Every few months, the same conversation comes up online: ‘Why are Nigerian books always so sad?’ Some people make the complaint in a light-hearted way, while others do so in irritation, but the argument never fully dies. Beneath all of it is a deeper question about what literature should do. Should it comfort us, or should it reflect our reality?
For me, the answer is clear. Literature has always been a mirror of society. It captures the triumphs, struggles, and contradictions of the human experience. Nigerian writers are not writing sad books just to depress their readers; they are writing the world they know, and whether we like it or not, that world is heavy.
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Why Nigerian stories lean toward struggle
At its core, art has always been seen as a reflection of the world we live in. It describes the values, beliefs, customs, and experiences of a people, the good, the bad, and the complicated. By capturing real-life events and human actions, it can educate, entertain, or even inspire change.
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That is why stories of resilience, corruption, family struggles, and survival are so prominent in Nigerian writing. They mirror not only our challenges but also the environment in which our writers live and work.
Of course, readers approach books with different expectations. For some, reading is pure escapism: a portal into worlds of glamour, fantasy, or love. Others want validation, to see their own experiences articulated in ways they never imagined, and some crave both: the relief of escape and the comfort of reality. From that perspective, it is fair to ask: if books are meant to take us away, why must Nigerian authors keep returning us to sorrow?
Well, my answer is that stories don’t come from thin air. They come from the writer’s environment, and the Nigerian environment is one of contradictions. Yes, it is filled with humour, brilliance, and hustle, but it is also riddled with hardship. The average Nigerian is going through under/unemployment, inflation, insecurity, and endless social pressures.
Writers are not outside this reality; they are part of it. When they tell stories shaped by pain or struggle, they are writing truthfully about what they know. I remember reading “On Black Sisters Street” and feeling weighed down for a while, not because the author exaggerated our struggles, but because the story mirrored the everyday battles Nigerians face. That is the point of literature: it reflects, even when it hurts.
The publishing trap
Still, it would be naive to ignore how the global publishing industry shapes what gets attention. For decades, Western readers have rewarded African trauma narratives with stories of war, poverty, dictatorship, and gender violence because they confirm certain expectations about what African life should look like. Publishers then double down on these themes, presenting them as the ‘authentic’ African story.
This creates a cycle. Writers who lean into trauma are more likely to be published internationally, while writers who choose romance, comedy, or fantasy struggle for visibility. The result is what critics call ‘trauma porn’. Literature that, while rooted in truth, ends up reinforcing a narrow and limiting image of African identity.
But the problem here is not the writers. It is the market. Nigerian authors shouldn’t be pressured to sugarcoat reality just to counterbalance Western demand for trauma porn. Writers must remain free to tell their truth, whether that truth is joyful, painful, or somewhere in between. Expecting otherwise turns literature into pandering.
Joy has a place, too
This doesn’t mean Nigerian authors aren’t writing joyful books. They are, even if those works don’t always get the same visibility. Romance, fantasy, and speculative fiction are growing spaces in our literary scene. Writers are creating stories that give Nigerian characters love, adventure, and even magic. Their books prove that happy endings are not impossible; they’re just not the only valid form of storytelling.
That’s the real point. Diversity. Nigerian literature does not need to lean entirely one way or the other. Sad stories exist because life here is often sad. Happy stories exist because joy is also part of our reality. Both should be allowed to flourish without judgment.
If you’re craving happy endings, here are a few to check out:
Nothing Comes Close by Tolulope Popoola
In this contemporary romance, we meet Lola, a confident career woman navigating life in London, whose world collides with the charming yet mysterious Wole. Their chemistry is undeniable, but beneath the spark lies a web of secrets that could unravel everything. Nothing Comes Close captures the thrill of falling in love and the uncertainty that comes with trusting someone new.
Love is Beautiful When in Bloom by Lara T. Kareem
This collection of seven short stories is a soft, hopeful exploration of love in all its forms. From the sweetness of first love in Full Circle to the poignant mix of joy and grief in A Binding Encounter, Lara Kareem writes with tenderness and care. Each story offers a reminder that love, whether fleeting or enduring, leaves us transformed.
Descendants of the First by Reni K. Amayo
This is a YA fantasy rooted in Igbo mythology. The novel follows twin goddesses Naala and Sinai as they battle mythical beasts, uncover ancient secrets, and confront the forces threatening their kingdom of Nri. With its mix of magic, sisterhood, and political intrigue, Descendants of the First reimagines what epic fantasy can look like from a distinctly Nigerian lens.
The freedom to tell it as it is
Ultimately, I lean toward defending the so-called sad books. They are not sad for sadness’s sake; they are grounded in truth. If our literature feels heavy, it is because our realities are heavy. To demand happiness from our writers is to ask them to look away, and literature has never been about looking away.
So the next time someone complains that Nigerian books are too sad, maybe the better question to ask is: what kind of society are they reflecting? Until that answer changes, our books will continue to hold a mirror up to who we are, and that, in itself, is okay.
