Acclaimed poet and author Seán Hewitt speaks candidly about his new novel Open, Heaven (Knopf Doubleday, 2025), a deeply moving exploration of queer identity, first love, and familial responsibility set in a quiet English village. In a wide-ranging interview, Hewitt shares insights into the novel’s characters, structure, and themes—offering a poignant reflection on the transformative power of books and the urgent need for inclusive stories.
A Lush Story of First Love and Belonging
Open, Heaven centers on James, a sensitive teenager navigating life in a small, insular village after coming out as gay. Isolated and unsure of his place, James encounters Luke, a defiant newcomer whose presence unlocks new possibilities for self-discovery and connection. What follows is an emotionally resonant coming-of-age story that examines how love, in its many forms, shapes our perceptions of the world—and ourselves.
“I’ve always been fascinated by what love does to our imaginations,” Hewitt says. “First love is so powerful because we have no context for it. It overwhelms us. It remakes our vision of ourselves and the world.”
Writing from the Heart: Channeling Adolescent Longing
To portray James’ intense emotional world, Hewitt drew upon personal experiences and conversations with friends. “Like most people, I’ve fallen embarrassingly, painfully in love—both as a teenager and as an adult,” he shares. “That sublime experience—terrifying and wonderful—became a natural starting point for James’ voice.”
As James becomes consumed by his feelings for Luke, the novel dives into the universal tension between hope and uncertainty, reality and fantasy. “There’s that aching question: is this all in my head, or could it be real?”
Opposites Reflecting Deeper Truths
The emotional heart of Open, Heaven lies in the contrast between James and Luke. James is shy, inward, and bound by family obligations—especially to his chronically ill younger brother, Eddie—while Luke appears bold, worldly, and free.
“James sees Luke as the person who might liberate his life,” Hewitt explains. “But Luke, with all his past heartbreaks, is perhaps the wiser of the two. As the story progresses, they begin to truly see one another. They each want something the other has.”
Hewitt adds that the dichotomy extends to their views on family. “James sees family as an obligation. Luke sees it as a dream.”
The Seasonal Structure: A Pastoral Symphony
Beyond character, the novel’s structure mirrors the rhythm of the natural world. Divided into seasons beginning with autumn, the book follows the changing year as a metaphor for emotional transformation.
“I wanted a lush, pastoral feeling—like a fusion between Thomas Hardy and Edmund White,” Hewitt says. He wrote each section during the actual season it depicts to infuse the pages with authentic sensory detail. “Hopefully the reader feels that precision—the weather, the landscape, the emotional climate.”
Eddie: Innocent Love and the Weight of Responsibility
While Luke plays a central role in James’ emotional awakening, Hewitt believes the novel’s quiet anchor may be Eddie, James’ baby brother. “Eddie gives the sort of unknowing, innocent love we often overlook,” Hewitt says. “He’s pure love. And the guilt James carries over neglecting him haunts him later in life.”
Hewitt admits Eddie is one of his favorite characters and even questions whether the novel is more about Eddie than anyone else. “Increasingly, I think that’s perhaps the case.”
Balancing Family and Freedom
James’ internal struggle—between his duty to his family and his desire for independence—mirrors a conflict familiar to many. Could James have handled things differently?
“It’s a difficult question,” Hewitt reflects. “He could have tried to integrate his romantic life with his family obligations, but he wasn’t ready. And that’s true for many of us. Especially when we’re young and everything feels like it’s happening for the first time.”
Complicated Gendered Dynamics
Throughout the novel, James also contends with complex feelings about gender and societal roles. He envies the attention girls receive from boys, feels alienated from traditional masculinity, and sometimes even fantasizes about inhabiting a different gender entirely.
“James is jealous of the girls because boys pay attention to them—but not to him,” Hewitt explains. “He feels locked out of both boyhood and girlhood. There’s a line where he describes living in a hyphen—always in-between.”
The novel, Hewitt stresses, allows space for the messy, unresolved aspects of identity. “There has to be room for uncomfortable thoughts in fiction. That’s where truth often lives.”
The Power of a Title—and a Plea to Heaven
The title Open, Heaven carries both symbolic and poetic resonance. Inspired by William Blake, it reflects James’ yearning to transcend his constraints and enter a fuller, more authentic life.
“I think of the title as a command—a plea,” Hewitt says. “James is always trying to knock down the door of heaven and be let in. He’s seeking that dream, that imagined life.”
An Unconventional Ending, Rooted in the Past
Although the story returns to adult James toward the end, Hewitt made a deliberate choice to conclude with teenage James. “I didn’t want the novel to tie everything up with a neat bow,” he explains. “Life doesn’t work that way. Some things remain unresolved, and I wanted the reader to carry those questions forward.”
Defending the Freedom to Read
Given the current wave of book bans in the U.S.—especially targeting literature with LGBTQ+ themes—Hewitt believes stories like Open, Heaven are more vital than ever.
“Banning books isn’t ignorance—it’s fear of their power,” he says. “Books are a form of freedom. They expand our imaginations, our empathy, our sense of what’s possible. To deny that to young readers is to deny them the tools to understand themselves and the world.”
Referencing the legend of King Canute, who commanded the tide to halt, Hewitt draws a sharp parallel. “Banning books is like commanding the tide to stop. It’s not just futile—it’s absurd.”
A Novel Rooted in Compassion and Complexity
Open, Heaven is a lyrical, empathetic novel that doesn’t shy away from life’s complexities. Through James’ journey, Seán Hewitt reminds readers that love—be it romantic, familial, or self-directed—is never simple, but always transformative.
“Fiction is where we can hold these contradictions, sit with them, and maybe, in the process, come to understand ourselves a little more,” Hewitt says.
As censorship efforts threaten to silence marginalized voices, Open, Heaven offers a clear-eyed testament to the enduring power of literature to liberate, connect, and heal.
