The Book of Phoenix - Nnedi Okorafor

The internet-o-sphere has been abuzz lately about diversity in fantasy and science fiction. It's a valid concern for sure: for over a century both genres have been dominated by white men, and the worlds they create reflect not only their time but their culture. How many fantasy stories are based on medieval Europe and all that goes along with that, including subjugation of women, feudal/monarchy systems of government and absence/tokenism of minorities? It stands to reason that if we approach these genres from outside of that perspective, we'll get new, fresh, incredibly interesting worlds that may resonate with readers who have never been able to see themselves in these traditional narratives.

Nnedi Okorafor is an outspoken proponent of fantasy diversity, and her books work to fill that void as well. Previously I was introduced to her post-apocalyptic African-based book Who Fears Death via a college course, but I realized I had a copy of her short story collection Kabu Kabu on my shelf already. And once I got into them? I was hooked. This is a fantasy I hadn't seen before.

Great art, too.

The Book of Phoenix, released this May, is a prequel to Who Fears Death. We listen to the story of Phoenix Okore, a genetically engineered woman who burns like a sun and rises from her ashes. She escapes from the tower where she's been contained for the first few years of her life (she ages dramatically fast, and is only three for the majority of the book, though she appears around 40) and, over the course of the book, discovers more about what the people who kept her captive have done to her, her birth mother, her genetic siblings, and her friends and lover, all of whom are of African descent. It's a kind of 'let my people go' quest, only Phoenix holds nothing back. She's willing to destroy everything to achieve justice.

Okorafor's worldbuilding is always a pleasure. I really enjoyed how she tied this story, not only to Who Fears Death but also to one of her short stories, Spider the Artist (which, incidentally, can be read online at Lightspeed Magazine). The anansi droids, spider-like robots, guard the Nigerian oil lines, but become too dangerous to be around people. In The Book of Phoenix, they're spotted by Phoenix swimming through the ocean, having left Nigeria. We don't know their exact intentions, but it's certainly ominous. Are they looking for more humans to kill? Are these machines programmed to hate the human race? It's a small commentary on how AI has the potential to get away from us. You can also see how these droids, and the atrocities committed by the Big Eye towers, could contribute to a mythology in Who Fears Death where humans were punished for their technological sins.

In fact, that's really the basis of the story. The Book of Phoenix is constructing the mythology of the Great Book in Who Fears Death. It's all very interconnected, and fascinating for that.

It's something to note, too, exactly how important race is to this story. I think a lot of fantasy and science fiction, when attempting to be diverse, makes race incidental to the character. And in some settings, that could make perfect sense. A fantasy world without out our particular societal baggage, I could see skin color being incidental to a character's personality. But in many others, it seems like either a mistake or a missed opportunity. Our race--though a construct created entirely by our perceptions--does have an effect on who we are. We can see that effect in the Book of Phoenix, in every African character, that their heritage is an integral part of the character and shapes how they move and talk and react and even how they see each other and how others see them. This is what I mean when I say making race incidental is a missed opportunity: there's an extra dimension to these characters because of how they interact with the world, influenced by their race.

I think this can be something hard for white authors to understand. Is this what leads authors to make entirely white casts? Or, sometimes, token characters with racial signifiers, that maybe have no bearing on the character's development? White authors certainly CAN write characters of color effectively, but I think it takes a level of commitment to writing authentically and trying to understand the experiences of someone not like yourself. But ultimately, I think it's going to be most important to continue to push for diversity in publishing, in race and sexual identity and ability. Those are the authors that are going to be giving us the deepest truths about these experiences. I say this as a white author who, still, will try to find my own place in the industry and do my best to contribute to the solutions, not the problems.

As always, your mileage may vary. All I can say is I like the focus that #weneeddiversebooks is getting, and I hope that it continues.

"Phoenix," she said. Hearing my name come from her lips made me feel stronger. "I birthed you all on my lonesome. They cleared out soon as I was in labor. They left me in that building, talked to me by portable. They were sure you'd blow up...or something. But you came out alive, eyes all open. Glowing like a little sun--orange under ebony brown. Brownest newborn I ever saw. I held you." She shut her eyes and she held my hand. She opened her eyes and looked intensely into mine. "I held you. They come back when they knew it was safe. Took you from me! They'd promised me I could raise you! That you'd be mine." She breathed heavily, wheezing and coughing.
"Easy," I whispered, patting her on the back.
"They classified you as a 'dangerous non-human person'. That's how they justified taking you from me like that. But then, what's that make me?" She coughed again, weaker. "Phoenix, give 'em hell. You hear me girl? Give 'em hell."

Overall: 5 stars

 Amazon: The Book of Phoenix

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