In Open, Heaven, acclaimed poet Seán Hewitt turns his lyrical eye to fiction—and the result is quietly explosive. Set in a remote village in northern England, this debut captures the ache and electricity of first love with breathtaking precision.
James is sixteen—shy, watchful, and painfully aware of how different he feels. His body knows what it wants, but the words still feel foreign in his mouth. Then he meets Luke. Older. Untamed. Beautiful in a way that feels dangerous. Sent to live with relatives after his world collapses—his father is in prison, and his mother has gone to France—Luke carries his shadows, and James is drawn to him instantly. Like air pulled into fire.
Their connection is immediate, intimate, and complicated. Stolen glances, wordless tension, the unbearable tenderness of wanting someone you’re not sure you’re allowed to want. Luke seems tough, but beneath that swagger is a boy who just wants to be loved, to belong.
Hewitt writes with the clarity of a poet and the ache of someone who remembers. Open, Heaven isn’t just about desire—it’s about the terror of being seen, the hunger for connection, and the quiet, shattering beauty of love in all its forms.
For anyone who’s ever stood at the edge of themselves, hoping to be understood, this novel will stay with you. Not just a story. A memory.
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