Writers and the Fictional Women Characters They Love

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April/May 2025First DraftInterviews
Books

Photo Collage from Original Book Covers by Ijapa O / THE REPUBLIC.

the REPUBLIC INTERVIEWS / FIRST DRAFT
In our First Draft interviews, we asked prominent women authors about the fictional women characters that they love. Here’s what they told us.
Books

Photo Collage from Original Book Covers by Ijapa O / THE REPUBLIC.

the REPUBLIC INTERVIEWS / FIRST DRAFT
In our First Draft interviews, we asked prominent women authors about the fictional women characters that they love. Here’s what they told us.

Women characters are notoriously tricky to write. Especially Black women. The complexity of Black women’s lives in a patriarchal world doesn’t give itself eagerly to words. It can too easily slip between the fingers, be flattened like dough pressed in a pan, especially in the careless hands of men. And that is why women writers are often the best guides to books that explore richly drawn, complex Black women.

In our First Draft column at The Republic, we asked prominent women authors about the fictional women characters that they love. These are authors whose works themselves centre around women and expand the limits of visibility and possibility for women in fiction (both as author and as character). By asking these authors about their favourite fictional women, we have found that although individual selections might differ (one author’s choice was a radically liberated, larger-than-life African American female character), these authors are united in their passion for richly drawn and complex female characters.

Here are African writers and the fictional women characters they love.

TOMILOLA COCO ADEYEMO

Sheri in Everything Good Will Come by Sefi Atta is one of my favourite fictional characters. The reason is simple: she is a rebel, sometimes even very badly behaved, and as the Yoruba people say, sometimes an oníbàjẹ́, which means someone who is ‘very spoiled’ or wont to an overly

indulgent lifestyle. As a writer, one of my favourite characters to write is the ‘damaged’ or conventionally immoral ones, and as a reader, they are my absolute favourites to root for. Sheri’s growth in the novel is also amazing to witness. Life was terribly unkind to her, and to survive, she played the game like a man. In the end, we leave her as a woman who is more mature, more aware, and in charge. I aspire to write women like that.

Then there is Sikira from Ola Rotimi’s Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. This is a play that remains highly relevant in Nigeria as it eloquently captures the messiness and absurdity of our political landscape. Amidst the commotion surrounding the election season in the play, the three wives of the main character command all the attention, and my absolute favourite of the trio is Sikira, the daughter of a market leader whom Lejoka, the lead character, married to ensure substantial political support at the grassroots level.

Sikira is hilarious, just like I like my women, and she is not afraid to open her mind and learn. Through her, we hear the phrase, ‘Our husband has gone mad again!’ It is both hilarious and true. In the end, she wants to run for public office because ‘men and women are created equal’ and because she knows she can damn well do it. Read Adeyemo’s full interview here.

AYESHA HARRUNA ATTAHA

Right now, my favourite fictional woman is from Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi’s The First Woman. Nsuuta, a blind woman thought to be a witch by most people in her village, is witty, a great storyteller, and full of surprises. I have a soft spot for fictional witches. Read Attah’s full interview here.

AMYN BAWA-ALLAH

My favourite fictional woman is Dr Morayo Da-Silva from Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Manyika. If I have to say why, I might spoil the book, and this is a character that I want people to experience without any prior knowledge. I also use her as a litmus test of sorts: if a person doesn’t get why Dr Morayo is iconic, I just know we cannot be true friends. Read Bawa-Allah’s full interview here.

MAAME BLUE

One of my most recent favourite fictional female characters is Ada from Sharon Dodua Otoo’s novel Ada’s Realm. Ada as a character is ever-changing, difficult, resilient and historic—I think she captures so many levels of Black womanhood and her whole story is evocative and layered. Read Blue’s full interview here.

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NANA EKUA BREW-HAMMOND

My favourite woman character is Jovita, from Yejide Kilanko’s A Good Name. What I love about Jovita is her refusal to be anything but true to herself and truthful with the people in her life. In being and doing so, she exemplifies the power and the bravery of vulnerability, as well as its value. Her candour extends from her deep knowledge of her self-worth, and neither is negotiable. So, when her boyfriend draws her into a ridiculous argument about her ‘colourful past’, asking her ‘Do you still think about [your exes]?’, she replies: ‘Occasionally.’ And later, after yet another terse conversation along the same lines, she makes clear to him, ‘Although I want you in my life, I’m not afraid of being alone.’ Jovita is always showing her cards because she has enough confidence in them, and in herself, to walk away from the table if need be. It was painful to see her courage met with cowardice and cultural norms that conspire to reward women who burnish male egos by masking their true nature, but ultimately it is telling once we know what Jovita’s choice spares her from. Read Brew-Hammond’s full interview here.

KAREN CHALAMILLA

A few weeks ago I saw a fake poster of a Netflix adaptation of Lola Shoneyin’s tragic but hilarious book, The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives and I haven’t stopped thinking about Bolanle and her co-wives ever since. Shoneyin, among many other things, pushes us to consider the potential for silence to be a source of power for women living in limiting conditions. This idea also comes up in the way Abdulrazak Gurnah depicts Zanzibari women in By the Sea. They too rely on silence and the relationships they have forged with each other (as well as the public assumption that these relationships are trivial and harmless) to protect themselves and their legacies. I think it can be tempting to only see these women as victims of their circumstances because of the violences and cruelty they endure, but I have a great respect for women characters who invoke a quiet and almost stealthy strength to survive.

A specific character I think is written incredibly is Pilate from Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon. She is born without a navel, symbolizing a lack of an initial connection, so to speak. Living on the fringes of society with her daughter and granddaughter, she is cast out. She practices the occult and loves fearlessly and freely. Pilate is both the vessel that holds her lineage’s past, as well as a compass of sorts for her present family on their journey towards finding themselves. She is both selfless and absolutely liberated, a clear suggestion from Morrison that generosity does not have to come at the expense of personal freedom. Pilate’s only regret as she dies is that she could not have loved more people. Born without a navel—and thus without an initial connection—her sole earthly ambition is to truly and wholly connect with as many people as possible. Morrison projects much onto this fictional elder, yet we are not required to suspend our belief for any of it because Pilate was something ‘…God never made.’ As such, we are not required to measure her actions against human standards. The choices Morrison makes with her are fascinating; she is, I think, a remarkable feat of characterization. Read Chalamilla’s full interview here.

CHIOMA OKEREKE

The first character that springs to mind is Nnu Ego, in The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta, a novel that interrogates the complexities of motherhood, womanhood, and societal expectations within a rapidly modernising Nigeria. Nnu Ego is a woman whose very identity is shaped by the traditional Igbo belief that a woman’s worth is measured by her ability to bear children. While motherhood is often idealized as a source of fulfilment and purpose, Nnu Ego’s relentless journey is marked by sacrifice, suffering and disillusionment. Emecheta’s prose is unflinching and deeply evocative, and her novel had a lasting impact on me. It’s a moving, thought-provoking work that continues to resonate as a critique of both historical and contemporary gender dynamics.

Enitan, in Everything Good Will Come by Atta, is another woman that sticks in my memory. Atta’s novel is a powerful coming-of-age tale about a young woman growing up in post-independence Nigeria. It explores friendship, gender roles, identity, betrayal, political corruption and so much more. Both Enitan and Sheri are well drawn, contrasting characters facing challenges in a patriarchal society while trying to find their own place in the world.

Another favourite comes from the incomparable Toni Morrison (who has written so many incredible women characters). Sula Peace, the titular character in the novel Sula, is a firecracker: enigmatic, audacious, fiercely independent and rejecting traditional expectations of womanhood around her. Her defiance of conventional morality in the segregated neighbourhood of Ohio (where the book is set) makes her a symbol of both female autonomy and social alienation. In her final moments, Sula remains unrepentant, questioning the town’s rigid morality and embracing her own existence fully.

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JAMILA PEREIRA

Here are some powerful fictional women from works by African and Black authors that resonate with me.

Queenie (from Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams): A complex, vulnerable, and deeply human protagonist, Queenie navigates love, self-worth and racial identity in a world that often misunderstands her. Her voice is raw and unapologetic, much like my deeply personal and introspective storytelling.

Esi and Effia (from Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi): These two half-sisters, separated by fate and history, represent the lasting impact of colonialism and slavery. My work often explores how past and present collide, making these characters particularly fitting.

Desiree and Stella (from The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett): Twin sisters who take drastically different paths, one embracing her Black identity and the other passing as white. The themes of belonging and identity in this novel align with my reflections on cultural heritage and personal choices.

Kirabo (from The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi): Kirabo’s journey to understanding herself and the concept of ‘first woman’ in Ugandan tradition mirrors my exploration of womanhood, independence, and ancestral ties.

Bolanle (from The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives by Lola Shoneyin): A quiet yet resilient force, Bolanle enters a polygamous household and challenges long-held dynamics, much like the strong, introspective women I often write about.

Zélie Adebola (from Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi): A fierce warrior fighting for the survival of her people, Zélie embodies the resistance, spirituality, and cultural depth that I also bring into my writing. Alongside Amari and Tzain, she represents the complexities of power, loss, and hope. Read Pereira’s full interview here⎈

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