DREAM COUNT by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

“I have always longed to be known,” Chia, one of the four female narrators, declares in the opening line, “truly known, by another human being.” A travel writer, Chia, reminisces about past loves during the COVID-19 lockdown when travel isn’t an option. Zikora, a lawyer, raises her son alone when the father refuses a relationship with them. Omelogor, a grad student studying the implications of pornography on the treatment of females, and Kadiatou, a hotel maid, sexually assaulted by a well-known hotel guest, only to suffer the consequences of reporting it. Adichie mines womanhood gold in these four characters as they explore traumas, big and small. Introspective and deeply relevant, Dream Count answers its central question of wanting to “be known” when the friends, in solidarity, lean on each other as lifelines in a world they never dreamt for themselves.   

Favorite line(s): . . . but after the funeral, I began to think that I can respect what I do not believe. Belief in ogwu made no sense, this large, unwieldy concoction with no logic at its core. But so much else lacks logic. What is the logic of sacrificing to an omniscient God, the point of Jesus dying first before God could save us? Maybe logic is not the point of faith; maybe succor is.

Bless my darling mother, but she drinks a glass of entitlement every morning, in a strong Igbo flavor, the kind that leaves distant relatives calmly convinced that all you have toiled for is also somehow theirs.

Dear men, I understand that you don’t like abortion, but the best way to reduce abortion is to watch where your male bodily fluids go. Keep your fluids to yourself and do not leave them in undeserving places. Remember, I’m on your side, dear men. 

THE BRIGHT YEARS by Sarah Damoff

Ryan doesn’t tell Lillian he has an alcohol addiction. Lillian doesn’t tell Ryan she gave a baby up for adoption years ago, before they married and had a child of their own. Told from the three points of view, the impact of secrets, regrets, addictions, and ultimately the tragic consequences on the trio weighs on whether the heartache of family is worth the toll it takes to love them. 

Favorite line(s): In many ways, Jet saves us. But salvation is not erasure—it’s a redistribution of pressure. The gallery is barely breaking even and there’s an entire person dependent on us. We can’t compensate ourselves enough anymore. So, a few months postpartum I return to my branch at the bank, grovel, and gratefully land a position in marketing. Ryan keeps the SG open, but he picks up shifts at Matteo’s again. I watch a shadow descend on him, the birth of one dream equaling the death of another. And even though the gain is great, the loss is felt. Loss is loss regardless of gains that come later. And just like Jet deserves our joy, these losses deserve our sadness. The dying gallery. The unformed baby, buried in the plumbing. If we don’t keep our two babies distinct, every emotion feels like betrayal. How can we be happy when we don’t have our other one? But how can we be sad when we have Jet?

THE CORRESPONDENT by Virginia Evans

The Correspondent is a contemporary epistolary novel centered on the life of Sybil Van Antwerp, who, at seventy-three, experiences an awakening through her correspondence with various people in her life. She writes to writers she admires, her brother, her best friend, and others, trying to make sense of the world and her place in it. One person she writes to isn’t revealed until the last half of the novel. Sybil also has to uncover who is writing her threatening letters. A former lawyer, it could be one of many disgruntled clients. She has lived a full life, but there is always more to reexamine, to figure out, to own up to, and she does it so brilliantly through correspondence.  

Favorite line(s): Imagine, the letters one has sent out into the world, the letters received back in turn, are like the pieces of a magnificent puzzle, or, a better metaphor, if dated, the links of a long chain, and even if those links are never put back together, which they will certainly never be, even if they remain for the rest of time dispersed across the earth like the fragile blown seeds of a dying dandelion, isn’t there something wonderful in that, to think that. A story of one’s life is preserved in some way, that this very letter may one day mean something, even if it is a very small thing, to someone? 

MAINE by J. Courtney Sullivan (audio)

Another writer/editor suggested the characters in “Maine” were similar to the characters in my recently finished novel. I told her I had read it. Twenty or so minutes into the audio version, and I realized I had no idea who these characters were. I hadn’t read it. And I loved it. So much so, I’ve gone down the rabbit hole reading/listening to everything Sullivan has written—an enchanting rabbit hole of family dramas with very relatable nostalgic overtones.

In “Maine,” we meet the four Kelleher women: Alice, the matriarch, owner of the coastal home in Maine everyone in the family takes “their month” visiting in the summer. Alice carries a shameful secret that fuels her terse observations and abrupt judgments about family. Alice’s daughter, Kathleen, the black sheep, vowed never to set foot on the property once her father died. Now, she is back at the summer home, hoping to convince her daughter, Maggie, to move back to California with her. Maggie believes in love but is left alone, pregnant, and without the life she envisioned for herself. Ann Marie, Alice’s daughter-in-law, is the daughter Alice always wanted: a people-pleasing perfectionist who goes out of her way for those she loves and begins to resent all of them for it. Of course, things get sticky and fraught with family drama. Sullivan expertly drops in necessary backstory on a need-to-know basis that keeps the secrets and betrayals interesting and fresh.