For decades, authors have dreamed of seeing their work reach the big screen. Yet Tomi Adeyemi’s decision to publicly distance herself from the adaptation of Children of Blood and Bone raises a different question: once Hollywood acquires a story, how much of it still belongs to the person who created it? Was it luck that landed Tomi Adeyemi a seven-figure publishing deal? Adeyemi was just 23 years old when she signed a publishing deal for what became the Legacy of Orïsha trilogy.
The deal also included film rights before her debut novel was even published, which is a rarity for a first-time author. According to Teen Vogue, she spent roughly 18 months and completed 45 drafts while developing Children of Blood and Bone, drawing heavily from Yoruba mythology and West African culture. The novel debuted in 2018, became a New York Times bestseller, and quickly became one of the most commercially successful Black fantasy novels of the decade. This wasn't luck. While Adeyemi was born in the United States, her parents are Nigerian immigrants of Yoruba heritage. Her father was a physician in Nigeria and, after immigrating to the U.S., worked as a taxi driver while waiting for his medical credentials to transfer. He eventually returned to practicing medicine in the United States. Her mother worked as a cleaning woman after immigrating and later became a hospice administrator outside Chicago.
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While there is no definitive percentage of Black authors whose books receive film adaptations, publishing and Hollywood data consistently show that Black authors remain significantly underrepresented in adaptation pipelines. Thousands of novels are published each year, yet only a small fraction are ever optioned for film or television, and an even smaller percentage are ultimately produced. Historically, authors of color—and especially Black fantasy authors—have been underrepresented among major studio adaptations. According to Teen Vogue, like many successful authors, Tomi took her writing seriously. After graduating from Harvard University with a degree in English literature, she later studied West African mythology in Brazil through a fellowship, which became the foundation for Children of Blood and Bone.
For Tomi, the market was ready for her manuscript, and it sparked a bidding war. Macmillan Publishers reportedly paid a seven-figure advance for the publishing rights, while Fox 2000 Pictures acquired the film rights in a separate reported seven-figure deal before the novel was even released. Industry outlets described it as one of the biggest YA debut deals ever. These figures look attractive on paper, but they represent the maximum potential value of a multi-book contract. The money is typically paid in installments, tied to manuscript delivery, spread across multiple books, and subject to agent commissions and taxes.
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In other words, it generally isn’t a single check for $1 million deposited into the author’s bank account. From an industry standpoint, Adeyemi’s deal is best understood as the convergence of a standout manuscript, a hot YA fantasy market, and competitive bidding. So why won’t she watch the movie, and what obligations does an author have to support an adaptation once the rights to their work have been sold? When Adeyemi encouraged readers to support her books instead of the movie, she could be saying, “If you want to support my creative vision, read the novels.” While it remains unclear what sparked this decision from the author, it is not uncommon for authors to speak publicly about feeling excluded from the process of adapting their books into films, with creative differences being the most common issue. Characters are oftentimes rewritten, scenes are cut, endings are changed, themes shift, and in some cases, the tone becomes different from the novels.
By the time the movie is finished, the author no longer feels it represents their work. This has happened with authors ranging from Stephen King to Rick Riordan. However, Adeyemi’s case is one that has caused some fans to speak out against the author, with many calling her a hypocrite and a troublemaker. One fan wrote, “We don’t know why she and Amandla argued. We do know she [Tomi Adeyemi] said she envisioned Amandla for the role. We do know that when people criticized the casting, she went into those videos' comments and said, ‘Thanks for reading my book!’ We do know that she called fans broke. It is well documented.”
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Another fan wrote, “I hate when authors do this. You sold the rights. What is there to complain about?”
Others commented, “Oh please, all of a sudden you have selective amnesia. When you were busy making a mockery of Nigerian readers on TikTok and IG for expressing their displeasure over the fake open casting, you seemed just fine. Good for you!”
“I hope the so-called demographic you were trying to please and prioritize helps your career because you literally lost many of your Black readers after you chose to play dumb instead of addressing the colorism concerns they raised. I’m so disappointed!”
So, does an author have an obligation to support the adaptation? No. Some authors are proud of their work when it is translated to film, while others may feel ownership has been stripped away and their vision is being reworked by producers, executives, financiers, test audiences, and more. Ownership is one thing many newer authors are aiming to preserve, with one author chiming in and saying, “This is exactly why I remained independent and maintained all my ownership so that I could leverage it in negotiations and throughout the adaptation process.” When an author feels like their voice is no longer being heard, this can be the result, even if, at one point, they were on board with the vision of others who played a role in the film’s development.
Will you see the film?
Diamond Brown covers music with a focus on cultural influence, artist evolution, and the business behind sound. Her writing explores how music shapes identity and wealth, offering a refined perspective on an industry driven by both creativity and strategy.
