Candice Carty-Williams has spent years deflecting one persistent question: is she Queenie? It's an understandable assumption. Her bestselling debut novel follows Queenie Jenkins, a twenty-something south London journalist grappling with heartbreak, racism, and chaotic relationships. Like Carty-Williams, Queenie is south London-born, Black, and works in media.
When we meet at her bright pink office in Peckham, the 36-year-old author is disarmingly casual, with her hair wrapped up and under-eye patches working to depuff her face. 'I find Queenie quite annoying actually,' she laughs, preempting my question. 'I think a lot of people do. But I quite like that.'
The Phenomenon of Queenie
Seven years have passed since Queenie exploded onto the British publishing scene. Released in 2019 with the tagline 'the Black Bridget Jones'—coined by Carty-Williams herself—the novel became a phenomenon. It sold over half a million copies, won Book of the Year at the British Book Awards in 2020 (making Carty-Williams the first Black writer to do so), and was adapted for television by Channel 4.
Carty-Williams attributes the success to relatability. 'I think she's just a drama queen,' she says. 'And people are very interested in that.'
Returning to Queenie
Now, nine years after signing her book deal, Carty-Williams is releasing a sequel. The new novel finds Queenie in her early thirties, older and supposedly wiser, but still capable of detonating her own life. She's trapped in a situationship with a noncommittal man she calls 'TFL man,' while trying to rekindle things with Frank, the love of her life. Her friends, 'the Corgis,' return, and at work she investigates Black maternal healthcare, uncovering troubling information about her own fertility.
For a long time, Carty-Williams resisted writing a sequel. 'My editor said, 'We'll do a two-book deal for you,'' she recalls. 'But I didn't want to do a sequel right away. My editor told me I should flex and try something else.' Instead, she wrote People Person (2022), about a sprawling family of half-siblings and their wayward Jamaican patriarch. 'That was fun,' she says. 'But I did rewrite it twice because I'm not very good at landing on things.'
Returning to Queenie only made sense if she could find a story that 'blows her life up again.' But because 'a lot of Black women read her, I had to be careful about what I'm putting her through, because I'm putting them through it too. People feel very attached to her.'
Queenie's Appeal and Flaws
Queenie's triumph was its refusal of Black exceptionalism. Queenie is not polished, noble, or aspirational. She makes bad choices, has terrible sex, sends regrettable messages, and is self-sabotaging and self-involved. Readers either adore her or cannot stand her. The same traits apply to Queenie 2.0, and Carty-Williams seems delighted by both reactions.
'I like having fun with my readers,' she says. 'And I don't want to write boring people—you're alone writing a novel for years. You need to entertain yourself.'
Motherhood and Black Maternal Healthcare
The sequel tackles motherhood and Black maternal healthcare head-on. Interestingly, while Queenie longs for motherhood, Carty-Williams increasingly suspects she does not want children herself. 'I think in my 20s I assumed I would,' she says. 'Now? I just don't think I can be bothered.' Marriage, similarly, holds little appeal. 'It would feel like a trap,' she says insouciantly. 'I like being a singular person.'
The themes were partly sparked by her own experiences undergoing fertility testing after a period of prolonged stress. Everything was fine, but doctors immediately discussed IVF and egg freezing. 'And I was like: whoa, whoa, whoa. I don't even know if I want children.'
Researching Black maternal healthcare proved shocking and infuriating. She mentions the campaign group Five X More, named after the 2019 statistic that Black women in the UK were five times more likely to die during pregnancy, childbirth, or the postnatal period than white women. The gap has narrowed but remains nearly threefold.
In the book, Queenie encounters a Black woman told she is 'big and strong' and can 'handle the pain' while losing blood; another whose midwife attributes a difficult labour to her 'African pelvis'; and a third denied pain relief despite watching other women receive it. 'When Queenie's researching in the book, that's basically my research,' Carty-Williams says. 'I put it in almost verbatim because I was so astounded. There's basically no training around women of different backgrounds.'
Early Life and Path to Publishing
Carty-Williams grew up in south London, her childhood defined by constant movement. 'We were just renting and in council houses constantly,' she says. 'I've lived in, like, 20 houses.' Her mother is of Jamaican-Indian heritage, while her Jamaican father arrived in Britain at 16 and worked as a taxi driver. Books were scarce at home, but she lived in the school library. 'I'd read, like, a book a day.' Her mother, who is dyslexic and dyspraxic, stopped reading aloud early. 'Then I just took over. I became obsessed.'
Writing didn't initially seem viable. 'I wanted to do English literature at university, but teachers told me I wouldn't get the grades. They suggested media studies instead.' She achieved two As and a B. 'They predicted me three Cs. I was in all the lower sets because I talked too much. Apparently, I had behavioural issues. A lot of it was that I was just bored.'
After an internship at a Brixton publisher, she landed a marketing role at 4th Estate. There, she noticed what was missing. 'I was, like: there isn't anything written by anyone like me.' That frustration became the 4thWrite prize, a scheme for unpublished Black, Asian, and minority ethnic writers run with the Guardian. 'The prize is one of my babies. But I also recognised things weren't moving fast enough. So I was, like: OK, I'll just write the book myself.'
The TV Adaptation Ordeal
In 2024, the Channel 4 adaptation of Queenie arrived amid excitement. When asked about being showrunner and lead writer, Carty-Williams pauses. 'I'm trying to think of the best way to talk about this. Because I'll get in trouble.' Another pause. 'It was probably the worst professional experience of my life. I tried to quit three times. And because of that, I don't want to develop anything for the screen ever again.'
It should have been a dream scenario. After the novel became a bestseller, television companies jostled to adapt it. She met about 13 production companies before choosing one. 'I guess what I thought development would be did not come to fruition.' She felt her novel was constantly second-guessed, with the subtlety of the Black experience reduced to crude stereotypes. At one meeting, someone suggested opening with a white character using the N-word within the first five minutes 'to really grab people.' 'I was, like, this shit ain't for me. That's not the story I'm telling.'
'I love collaboration. But when people who do not look like you are questioning a character who looks like you, it feels bizarre … you feel crazy.' The irony is clear: Queenie succeeded because readers recognised truth in its depiction of a young Black British woman, yet in adapting it, she had to defend that truth against those who mistrusted it.
The toll was severe. 'It made me really physically sick … really paranoid.' But by production, she felt unable to walk away. 'There were so many people's jobs on the line. I remember thinking, you've just got to take this one on the chin.' The adaptation received mixed reviews; a Guardian review described it as 'strangely preoccupied with whiteness.' Was she happy with the result? 'No,' she answers immediately, though she adds, 'I worked with some incredible people. I would work with them again, but a lot of it was just difficult and painful.'
Publishing Industry After Queenie
The experience left her thinking about the industry. After Queenie's success and the 2020 racial reckoning—'black square summer,' she calls it—publishers scrambled to acquire novels by Black writers. 'There was definitely a wave. People were literally pitching books by saying: 'We're going to market this like Queenie.'' In the sequel, Queenie faces media types who use aggressively meaningless diversity language. 'It was inspired by what I've gone through. People saying things to my face like: 'We need an urban injection'; 'We need something Black-facing.' What does that even mean?' Now, much of that enthusiasm has evaporated. 'All the diversity schemes disappeared. Because organisations realised people would get annoyed about them.'
The impact on Carty-Williams's life was profound. She bought a house, a milestone after her peripatetic childhood. 'Honestly, my biggest expenditure is therapy. That's the biggest luxury.' She has little interest in literary celebrity. 'I don't go on holiday a lot; I work a lot. I like a quiet life.'
What's Next
She wants to try other forms: a book of essays, but not yet. 'Can I do it in my 40s? I feel like I'll have lived a bit more then.' She is circling ideas for her next novel, including one about parasocial relationships. Longer term, she talks about returning to publishing as her 'end goal'—but not with the emotional labour of representation. 'I've done a lot of the work. And I'm tired of it. It's a lot for one person to do.'
And Queenie? Will we see a return? She pauses and smiles. 'Yeah, I have to. I don't know when that will be.' She leans back. 'I'd like to because I'll miss her and I'll miss everyone. There are still things to work out—Queenie and Frank's status, Kyazike, Cassandra. But again, we have to have something to blow her life up.'
Queenie Is Working on It is published on 2 July by Trapeze.
