I was shocked my novel was shortlisted for Women’s Prize – Ayobami Adebayo

A few weeks after its release, Stay with Me was longlisted for the Bailey’s Women Prize. Was this immediate success something that surprised you? I was shocked. In all the years it took to write this book, I never allowed myself to imagine that it would be this well received, and so quickly. Unfortunately, it […]

A few weeks after its release, Stay with Me was longlisted for the Bailey’s Women Prize. Was this immediate success something that surprised you?

I was shocked. In all the years it took to write this book, I never allowed myself to imagine that it would be this well received, and so quickly.

Unfortunately, it didn’t win the prize. How did you cope with that disappointment?

I wasn’t disappointed. Making the shortlist with a debut novel was already a win for me and on top of that, I love the novel that won.

Incidentally, your novel was one of the last, if not the last, reviewed by the legendary Michiko Kakutani for the New York Times and she was full of compliments for your writing. How did that make you feel?

Astonishing, isn’t it? When I read a few sentences from the review, I was shocked, happy and filled with utter delight. I intend to savour the full review when I finish the next novel and I expect that the emotions I mentioned will only intensify.

When did you start this story, because I know an earlier version of the manuscript was shortlisted for the Kwani? Manuscript Prize?

You’re right, I started working on the novel in 2010 and one of the early drafts was shortlisted for the Kwani? Manuscript Prize in 2013.

How much different is the final version that was published from the manuscript shortlisted by Kwani?

The published version is quite different from that early draft. For instance, the structure changed totally. Initially, the novel was divided into two halves. The first part was narrated from Yejide’s point of view while the second half gave the reader Akin’s version of events but that changed, along with the point of view in Akin’s case.

What was it about this story that pushed you to write it? Why did you feel strongly that the story of Yejide and Akin needed to be told?

I wrote a short story about this couple in 2008 and thought that was it, but for the next two years I couldn’t stop thinking about Yejide in particular. Although I worked on other stories, there was something insistent about the way Yejide and Akin kept coming back to me. They became so real to me that I was compelled to tell their story, if only to get them out of my mind so I could move on to other things. 

One thing I like about this novel is that the narration is both tender and brutal at the same time. Tender in the depiction of Yejide’s troubles and brutal, if you like, in the way her struggle is perceived and the reaction it draws. How did you develop this style? Is it something you think is peculiar to this story or is it something we should expect to see in your subsequent works?

Thank you for reading it closely enough to pick that up. I wanted to stay true to how pernicious many culturally acceptable or permissible interventions into a woman’s real or perceived infertility can be, and the fact that such interventions can be well intentioned is often inconsequential. Some of the brutality you refer to arises from that desire. Even then, I didn’t want it to be too stark and grim, so I did work at folding tenderness into the text.  I can’t answer the second question conclusively, and though I think this particular story demanded this style, I don’t know if I’ll ever write something else that needs to be crafted in this way.

I think one thing that has appealed to me and to a lot of other Nigerians is the authenticity of the characters. Their mannerism and speech are so authentic one could say there wasn’t any bantering to a foreign audience, and yet, it wasn’t too far-fetched for none-Nigerian readers to grasp without struggle. Did you have to fight a lot with your editors to keep some of these things in?

I’ve been remarkably lucky where editors are concerned. They understood what I was doing, respected my choices and were more concerned with making sure that I did it well. However, when I was querying agents, a number of them mentioned that they thought I should keep many of those things out and that only made it clear to me that they weren’t the right fit for my work.

It is said that when writers write, bits of them, their lives or their experiences, are bled onto the pages. What would you say of you spilled into the narrative?

I’ve spent some time in all the places where Akin and Yejide’s lives unfold. I was born in Lagos, grew up in Ilesa and Ife, studied in OAU and lived in Moremi Hall during my final year there. Then I spent part of my service year in Jos. 

Childlessness among married couples has been the subject of many literatures. When the story first occurred to you did you feel like you are threading an all too familiar path? 

Not at all. Childlessness is a point of departure for this book, but it is by no means the only thing at its heart. We’re not even halfway into the novel before they have a child and that leaves room for other themes and ideas to take up room alongside this one. Besides, if we look closely enough, we often realise that no two paths are the same and by recognising that and building on it, writers continue to make things new.

A few years ago, a disturbing video went viral of a desperate childless woman being taken advantage of by some supposed pastor. Reading your book and seeing Yejide’s desperation and her experience on the Mountain of Jaw-dropping Miracles with the pastor was a sad reminder of this. Do you think the way women are the first to be blamed in a childless marriage makes them vulnerable to the exploitation of faith merchants?

Definitely, being underintense pressure can make a person desperate and desperation would make anyone vulnerable to charlatans. 

I found the role of spirituality in the story rather interesting. Akin is ambivalent towards faith but Yejide’s faith suffered after the false pregnancy and her discovery of the pastor in a compromising situation. Was that intended as a critique of charlatans who pose as religious figures?

Yes, it was meant to do that, amongst other things.  It’s also worth thinking about how we, as an exceptionally religious nation, are sometimes reluctant to acknowledge that religion can be weaponised and used as a tool to prey on the vulnerable. Perhaps we worry that admitting this might make us less pious, but what is the point of our piety if it shields those who exploit the weak and vulnerable?

Was this a difficult story for you to write?

Yes, there were many times when it was hard to keep working on this novel.

How much would you say your life has changed since this book was published?

I’ve become an author and as I’ve realised this year, being one requires a skill set that I didn’t need when I was a writer who hadn’t published a book yet. 

With evolving gender roles, do you foresee a different handling of situations like this in the nearest future?

Yes, I hope I’m not being too optimistic when I say I think the sort of shift that would make that kind of change possible is already happening.

What next should readers next expect from you and how soon?

Another novel, I can’t say how soon though. It’s impossible to tell how long it might take to complete it.