Book Review

Keya Das’s Second Act by Sopan Deb

Keya Das’s Second Act by Sopan Deb is a poignant novel about grief and forgiveness that follows a Bengali American family reeling from the sudden loss of their daughter and sister, titular character Keya Das. Each member of the family regrets not being more supportive when Keya came out, and now it’s too late to do anything about it…or is it? The novel picks up when Shantanu, Keya’s father, discovers a box containing a play Keya was writing with her girlfriend. It briefly brings Keya back to life for them, so her family embarks on a mission to stage the play to honor her memory and make amends.

Book cover for Keya Das's Second Act by Sopan Deb.

Rejection is often a much more powerful emotion than acceptance.

Sopan Deb, Keya Das’s Second Act

With loss of a child and implied homophobia at the forefront of this novel, this is an emotional read. Grief impacts different people in different ways, and that makes Deb’s cast of characters even more important as they are vehicles through which readers can experience the central themes in this story. Following Keya’s death, Shantanu isolates himself from his family, his wife Chaitali tries to move forward with her own life, and their eldest daughter Mitali tries to distance herself from her sorrow — all very relatable coping mechanisms. But because their journeys are so disparate, it’s a little challenging to keep up with the various side characters that help to bring the family back together. None of them are developed enough, which sometimes makes their heavy influence on our key characters a little difficult to understand. The ultimate message is to encourage leaning on community to help assuage and process the big feelings that occur during times of grief, but the poignancy of that takeaway sometimes gets lost in Deb’s delivery.

I particularly enjoyed the Bengali words interspersed throughout otherwise English language sentences. As a Bengali American who grew up in a bilingual household within a diaspora community, that is exactly how we speak! I’ve seen criticism about the lack of a glossary or sufficient context clues to decode the meaning of select Bengali phrases in other reviews for this novel; however, I like to view this creative choice as a postcolonial resistance to the residual effects of Orientalist policies that defined English as the medium of instruction and the language of knowledge itself. Deb’s language choice — his refusal to translate, sanitize, or suppress the story he wanted to elevate — empowers him to seize back control of how he defines himself in a postcolonial reality still very much influenced by the lingering aftereffects of imperialism.

But more than anything, they each blamed themselves. In their own ways, they had made Keya feel unseen.

Sopan Deb, Keya Das’s Second Act

The one thing I really struggled with in this novel was lack of LGBTQ+ representation. Yes, Keya is gay, but her identity felt like a plot device for characters who didn’t want to accept her sexuality when she was still alive. They took her manuscript, interpreted it for the stage as they saw fit, and essentially used it for their own devices. For lack of a better term, the allyship after the fact felt performative. I realize with a tragedy like this, catharsis just might be the best we can hope to achieve since it’s too late to apologize to Keya or treat her the way she deserved. Still, I expected to see more positive and normalized representation. Keya’s lack of voice in this aspect of the novel has me going back and forth with classifying this novel within the LGBTQ+ category.

For all the heavy themes that form the foundation of this novel, it is surprisingly heartwarming and hopeful. Keya Das’s Second Act begins with characters weighed down by grief, regret, and trauma, and Deb navigates them through a healing journey that leaves them in a better place. This novel reminds readers it isn’t too late for us to take the time to listen and carefully consider how our actions affect the people in our lives. And even if it is too late — like it was for Keya — her family demonstrates it’s never too late to learn and grow from mistakes.

Thank you to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan

A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan is a young adult contemporary romance about aspiring screenwriter Mina Rahman, whose deepest desire is to win the Golden Ivy student film competition that will all but guarantee her a way out of New York City. So when indie film star Emmitt Ramos enrolls at her school under a secret identity to research a role, Mina does whatever she can to have him star in her film. Emmitt is game — so long as she serves as his tour guide in the city. Inspired by Bhuiyan’s real-life experiences when Tom Holland enrolled at her school under similar circumstances, this long-awaited novel doesn’t disappoint!

Book cover for A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan.

I feel such a disconnect from my identity. Sometimes I feel like I’m not Bangladeshi or Muslim enough because there’s so much I don’t know — being diaspora is a huge part of that.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

Much like Bhuiyan’s debut, Counting Down with You, this novel features a Bangladeshi-American protagonist grappling with relatable and decidedly American coming-of-age milestones involving friends, love lives, and decisions about the future. Mina’s South Asian parents have worked hard to provide her with a plethora of wonderful opportunities, but Mina’s ambitions simply don’t align with her parents’ expectations. It results in a deeply fraught relationship with her parents, and watching Mina (and her younger sister) struggle with it was both distressing and cathartic for me. Growing up in a diaspora community presents so many unique challenges that mainstream media absolutely fails to address at this time, so it was incredibly validating to read about a character with complicated, messy feelings that also fail to align with most depictions of young adult stories but are no less valid.

As much as this novel is about Mina and Emmitt falling for each other, I would argue the true romance is between Mina and New York City. She’s desperate to get away from the familial conflict and generational trauma she deals with on a daily basis, so she incorrectly holds her beloved city — “the city that loved me, even when I didn’t love it” — responsible for her grief. But seeing the five boroughs through Emmitt’s eyes reminds her how New York City has helped to nurture and grow her when other influences in her life have failed to measure up.

There are so many of us drowning in plain sight, and so little the rest of us can do to help.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

My favorite aspect of this novel is how Mina’s forced to grapple with the fact that her experiences aren’t the same as her immigrant parents’, and they really aren’t comparable to her friends’ either. Her relationship fumbles are especially frustrating for readers due to her struggle to choose a side, so to speak. She isn’t American enough, nor is she Bangladeshi enough, and she feels judgement from both sides for attempting to walk the hazy line blurring the two defining cultures in her life. However, she leads a hybrid existence created where two cultures converged to form something new, and — as she slowly learns — something uniquely hers. Once she accepts that as her power, she’s able to redefine her dreams in relation to her own hopes and values. It liberates her from many perceived familial and societal expectations that confine her character growth for much of the novel.

I also enjoyed watching Mina and Emmitt be passionate about their artistic pursuits, and I appreciated that Bhuiyan placed value in the arts as both hobby and career — a distinction often mistakenly presented as a dichotomy.

Home doesn’t have to be with your parents. Home can be your friends, your sister, this city. Home can be yourself. Don’t you get it? Home is where you find love.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

Initially, it was difficult for me to like Mina, but upon reflection, I think it’s because I saw way too much of my own teenage self in her! Counting Down with You is much easier to read because it takes place while Katrina’s parents are out of the country. It’s a monthlong, borderline fantasy experience that is as charming and light as it is largely because Katrina deals with familial and cultural issues through internal monologues instead of difficult conversations and experiences with her own family in real-time. And that’s really what makes A Show for Two such a beautiful journey of self-discovery. It validates the most challenging experiences and allows us to watch Mina find beauty and power in her own circumstances.

A Show for Two is a heartwarming and bittersweet read that represents a unique perspective on familiar growing pains. It will soothe your inner child and remind you to be proud of the experiences that have helped to shape you into the person you are today.

Thank you to NetGalley and Inkyard Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

The Maid by Nita Prose

The Maid by Nita Prose is a cozy mystery told from the perspective of Molly Gray, a hotel maid whose steady, routine life is turned upside-down after she discovers a dead guest in one of the rooms she cleans. Molly, an autistic-coded character who struggles to read social cues, facial expressions, and anything that isn’t meant to be taken literally, quickly becomes the prime suspect for the murder after a series of misunderstandings. With help from a cast of eccentric characters and charming proverbs from her recently deceased grandmother, it’s up to Molly to clear her name and clean up the hotel before it’s too late.

Book cover for The Maid by Nita Prose.

Most guests avoid touching maids, especially our hands. They associate us with other people’s grime—never their own.

Nita Prose, The Maid

Prose’s writing style brings a refreshing levity to heavy themes, and that easily makes The Maid one of my favorite new reads this year in particular. Molly is lonely and grieving—two emotions many of us have surely experienced in varying levels over the past year—but her voice is so genuine, too. You want to root for her because she’s just trying her best to be a good person and find joy where she can (even if it’s in cleaning up messes!), just like the rest of us.

The Maid also features an impressive array of characters: half are blatantly devious, and they cast just enough suspicion on the rest of the quirky bunch to really challenge readers, no matter who they might suspect committed the murder. And because Molly takes everyone she meets at face value while readers are compelled to dig beneath the surface, every interaction she has is twice as tricky to decipher. All I’ll say is every one of my guesses ended up not even close to correct. But that’s okay. The guessing is part of the fun!

However…the murder mystery actually isn’t the best part of this novel. It’s Molly! She is a wonderfully nuanced character, and I absolutely adore her. Molly sees the world differently than most people, and while it affects her daily life, it doesn’t stop her from functioning and isn’t her only defining quality. She evokes concern but is never pitied. She’s sweet, thoughtful, compassionate, and absolutely hilarious; she makes mistakes, gets angry, and is held accountable for her actions. If you enjoyed Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman, come get your food! You’re going to love this novel, too.

Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

Nita Prose, The Maid

Being seen is the most tender form of love, and by giving us a character like Molly who is so original and relatable, Prose calls out to those of us who might also feel invisible in certain aspects of our lives, who yearn to be seen. The Maid is a brilliant debut that reminds us it’s cool to be earnest, to take pride in a job well done, to love family and friends, and to live a good life—no matter how big or small. This is a must-read!

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House Publishing/Ballantine Books for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

All’s Well by Mona Awad

All’s Well by Mona Awad is a contemporary horror-comedy with a dash of magical realism. It features Miranda Fitch, a college theater professor with debilitating chronic pain, who spends just as much time managing her pain as she does convincing people it’s real. In charge of directing the annual Shakespeare production at her college, she’s decided to produce All’s Well That Ends Well, in spite of a cast of mutinous students who want to put on Macbeth instead. It seems they might have their way and this, too, will be taken from her, until she drowns her sorrows at a bar where she meets three mysterious men and makes a Faustian bargain that appears to change the tides in her favor.

Book cover for All's Well by Mona Awad.

This is a problem play… Neither a tragedy nor a comedy, something in between. Something far more interesting.

Mona Awad, All’s Well

While All’s Well is readable and enjoyable on its own, I would suggest quickly perusing a summary of William Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well in order to enjoy some of the more subtle nuances in this novel. Scholars classify Shakespeare’s play as a “problem play” because it features several problematic themes and generally unpleasant characters. Furthermore, while it contains a formulaic “happy ending” like all his comedies, it is far from satisfying.

Awad masterfully adapts and subverts key moments from All’s Well That Ends Well. A particular favorite of mine is how she treats the bed trick: Shakespeare uses it to prove that in the dark, all women are alike to men. He also gives women that knowledge, which allows them to wield it like a weapon when necessary. In All’s Well, Miranda consistently confuses or imagines her new beau as though he were her ex-husband, and it similarly turns into an exercise to help her get what she wants. It’s not good or nice, but who said power or control was supposed to be either?

Miranda’s experiences with pain also highlight important social commentary about health care professionals doubting women know their own bodies and pain levels. However, because Miranda is so unlikeable, it’s difficult to feel sympathy for her plight. And that is the problem: Miranda has been managing her pain for so long that it is a part of her personality now. Of course she’s unpleasant when no one ever believes she’s in pain, doctors fail to help her, and people and systems appear to collude against her well-being. But I worry that the novel features so many other wild, twisted elements that this critical issue will be easy to forget for those who doubt or question its validity. That certainly proves Awad’s point, but selective ignorance does nothing to help move the conversation forward for real people.

I need to perform my little bit of pain for you so you’ll know I’m human? … A few pretty tears on my cheeks that you can brush away. Just a delicate little bit of ouch so you know there’s someone in there. So you don’t get too scared of me, am I right?” So you know I’m still a vulnerable thing. That I can be brought down if need be.

Mona Awad, All’s Well

As readers barrel towards the conclusion, the novel takes on a sublime, almost Shakespearean quality (rather appropriately). Unexpected magic twists plots beyond recognition and reverses fates without warning. Miranda seems to find easy solutions for some of her biggest problems, but they haunt her to the point of madness at certain points. It’s challenging to keep up with everything, and not even Awad’s engaging voice could stop me from wishing for an intermission. I was somehow both bored and overwhelmed a little over halfway through the novel because I was ready for the climax. The novel felt overwritten while Miranda was at the peak of her madness, and the denouement didn’t give me what I wanted. As much as I enjoyed the beginning of this book, I was confused and unsatisfied by the end. It seems lazy to argue that was by design, given All’s Well That Ends Well is a problem play. I shouldn’t be left feeling as though someone ripped out the last 20 pages of the book!

All’s Well is a creative, macabre romp unlike anything you’ve read before. At times readers are left feeling unmoored and a little anxious as they doubt whether they want to go where the plot will lead. They’ll question who they’re supposed to be rooting for, and if all can ever actually be well for Miranda. But that’s part of the fun: Awad takes Shakespeare’s problem play…and plays with the problems.

Thank you to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé is a terrifying young adult thriller that crosses Pretty Little Liars with Get Out. Chiamaka and Devon, the only two Black students at their private school, begin their senior years as prefects, putting them both in the running for valedictorian. But when Aces, an anonymous bully, starts to release damaging secrets about them both, they must figure out who’s targeting them before their bright futures are completely out of reach. It isn’t long before Chiamaka and Devon discover the conspiracy isn’t as simple as locating one random bully. Their entire high school perpetuates a system of racism built to tear them down.

Book cover for Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé.

I realized quite quickly that people hate being called racist more than they hate racism itself.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, Ace of Spades

I have to be honest and say I groaned a bit at the Pretty Little Liars premise before I started reading Ace of Spades because what’s interesting about that? Beautiful people misbehaving at a fancy school with enough networks and funds to ensure continued success and wealth for all who walk those hallowed halls? Yawn. But I’ve never been more pleased to be proven wrong.

Àbíké-Íyímídé masterfully builds tension and suspense as Aces preys on her characters, slowly tearing them down, making readers just as anxious waiting on the next bombshell.And just when you think you’ve got it figured out, you realize the great mystery is you weren’t thinking big enough. This novel exists at the intersection of race, class, gender, and sexual politics, and it sheds light on the nefarious microaggressions society uses daily to plant seeds of doubt that make us question the existence of any of it. Protagonists Chiamaka and Devon are complex and interesting, and they’re so much more than they appear on the surface as Àbíké-Íyímídé carefully shows us the way each character has built themselves up over the years, and how a prickly disposition, an aloof personality, or something as simple as a hairstyle is actually armor. And it’s a good thing, too, because it turns out they needed it.

They treat my Black skin like a gun or a grenade or a knife that is dangerous and lethal, when really, it’s them. The guys at the top powering everything.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, Ace of Spades

The most striking part of this novel is the doubt the protagonists experience, particularly when they guess quite early in the plot that institutional racism is at the heart of the conspiracy against them. Both Chiamaka and Devon dismiss the possibility immediately, given the reality of racism is so prevalent in their lives that it seems almost too obvious a threat to single out since it touches every part of their lives already. Chiamaka’s family is wealthy, yet she hides the parts of herself that highlight her Nigerian-Italian heritage in order to change herself into what she believes will get her ahead in a society with predetermined ideals for success and worth, while Devon strives to escape the parts of his upbringing and sexual identity that he believes will prevent him from achieving his dreams. Both characters have spent so much of their lives fighting to escape the pitfalls of systemic racism that they blamed themselves—their past actions, sexual preferences, and histories—before ever considering they were victims of a system built specifically to target people who look like them, who dare to be great.

Ace of Spades never shies away from how all-encompassing and rotten the system is at its very core, no matter how much the characters or even the readers may want to reject or deny that horror. That thought distortion is a product of the very system. And still, I found myself constantly taking a step back to wonder if every person and thing involved in the conspiracy was too much, but really, it’s not. The novel features an abundance of bad actors, like the truly insidious Ace of Spades campers and the Niveus students; some, like Belle and the legacy families, are guilty of continuing to reap benefits from established systems even though they recognize it’s wrong; and others, like Terrell, are pulled into these larger plots because other parts of the system (like health care) already hold them hostage. In spite of their varying levels of involvement, every character played a part in propping up the current systems that perpetuate harmful, outdated narratives. That only means everyone must work together to dismantle and rebuild institutions that perpetuate systemic racism so that they no longer disadvantage some people in order to elevate others.

I have to stop myself from apologizing—because what would I even be sorry for? Existing too loud?

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, Ace of Spades

When a novel includes an epilogue, I’m typically already done with the story and seldom feel the need for follow-up, but Ace of Spades surprised me here as well. Without spoiling the end, I’ll only say that I like how all the problems Chiamaka and Devon identified throughout the course of the novel did not simply vanish. One victory alone cannot so easily vanquish injustice and inequality kept alive by hardened roots that have been strangling our society for centuries.

Ace of Spades is an explosive debut from Àbíké-Íyímídé that uses the high school landscape as a model for the very institutions that continue to shape the world after graduation. If at times it seems sensational, that’s only because you’ve allowed yourself to forget it’s all real. It’s a quick read, both eye-opening and validating, and an excellent way to encourage discussions among young adult readers about the injustices of systemic racism and the importance of fighting against it.

Thank you to NetGalley and Feiwel & Friends for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.