PALAVER

A deeply estranged mother and son slowly, slowly learn to reconcile.

Referred to as “the mother” and “the son,” these two people—like characters in Family Meal (2023) and Memorial (2020)—are equipped with the psychological tools needed to repair a wounded relationship but are almost entirely uncertain how to employ them. Truculent and alcoholic, he’s an English tutor in Tokyo but lately he’s been "forgetting his words." He’d moved to Japan a decade earlier partly, it seems, to escape his family in Texas, while his brother, Chris, who’d joined the Army, is now in prison. The son agonizes over his fractured relationship with his brother, another element in his perception that something is missing or incomplete in him. The son is sleeping with a man, Taku, who’s married to a woman; he’s seeking “clarity” from Taku about their relationship status. The mother and son hadn’t spoken in a number of years until he calls her one night but is unable to say much; the words he seems to want to say just do not emerge from his mouth, a physical manifestation of his emotionally stunted status. Suddenly, the mother takes two weeks off from her dental-office job in Houston, arrives in Tokyo, and promptly gets lost. It’s remarkable how delicately and finely Washington metes out the emotional journeys for both mother and son. The novel begins with the son’s embittered fury at his mother’s passivity and emotional distance, which becomes a begrudging détente, and then an eventual kindness toward her. She proves to be an adept and patient woman who finds her own way in a dizzying city, making acquaintances until her son lets her into his life. She seeks forgiveness for her past harshness, which her son initially refuses to grant. Washington imbues both mother and son with humane backstories, including the mother’s less-than-easy upbringing in Jamaica. He’s skillful at conveying the ways in which small, even tiny acts of kindness can heal: Returning home to his apartment late one night, the son notices the TV still on and his mother’s soft snoring, and he “slowly wedge[s] a pillow under the back of her neck.” In a less minutely observed novel, that would be an unremarkable moment, but it’s deeply affecting given the fine emotional calibration Washington employs.

A patient, powerful analysis of the dual devotion required to heal a fractured relationship.