Bookshelfie: Women’s Prize Podcast - S3 Ep2: Bookshelfie: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Episode Date: April 7, 2021

Join special guest - Women’s Prize for Fiction ‘Winner of Winners’ - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie as she discusses the five books which have shaped her career, and her latest release, Notes on Grief, with Yomi Adegoke. Chimamanda is an internationally acclaimed author whose novel Half of a Yellow Sun won the Women’s Prize in 2007 and was adapted into a film starring Thandie Newton and Chiwetel Ejiofor, as well as being crowned the ‘Winner of Winners’ from 25 years of Women’s Prize winning novels by public vote at the end of 2020. Chimamanda is also a hugely influential speaker - her 2009 TED Talk The Danger of a Single Story is one of the most viewed TED talks of ALL TIME, and in 2012 she followed up with We Should all Be Feminists. This has also racked up MILLIONS of views, has been published as a book, and sampled by Beyoncé.  Chimamanda’s books are:  ** The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta ** Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez  ** The Collected Essays of Elizabeth Hardwick  ** The Middleman and Other Stories by Bharati Mukherjee ** Passbook number F.47927 by Muthoni Likimani  Every week, join journalist and author Yomi Agedoke, and inspirational guests, including Elizabeth Day, Sara Pascoe and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie as they celebrate the best books written by women. The Women’s Prize for Fiction is one of the most prestigious literary awards in the world, and has been running for over 25 years, and this series will offer unique access to the shortlisted authors and the 2021 Prize winner.  This podcast is produced by Bird Lime Media. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Tom Hanks is Otto. He's seen it all. Otto? Otto? Otto? You don't hear that name very often. I do. He's a man who gets easily annoyed. What are you doing?

Parallel in parking. Parallel to what? He has had enough. Are you always this unfriendly? I am not unfriendly. Okay, you're like a warm cuddle. But he's finding his joy again in the most unlikely place. I'm not sure about this.

He's going to be very fun. A man called Otto only in cinemas now. With thanks to Bailey's, this is the Women's Prize for Fiction Podcast, celebrating women's writing, sharing our creativity, our voices and our perspectives, all while championing the very best fiction written by women around the world. I'm Yomiyadega Kay, your new host for Season 3 of the Women's Prize podcast. We have a phenomenal lineup of guests for 2021, and I guarantee you will be taking away plenty of reading recommendations.

Each bookshelfy episode, we ask an inspiring woman to share the story of her life, the five different books by women. This episode includes discussions of grief, marital rape and suicide. Hello and welcome to today's episode of Bookshelfy. I'm Yomi Adega-Kay and I'm absolutely thrilled to be joining you as your new host for Series 3, while I'll be lucky enough to be interviewing some incredible women about the work of other incredible women. Let me start by reminding you that this year's long list is out and the 16 brilliant authors

and their books can all be found on our website, Women's Prize for Fiction.com.com. We are still practicing safe social distancing, and this podcast is being recorded remotely. Today's guest, and I'm really going to have to calm myself as I say this, today's guest is the internationally acclaimed writer, Chimamanda Ungozi Edichie. Chimamanda is the author of three award-winning novels,

Purple Obiscus, half of a yellow sun, and Americana, as well as the short story collection, The Thing Around Your Neck. Half of a Yellow Sun won the Women's Prize in 2007 and was adapted into a film starring Tandy Newton and Chiu-a-Tel, a G-O-4. It was also crowned the winner of winners from 25 years of women's prize-winning novels by a public vote at the end of last year. As well as being an accomplished writer, Chimamanda, is also a hugely influential speaker. Her 2009 TED Talk, The Danger of a Single Story, is one of the most viewed TED Talks of all time, and in 2012, she followed up with We Should All Be feminists. This has racked up millions of views and has been published as a book, as well as being

sampled by Beyonce. Her latest work, Dear Adjuella, or a feminist manifesto in 15 suggestions, continues the conversation about feminism, which I sincerely hope will be picking up today. She's just announced another new book about the sudden death of her father last year, called Notes on Grief, which will be published in May. She joins me now on the line from Lagos, Nigeria. Chimamanda, thank you so much for joining me today. How are you doing?

I am well, and thank you for having me. It's nice to talk to you, Yami. It's an absolute pleasure. As I said in the intro, I am very much having to steady myself. I am a bag of nerves as a very big fan. As you would have heard several times, you're not just an inspiration to writers everywhere, but female writers, black female writers,

Nigerian writer specifically and, you know, as those things, I am just, it's truly an honour. So thank you so much. So sorry if I fan girl a lot also because I'm very excited to be speaking to you. Chimamanda, have you always been a big reader? Yes. Yes, books have meant really everything to me. I don't remember when I didn't care about books. I don't remember when I wasn't a reader. I kind of now as an adult, I miss how I read as a child, if that makes sense. I think that when I was much younger, I could just utterly escape inside a book. Now that I'm older and I guess more cynical, I don't know that I can do that anymore.

I mean, I'm still very much a reader. I adore books, but I think my relationship with books maybe has changed a little bit. and I think it was a much healthier relationship when I was much younger. Would you say that your relationship with books have changed over the last year during lockdown? Would you say you've written, or sorry, would you say you've read less or more during lockdown? Have I read maybe a bit more? But also I should say that the lockdown experience for me has been very much shape since June by losing my father. and that's been the most catastrophic thing that has happened to me in my entire life.

And so it certainly changed what I read and how I read. I found myself drawn to books and articles and poetry about grief. And I also found myself reading things just differently. I mean, in the past, you're reading a novel and somebody loses somebody, and you feel bad for the character. but suddenly for me reading about somebody losing a loved one in a novel would just pierce my soul. I just reacted very differently to death and to grieving in the way that I read. My condolences regarding your bava also.

I'd like to speak to you if you don't mind about your decision to write notes on grief. And that is a process because I can imagine obviously it being very cathartic in many ways, right, but as you said, you're reading about death differently. Writing about death must have also been a very different experience, potentially painful one. So could you talk me through that? It's interesting because I don't even know why I wrote it. I just started writing it. And I think it's partly because I often deal with things by writing about them. It's not so much that I journal. I mean, I know that there are people who everyday write reams and

dreams of things about how they felt about things. I don't really do that. And I think similarly to how I write my fiction, there's something intuitive about it. And, you know, it was just such a painful, just such an unfamiliar feeling. That's what it was. My grieving was so unfamiliar to me that I turned to writing to try and make sense of it. And I wrote about how I was feeling. I wrote about what was happening.

mediacy of it and also just, you know, wrote about my father, who I absolutely adored. And when I was writing it, at some point, I thought, I don't think I'm going to publish this. And I had planned to

just have my family read it. Actually, just have my brother, okay, read it. Not even all of my family. But as I, I don't know, as it just sort of went on, I thought, you know what? I really hope that this might speak to somebody else who is experiencing grief. And I decided that, yes, I was going to publish it.

And there's a part of me now that hopes that, you know, I don't know that it says, speaks to somebody else, right? Because when I read things about grief, there are times when I would think, my God, that's exactly how I feel. And other times I will think, I don't feel this way, but it's so interesting to know that this is how this person experience their own grief. And I guess I just kind of want to be part of, I don't know that conversation about grief. I, because it's really, really just changed me and shaped me.

And so I guess I just turned to writing. That's the only thing I know how to do relatively well. I think part of my grieving process has been just an utter refusal, I guess, to let go. So my father's memories are with me. I think about my father every day. And I guess writing about it is also another way of refusing to forget. Thank you so much, Jim Amanda. So obviously last year you were rightfully crowned the Women's Prize winner of winners,

which is an incredible feat. And I just wanted to know, I mean, especially at the end of such a difficult year, and in so many ways, how that felt? I had had such a dark time. And it felt like this tiny, lovely, much-needed sliver of light. And I felt so grateful and also just so wonderfully surprised. It was just really nice to know that that it was the winner of winners.

And I think it also made me kind of realize there's still the future, if that makes sense. and sometimes grieving, one of the things that I've discovered that grief does to you is that you're so immersed in it, it suffocates you, and sometimes you can't really see anything else. And so when I learned that I had won, I kind of looked up, right? It felt like looking up. And so it was really lovely. And, I mean, as it has been for several years, your Instagram has been a source of joy for many of us. I mean, initially, for me, it's always been the outfits.

The outfits have been killing me dead for several years now. You will not remember, but one time you came to the Channel 4 news, or you'll remember going to Channel 4 news, but I was a online producer then, and my boss knew that I was a huge fan and allowed me to sneak up behind the stage so I could have a, you know, have a brief sort of me and another Nigerian colleague. You know, we were introduced to you. You were lovely, but what I remember primarily was the outfit also.

You looked incredible. So as many of us have lived vicariously through your shoe choice, lipstick choice, and obviously, I mean, incredible hair. I'm interesting in what has been providing you joy throughout lockdown yourself. This is really the most important subject, I think. One must be a loud once fancies. Especially when you can't leave the house. I mean, I remember when when lockdown first started, and I was in the US at the time, and I said to myself, this will not be a reason to let myself go. You know, it's like I'm going to wear lipstick every day.

But I didn't. But I think lately, lately I've sort of, I've tried to get pleasure from, you know, doing my hair, putting on makeup and making videos for Instagram. and I find it very soothing and really, I just say, it's enjoyable. What I have not done in actually a year is wear any of my shoes. Because I'm just having, you know, I've just been at home. Where are you going? I know, right? And there's something about it that I think is really sad to have a bundle in shoes,

especially a person for whom shoes matter very deeply. Oh gosh. Well, yeah, I very much have missed the outfit posts, but I'm very thankful, honestly, that you've been replacing them with readings because they've been very therapeutic and lovely to listen to. So thank you. As much as it's been a release for you, it's definitely been something that we have all been enjoying very much ourselves. Thank you. That makes me happy. I'm going to move on to your first bookshelfy, which is The Joys of Motherhood by Bucky and Macheta. Can you please tell me. when you first read this book and for those of us who have not read it, what it's about? So the joys of motherhood

is sort of it's a slim novel. When did I first read it? Hmm. I really don't know. Maybe, I'm we to say 20 years ago. So, Bridgeta, who was a Nigerian, Nigerian British writer, has always been important to me.

Actually, the first book of Haas that I read, is a novel called Destination Biafra. And it's about the Nigerian Biafran War, which is also what my novel half of a yellow son is about. And then I read the Jews of Motherhood after that. And it's sort of this, it's a novel about, it starts in a small village in eastern Nigeria in Ybozo. And there's a woman who's very beautiful. And there's this man who really wants to marry her. there's a scene of forced sex.

So one of the things I like about this novel is how it's very honest about women's sexuality. And so it's kind of marital rape, really, that happens early. That's how the protagonist of the novel is conceived. And then so she grows up, she goes to Lagos, because she's married off to a man who lives Lagos, who is not the man she really wants to marry. This is a novel about how women's choices are so limited by what society demands of women. So she comes to Lagos, she marries this man, she loses a child, she has another child. And it's about kind of, it's about walking class colonial Nigeria.

So her husband votes as domestic staff for a British couple. And, you know, you just sort of want that, you know, they live in a cramped room. But also it's about a sense of community in colonial Lagos. So at some point, when she loses her child, she attempts, she attempts suicide. And she's saved by a man who is a member of her Igbo community. It's really, I mean, one of the things I loved about the novel, apart from me, just being a good page-turning story. And also, it happens to span quite a bit. So, you know, we see her mother.

She's then Noego, that's her name, the main character, is born. We watch her grow up. She goes to Lagos. She has children. You know, her husband marries another wife. There's so much that goes on. And her husband also goes up to fight in the Second World War for the British. which is quite interesting, I think.

But one of the things I love about the novel is how it kind of taught me about colonial Nigeria from the point of view of the walking class Nigerian. So I've read quite a bit about colonial Nigeria from the point of view of the British and also from the point of view of sort of privileged upper class Nigerians. But to see it from, you know, from the bottom is really interesting. and you see how people are striving. You know, this woman at some point, she starts a small business,

she really struggles with money, you know. So, yeah, it's a level I really think that everyone should read, but also it would be lovely to see it dramatized. It sounds like there's a lot, a lot happens in there. That's certainly drama worthy, for sure. Could you tell me a little bit about how the legacy of colonialism affected your own upbringing and childhood in Nigeria.

It's interesting because, of course, nobody actually, when you're growing up, it's not like you're thinking, you know, I'm now growing up in post-colonial Nigeria. You know, your life is just your life. And you're reading Enid Blyton and you're loving everything about Inid Blyton. And that's what life was like for me, growing up in a small university town. And Sukkah, I read books that. were not about my own experience. And so at some point, I started to think that books were things that had to have white people in them.

And so when I started writing, I was writing stories about white people. And for me, this was perfectly normal. And I think, and since then, having, and obviously I did a TED talk about it. But having done that, and since having talked. lots of people who grew up in, you know, quote-unquote post-colonial societies. It's actually very, very common, you know, that many of us, you know, from Nigeria, from Kenya, from India, that we read books that don't reflect our experience, and then that we start to think that it is normal. And at some point, hopefully, we kind of have an awakening.

And I think for me that maybe that's the best way to illustrate what it means to have grown up in the shadow of British colonialism. That idea of what stories you're exposed to and what stories you think are normal. And you spoke about, you know, how well this book, you know, it's unflinching in terms of its representation of female desire. And I want to sort of cast your mind back to, when you first read that and how, you know, you felt reading that and whether that was something that was groundbreaking and whether that was maybe the first time that you'd come across, female desire written about in that way, in that context.

It probably was. It's so hard for me to see if it was the first time. But I can say that it was incredibly rare in reading books about black African women to see an acknowledgement of any kind. of, you know, sort of sexual agency or sexuality on the part of women. So to read a sex scene in The Joys of Motherhood was sort of just incredible to me. And a sex scene in which the woman has pleasure, that's really important to me, right? Because, and even just the, so the idea of a black woman having agency over her own body is something

that I feel very strongly about, you know, just politically. And so to see it reflected in this novel that was published, I don't even know, I think it was published in the 70s, but it's about the 19, so it's sort of 1930s, 1940s, Yagos. So to see that, it was just really incredible. And I remember, I remember this little novel I read years ago when I was, you know, growing up. And I remember that novel. I don't remember the title, but I remember it because I felt cheated by it.

So in the novel, a woman, so there's a couple who's married. They don't have a child. And as often happens with African marriages, the mother-in-law steps in and decides to bring a new wife for her son. So the chapter of a novel ends with the new wife being brought and the son saying, you know, Mama, why have you done this? And the mother saying, well, you need to have a child. And then the next chapter, the woman is pregnant. And I remember thinking, what the hell happened?

I think for me that illustrated how a lot of, I mean, so I remember thinking even then, and I was young, I was maybe 12 or 13, but I realized, wait, wait, wait, hold on, you've skipped a lot. Like, how did this happen? right? Was it consensual? Did this woman participate willingly in the act that led to pregnancy or not? So I think that the joys of motherhood doesn't do that. And that's one of the things I appreciated about it. And speaking of motherhood, I'd love to touch on the subject because I think one thing that's really beautiful is someone who follows your social media presence, which is quite, I'd say you're quite private, but similarly. It kind of flows through everything you do. It's almost as though the love of your family unit almost just escapes and snatches whether your...

Does that make sense to you? Actually, I think that's really observant of you and I think you're absolutely right. I, you know, I absolutely agree. I think that the reason that I am who I am and the reason that I think the reason that I occupy my space in the world in the way that I do is because I have just the loveliest family and I have that to fool. And my daughter coming into my life is just the best thing that happened to me.

She's the utter love of my life. She's a fierce little thing. But really, and the reason I mean, so talking about family and how that's important is that I think it's also, it's shaped the way that I, the way that, so this idea of being, you know, successful and becoming a public figure isn't always, I mean, it's interesting. It's not always fun. But I think the reason that I've kind of done okay with it is because I have my family. I have, I have just, I have my, my, my, my siblings. Liz and I are very close. I have. And I also have what I call my sort of my chosen family. I have a small circle of just, you know, really lovely friends who I just feel so ridiculously lucky to have. It's crazy because you can, you can see it, even without seeing them on social

media or sort of visibly. Honestly, you can see it. So that's just very lovely to hear. On that fantastic note, we will go onto your second bookshelfy, which is, you know, Invisible Women by Caroline Creado Perez. Can you tell us what this book is about and what made you want to read it? Oh, so I read a review. This is actually a book that's only just been, I think, it's published last year, maybe two years ago. And it's a book that I think is so necessary. I read about it somewhere, I forget where, and then I bought it. And I was just utterly blown away by it's it's fundamentally a book about how there is a data gap in the world with everything, a data gap between men and women.

It's also really about how the world is so male, so male focused and so male-based and so just bloody male. And it's not that I don't know this. Obviously, I know this, right? I'm a card-carian on apologetic, happy feminist. So I know that the world is, you know, male-dominated and male-appeasing and all of those things. But reading this book was very eye-opening and also taught me a lot. And what I liked about it was that it was very rational, very fact-based.

She's done a lot of research. And it's things as small as reading about how the research, on seatbelts in cars and the research on all kinds of medical diseases are actually based on men. So men have been used as in some ways the sort of human prototype. What it means is that we live in a world where so much of what we use, the knowledge that we use, the objects that we use are based on men. Part of the book that just spoke to me was reading about medical research and how PMS, premenstrual syndrome,

which so many women, including myself, suffer from, is very poorly research because it's very hard to get funding. Because a lot of the bodies that grant the funding are male, and they just don't get it. But things like erectile dysfunction get run. researched over and over. And for me, I thought, my goodness, so that's why, so that's why I haven't found a proper remedy for my PMS. It's such a wonderful book because of the way it really educates. And reading it, I kept thinking, my God, I really want, you know, all the people who say things like,

oh, everything is fine, women are just moaning for no reason. I want them to read this book because in its sort of historical sweep and its focus of detail and detail and detail and fact, you read that book and you cannot at the end of it still claim that that our world has not been shaped by sexism. Absolutely. Thank you so much.

I really want you to cast your mind back now and think to the first time, it's quite a difficult question, but the first time that you really remember thinking, wow, men and women's experiences, how we move through this world, is very different because when someone, I've been asked this before and often I'm like, oh, you know, I'll throw away some anecdote, but I remember the actual first time it occurred

to me that I was being treated differently to my male cousins was when my parents were having a go at me to sit with my knees close because I was on my way to church and I was in a dress. And they were like, you'll me sit with your knees close because if you sit with your legs open, we can see your underwear and you're in a dress. I remember looking around in the car with the men and thinking, hang on a minute, or the boys rather, something's not. This doesn't strike me as any very fair at all. No one asked me to, you know, I don't want to be in a dress. I want to sit like they're seeing.

When is that first moment that you kind of like as young as you can think that you thought, wait a minute, something that sticks out on your mind. I love that story because I think I have something similar. I mean, I remember just really resenting how much my little body was policed as a child. And for me, it's that idea that it's being policed when you're when you're so young. and when you know even the idea of

of being a sexual being you don't even know anything of that sort and you're being told you know sit with your legs close together oh good Lord recently a relative said that to my daughter

and I just lost it Oh gosh and I said don't you dare I'll have that she can sit however the hell she wants to sit Yes yes And I do not want her to you know, start to wonder, wait, why do I have to sit?

You know, she's five. She's probably sitting that way because it's a more comfortable way to play with her bloody blocks, you know? I mean, the story that I like to tell was when I was in grade three. And my teacher said that whoever got the best result on the test would be the class perfect. And I got the best result. And then she said, oh, but the perfect has to be a boy. Oh, my. I remember that so clearly.

And I remember the boy. And I guess it's a good story to tell. But I don't think it was the first time. I think I knew even before then. I was about nine in grade three. So I think I knew before I was nine that it was just different for boys and girls. I grew up with my brothers. And to my parents' credit, they really were quite progressive for their time and place.

And so, yes, there were some differences, but it wasn't that glaring for me growing up with my brothers. But it was observing the world. You know, and sometimes when we would go to my ancestral home, town where you're in the village and so sort of gender norms are so much more pronounced, I think, in that kind of cultural setting. And I remember as a little girl being told, you have to go inside, but the boys can stay outside to look at the masquerades. And this was one of the most exciting things to do in the village. And I thought we'd hold on. Why do you go inside?

That happened to me. That happened to me. I think we were. really, Jechera at my dad's village and the exact conversation about not being able to see the masquerades. And you're just like, this doesn't make sense. And I think when you're that young, it's interesting because you're, you're so clear-eyed about how stupid these rules are. Because you just realize it makes sense. I am just as interested in seeing these masquerades. I don't see why. You know, there's just no sense to it.

And of course, I would go to the window and peek. can't, you know, and then later, and also my brother, who was sort of my partner in, my brother would tell me exactly, you know, what he had seen. Oh, allyship. I love that. But yeah, I think, firstly, I see exactly why your daughter is a fierce little thing as she described her, because I love the fact that you told them without, you know, any sort of mincing of words that she can sit how she wants to sit. And I absolutely love that. But also, I think the kind of clear-eyed precision that you said children have. I truly believe it's something that makes your writing and your mind so singular because you are able to state that, I guess, that stupidity. I will never forget

when, I think it was actually a friend that had spoken to me about something you said before I actually went on to read it. Was you saying that you weren't actually essentially aware of race or racism, definitely racism as a concept, but not aware of the importance that your skin color had. until you went to America at 19, which, you know, of course, on, you know, with common sense, why would you be? You're in a, you know, predominantly black country where, of course, there's colourism, but, you know, in terms of racism, it doesn't exist in that way. But it still blew my mind that you state things that I think all of us wish we had seen far sooner in a very clear. And, you know, it's kind of these things that you read and you kind of gasp with the like obviousness.

It's like things that hide in plain sight, but you've always just been able to pin those things down. And I want to talk to you about that because, you know, you said that it's not something you thought of and you'd had no need to think of. I'm interested in moving to the states, especially from somewhere like Nigeria, and how that made you perceive your identity differently

and what it made you more aware of aside from your race because obviously that's something you've spoken about. But I'm interested, for instance, in whether the sexism felt different, whether you, you know, just what else it brought out about your identity as a woman of colour, as a black woman in that space. No, it's interesting because, you know, how all of these things are kind of often intertwined. I remembered something that happened in New York a few years ago. I had done an event somewhere and I was with my best friend who was also a Nigerian woman,

Ujjjou. And so Uju and I were being picked up by the car that had been sent for me. And the driver of the car was a white man. And he had a very condescending attitude. He was a bit too familiar. He wasn't professional. And I remember sitting in the back with Ujou and I was fuming. And I often feel very conflicted about this sort of thing, which happens quite a bit.

And it happens because I'm a black woman. And I think it also happens because there's a sense in which I'm sort of young-ish. A lot of these white men who look at me and think, why should I be in service to you? So I remember saying to my best friend, Uju, I said, you know, he would never act like this if he were picking up a white man. And I remember Uju saying to me or a white woman. And I realized, yes, actually.

He would show the most respect to a white man, of course, but he also probably wouldn't be as condescending to a white woman. The U.S., you know, first of all, taught me about race. And I like to call it that I became politically black. Obviously, I'm black. Chocolate is the best. But it's kind of political blackness, which is learning that this skin,

color meant something and that in America it came with a lot of negative rubbish and all kinds of stereotypes attached to it. And you know, growing up in Nigeria, it just wasn't the case. And so there's a part of me that still sort of reacts to many aspects of racism with a kind of incredulousness where I'm thinking, are you serious? But I think America also, sexism in America, in my experience is very much linked to race. But it's different. In Nigeria, it's a lot more, it's a lot more in your face. It's a lot more overt. People are not hiding their misduring in Nigeria. There's a kind of, I don't know, I think there's a kind of something similar to hypocrisy. There's a kind of thinking something and not saying it. So it seems to me that sexism exists in both

countries very, very much so. But in the US, I don't know, it's, you know it's there, but it's so much harder to, to kind of point out and describe because it's more subtle. And therefore, in my opinion, much more dangerous because you can't even really, I mean, if you cannot accurately describe something and if you cannot accurately describe something and if you cannot accurately point out the contours and shape of something, then you can't fix it. So I think America kind of made me very much aware of being not just a black person and not just a woman, but being a black woman.

Tom Hanks is Otto. He's seen it all. Otto? Otto? O-T-O. You don't hear that name very often. I do. He's a man who gets easily annoyed. What are you doing?

Parallel in parking. Parallel to what? He has had enough. Are you always this unfriendly? I am not unfriendly. Okay, you're like a warm cuddle. But he's finding his joy again in the most unlikely place. I'm not sure about this.

It's going to be very fun. A man called Otto only in cinemas now. This podcast is made in partnership with Bailey's Irish Queen. Bailey's is proudly supporting the women's prize for fiction by helping showcase incredible writing by remarkable women, celebrating their accomplishments and getting more of their books into the hands of more people. Babies is the perfect adult treat,

whether in coffee, over ice cream, or paired with your favourite book. Enjoying the Women's Prize for Fiction Podcast? Share the literary love and be part of the future of the Women's Prize Trust by making a one-off donation to support our important workers to charity. Donations of all sizes help us to continue empowering women

regardless of their age, race, nationality, all background, to raise their voice and own their story. Search for Support the Women's Prize to find out more. Your third bookshelfy is the collected essays of Elizabeth Hardwick. Can you tell me more about the book? And also, for those who don't know who Elizabeth Hardwick is, why she is someone that you are drawn to. Oh, I adore Elizabeth Hardwick because she just writes their sentences.

That's it, really. So she's a woman who she wrote a novel called Sleepless Nights, which I also love. but she was really known as a critic. She wrote about culture. She wrote about novels. She wrote about, so these essays are a collection, I think, that sort of spans pretty much, I think, most of her writing life. And so it's quite broad. You know, she reviews books.

She writes about civil rights movement. She, you know, writes about art. I'd read a lot of male critics, some of them quite brilliant. But with her, there was something different. There's a kind of, she writes about things in a personal way without making those things about her. And so you get a sense of the person that she was. There's a kind of wit and wonderful sarcasm. And I love sarcasm in a woman.

So I'm reading her, I'm underlying in almost every sentence. And I read her like I read poetry. I dip in and out of Elizabeth Hardwick because you cannot read her in one sitting. You have to sort of, you know, take, you know, take. little sips. So when did your interest, I suppose, in cultural and literary criticism start? And how would you say it shaped your view of the world? Because one thing I love, like, not just in your writing, but just even in your interviews

and watching you speak is you are such critical mind. And you really force people to rethink and you speak in a way that's just very clear and clinical and difficult to argue with. Is that something that was shaped at all by, you know, critical writing? I guess so. I think it was certainly shaped by my reading. I think of myself as a student of life and a student for life. So I don't even want to stop learning. And I'm always thinking about what I don't know. And I'm just always looking to learn. And obviously it can be annoying sometimes because it also means that I ask questions endlessly. And the people close to me. So my family and friends will often say, don't start telling her a story. unless you're ready to give her every damn detail. So I think as a reader, as a writer, as a thinker, I'm very interested in clarity.

And because I know that as a reader, I'm drawn to things that are very clear. So I guess it makes sense that what I then, sort of when I speak and write, that I'm also interested in clarity. I think the world is such a complex, interesting, even mystical place that we need clarity. We need, you know, we need to try and make sense of a wall that is so just, you know, strange sometimes.

We need to, I guess, try and sort of pull out the things that are clear. I don't like all kinds of critical writing, but writing like Elizabeth Hardwick's, it's critical, but it's, it also has sort of novelistic qualities because she deals with detail. And when she's making a case for something, it's very clear. Like at the end of it, you know what she's saying. How aware were you of critics when you had your first book published in terms of how, I don't want to say, yeah, how nervous were you, if at all? Is it something that you thought of? I mean, I guess most writers do, if not all, you thought of when it first was published.

Oh, yeah. So two things. I was so surprised and happy that somebody had agreed to publish the book. That, I mean, and I was worried about when you, as a creative person, The minute you're taking, you're bringing something out into the world, there is worry and there's apprehension because you're thinking, will somebody read it, will somebody get it, will. But with my first novel, because I didn't have high expectations, I had had such a hard time getting a publisher with people telling me that nobody cared about Nigeria. You know, I was writing about this family in Nigeria and I was being published in the US. And at the time, the publishing landscape just wasn't very diverse.

And so for me, the fact that somebody had agreed to publish it was such a big deal and such an achievement that I felt like you can't even dare to hope that it will do well. And with my first novel, that's actually when I decided to stop reading reviews because I read a review, which actually was not a bad review. But it had one line of criticism and I could not get that line out of my head. and I had long arguments in my mind with the reviewer. Of course, about how they were wrong. So I don't read reviews. Because I think, you know, a friend of mine who's a writer once said to me that he doesn't read reviews either. Because he said to me, if you believe the good, you have to believe the bad.

And because obviously I don't think my walk is perfect. So there are things about it that are not great. But it's about deciding for yourself what those things. are. So if somebody says to me, oh, you're not very good at character development. I don't want to spend my time thinking about that. If somebody says to me, you're not very good at transitions, you know, I might think, yeah, I think you're right. I'm not very good at transitions. But then it occupies so much of the space in your mind that you might have devoted to creativity. And I think it can also stifle your creativity. So I'd rather not know. I think that is a very,

very good approach. It's exactly why I don't read comment sections on our goals. I'm just not trying to know. It doesn't help you. That's the thing. And particularly with comment, comments sections, I often say particularly to women in the public eye.

My thing is to not read them. Because often they don't even see anything about your walk. What they really show is the misogyny in the world. Because women in the public space get so much more, criticism, much more abuse than men do. and I think it can really stifle. It really can get in the way of a woman's creative output, whatever it is.

I just think comments, and the people who have too much time on their hands, to write comment that you don't want to read the comments. So your fourth bookshelfy is The Middleman and Other Stories by Barati Mukaji. Can you tell me when you first read this, please? I read this. It was my first year in the U.S. So I read it in 1998. And I remember, I got it from the library at my university.

And there's a story in there that I have been unable to forget. It's called the management of grief. And it's about an Indian family in Canada. And this woman has lost her husband and her sons in a plane crash. So there was an Air India flight that was. bombed. And it's really about, it's such a subtle, beautiful, moving story about how she's just numb from grief. And then there's somebody who comes from the Canadian government who's talking about how to manage grief. And, you know, this woman is just sort of looking at this Canadian

government representative. And you can sense that this person talking about managing grief has no idea what grief is about. Now, I'm actually talking about this. Realizing. I guess I have been interested in grief. But it's, I mean, for me, I remember reading it thinking, this is the kind of story I want to write. I want to write a story that resonates with people. And a story that, you know, I think that the best compliment for a story

is when a reader doesn't forget it. I just haven't been able to forget Barat Timu Kedges' story. Are you a big fan of short stories? Are they something that you read often? So I think I used to read short stories much more, you know, sort of 10, 15 years ago when I was, you know, sort of starting out in my writing career. And, you know, I was in a writing program. So mostly we read short stories. So I was reading a lot of short stories. I also wanted to learn about the form. I still read them. And I do

like short stories. And when they're done well, I think they can really be just really searing and devastating and they can stay with you for a long time. I also write them and they're actually not very easy to do well. Some people think that because they're short, that sometimes a short story will take me much longer than a novel does. I have short stories I started 10 years ago that I still haven't been able to finish. Quite a few Nigerian people are used to sort of living between two countries or having family that lived between two countries.

I mean, my sister's a journalist at BBC, Africa. She pretty much lives here and stays in Nigeria for the other portion of the year, as does my dad. But I'm interested in, for you, how you find splitting life between two countries and cultures and navigating them. I actually feel really fortunate that I can do this. I think it seems to me just really the best possible arrangement. And when I left Nigeria at 19 to go to university, I kind of always plan to come back. And then, you know, going to school in the U.S., there's a sense in which America kind of became a home of sorts. And then when I graduated, I sort of thought, all right, I want to come back to Nigeria, but I still kind of want America.

So I wanted both. And so, you know, I become a different person when I'm in Nigeria. As my beloved friend, Binyavanga Wainaina, whose memory still is just so, you know, he was a wonderful Kenyan writer. He passed away and it's just still so difficult to think about him gone. But he once said to me, you're different to Nigeria. And I said, when I said, how am I different?

He said, you're so much louder. And this is because he had seen me in the U.S. And then he came to Nigeria and he's like, what? So I think I've become a different version of myself when I'm in Nigeria and a different version when I'm in the U.S. Because I guess in Nigeria you just have to be a bit louder to be heard. But I think it's also, it goes back to, I think, when I was talking about sexism and how in Nigeria it's so much more overt. And so I'm a lot more, I mean, being a woman in Nigeria, you're kind of navigating a kind of, you know, the possibility of blatant disrespect. And so I'm always sort of trying to guard against it.

I sometimes feel that being in Nigeria makes it more difficult for me in public to be who I really am, which is sort of my default is to be kind of playful and mischief is very familiar to me. And I like to tease people. But I find sometimes that in certain spaces in Nigeria, I do not do that because being a woman and being playful with people is very, very often misunderstood. So I kind of hold back on that part of myself in a way that I don't necessarily in certain in certain spaces in the US. But also I just have more fun in Nigeria. Who does? In the US, life is quieter. And of course, in the US, because racism is such a present thing, it's just a different way of navigating life. Something happens. Somebody's rude to me

in the US. I go into a store and somebody's rude. This person might be an asshole. This person might be having a bad day or this person might be a racist. Nigeria and I walk into a stone and somebody's rude. I just think this person may be an asshole or this person might be having a bad day. And just quickly before your fifth and final bookshelfy, I really wanted to speak to you about tribalism and being one of, I suppose, an ism that isn't necessarily discussed as much in, you know, the Western context. I was in Nigeria maybe two, three years, God, four.

Gosh, this coronavirus pandemic's really wasted my concept of time. I don't even know what day it is. But I went to a school in Surulera as part of the Ake Arts Book Festival. And we spoke to these kids there. And I was trying to explain to them what I wrote about in the UK. And I said to them, oh, I write about racism. And the entire classroom looked at me completely blankly. And I said, do you know what racism is?

And every last one of these children said, no. So I said, OK, do you guys know what tribal is? And of course, everyone was like, well, yes, we're not tribalism. And I said, okay, kind of think of tribalism, but, you know, it's amongst races. And they were like, oh, okay, I kind of get that. So I'm interested in, I suppose, you know, we're having lots of conversations about isms, racism, sexism, like, you know, anti-disciplination against people with disabilities. I'm interested in whether you think the conversation in terms of tribalism is moving forward.

and if you're seeing any gains made in the right direction? In Nigeria, tribalism is alive and well, and it's often politicised. And so I think that we're having conversations about it, but whether those conversations are leading to anything positive, I don't know. So this Nigerian government, the government of Buhari, I think actually has made tribalism so much more overt and so much more a part of our political conversations

because a lot of people think, and I think with good reason, that Buhari is sort of that, you know, his ethnic group is Fulani, and a lot of people think that he's sort of, you know, focused on Fulani people exclusively and doesn't seem to care about the rest of Nigeria. And so what that does, I think,

is it makes people feel resentful. It makes people feel that they're not included. And so I'm an Igbo woman. My ethnic identity is very important to me because I grew up very much immersed in Igbo culture. And for my parents, it was important to raise their children to know who they were. And so we were very clear about being able people. But at the same time, it's never, you know, I kind of think of myself as a person. person who has identities. So I'm Ibo and I'm Nigerian because, you know, my Nigerianness is also very much a part of me. I think that there are things that are quite pan-Nigerian in the way Nigerians look at the world and, you know, the way Nigerians think about certain things and the kind

of stupid arrogance that we have when it comes to other African countries because we think we are somehow better, even though we're not, you know. But I think, you know, capitalism, it's, it's, a real thing. The reason that I think, and I can see why you said that to the students, but and obviously, yes, in a way that's what it is, but also I think racism in the West is a bit different from tribalism because I do think tribalism in the West exists, by which I mean I love to go to, for example, if I go to Amsterdam and I say to a Dutch friend, oh, you sound quite German and the Dutch friend gets so upset.

Like I don't sound German or to go to Zurich and say to them well your German isn't really high German like in Germany and they get upset and you know I love European tribalism because actually I feel like if you scratch away the layer of

you know that sort of whole pan-European EU niceness there's a lot of tribalism. But I think the tribalism in Nigeria and in Africa in general is kind of different from racism because in the West, racism really is about whiteness. And so whiteness has power in the West. But for many countries in Africa, I don't know that there is necessarily a tribe. I mean, power is a lot more diffuse. So in Nigeria right now, you know, some people might argue that it's Fulani people who have power.

But when this government leaves, that might change. So I guess my point is it's not so much that one is better or worse. It's just like different. And yes, tribalism is very much a part of Nigeria. I know, for example, that it's changing a bit in the cities. You know, they're more into tribal marriages. But it's still, yeah, it's still very much a thing.

It is. On to your fifth and final bookshelfy book this week, which is Palsh book number. 4.7927 by Mothoni Likimani. Chimamanda, please tell me more about this book and also about its author Mithoni. So she's Kenyan, Muthoni Likimani. I'm not even sure I'm pronouncing it properly because I obviously don't speak Kuyu. But some years ago, I went to Kenya and I went because I had been invited by my dear friend Binyavanga Wainaina. and I met Muthoni Likimani and she spoke at a literary event in Nairobi. And she was just this incredible woman who spoke about how important it was for us,

for us as Africans to write our history. And so she had written this book about what was then called the Mau Mau in Kenya. And in my mind, and this is also what sort of British, colonialism does, is that in my mind, the Ma'a was sort of this thing where, you know, crazy Africans were just killing innocent white. But then I read her book. And since then, I've really been interested in that period in Kenya. So this period was one in which the British government really detained almost an entire population of an ethnic group in Kenya, the Kikuyu. And they did this because the Gikuyu were dissenting to British policies that took away their land.

And the British government imprisoned men, castrated them, tortured them, and really practiced genocide. That's what it was. And in this book, she writes about women who are different stories. There's a woman who's sort of looking for her husband. Her husband has gone to hide in the forest because the British are. detaining men. So at the time, the British government, because they wanted to control the Kikuyu and because they were worried about how the Kikuyu were organizing to, you know, sort of protest all of these British policies. So they instituted this rule that said, you could not move around the country

unless you had a passbook. So you needed to have pretty much a document to walk around in your own damn country. And it was difficult to get this. And as a woman in particular, you couldn't get it unless you had a job, which was recognised by the British state, or you had a husband who was not considered, you know, a bad guy. And so there's this woman who is sort of trying to navigate that. She has agency. She has her own dreams. She leaves the village and goes to walk for a British family in Nairobi.

And then when the government decides that you need to have this document, she's trying to figure out how to get it. and, you know, it's complicated, the story goes on. But it's really, I think, for me, the reason I loved this book, and I really wanted to come back in print and for everybody to read it, is how important it is for us to see history through the eyes of women. Because for so long, we've seen history through the eyes of men. And obviously, seeing it through the eyes of men is important

because then we tell the full story. But the story is not complete unless we've heard it from the point of view of women. And in this book, the women are, oh, the other thing I love about it is that they're not, you know, they're fierce. There's a woman who fights the representative of the British government comes to arrest her son, I think. And this woman goes to meet this person and kind of scratches his eyes out and she's just fighting fiercely. There are also women who, you know, so I love that it's a book in which women have agency and women are complicated. and complex. And how would you say this book has affected your feminism? Before I read the book, just listening to Muthoni-Likimani talk that day in Nairobi, I felt so inspired. And the women I meet

older women often who just make me feel stronger, who make me feel that if feminism is a journey, it is one worth going on. And she made me feel that way. And she also made me determine to write more about my history, right, about Nigerian history. And so I really, I deeply admire her. In speaking of feminism, one of the things that people often say is, you know, in a positive way, and in a complementary way, is that you have helped make feminism mainstream. But I'm interested in how that concept sits with you and whether that's, you know, something you actually agree with. Yeah, I mean, I like one of the things that I like the idea that there, young people today who kind of know about feminism because I started talking about it.

And I do think that feminism should be mainstream. I think that the goal of feminism should be to make itself redundant. I believe in a world where we do need feminism, because the only reason we need feminism is because sexism exists. So I kind of believe very strongly that it should be mainstream, that we should have these conversations. that, and we should do them, I think, it seems to me increasingly that we need more compassion because there are people who, because they have been immersed in misogyny for so long, they can't even see sexism. This is one of the things about the book, Invisible Women, by Caroline Crido Perez,

is that she writes about how a lot of these things that ignore women isn't really because people are sort of evil and saying we're. going to ignore women. They've been so immersed in misogyny that they just forget that women exist. They forget that women matter, right? 50% of the world's population just kind of disappears. I do think that, yes, that feminism should be mainstream.

And when people tell me, oh, you've made it mainstream or you've made it accessible, it kind of makes me happy. But at the same time, so I'll end with this. I spoke in South Africa some years ago, and a woman there asked, me a question that I've often thought about. She said to me, you know, you've made feminism cool. And she said to me, now I know lots of women who are happy to be called feminists and they're all really cool and you've made fashion seem feminist. And then she said, but what about people like me who are not cool, who don't want to be cool, who feminism was ours? And now you've kind of made it.

And you know, it kind of made me think because I thought, you know, this is a thing about thinking when you're in a position of power, how your power is being used. Because sometimes in opening up something, you have to be careful that you're not closing it to other people. And so I said to her, you know, it's interesting because for so long, women who liked fashion felt that they couldn't be feminist. And so I wanted to open that up because I like fashion. and I'm feminist. But at the same time, I don't want to close it to people who do not like fashion. So when I speak to young people, it's really important for me to clarify that, you know, that the whole point of feminism is to have a wide range for women.

That there are many women in the world who are very happily uninterested in fashion and appearance, and that's fine. And that there are women like me who embrace our vanity, and that's also fine. Chimamanda, thank you. Thank you. Honestly, it was a pleasure. Just before we close, my absolute final question is just, which of the books is your favourite and why?

That's like being asked to, hmm. It's a very difficult one of these sort of politician answers and say, I love them, oh. Well, you know, since you're chimamanda, I'm going to let you get away with that. Thank you so much. Honestly, it's been a pleasure. Thank you for your patience. And I've already enjoyed it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I really enjoyed this. I'm Yomi Hedega-K. And you've been listening to the Women's Prize for Fiction Podcast. Brought to you by Bayley's and produced by Birdline Media.

Head to our website www.womensprizefiction.com.com.com. Where you can discover this year's 16 long-listed books covering both new, well-established writers and a wide range of genres. You definitely want to click subscribe because in our next episode, we will be exploring five excellent books that shaped comedian Sarah Pasco. Please rate and review this podcast. It's the easiest way to help spread the word about the female talent you've heard about today. Thanks very much for listening and see you next time. Tom Hanks is Otto. He's seen it all. Otto?

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