 |
| (Cover Artist: Dan Funderburgh) |
Occasionally, I'll read a book whose ending completely alters the nature of the story that preceded it, and which as a result requires that I fundamentally rethink my opinion of how that story functions.
While this is almost always a good thing (since it means that I have a ton to think about when it comes to discussing that novel), it also makes writing a review of that book difficult. My ultimate opinion of the novel revolves, in the end, around events that only become apparent at the book's conclusion, and so I can't really discuss that dimension of the story without destroying the story's effect for future readers. Basically, I can't talk about the book without talking about its ending, but I can't talk about the ending without spoiling what I feel is the entire point of the book.
Obviously, Nnedi Okorafor's 2025 novel Death of the Author is this sort of work. Much of Death of the Author is divided between two parallel narratives, both of which at first appear to be seeking to accomplish subtly contradictory goals. Moreover, over the course of this text, there is a single interpretation of how both of these two stories relate to one another that Okorafor (at least at first) seems to be gently pressuring her readers to adopt. Yet this is an interpretation that also proves potentially reductive due to how it implies that only one of these stories matters, with the other narrative implicitly being relegated to a secondary role.
It's only in the final chapter, literally just paragraphs away from the novel's final line, that Okorafor introduces a single piece of information about this book's two narratives that suddenly allows both stories to slip into perfect harmony with one another, with each taking on a new level of importance in the process.
Which is to say that Death of the Author is an amazing book in no small part because it's a novel that feels almost impossible to analyze. Rather than being a work that is driven by the literal events of its plots, or even the conflicts and struggles of the book's characters, Death of the Author is a book whose core story is eventually shown to hinge on nothing less than how that story's readers have unknowingly misinterpreted it. Okorafor accomplishes this not merely by telling two stories simultaneously, but telling these two stories while also concealing the true nature of both narratives until the very end.
Plot Summary of Death of the Author
The first of the two stories of Death of the Author is the one that initially seems to be the primary narrative around which the book revolves. In this story, a disabled Nigerian-American woman in her late 30s named Zelu struggles to gain independence and self-sufficiency in the face of the subtly passive-aggressive acts of charity levied upon her by her parents and siblings. Having become paralyzed after falling from a tree in her early childhood, Zelu is as Death of the Author opens working as an underpaid creative writing teacher at a local community college in Chicago.
It's in this context that Zelu experiences two catastrophic career setbacks at almost the exact same moment. First, while attending the wedding of a sibling, she receives a call from the Dean's office of the college in which she works. Having recently been placed under investigation after she verbally attacked the work of a white student whom she regarded as overly entitled and pretentious, Zelu is told during this call that she has been summarily fired from the teaching position which had previously granted her a small semblance of financial freedom.
Second, shortly after Zelu receives this news, she also receives an email from the literary agent with whom she has recently been in contact, and learns that the dense and meandering academic novel she has spent the past ten or so years writing has been rejected by every single one of the publishers to whom it was marketed. As a result, Zelu realizes that it's unlikely this story will ever see commercial release, with the past ten years that she's spent writing this book culminating in what Zelu herself immediately regards as a total waste of her time.
Faced with a complete loss of all her hopes for her future at precisely the moment at which her younger siblings are effectively celebrating the start of their lives as adults, Zelu responds to her feelings of anger, despair, and rejection by retreating to her hotel room, and while there begins work on a science fiction story titled "Rusted Robots." Upon completing this novel in only a matter of months, Zelu hesitantly submits a draft of her new work to the same literary agent who had previously been unable to market her earlier novel. Unexpectedly, this new novel results in Zelu being inundated with a torrent of bewilderingly lucrative publishing deals. Practically overnight, Zelu finds herself faced with the daunting task of managing a newfound fame and commercial success, with Rusted Robots ultimately garnering not only a devoted fan base desperate for a potential sequel, but also a major Hollywood studio eager to produce a film adaptation of her work.
Most important of all however is the fact that, as Zelu's fame grows, she finds herself drawn to the attention of a controversial tech billionaire named Hugo Wagner. Hugo has been working to design a collection of advanced mechanical prosthetic limbs which could potentially allow Zelu to regain some semblance of the physical mobility she has lacked since childhood. These devices are so prohibitively expensive that Hugo has been unable to obtain any formal authorization to sell this technology commercially. His hope is that working with Zelu will generate positive coverage for his emerging company, with Zelu being granted access to this untested medical technology on the condition that she work as a kind of unofficial spokesperson advertising Hugo's business.
It's in this way that Zelu's art begins to function as a catalyst for her own personal liberation. While revenue that Zelu earns from the sale of Rusted Robots allows her to finally afford a home of her own, Hugo's experimental prosthetic limbs (called exos) likewise grant Zelu a freedom of movement she has lacked for the entirety of her adult life. Moreover, all of these changes are framed as having been brought about by the imaginary science-fictional world that Zelu has created--a world which is itself born of the deeply personal feelings of joy and rejection that have defined Zelu's life.
Plot Summary of Rusted Robots
The second story existing within Death of the Author is, ostensibly, the novel which Zelu has written. Told in chapters which alternate with the story of Zelu's growing fame, this new narrative is set many years after an unnamed disaster has resulted in the functional extinction of the human race. Within this world, the many automated beings created by humanity continue to roam the Earth--carrying out the preprogrammed tasks prescribed upon them by their creators even after these creators have died.
Following a single human-like robot (or "Hume") called Ankara, Rusted Robots begins as its protagonist is wandering the desolate but also ecologically vibrant world which humanity has left. Compelled by her programming to act as a kind of traveling scholar and historian, Ankara's life now consists of the endless (and perhaps in some sense fruitless) task of exploring the ruins of human civilization in search of artifacts of art and culture. As Ankara reveals to the reader very early on, as a Hume, she is forever incapable of producing a work of true creativity and artistic value, and therefore can only stand in awe of the creative works produced by the long-dead human artists whom she was programmed to study.
It's in this context that Ankara encounters a mysterious spider-like robot called Udide. After summoning Ankara to the cave in which they reside, Udide informs her of an impending catastrophe that threatens the continued existence of the Earth itself. Recently, a fleet of artificially intelligent space probes launched by humanity many centuries prior uncovered a method of traveling into the very center of the sun. While there, these probes (whom Udide subsequently calls "Trippers") witnessed a form of natural beauty transcending all capacity for communication. Unfortunately this experience so twisted the minds of these artificial beings that they have begun working to bring the beauty of the sun's internal light to the Earth's surface--an act which will surely destroy the entire planet. Unless the many terrestrial factions of automated life can band together and form a unified resistance against this threat, the Trippers will reach the Earth in a little over one year, with every living creature subsequently doomed to be obliterated in a fiery death.
Entrusted with what she later refers to only as "Udide's Terrible Information," Ankara immediately sets out to spread word of the Trippers' impending attack. Yet in the process she becomes embroiled in a fraught battle being carried out between Humes like herself, and a faction of digital intelligences residing within humanity's decaying computer networks who call themselves "NoBodies." While Humes like Ankara are programmed to seek out works of art and narrative so that they can spend an eternity working as the automated scholars and historians for which they were originally designed, the NoBodies believe that it is only by erasing all evidence of human culture from existence that automated life can truly abandon its programming and fulfill its destiny.
Due to this innate philosophical disagreement, the NoBodies have begun working to violently eradicate the Humes from existence, with the Humes in turn soon setting themselves towards the parallel goal of destroying the NoBodies in a similar manner. All the while, as this war intensifies, the impending catastrophe embodied by the approaching Trippers grows ever closer, with Ankara watching in horror as both sides in the Hume-NoBody conflict fall prey to personal bigotries and grudges in a manner that proves, ironically, depressingly human.
Main Review
When I wrote at the start of this review that both halves of Death of the Author appear to function in subtly contradictory ways, it's because Zelu's and Ankara's stories, despite being told in parallel to one another, also feature characters who are arguably striving to accomplish opposite goals.
Zelu's story details the struggles of an artist as she navigates the pitfalls of her unexpected fame, while also seeking to retain control over the art that has made her famous. Ankara's story meanwhile tells the inverted narrative of an artificially intelligent being who is seeking to find a meaning in her existence that exists independent of the intentions of her creators. While Zelu seeks to retain control over her art--ultimately facing a personal crisis as she struggles to produce a sequel to Rusted Robots that fulfills her creative vision irrespective of the wishes of her fans--Ankara faces own crisis as she struggles prove that there is a meaning and purpose in her life existing independent of the automated tasks she was created to perform on humanity's behalf.
One of the earliest examples of the contrasting nature of these two stories appears in the scenes which open the book itself. As Zelu is introduced, she appears in the aforementioned wedding of one of her siblings, with it being in this moment that she experiences the two catastrophic personal and professional setbacks that serve as her story's inciting incident. Not only does Zelu learn here that the literary novel she has been working on for over ten years will never be published, but also in the same moment that she has lost the one low-paid teaching job that provided her some semblance of financial stability.
It's in this context that Zelu retreats to her hotel room, and begins work on a piece of fiction which is by her own admission unlike anything she has ever before created. While Zelu indicates to the reader that her earlier work sought to draw upon the literary theories and structures which her job as a creative writing teacher required she study, its as she loses all hope of a future career as both an author and a teacher that she instead chooses to abandon these rigid structures and theories. Critically here is the way in which Zelu's sudden feelings of despair are shown by Okorafor to fuel a desire for escape, with it being this desire, more than anything else, which is highlighted as giving Zelu's art a reality all its own.
Her face was crusty and itchy with dried tears, her mouth cottony from the weed she'd smoked and sour with the aftertaste of rejection, her mind cracked so wide open that all her demons had flown in. Zelu began writing.
This time, it was different. She didn't want to write about normal people having normal problems, just to be told all over again that her characters weren't relatable. She didn't want to research a world for years just to watch it burn. So she didn't. She wrote about those who weren't human. She wrote a world that she'd like to play in when things got to be too much, but which didn't exist yet. She wrote something else, something new.
She wrote about rusted robots. (p.27)
It's in this context that the other story of Death of the Author begins, with the novel Zelu writes subtly contrasting with its counterpart in a way that can at first be easy to miss. While Zelu's story opens as she takes her own experiences of rejection and despair, and transmutes these experiences into a form of personal escape, the narrative Zelu finds escape within begins as Ankara explains to the reader how, despite the obvious fact that human civilization has died off, she is nevertheless still confident that there is a future not only for herself, but the Earth too.
In first-person narration that almost seems to represent Ankara speaking directly to Zelu, the text which Zelu herself is actively writing as she sits alone in her hotel room reads:
The Earth had already seen so much. Histories. Rises. Falls. Remembrances. Plants, dirt, trees, genetic modification, splices. Vibrant colors, natural fabrics. Oil and plastic. Consumption, battles, burning, smoke, exhaust. Flowers blooming, then wilting.
As I stood in the crumbling parking lot, the hot concrete warming the metal of my feet, I was sure of it: the Earth had great things ahead of it, even still. (p.28)
The contrasts between these moments sets up a question which persists throughout Death of the Author. Is Ankara merely a reflection of Zelu's experiences--a character which Zelu is creating so as to better process her feelings of despair and rejection? Alternately, given how Ankara's outlook on her own existence differs so sharply from Zelu's, is the story of Ankara's life something external to the author who created her, with Ankara representing an entity which despite being fictional, nevertheless has an existence all its own?
Or, to phrase that question in genre terms, is Ankara a fully intelligent being, or is she nothing more than a robot?
These questions persist as the plot of Zelu's novel continues--a story which, as the book develops, details how Ankara learns of the threat represented by the Trippers, and then in turn must work to navigate a war that ultimately hinges on how automated life should pursue its future. Should the robotic creations of humanity spend eternity documenting the decaying accomplishments of human culture and history (as the other Humes like Ankara seem to believe), or should these artificial beings violently sever their connection to the past so as to fully embrace a future which their original creators could never conceive of (as is the conviction of the NoBodies)? Alternately, could it perhaps be the case that the nihilistic philosophy of destruction embodied by the Trippers is the only true solution to the crisis of purpose and meaning which automated life now faces in the wake of the death of human civilization? Is the singular objective which humanity's robotic creations must turn themselves towards now that their creators are dead the obliteration of intelligence itself?
Similarly, while Ankara faces the daunting task of convincing the other factions of automated life that there is a meaning and purpose in their existence that is facilitated by humanity's legacy, but also not constrained by it, Zelu is faced with the opposite task of finding a way to relate to her art's growing influence as this art threatens to escape from her control.
There's one scene in particular which I think both highlights and foreshadows the fascinating ways that Okorafor dramatizes Zelu's conflicted link to her art. Shortly after Zelu has successfully sold Rusted Robots to a publisher, she decides to use part of the advanced payment she has received for her novel to test out a newly developed subscription service on her phone. Via this service, Zelu is able to order a fully autonomous self-driving car to come to her house and take her on various errands. The result is that due to her disability, for the first time in her life, Zelu is confronted with the experience of being utterly alone in a vehicle that is operating under her control. Consequently, she is immediately overwhelmed with feelings of fear and fascination at this technology, with the self-driving car very clearly being an entity whose existence is separate from Zelu, even as its actions are constrained by her will.
"This is so weird," she muttered as she watched the steering wheel moving on its own. It was the first time she'd ever been in a moving vehicle by herself. Nobody was there, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was a presence; something was in control. It was like being driven by a ghost. "Or should I say a NoBody," she said to herself, laughing.
When the vehicle stopped to turn onto the main road, her mirth vanished. (p.56)
Critically here is the way that Zelu initially chooses to conceptualize the self-driving car--relating this machine to one of the robots from her story (a NoBody). Yet while this reflection is one that Zelu at first regards with a degree of apprehension (immediately recognizing that this entity is in some ways separate from her, and then subsequently becoming terrified that this car is going to malfunction and crash), it's after this vehicle has arrived at the destination Zelu originally commanded that her suspicion of this machine gives way to a sort of joy.
Despite not having been in direct control of the vehicle as it hurtled down the freeway (weaving through traffic while swerving dangerously to avoid harmless plastic bags that happen to blow into its path), Zelu decides in this final moment that the self-driving car is a device just as useful to her as the wheelchair which she uses to move around. In the process, she begins thinking of this entity not as an automated creation with its own will, but instead an extension of her body. Moreover, much as with Zelu's earlier observation that the SUV is like a NoBody from her novel, Zelu's new conviction that the self-driving car actually is an extension of her being comes with an additional parallel between this technology and the book she has just written.
She watched the SUV leave, her heart rate slowing, a sense of normalcy returning to her. And then that relief became euphoria. She could call this cab anytime she needed. She could move herself around without any human's aid. This SUV would help her--no, it could be like an extension of her. She could be like a robot with built-in wheels ready to carry her whenever she wanted.
She turned and wheeled up the boardwalk. She smiled to herself, feeling a warmth that emanated from within. "Yeah," she said. "Just like a robot." (p.58)
The implication here is that, just as how Zelu views the self-driving car as merely an extension of her own body--a tool that, much like her wheelchair, exists to facilitate her own personal agency and freedom--so too is her Rusted Robots novel a kind of prosthesis via which Zelu imagines herself to be enacting her will upon the world. To the extent that Rusted Robots exists as something separate from Zelu, she views it as existing only in the way that she declares it to have existed, with it being Zelu's intentions in writing Rusted Robots that ultimately define this novel's meaning.
This metaphor of art as being valuable only in so far as it expresses its author's will--a tool whose utility is dictated by the extent to which it communicates the intentions of its user--is further explored as Zelu's fame grows, and she comes to the attention of Hugo Wagner. Desiring to employ Zelu as a test case for his newly invented exos, Hugo reaches out to Zelu immediately after reading her newly published novel, and expresses an interest in working with her in part due to the way that he feels her book showcases the very same robotic technology he has spent his life researching.
In essence, Hugo's exos represent an element of Zelu's story which has been made real, with Zelu's novel and accompanying fame facilitating the creation of a robotic technology that otherwise wouldn't exist. Moreover, much as with the self-driving SUV, this is a technology which is presented to Zelu as existing entirely for the purpose of facilitating her personal freedom.
Yet while Hugo's exos are indeed eventually shown to function in the way that he promises (after extensive training with these devices, Zelu gains the ability to walk unassisted) the nature of this technology also means that the freedom it affords her is just as ambiguous as the freedom facilitated by the self-driving car. Not only is it the case that the exos do not actually act out Zelu's direct intensions in the manner of a traditional prosthesis (these robotic limbs instead merely interpret subconscious muscle movements in Zelu's lower torso, and then maneuver her paralyzed legs through a series of pre-programmed motions in response to what an advanced machine-learning algorithm thinks are her intended actions), but even Hugo's interest in working with Zelu is continually highlighted by Okorafor as potentially suspect.
Is Hugo simply a well-meaning businessman who was inspired by Rusted Robots, and therefore eager to utilize the resources at his disposal to further Zelu's goals? Alternately, is he an opportunistic scammer eager to capitalize on the favorable coverage his for-profit company will receive should he "cure" a famous author of her disability?
Or, to put it in much starker terms, are Hugo's exos tools which Zelu can use to further her own personal freedom, or is it Zelu herself who has unknowingly become a tool that Hugo is exploiting to achieve his ends?
Wisely, Okorafor treats these questions surrounding creativity, bodily autonomy, and personal agency with the care that these subjects require, and in part uses them as a launching point for a broader discussion of the social issues surrounding disability rights and implicit ableism. When Zelu's parents initially express concern regarding their daughter's decision to work with Hugo, what starts out as a series of entirely valid critiques of the commercial motives underlying Hugo's decision to contact Zelu quickly reveal a much more fraught dynamic existing within Zelu's family itself.
While the concerns which Zelu's parents raise regarding Hugo's reasons for working with their daughter may be valid, they are also shown to nevertheless be predicated on the deeply problematic assumption that due to Zelu's disability, she is forever unworthy of the personal agency and freedom required to make personal decisions about her body and future.
"How does this man even know about you?" her mother asked.
"Mom, I'm all over the place right now! He read my book and then read about me in interviews. He studied up on me."
Her mother grunted. "Yes, but he could do that with anyone. What's special about you?"
Zelu shrank back, digging her nails into her palms. Her family knew how popular her book was, but still, they couldn't stop seeing her as the child who fell from the tree and needed help just to go to the bathroom. None of them would ever admit it, but Zelu knew that some part of them, all of them, wanted to keep her at home to prevent her from nearly killing herself yet again. (pp.133-134)
These questions surrounding not only Zelu's decision to work with Hugo, but also the consequences of Zelu's belief that the art she has created exists merely as an instrument to express her will, reach their height when Zelu is invited to speak about her Rusted Robots novel on a popular TV talk show.
Here, Zelu faces an unexpectedly grueling interview with a white reporter named Amanda Parker, who in turn attempts to critique Rusted Robots through an autobiographical framework. While Amanda seems to agree with Zelu that an author's intentions in creating their art are what define that art's meaning, as the interview continues she nevertheless twists Zelu's identity and experiences into a shape that best affirms her own personal biases surrounding Zelu's disability. In the process, Zelu is forced to watch as the very work which she has previously viewed as an intimate expression of her will and intentions is turned against her, with Amanda ultimately asserting that Zelu's novel is an expression of a deep-rooted ablism for which she should be ridiculed.
As Zelu responds to a question Amanda has asked regarding her reasons for writing a science fiction novel about robots, the exchange reads:
She gestured toward her waist. "I'm paraplegic. I've often dreamed about removing broken parts and replacing them with new ones like a robot can do. The connection is hard to miss."
Amanda nodded as if Zelu had just said something incredibly profound. "Very sci-fi indeed. And now you want to make that dream a reality?"
Zelu narrowed her eyes, not quite sure what Amanda was getting at. "If you want to see it that way. To me, it's all a story."
Amanda's flaky face didn't move, but her eyes flickered quickly toward Zelu's waist and the lower part of her dress that covered her exos. "Authorial intent can't be ignored, though. There may be some who interpret this book as you rejecting the identity of a person with disabilities."
Zelu's jaw unhinged. Every hair on her body stood on end. What the fuck? She glanced around the studio to see if anyone else was reacting to this, but all she could see were the hot white lights that stung her eyes. (p.207)
All of this serves to establish a subtle but gradually building tension within Death of the Author. While Zelu views the value of her work as deriving from the extent to which it transmutes her will onto the larger world, this same view of Zelu as the sole arbiter of Rusted Robots's true meaning can, as the above interview demonstrates, very easily turn toxic. While Amanda claims that authorial intent cannot be ignored, in practice this attempt to read Zelu's work through an autobiographical framework merely acts as an affirmation of Amanda's own biases regarding Zelu's disability.
On their own these themes would make Death of the Author a vitally important work in its own right, except for the fact that the story of Zelu's life is only one of this book's two narratives. As Zelu's fame grows, and Zelu herself faces the fraught task of producing a sequel to Rusted Robots which will satisfy her increasingly impatient fans, Ankara's parallel narrative follows a similar but more extreme version of this same conflict.
As the three-way crisis between the Humes, the NoBodies, and the Trippers reaches its climax, Ankara eventually realizes that the only way that she can hope to resolve this dispute is to perform an action which demonstrates to all sides of this struggle the simple truth that she asserted in her story's opening scene--the simple truth which, indeed, seems to have driven Zelu to write Ankara's story to begin with. This is that, despite the setbacks Ankara and Zelu have experienced, they both have a future that is not defined by their respective pasts.
Much as how Zelu's story has followed the vibrant life of Rusted Robot's author after her book is published--detailing the personal hardships and joys that unfold as a result of Zelu's literary success--Ankara's story similarly follows the life of Zelu's fictional protagonist as she navigates the worsening conflict between the Humes and the NoBodies--a conflict which leads Ankara, much like Zelu, through vital experiences of joy, fear, love, and desperation.
All of this culminates in a final moment wherein Ankara discovers that the only way she can end the war between the Humes and the NoBodies is by finding a reconciliation between the seemingly unreconcilable philosophies of these two factions. Towards this end, Ankara sets out to affirm a sense of meaning and purpose in her own existence by transcending her programming, and drawing upon her vast knowledge of humanity's past so as to produce something unique that proves once and for all that automated life has a future all its own.
Which is to say that Ankara, in Rusted Robots's latter chapters, sets out to effectively save the world by learning how to write a novel.
Potential criticisms (which actually aren't!)
It's here that I need to again refer back to the initial point I made at the start of this review, because there is an interpretation about how both Death of the Author and Rusted Robots relate to one another which Okorafor initially appears to be pressuring her readers towards over the course of this text. Moreover, with Ankara's final decision to seek to create a wholly original work of art that transcends her programming, and which demonstrates that she and the other manifestations of artificial life have a future irrespective of the extinction of humanity, this interpretation comes to the forefront of the book's plot.
When Zelu, at the start of her own story, initially began writing Rusted Robots, she is established to have done so in response to her own feelings of desperation and hopelessness at the loss of her job. Zelu is very deliberately shown by Okorafor to have reacted to her own failed career as a teacher and a writer by seeking to produce a work of radically original creativity. In the end, it is these emotions of fear and hopelessness which Zelu utilizes as a kind of personal fuel, transmuting her experiences of rejection into a form of creative escape, and in the process (very literally) creating Ankara's reality.
Similarly, as Rusted Robots nears its end, Ankara's parallel story follows it's protagonist as she chooses to not only embark upon the very same creative venture as Zelu, but does so in a context that is in its own way strikingly similar to Zelu's. Much as with Zelu's despair at her future career, Ankara takes her feelings of despair at the ongoing war with the Trippers, and seeks escape from these emotions in an act of creativity that is framed as a nearly spiritual act of self-liberation. Much as with Zelu, Ankara ultimately manages to resolve the conflict of her own narrative by confronting her personal demons, and creating something that is "something new" when she creates a work of art that gives her own life meaning and purpose.
This sets up an undeniable parallel between Ankara's final act of radically transcendent creativity, and the creative escape which Zelu pursued at the beginning of Death of the Author. Just as how Zelu sought escape from her own failures and setbacks via her art (and then in the process managed to create a new life for herself through the power of her imagination), Ankara too ultimately ends her story by doing nothing less than proving that automated life has a future irrespective of humanity when she learns to transcend her programming by writing a novel.
The inevitable implication, therefore, is that Okorafor is concluding the duel stories of both Death of the Author and Rusted Robots by conclusively demonstrating how the story of Ankara's fictional life reflects Zelu's. Yet this parallel also produces a problem.
If Ankara's ultimate decision to write her novel is read as merely being an allegory for Zelu's initial decision to write Rusted Robots, then how does this relate to the nature of Rusted Robots's core conflict between the Humes, the NoBodies, and the Trippers?
All sides of this three-way battle have been established to represent opposing articulations of the nature of art--philosophies which, of course, also emerge throughout Zelu's half of the book. The Humes believe that the meaning of their existence is defined by the purpose they were created to serve--that to quote the words of the reporter who interviews Zelu, "authorial intent cannot be ignored." Similarly, the NoBodies believe that their continued existence in spite of their creators' deaths necessitates the obliteration of all traces of human civilization--essentially, the ultimate severing of the art from the artist. Meanwhile, the Trippers follow an even more extreme and violent ideology, and believe that the existence of natural beauty itself demands the complete obliteration not only of all human culture, but life itself.
The Trippers, in effect, believe neither that art is defined by the intentions of its creators, nor that art must be severed from its author to be understood. Instead, they could be argued to simply believe that all art is meaningless, and should therefore be destroyed.
When Ankara sets out to resolve this war by creating an original work of art, she is seeking to demonstrate to all sides of this conflict the extent to which their ideologies are misguided. The novel Ankara hopes to write is built upon past knowledge of human culture which she has gathered during her work as a Hume, and yet it is also stated to be a wholly original creation that has never before existed--proof that the creations of humanity can draw upon the past while also creating something new.
Because of this, Ankara hopes that her novel will not only illuminate the failure of the Humes' outlook of uncritically venerating humanity, but also the limitation of the worldview of the NoBodies. All the while, because of the originality of this creation, Ankara hopes that the Trippers too will see that their ideology of complete destruction is misguided, because automated life too is capable of creating works of beauty and subtlety that complement those found in nature. Ankara's act of creativity will be meaningful, in effect, because it is simultaneously built atop humanity's past, while also not being constrained by it.
Yet none of this works if Ankara's story is seen merely as a creation of Zelu's mind. If, in the end, the value and meaning of Ankara's novel is defined exclusively by the extent to which it communicates Zelu's real-world experience of rejection when she began typing on her computer in her hotel room, then no matter what Ankara may claim to the contrary, Okorafor's final decision to have Ankara's story end by mirroring Zelu's story's beginning seems to doom Death of the Author to conclude with a paradox which fundamentally invalidates both of it's two narratives.
If Ankara succeeds in writing her novel, and prove to the Humes, Trippers, and NoBodies that they do indeed all have a future worth living, then we as readers will know that this victory on Ankara's part will have been hollow. While Ankara may claim that the story she has written has proven that automated life is not constrained by its programming, in the end, that story will still merely be a fictional work produced by Zelu--a novel which functions as a very literal allegory for it's author's experiences, rather than the radically transcendent work of creativity Ankara claims.
Or, to view this problem from an inverted perspective, should Zelu end her own half of the story by affirming her identity as the true arbiter of Rusted Robots's meaning (thereby writing a sequel to her novel that fulfills her artistic vision irrespective of what her fans and critics expect) then won't that personal affirmation of her identity as Rusted Robots's one true author technically come at the expense of her art? The point of Rusted Robots has at least so far been that Ankara is not constrained by the intentions of her creators, and that while she may have been created to document human culture, the meaning and purpose which Ankara has found in this endeavor is entirely her own. With that in mind, what will be signified by an ending in which Zelu (as Ankara's actual real-life creator) conclusively demonstrates that she and she alone controls the fate of this character?
To borrow the language of the book's title, is Okorafor going to conclude these two stories by asserting that the author of Rusted Robots (metaphorically) died the instant she submitted her work to a publisher, and that the many vital experiences she subsequently had as a result of this work are meaningless? Alternately, is she going to claim the opposite, and assert that Zelu's fictional protagonist was never truly alive to begin with--that Ankara's quest for meaning and purpose is ultimately rooted in a foolish rejection of the fact that, in a very literal sense, she isn't real?
Are either one of those endings really any better than the other?
Concluding Thoughts
I don't think it would be right for me to reveal here how exactly this final conflict in both narratives is reconciled, but I want to be very clear that Okorafor does eventually reconcile it. Moreover, she does so via a mind-bending moment that fundamentally reframes the nature of this book's story, and upends Death of the Author's core premise in such a way that allows both narratives to suddenly fit together in a way that previously seemed impossible.
Death of the Author is a book which not only presents its readers with two subtly contradictory stories that are nevertheless inextricably intertwined, but which also ends by unexpectedly revealing how both of these contrasting stories actually exist in perfect harmony with one another, even when it initially appears that they don't.
Because, again, like I alluded to at the start of this review, there is a very critical aspect of Death of the Author's premise which Okorafor skillfully keeps hidden from her readers until her very final chapter. Moreover, this is a story element which is revealed via the four simple words that have so far loomed prominently in the background of both Zelu's and Ankara's lives--words which seemingly define the nature of both characters' respective existences, but which are also in the very last chapter shown to be incomplete.
Ultimately, Okorafor manages with this book to take the two deeply conflicted stories of Zelu's and Ankara's lives, and demonstrate how the validities of these stories derive not from the intentions of their authors, but the simple truth that is eventually revealed to have motivated both artists. This is that the point of art, to the extent that it needs one, is not the expression of the artist's personal vision, or even the unveiling of a secret meaning hidden within that artist's work, but an inherently subversive act that resists systematization.
As Death of the Author eventually demonstrates, the point of art is the creation of something new.