When 28-year-old Ali Azeem agrees to an arranged marriage with psychiatric resident Maryam Khan, brilliant and gorgeous daughter of real estate billionaire Abbas Khan, he thinks he’s hit the jackpot—not least because he’s having a hot affair with her ne’er-do-well sister, Farhan. But Ali, whose Mumbai-based family’s fortunes have slipped enough that his parents must leave their swank home in the city’s Breach Candy district, is less savvy than he thinks; one of the high points of this complex book is how every sign Ali misses leads to his comeuppance. For example, he fails to connect one family member’s work with their subterfuge, revealing how little he’s had to think ahead during the years he’s worked as a successful wedding photographer and bon vivant. As the narrative alternates between Ali and Farhan, the plot thickens. Abbas offers Ali a position in his Manhattan office, but there are many strings attached—as well as rivals for Abbas’ approval. Farhan shares with Ali the terrifying story of her near-assault by a man she believes to be the Jackson Heights Killer, or JHK, a murderer who killed and cut out the hearts of at least nine young South Asian women in the early 2000s. Determined to track down the JHK, Farhan enlists retired case detective Orlando Epps to the cause, then Ali: perhaps the book’s electrifying opening scene involving a hidden corpse has to do with their success? Or not: Ahmad handles multiple villains, all unreliable narrators in their own way, with great aplomb as the novel hurtles to a possibly predictable but still remarkable finale.
