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.