Death of the Author

by Nnedi Okorafor

Masquerades always made her nervous. Sure, there were just men inside these crazy, monstrous costumes, but something about them always felt unpredictable. It was said that the wearer became the spirit or ancestor the costume represented. Women were never allowed to don the costume of a masquerade

Stories were the greatest currency to us, greater than power, greater than control. Stories were our food, nourishment, enrichment. To consume a story was to add to our code, deepen our minds.

Stories contain our existence; they are like gods. And the fact that we create them from living, experiencing, listening, thinking, feeling, giving—they remind me of what’s great about being alive.

The rusted robots in the story were a metaphor for wisdom, patina, acceptance, embracing that which was you, scars, pain, malfunctions, needed replacements, mistakes. What you were given. The finite.