Why love stories make us cry, laugh and keep turning pages

I am always amazed by my passionate readers who often confess that out of all the books I have written, they prefer Shadows of Love more than any other. The confession usually comes unexpectedly, in classrooms, after workshops, or even in casual social media messages. A millennial will lean in closer, lower their voice slightly, and say, almost apologetically, “Mwalimu, that love story, that one touched me.”

I rarely argue with them, partly because readers are always right about what moves them. My publisher quietly settled the debate by giving me the sales records. He informed me that Shadows of Love sold 3,000 copies in its first month of production in 2024. For a Kenyan book, that is not a small matter. Sales figures, unlike literary debates, are brutally honest. They reveal what people actually read, not merely what critics believe they should read.

One enthusiastic reader went further, confidently declaring Shadows of Love the greatest love story since Song of Solomon. I laughed at the exaggeration, yet the comment lingered—not out of flattery, but because the comparison, so generously made, forced me to reflect on the kinds of stories that truly resonate with people.

Over time, I’ve reached a humbling conclusion. Shadows of Love may not be a great work of art academically, but it tackles a subject that torments many: love. Specifically, it explores relationships, betrayal, emotional vulnerability and the rising presence of narcissism, showing how narcissists quietly torment those who love them. It avoids abstract philosophy, focusing instead on lived experiences and the silent struggles many readers carry.

The novel follows Suluvia Mwende, a young woman from Itetani Village, Kitui County, navigating love while studying at Masinde Muliro University of Science and Technology (MMUST). Her journey is familiar and many readers see themselves, their friends or their children in her emotional growth. Literature succeeds when it reflects readers’ own lives through another’s story.

This realisation has made me rethink the books that shaped reading in our schools. In Kenya, one stands out despite never being a set text: Across the Bridge by Mwangi Gicheru. Ask many millennials about their early reading and they recall encountering it. Why did it travel so widely from reader to reader without institutional backing? The answer is simple: it is a love story, speaking to youthful curiosity, longing and the complexities of relationships. The same pattern runs through world literature. Of all the plays by William Shakespeare, the one most people still remember is Romeo and Juliet, not because it is linguistically simple, but because it dramatises love in its most intense and tragic form.

Consider also Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, often ranked among the greatest novels ever written. I return to it often for its philosophical depth, social critique and psychological insight. At its core lies a love story, passionate, complicated and destructive, through which deeper reflections on society, morality and human nature emerge.

Beyond books, popular culture confirms the same truth. Soap operas aired on Kenyan television, whether set in Nairobi estates, rural homesteads or distant cities, are driven by love: found, betrayed, lost and rediscovered. Audiences return daily not for political lectures or economic theories, but for emotional continuity — to know who loves whom, who betrayed whom, and whether reconciliation is possible.

This should tell us something important as writers. For long, many African writers shaped by academic traditions have prioritised seriousness defined as political critique, historical trauma or ideological struggle. These themes remain important. Our continent has lived through histories that demand narration and interrogation. But in the process, we forget that ordinary emotional life is equally worthy of literary attention. We cannot keep exporting our trauma.

Love stories are not trivial. They are among the most serious narratives we can write. Love shapes decisions, destroys ambitions, builds families and occasionally breaks nations. Many social conflicts begin in private emotional spaces before they become public crises. I think to write about love is to write about power, vulnerability, identity and hope.

I am convinced that love stories cultivate readership. A society that reads emotionally engaging stories develops the habit of reading itself. Once readers fall in love with stories, they gradually become open to more complex literary experiences. Love stories, therefore, are not an escape from serious literature. They are the gateway into it.

If we genuinely want to build a reading culture, we must heed what readers naturally gravitate toward. Writers do not lose intellectual credibility by telling love stories; rather, they gain a chance to explore humanity at its most intimate. If we want people to read, we must offer stories that speak to their emotional realities. Love, with all its beauty and chaos, remains the most universal human experience.

Readers will continue to return to stories like ‘Shadows of Love’, ‘Anna Karenina’, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Across the Bridge’ because they seek the reassurance that their joys, heartbreaks, and confusions are shared by others.