Death of the Author. My novel’s title carried Ngozi’s spirit, too. She was the one who started all this, by saving me and bringing Ijele into my world. Ngozi changed us. And then she died. She was the end of humanity. But she was also the beginning of something new. In order to write the second half of the novel, I shut down what I could only describe as the forefront of my processing and let the other parts that were usually quieter come forward. The result was unnerving, but also fascinating. And the voice in my head? I couldn’t tell where it came from. It was almost like Ijele’s presence,
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