Latest news with #DreamCount
Hindustan Times
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Review: Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
It is clear that we live in uncertain times what with the climate crisis, an ongoing genocide, and expansionist warfare. And that's just the daily news cycle. This note of utter uncertainty characterises the opening of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Dream Count too. The US-based Nigerian writer's long-awaited return to literary fiction comes more than a decade after the widely acclaimed Americanah (2013). It begins with the pandemic and a 'new suspended life' in the midst of what her protagonist Chiamaka terms as the 'communal unknown'. Here, Zoom calls with family and friends become 'a melange of hallucinatory images' and one is constantly reminded of how even the innocent act of talking 'was to remember all that was lost'. Faced with a seeping hopelessness, Chiamaka begins to look up the men from her past, and the 'what could have been' scenarios, the dreams that never became a reality, the futures that never truly were. Thus, begins her 'dream count'. In the face of a 'freewheeling apocalypse', Adichie's protagonist is holding onto that which makes us all human -- the need to be heard and seen through the eyes of another sans judgement. The novel is divided into four main sections with each representing the perspective of one of the story's four central women characters: Chiamaka, her closest friend Zikora, her cousin Omelogor, and her housekeeper Kadiatou. The lives of these four women and all that they have loved and lost is the focus of a narrative that embeds political critique in this representation of desire. What begins as an examination of love in its various shapes and forms, takes on the tone of a social commentary on the 21st century woman's (over)reliance on romantic love. The first partner that Chiamaka's ruminates over is Darnell, whom she calls 'the Denzel Washington of academia'. As Adichie's protagonist comes from a wealthy family, Darnell consistently makes her aware of her privilege vis a vis the poor African migrant struggling for survival in the urban landscapes of the 'Global North'. What follows is a biting satirical portrait of Western academia with Chiamaka calling out its tribal ways and liberal posturing. While meeting Darnell's friends, she notes how they are unable 'to feel admiration' and liberally overuse terms and phrases such as 'problematic' and 'the ways in which'. One of them, Charlotte, 'spoke of Africa as a place where her friends' presumably all white had 'worked'. An Africa 'full of white people all toiling unthanked in the blazing sun'. In a famous TED talk, Adichie had once shared how her 'roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe. In this single story, there was no possibility of Africans being similar to her in any way, no possibility of feelings more complex than pity, no possibility of a connection as human equals.' It would seem that Adichie is responding to this single story throughout Dream Count. A publisher tells Chiamaka, an aspiring author, to work on something on the Congo before starting her travel memoir, adding that 'Somalia and Sudan could work too'. Chiamaka grasps that the publishing world is viewing her, a woman of African descent, as an 'interpreter of struggles'. Adichie has long contended with the Western gaze on the African diaspora and its 'single story of Africa'. Here too, she critiques the Anglophone publishing world and Western academia's fetishization of Africa and Africans. However, as the narrative progresses, her critique of American 'woke' culture actually does come off as problematic – to use the term that Chiamaka accuses Darnell and his academic circle of overusing. It is through the brash and independent Omelogor that Adichie voices her disdain for liberal America's sense of entitlement and the 'provincial certainty' with which its members operate. Her experience as a graduate student in the US is fraught with encounters that make her wary of expressing any opinion that runs contrary to that which is perceived as ideologically acceptable. It might be useful to note here that Adichie has, in the past, been called out for TERF adjacent remarks and that she has also previously strongly condemned cancel culture in her writing. While the strength of Adichie's narrative lies in how she blends social and political critique through a multi-layered story, it is precisely this which also causes the book to lag in parts. For instance, the arc of Kadiatou's narrative is not entirely convincing. In her Author's Note Adichie shares how this part of the novel was inspired by real life events, in particular, the case of Nafissatou Diallo – a Guinean immigrant, like Kadiatou – who had accused a guest of sexual assault at the hotel where she worked. The accused was IMF head Dominique Strauss-Kahn. Adichie notes that she wished to 'right a wrong' through this story. She also shifts to a third person narrative voice here from the first person that she used for both Chiamaka and Omelogor. This creates a distance that doesn't quite work. Indeed, Kadiatou's section and Zikora's too come across as superficial interludes. Dream Count begins with an examination of romantic love as perhaps an extension of the capitalist world view offset by community ties, such as that of sisterhood that may seem to fray at times but remain steady when the need arises. American liberal academia and the publishing world's 'incivility of quiet evil' is explicitly critiqued. 'We are all defining our worlds with words from America,' says Omelogor. There is no arguing with that. Adichie's return to literary fiction does have its moments. In the end, though, it has to be said that, unlike her earlier works, Dream Count suffers from a sad lack of nuance. Simar Bhasin is a literary critic and research scholar who lives in Delhi. Her essay 'A Qissa of Resistance: Desire and Dissent in Selma Dabbagh's Short Fiction' was awarded 'Highly Commended' by the Wasafiri Essay Prize 2024.
TimesLIVE
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- TimesLIVE
Taking a bite out of Chimamanda's buttered toast
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 4th Estate When reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's latest offering Dream Count I was reminded of a favourite scene of mine in one of the Narnia books I read as a child. In the scene, the four siblings who must navigate a talking lion, a witch and a precarious wardrobe are so starved that they start craving buttered toast. One of the blandest foods to crave but at that moment of having no other option, even toast would suffice. I also found myself salivating at the thought of sinking my teeth into warm, crunchy bread that crackled at every bite. That hearty scent of rich butter all washed down with orange juice, hot chocolate or tea. I was also with very few options and immediately became enamoured with the hungry siblings and their plight. To this day, buttered toast is a comfort food I always return to. Not as a breakfast or 'girl dinner' but rather as a bite packed with memories that make me feel warm. In Dream Count, Adichie tells the story of four women interlinked by the same desires. Men. The book was inspired by the passing of Adichie's mother and her curiosity about how she would relate to one of the characters, Kadiotou. While this might be an ensemble, Kadiotou's harrowing story is only a common thread that pops up between the other characters. Specifically Chiamaka, who dominates the tale. She and her best friend Zikora have first-person narration, while Kadiotou and Chiamaka's acerbic cousin, Omelogor, have their experiences narrated to us. Through their journeys, we learn a lot about their lives in the way that Adichie has done in books like Half of a Yellow Sun. Chiamaka is a frustrating mess to whom many reading the pages might relate. You either know of a Chiamaka or you have a friend like her. Something of a Nigerian-born Carrie Bradshaw meets Emma Woodhouse, Chiamaka is a funny mess to follow. Particularly when it comes to her ill-fated relationship with her hotep (term typically used for black men who are Afrocentric to a regressive degree) boyfriend, Darnell. Through dinners and dates, we see how Darnell posits himself as a revolutionary intellectual but continues to disappoint Chiamaka, who places a lot of her self-worth on the men she dates. Even in the relationship's end, where Darnell overreacts about Chiamaka ordering a mimosa in a swanky French restaurant in Paris. She dodges his hysteria and starts a relationship with a married man that dissolves as quickly as it started. However, it does give her insight into interracial dating, but does not remedy the assimilation she has to perform when dating men from different backgrounds. Her confidants, Zikora and Omelogor, act as powerful gal pals who are resolute in their disagreements yet cautious enough not to hurt Chiamaka's feelings. Zikora is a golden child who eventually falls for the good guy type in Kwame, before their relationship fizzles out when both parties fail to effectively communicate their thoughts on her pregnancy. This is where the book shines the most as we get left with Zikora's isolation, her perseverance through a pregnancy she was quietly excited about and concludes with endless attempts to keep in touch with Kwame. In what Adichie describes as an 'unfinished dying', the labour of falling out of love and in connection with her soul mate is heartbreaking and nearly makes the book a literary realism masterpiece were it not for the cracks that start to show. Kadiotou's story is told in third-person narrative because of Adichie's respect for the real-life events it was inspired by. However, Omelogor, who runs a microblog, is also not given the honour of telling her own tale. As one of the more exciting women in terms of her world views, this makes Omelogor an anticlimactic character to read about. With Adichie employing the same linguistics when writing in Zikora and Chiamaka's voices, it often feels like they play big brother over Kadiotou and Omelogor's lives as there are no distinct differences in how she retells each woman's tale. Their passivity also makes them feel like one woman in four different versions of a Marvel multiverse, à la their very own What If series. This is where Adichie becomes a buttered toast author. There are no surprises with butter toast, and neither are there any with Adichie's book. You know what you are going to get: page after page of women pining over men, their mothers pining over grandkids and their female relatives pining over their dowager lives. It is a void obsessed with women who are stereotypes; the flighty columnist, the pregnant, shrewd lawyer, the middle-aged woman obsessed with pornography and the poverty-stricken outlier who is fodder for the haves and the have-nots. Perhaps fuelled by being a member of the queer community, there is nothing new to Dream Count. Nothing profound in its obsession with the mundane and its characters who are not daring enough to try something new. In a failure to explore the feelings an desires of women in their forties to fifties, Dream Count is a perfect read for chick-lit lovers who wish to be affirmed in their beliefs with the promise of excellent prose.
New Indian Express
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
The weary weight of womanhood
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Dream Count explores the lives of three Nigerian women, Chiamaka, Zikora, and Omelogor, and one Guinean woman, Kadiatou, and their dreams and destinies. Chiamaka, a travel writer, recalls her past lovers as she is stuck at home during the Covid pandemic. Zikora is a successful lawyer who believes she has failed at other aspects of life. Omelogor is a banker who launders money to help poor women start their businesses. Kadiatou works in housekeeping at a hotel where she faces a tragedy that upends the life she had built for herself and her daughter in America. What unites these women is the resilience they have had to build to survive in a world that is tainted with misogyny and violence. Through Chiamaka, Adichie captures the emotional exhaustion brought on by the covid pandemic. 'Every morning, I was hesitant to rise, because to get out of bed was to approach again the possibility of sorrow,' she writes. She recalls her relationship with a man, Darnell, which had turned into an obsession. With Darnell, Chiamaka had to fight for every morsel of intimacy. Darnell mocked her for her wealth while he enjoyed the benefits of the same wealth – fancy birthday trips, expensive gadgets, fine wine and dining. Chia wants to talk to Omelogor about Darnell but resists doing so because she is afraid of the self-respect and strength Omelogor brings out in her. When Chia finally finds a man who seems dream-like, she realises her desires might differ from what society wants her to desire.
The Hindu
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Dream Count is well worth the wait
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Dream Count is an extraordinary, expansive novel; a reminder of why she is a literary star. Through the interlocking stories of four women in the U.S. — Chiamaka, a Nigerian travel writer; Zikora, her lawyer-friend; Kadiatou, her Guinean housekeeper; and Omelogor, her acerbic banker-cousin — Adichie writes about middle-age experiences, womanhood, class, and immigration. It is the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic and Chiamaka or Chia begins to do what many of us did when our lives came to a forced standstill: overthink endlessly and count her many regrets. She starts to wonder: 'Where have all the years gone, and have I made the most of life?' Chia begins to scrutinise her past relationships with the wisdom of hindsight, which brings with it both remorse and reassurance wrapped in humour. She recounts her relationship with a pretentious man, introduced to her as 'the Denzel Washington of academia', who loved to say things like, 'It's a structural erase, a symbolic genocide, because if you're not seen, then you don't exist', over lunch. She thinks of the Igbo man who was perfect but boring and left her with an 'exquisite ache'. And then of a married Englishman — an ill-advised relationship doomed from the start. Chia's musings are made riveting by Adichie's assured and clever writing. And though there is no real plot line, Chia propels the novel forward. Story of grief While there is a lightness in Chia's reminiscing, there is a deep pain in Zikora's account. Compared to Chia's story, which spans years, Zikora's is more pointed. She, too, analyses the men in her life, calling them the 'thieves of time', but there is one particular thief she dwells on, who steals more than just her time and leaves her bewildered, angry, and distressed. Even as she navigates both the gift and tragedy in her life, Zikora's circumstances provide her an opportunity to reboot her relationship with her mother. Motherhood, in fact, is a strong theme in this novel, emerging once again in Kadiatou and Omelogor's stories. As Adichie writes in the author's note, Dream Count 'is really about losing my mother'. It is a grief that is 'still stubbornly in infancy', she says; the grief lingers in all the stories. Long before #MeToo The centrepiece of the novel is the account of the long-suffering Kadiatou; it is riven by grief and evokes outrage. Kadiatou hurtles from one tragedy to another, but remains marvellously determined to make something of her life until an incident in a hotel room shoves her into the public eye. Her character is based on Nafissatou Diallo, a West African woman working as a maid in a New York hotel, who accused Dominique Strauss-Kahn, then head of the International Monetary Fund, of sexual assault in 2011. Adichie's writing here is exquisite: the pages simmer with anger and also throb with a deep empathy and tenderness. Diallo's portrait in the media, sketched with cold facts and documents, stripped her of dignity and provided an 'ungenerous, undignified representation, incomplete and flattening', writes Adichie in the author's note. By humanising Kadiatou instead of victimising her, Adichie more than succeeds in returning Diallo's dignity. The last section belongs to Omelogor, Chia's closest cousin. She siphons funds from the corrupt bank where she works in Nigeria, into women's business ventures, calling the operation 'Robyn Hood'. In Adichie's world, even moral bankruptcy comes wrapped in some sort of strange feminism. The premise is catchy, and Omelogor the most grey character of them all, but her motivations for abruptly giving up everything and moving to the U.S. remain unconvincing. Lens on American society While Dream Count is primarily about the bonds of sisterhood and female desires, it carries many sharp — though sometimes reductive — observations on immigration. The women move to the U.S. in the hope of fulfilling their American Dream, but often find themselves perplexed by the ways of Americans and their language. Kadiatou observes that the U.S. is 'where the police shoot more than they run'. When Zikora is in labour, the nurse dictates, 'Bring your feet up and let your legs fall apart', while her mother tells her, 'Hold yourself together'. Adichie is also a staunch critic of cancel culture and takes on pugilistic progressives. One character dismisses Omelogor's success saying, 'Banking is inherently flawed'; elsewhere, Chia says, 'For Daneil's friends, everything was 'problematic', even the things of which they approved'. Dream Count is not a perfect novel — the feminism is so old-school that men are boring at best and abusers at worst. It also fizzles out towards the end. But Adichie is a master storyteller who simply dazzles and hypnotises with her satire, wit, and prose. And for that reason alone, this novel that was 10 years in the making is well worth the wait. radhika.s@ Dream Count Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Fourth Estate ₹599
TimesLIVE
29-04-2025
- Entertainment
- TimesLIVE
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's ‘Dream Count' is powerful but awkward
Dream Count Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 4th Estate I have been a fan of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's writing since the days of Half of a Yellow Sun and Americanah, so a new novel after a 10-year gap from this Nigerian/American author is something to celebrate. Here she focuses on four women: three living in America and one in Nigeria. The novel opens with Chiamaka, a travel writer who lives in America, contemplating her life at the beginning of the pandemic lockdown. We learn about her background — she is the Nigerian equivalent of a trust-fund kid, the child of very wealthy parents, who likes her travelling to be luxurious and glamorous — and her past romantic entanglements. She is kind, funny and always seems to be searching for something that is just out of reach. Next we meet Zikora, Chiamaka's best friend, who also lives in America and is a lawyer, searching for love, only to be disappointed. She is also wealthy and successful, as is Omelogor, Chiamaka's cousin, who is still based in Nigeria and has risen up the ranks of Nigerian finance — a not-always-honest sector. But having got to the top through fair means and foul, she decides to attend an American university to study, of all things, pornography, and to set up a website to 'educate' men on the subject. The fourth woman, Kadiatou, is somewhat different. She is also based in America, but grew up in rural Guinea, poor and less educated than the three Nigerians. She works as a domestic and as a hotel chambermaid to earn money to give her young daughter a better chance in life than she has had. And here Adichie shifts away from exploring the lives and choices of wealthy, successful women on the cusp of middle age and still uncertain of what they really want, to something rather different. Drawing on the real-life case that concerned the chief of the International Monetary Fund, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who was accused of rape by an immigrant hotel worker, Adichie, having given Kadiatou a backstory, has her at the mercy of the American judicial system, having been raped by an influential man, a guest in the hotel where she is working. And, while the telling of Kadiatou's story is powerful and poignant, to some extent it throws the rest of the book out of balance. There are times when Dream Count feels like two different novels that have been strung together. The one deals with women who on the surface are successfully competing in a world where they could have been seen as alien, but who are still searching for more than they seem able to reach — a search for the kind of success in their private lives that they have managed in their public ones. And on the other hand, we see a woman who has all the odds stacked against her and while — without wanting to give spoilers — she can be counted as having been treated horribly in her public life, she will ultimately achieve a personal catharsis. Adichie's writing is compelling, and Dream Count always holds one's attention. There is humour, outrage and wit, but Kadiatou's life experience is so removed from that of the other characters, however much they interact with her, that it makes for a slightly uneasy blend.
