We have markers that align our path to adulthood. Religious ceremonies, driver’s licenses, graduations, alcohol purchases, rental car agreements–these are the public markers that are sanctioned by the established authority figures in our lives. Our parents and teachers try to help us prepare for awkward markers such as puberty and romance to varying levels of success. By the time we hit our early- to mid-twenties, we’re left to our own devices; we’re expected to reconcile society’s traditional signs of maturity–marriage, children, house, promotion–with our personal expectations and desires. The path to seniority is messy and complex.

Kehinde Fadipe acknowledges this in her debut novel, The Sun Sets in Singapore. Her three main characters–Dara, Amaka, and Lillian–are Nigerian women who live in Singapore and seem to be well-placed on the path to true adulthood. Dara is a graduate of Oxford and a successful lawyer who has her eye on becoming a partner at her law firm. Amaka has a great position as a credit officer and a boyfriend who cares deeply for her. Lillian is an English teacher and accomplished pianist who is married and trying to start a family. However, all three women suffer from childhood trauma that bubbles under the surface of their present lives. It all threatens to explode when Lani, a handsome and smart Nigerian lawyer, enters their lives.

There is a lot of drama in this novel. Cheating, scheming, and lying are just a few of the sins the characters commit throughout the book. Dara has to compete with Lani for a promotion she wants and feels she deserves; she has to play corporate games and bend the rules to win. Despite being a credit officer, Amaka tries to hide her haute couture addiction and overspending from her family and friends. She’s also deeply attracted to Lani and struggles to reconcile this with her boyfriend and her friendship with Dara. Lillian’s marriage is dying, and she doesn’t seem to know what she wants in life. However, she’s drawn to Lani because he strongly resembles her deceased father.

The drama is delicious, if over the top at times. However, the book is deeper than the drama. Fadipe discusses racism, classism, sexism, and identity. She explores these themes through an expat’s lens; her characters have to navigate being Black Nigerian women in a foreign country. Fadipe illustrates the microaggressions, outright racism, and sexism her female characters face both from strangers and those within their communities. Some of the scenes are very emotional and place a spotlight on important issues.

Cover of "The Sun Sets in Singapore" by Kehinde Fadipe

For instance, Dara, Amaka, and Lillian belong to the same book club for Black women in Singapore. At one meeting, the attendees discuss Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah and fight over how they view men in the book compared to men in real life. The conversation gets a little heated until Nana, one of the attendees, says, “The more we stay blind to our connections, the easier it is for us as women to allow ourselves to be oppressed and to oppress each other…Our mothers raise sons to think they’re gods and we accept everything men do but question everything we do! If we released one another from these impossible standards, we wouldn’t put up with half the shit we take from men.”

Despite these strong statements and complex female characters, the book spends a lot of time revolving around men, specifically Lani. While Lani seems to be the catalyst for their problems, it is their own self-destruction that threatens to ruin their lives. Dara, Amaka, and Lillian must take ownership of their reality and confront their past–and present–issues to grow. Their journeys are messy; you want to root for them, but there are moments when you don’t. This is what makes them feel real. 

It’s always fun to read about a culture that isn’t your own, and Fadipe’s writing about Nigerian expats and Singapore was captivating. The dialogue is fresh and snappy, and the side characters are just as interesting as the main characters. This adds a rich level of intrigue to the story. My only complaints relate to a few pacing issues throughout the story and one scene with a child that caused me to put the book down for a while. 

It is hard to transition from an early adult to a full-fledged adult. When I was nearing 30, I remember telling an older friend that I didn’t feel like an adult. I had a good job, a steady relationship, volunteer positions, nephews, and solid friendships. I lived a full life, but I didn’t feel like a “true” adult either. I always thought adults were more put together than I was–even if they weren’t married with kids or didn’t own a home. I loved watching Dara, Amaka, and Lillian make mistakes and redefine success for themselves.