Some books generate discussion. Others generate arguments. Season of Crimson Blossoms managed to do both.
Our July Naija Book Club meeting was special for many reasons, but above all because we were joined by the novel’s author, Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, winner of the Nigeria Prize for Literature. Reading a novel is one thing. Having the opportunity to ask its creator why certain characters lived, loved, suffered, and died is something else entirely.
The evening began with introductions before members launched into a discussion of the novel itself. Unsurprisingly, Binta and Reza dominated the conversation. Their relationship continues to provoke strong reactions nearly a decade after the book’s publication. Some readers viewed loneliness as one of the novel’s central forces. Others challenged that interpretation, arguing that Binta’s loneliness may itself be an assumption made by those around her rather than an established fact.
That disagreement set the tone for the evening. Everyone had read the same novel, yet no two people seemed to have read exactly the same book.
When Abubakar joined us, the discussion quickly moved beyond the plot into larger questions about literature itself.
One question explored whether fiction is better suited than nonfiction for addressing difficult conversations about religion, sexuality, violence, grief and social expectations. Another asked whether Nigerian writers carry an obligation to become social commentators or whether their first responsibility is simply to tell truthful stories.
His responses were refreshingly honest. Rather than accepting the increasingly popular expectation that every novelist should become an activist, he reminded us that writers are storytellers first. Some stories naturally carry political implications. Others simply seek to understand people. Both approaches are valid.
That point resonated with many members.
The conversation then shifted toward craft.
Members were curious about how much an author’s audience influences language and plot, whether he writes one project at a time or several simultaneously, and how much editors reshape a manuscript before publication. These are questions readers rarely get to ask directly, yet they reveal as much about literature as the stories themselves.
Predictably, the discussion eventually returned to Reza.
One member asked the question that countless readers have probably wanted answered for years.
“Why did you kill Reza?”
The room erupted in laughter.
Apparently, this was hardly the first time Abubakar had encountered that question. He shared that readers have become so emotionally invested in the character that a group in South Africa once formed what they called the Friends of Reza, petitioning him over the character’s fate.
It was one of those delightful reminders that fictional people sometimes become real enough to mourn.
Questions about the ending continued. Did he always know how the novel would end? If Reza had survived, what alternative future might have awaited him? Why did grief lead Binta and Reza toward romance instead of a mother-son relationship? These questions highlighted the emotional investment readers still have in the novel years after its publication.
One particularly interesting discussion centred on controversy.
Given the criticism Season of Crimson Blossoms has received for portraying an older woman’s sexuality, a member asked about the most memorable misreading of the novel he had encountered since publication. It sparked an insightful conversation about interpretation, reader expectations, and the fact that once a novel enters the world, it no longer belongs entirely to its author.
Beyond the novel itself, we also learned that one of Abubakar’s works is currently being adapted for film. That is welcome news, not only for admirers of his writing but for Nigerian literature generally. Every successful adaptation expands the audience for African stories and demonstrates that our literature continues to travel across mediums.
The session also reminded us that book clubs are about more than books.
We welcomed new members, including one reader who shared that she had belonged to a thriving book club in Port Harcourt until it dissolved several years ago. Since then, she had been searching for another reading community. Finding Naija Book Club, even as a virtual gathering with members spread across different cities and countries, felt like coming home.
That may have been one of the evening’s most encouraging moments.
Reading is often described as a solitary activity. Book clubs prove otherwise. They transform private reading into public conversation, allowing readers to notice details they would otherwise have missed and perspectives they may never have considered.
As we closed the session, members were already looking forward to August’s Book of the Month, which will be announced following our community vote.
If you’ve been thinking about reading more consistently, perhaps the best advice comes from James Clear in Atomic Habits: “Join a group where your desired behavior is the normal behavior.”
That is precisely what we are trying to build at Naija Book Club.
We hope to see you at the next discussion. After an evening like this one, you never know who might join the conversation next.
