“Dream Count,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s first novel in a decade, lands as a literary titan on April 2025’s bestseller lists. Released earlier in the year, its slow-burn resonance peaks with spring readers, offering four interwoven tales of women navigating love, loss, and identity amid global upheaval. Set against the Covid-19 pandemic’s isolating chill, Adichie’s prose—luminous and unflinching—dissects the personal within the universal, cementing her as a voice of piercing clarity.
The novel splits into quadrants, each centered on a woman tied to Chiamaka, a Nigerian travel writer in America. Chiamaka’s story opens the book, her lockdown solitude prompting a digital dive into past lovers—a poet, a diplomat, a chef—whose ghosts haunt her screen. Adichie’s language is crystalline, capturing Chiamaka’s ache for connection as she traces her life’s romantic detritus. Her voice, wry yet vulnerable, sets the tone for a narrative that’s less plot-driven than soul-driven, a meditation on what lingers when the world stills.
Next is Zikora, Chiamaka’s best friend, a lawyer reeling from her partner’s abandonment during pregnancy. Her arc is a gut-punch: the physicality of childbirth—rawly depicted—mirrors her emotional unraveling. Adichie contrasts Zikora’s professional steel with her private fragility, crafting scenes of quiet power, like when she cradles her newborn alone, whispering Igbo lullabies. A visit from Chiamaka bridges their stories, their banter a lifeline amid Zikora’s storm.
Kadiatou, Chiamaka’s Guinean housekeeper, carries the third thread. Her journey from West Africa to America unspools in flashbacks—slavery’s echoes, a daughter left behind—culminating in a harrowing assault that mirrors a real-world scandal. Adichie’s restraint amplifies the horror, her sparse prose letting Kadiatou’s resilience shine. A subplot with her daughter’s letters, smuggled across borders, adds a tender ache, tying her to Chiamaka’s orbit through shared domesticity.
Omelogor, Chiamaka’s cousin and confidante, closes the quartet. A buoyant entrepreneur, her tale darkens as lockdown shutters her Lagos boutique, exposing fissures in her marriage. Adichie paints her with vibrant strokes—market haggling, palm wine nights—before peeling back layers of betrayal. Omelogor’s reunion with Chiamaka, via a glitchy Zoom call, weaves the narratives tight, their laughter a balm against despair.
“Dream Count” is less a traditional novel than a mosaic, its structure mirroring the fragmented pandemic psyche. Adichie’s themes—migration, womanhood, the diaspora’s pull—pulse through each voice, distinct yet harmonized. The climax, a virtual gathering of the four, isn’t action-packed but revelatory, their stories converging in shared silence. Its bestseller status reflects its quiet power, a literary feat for a reflective April.