Tropes: literary fiction, historical fiction, feminism

Blurb:

Chiamaka is a Nigerian travel writer living in America. Alone in the midst of the pandemic, she recalls her past lovers and grapples with her choices and regrets. Zikora, her best friend, is a lawyer who has been successful at everything until — betrayed and brokenhearted — she must turn to the person she thought she needed least. Omelogor, Chiamaka’s bold, outspoken cousin, is a financial powerhouse in Nigeria who begins to question how well she knows herself. And Kadiatou, Chiamaka’s housekeeper, is proudly raising her daughter in America – but faces an unthinkable hardship that threatens all she has worked to achieve.

In Dream Count, Adichie trains her fierce eye on these women in a sparkling, transcendent novel that takes up the very nature of love itself. Is true happiness ever attainable or is it just a fleeting state? And how honest must we be with ourselves in order to love, and to be loved? A trenchant reflection on the choices we make and those made for us, on daughters and mothers, on our interconnected world, Dream Count pulses with emotional urgency and poignant, unflinching observations on the human heart, in language that soars with beauty and power. It confirms Adichie’s status as one of the most exciting and dynamic writers on the literary landscape.

Black History Month

Black History Month is a time to remember. A time to look back on the past, to celebrate the icons, to trace the long road of progress. But it’s also a time to look forward. To dream.
This month, I read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “Dream Count” and found within it a meditation on what it means to dream freely as a Black person navigating identity, belonging, and ambition.

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The Story: Holding On to the Possible

Adichie’s story moves gently, yet it holds an ache. Two characters are connected by their shared search for something more — something beyond what life, society, or circumstance has dictated.
Their dreams are both fragile and defiant. They whisper of who they might become if they can just hold on. And that’s what makes Adichie’s work timeless and so relevant; she writes about the everyday acts of courage that so often go unnoticed — the small rebellions of self-definition.

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Black History as Living, Breathing Memory

In the context of Black History Month, “Dream Count” becomes more than a story. It becomes a mirror.
Adichie reminds us that history is not only written in grand movements or public speeches; it lives in private moments of choice. In deciding to keep dreaming when the world says no, in daring to imagine something different for ourselves.

Each generation of Black writers, thinkers, and dreamers adds to this ongoing narrative of possibility. From Langston Hughes to Toni Morrison to Adichie herself, their work asks us not just to remember the past, but to reimagine the future.

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Dreams as Legacy

To dream, as Adichie’s characters do, is not naïve — it’s revolutionary.
When we count our dreams, we’re counting the visions our ancestors once held but could not fully realise. Each dream carried forward becomes a quiet act of defiance, a continuation of their story.

Dream Count isn’t only about individual longing. It’s about collective endurance — the ways we pass down hope through generations, shaping a history that is still unfolding.

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Closing Reflection

This Black History Month, I’m thinking about how Adichie’s work challenges us to protect our inner worlds. To nurture the dreams that sustain us, even when they seem distant or impractical.
Because dreaming is not the opposite of doing. It’s the seed of every transformation.

So here’s to the dreamers. The writers. The believers. The ones who keep imagining better worlds — and building them, word by word.

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