Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.
The literary superstar known for award-winning books “Americanah” and “We Should All Be Feminists” is back. In “Dream Count,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie deals with immigration, justice and family, making for a thematically commanding story. However, its sporadic characters and disjointed structure create gaps that ultimately left expectations unfulfilled.
“Dream Count” is split into four sections that offer the perspectives of four different women. We have Chiamaka, a Nigerian travel writer, her lawyer best friend Zikora, as well as her bold cousin Omelogor and her housekeeper Kadiatou. Despite the interesting identity explorations of each character, the sections’ compilation made for a frustrating whole.
Chiamaka’s narrative begins in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic; she feels lonely and aimless. Besides having been passively withdrawn from regular life due to the quarantine, she actively withdraws herself, too. This relatable experience leads to stretches of ponderings — unfortunately for the enjoyment of the reader, much of the ruminations revolve around former lovers. (“Dream count” is a spin on the phrase “body count” … oof).
Across Adichie’s work, a common male love interest emerges: the clueless American dude boyfriend. This is a fairly interesting and dynamic trope to invoke repeatedly — and Adichie does it better than anyone (see “Americanah” and “The Thing Around Your Neck”). But at a certain point, I found myself just scribbling “Oh girl … ” in the margins again and again. In “Dream Count,” Chiamaka’s boyfriend Darnell is ready to detach at any moment. He is overly critical and unrealistically woke; at times, I wasn’t sure if his over-the-top obliviousness was meant to be satire.
“Dream Count” certainly drives character over plot. And of course, characters do not need to be likeable to be resonant — but I wish there was something else to make up for their dullness. While learning about each character, I craved setting. A favorite line of mine was when Kadiatou was “reminded of birthing her son, in that hospital, in that mining town full of dust.” I wanted descriptions of interesting places, contemplations on life in Africa vs. America and astute observations, because when they do appear, they shine so brightly.
The character sections were split into smaller chapters, and each page break marked a time shift. These shifts and jumps felt like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. From a 400-page book, I hoped for a robustly crafted world. Instead, I got a fractured Frankenstein’s monster.
The sections were full of holes, and angled just wrong. Forcing them together didn’t suddenly make the story feel full. The reading experience was frustrating and rarely thought-provoking. Much of the pleasure I gleaned was in rage reading.
When Kadiatou is sexually assaulted and the public takes the rapist’s side, my anger soared alongside the characters’. Yet this was more a testament to the potent social commentary than the caliber of Adichie’s storytelling. If “Dream Count” was more polished and less repetitive, the story could have been told in 200 pages.
Sometimes, I rage-read at the author. When femininity is equated to “breakability” and “dreaminess” without further examination, I raised an eyebrow. If one character had this mindset, I might see the truth in it: people think like this all the time. But when this sentiment seems to become an unquestioned pattern in the narrative, I have to question the book’s self-awareness.
From a birds-eye view, the plot begins to repeat itself. Everyone and everything is static and bored until something big and terrible happens. The characters deal with it, and then return to their static boredom.
I concede that sometimes repetition is how people experience life. Sometimes our thoughts loop endlessly and we get trapped in cycles and patterns of behavior. “Dream Count” represents repetition in a way that is true to how we think, ruminate and experience the world. Yet in depicting this truth, the novel sacrifices fruitfulness as a work of literature.
While “Dream Count” often felt vacuous, I could still feel the weight of its effort. Considering the 10-year gap in between Adichie’s novels, there is no doubt writing it was painstaking and arduous. Just reading it was painstaking and arduous.
I respect the craft — and love Adichie’s work generally — but obvious effort is not my first criteria for a good book. I prefer emotional depth and revelation of fresh truths; I prefer characters who grow and whose journeys say something about life or the world. If there are pieces, I want them to coalesce into a novel that feels complete.
Adichie had her own big shoes to fill with “Dream Count.” Ultimately, the book left a void where there could have been a novel filled to the brim. The author’s star power and the anticipation of her release created expectations that in the end, the release itself unfortunately did not meet.