it’s much of the same. I’m just like, ‘What is the issue? There aren’t teenage sex workers in Nigeria?’ That’s not true. It’s something that happens and I write about it. That’s my job.”

Years ago, Emezi encountered a similar situation when they were taking a Toni Morrison seminar. “We were reading Song of Solomon and in the book, there’s a pedophile in the community. Everyone knows he’s there and no one does anything about it. One of the other students in the seminar got really agitated about it and said, ‘What does Morrison want us to think about this? Why would she write that?’ And the Professor just smiled and said, ‘Morrison is just showing you a thing. It is your job to decide how you feel about it. It is not the author’s job to tell you how to feel about it.’ People expect their media, their literature, their TV, and their movies to tell them how to feel about things. And I’m like, ‘No, I’m so sorry. I just show you the thing. You have to decide how you feel about it.”

Little Rot is Emezi’s eighth book in six years, a slight flex that they share with pride. The Nigerian bestselling author made their debut in 2018 with Freshwater, which several publications called “dazzling” and “remarkable.” Since then, they’ve written across genres, dipping into romance (You Made a Fool of Death With Your Beauty), memoir (Dear Senthuran), poetry (Content Warning: Everything), fantasy (Pet), and more. “Zero flops,” they joke.

In addition to writing books at lightning speed, the Umuahia-born and Aba-raised artist is also a musician and released their debut EP “Stop Dying, You Were Very Expensive!” in March this year. “All of my work is rooted in Igbo ontology,” they say. “It’s all the same thing, whether it’s music or books. I’m just expressing it and telling the story in different forms. When I made the EP, I wanted to center myself as a deity in Igbo ontology and be like, ‘What does it look like if you make music from that center?’ Moving us to our Indigenous centers is such a huge step towards our liberation and music is such a useful way to do that. I mean, I could rap about dating, but who wants that? I have nothing to say about that. So I was like, ‘I’ll make art about the thing I actually do have something to say about and it’ll do what it needs to do in its own time. It’ll grow when it needs to grow and it’ll hit who it needs to hit.’”

Moving “spirit-first” and remaining rooted in their truth sits at the center of Emezi’s work—which has, at times, been at odds with our capitalist society. “Capitalism has taught a lot of people that in order to succeed, you have to put on a mask,” they say. “Especially when your area of specialty is like mine, spirituality. People think there’s no way that you could have succeeded unless you are faking it. And sometimes I want to tell them, ‘No, the ingredient you’re missing is God.’ I live an impossible life that does not make sense for someone like me who, in flesh terms, is marginalized by race, by gender, and by disability. It does not make sense that I should have the career that I have, but that’s spirit working. That’s the evidence.”

Some critics have remained skeptical of Emezi’s success, particularly due to the consistent book releases. How are they really able to write so many books so quickly? “There’s a pushback to the idea that I could write so many books in a short frame of time and they would all be good,” they say. But there’s no big secret, it really all just comes down to a relentless (and sometimes overzealous) work ethic. “I don’t do anything else,” they say. “I sit at home and I write. Back when I was struggling with my first three [books], I trained myself to show up to the page when I didn’t feel like it and was depressed as shit. I’ve written when I was suicidal. And I’m not saying it’s a good thing because it definitely damaged my body, but unfortunately, capitalism does reward you for that. If people have healthier ways of doing it, I encourage them to.”

Throughout their career, Emezi has had to make a clear distinction between their public and private selves as an act of self-preservation. “There’s this idea of the Akwaeke Emezi that’s out there and then there’s the me who’s at home with my cat,” they say. “I’ve just had to let those two things be separate.”

They’ve also had to mentally divest from much of the industry to stay sane—“the awards, the prizes, everything,” they say, in order to focus on the work. Even a tarot card reader in New Orleans confirmed this decision. “Every time she gave me a reading, there was a devil card in my professional life. I was like, ‘It’s the industry.’ She told me, ‘You have to watch out, people don’t have your best interest at heart.’”

The “games you’re supposed to play” in order to have a successful career is of very little interest to Emezi. And it’s a little depressing, too. “It’s a shame,” they say. “There is no industry that is genuinely focused on the work. It’s all about how you fit in. They’re not gonna give you a prize if you’re not the type of person who’s going to talk about how wonderful the prize is and how wonderful the institution that gave you the prize is and how grateful you are to even be considered for this opportunity—unless you’re white. That’s the kicker. Then you can do whatever you want and it’ll be like, ‘They’re such a hermit and so exclusive. Here’s your Nobel Prize.’”

Over the years, they have had to make peace with the fact that they might never receive major book prizes. “Someone told me years ago, ‘You’ll never win a big literary award, no matter how big you are. They’re going to shortlist you because they can’t ignore how good your work is (and it would make them look like they have bad taste), but they’re never going to give the prize to you.’ It took me a while to realize and to come to terms with that. You have to be okay with holding onto your principles and to your politics and being like, ‘I’m not the type of writer to get those kinds of accolades. I’m the type of writer who has a readership. That’s my strength.”

When they do retreat to the quiet of their own world, Emezi spends time with their beloved Devon Rex cat, Güs PonPon, at home in Brooklyn and enjoys watching procedurals on TV, scrapbooking, gardening, and making jewelry (they have on a few of their pieces when we meet, which includes a lot of gold and a gorgeous African leopard ring). They once thought about having their own jewelry collection and selling it online, but quickly shut that idea down. Capitalism has a tendency to encourage us to turn our beloved hobbies into opportunities for profit. “Eventually I was like, ‘You can make a collection for yourself and be the only person wearing it because you don’t actually like doing customer service or retail,’” they say with a laugh. “‘Why are you trying to sell stuff?’ I don’t need to have multiple things. I can just write books.”

And more books are on the way. Emezi’s ninth and 10th novels are both set to release next year. The first will be a Young Adult Igbo fantasy novel titled Somadina that was initially written in 2011 as part of a literary competition. And the second, Son of the Morning, is a Black southern gothic paranormal romance that features “a girl who hooks up with Lucifer.” That one is special, not just for its spicy subject matter, but because it’ll mark a major milestone. “I’m excited for it because it’s going to be my 10th book. With Little Rot coming out, I have to remind myself to be present because I’m always three books ahead.” On top of what’s coming out next year, they’re also writing an eight-book fantasy series that they’ve been working on since they were 14.

Their schedule is enough to burn anyone out, but they don’t feel comfortable taking an extended break from writing just yet. “At the end of the day, I make a living from books. I don’t make enough of a living to retire and stop writing them. So as much as I would love to take a break, I feel like for now I have to keep putting them out. My list of books to write is about 16 books long.” To keep up with the demands of their ambition, their social life has had to take a backseat. “I’m not involved in literary community stuff. I’m not involved in a lot of things by choice, but also because I don’t think people understand my workload. I don’t have time.”

As they gear up for the release of Little Rot and the slew of upcoming books yet to come, Emezi is holding close the one thing that matters—their loyal readership, the ones who make TikTok videos passionately discussing their books and the ones who truly engage with the work, no matter how brutal the story or wicked the characters. “They’re the only ones I actually care about. If you tell a story, it’s not really a story until someone listens to it. That’s the whole point, right? So y’all can write whatever you want and you can review my books however you want because at the end of the day, I’m still going to be me and the work is still going to be the work, and books last forever.”