Families torn apart, identities in flux, and uninvited guests at Christmas – this is the explosive cocktail at the heart of Bryan Washington’s highly anticipated novel, Palaver. But here’s where it gets controversial: what happens when the person knocking on your door is the one you’ve spent years trying to forget?
Set against the vibrant backdrop of Tokyo and the familiar streets of Houston, Palaver follows an unnamed English tutor who’s built a new life in Japan, complete with a chosen family and late nights at a gay bar. Yet, his past comes crashing back when his estranged mother arrives unannounced during the holiday season. It’s a premise that begs the question: Can old wounds ever truly heal, or do they simply fester beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to reopen?
In a recent interview with The Standard, Washington revealed that the novel began as a short story in the spring of 2020, during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. At the time, he was in Houston, longing for friends in Tokyo he couldn’t visit. This sense of isolation and the shifting borders of the world became the fertile ground for exploring themes of connection, identity, and the choices we make to find our place in the world.
But this is the part most people miss: Palaver isn’t just about the relationship between a mother and son; it’s a meditation on how we navigate the identities thrust upon us and the ones we carve out for ourselves. Washington deliberately avoids naming the two main characters, referring to them simply as ‘the mother’ and ‘the son.’ Why? Because, as he explains, the book is deeply concerned with the fluidity of identity and how it’s shaped by our interactions with others.
‘We have a mother with all the connotations that term implies,’ Washington notes, ‘but over the course of the book, we see her as a specific person with specific wants, needs, dreams, and aspirations.’ The same goes for the son, who is constantly reaching toward his ideal self, despite how he’s perceived in different spaces. This dynamic raises a thought-provoking question: How much of who we are is defined by others, and how much is truly our own?
The novel also explores the idea that caring for one’s community is synonymous with caring for oneself. The characters’ identities are illuminated through their relationships—with the baker down the street, the bar they frequent, their partners, friends, and family. It’s a reminder that we are never truly isolated; our sense of self is always intertwined with the people and places around us.
And this is where Washington’s own background becomes intriguing. As a gay Black man with ties to Houston, Japan, and Jamaica (his mother’s homeland), he brings a unique perspective to the story. While he’s quick to clarify that his work isn’t autobiographical, he acknowledges that his experiences inevitably shape his writing. ‘We can only produce what we see, what we experience, what we know,’ he says. This blend of personal and imagined elements makes Palaver feel both deeply specific and universally relatable.
Jamaica, in particular, plays a subtle yet significant role in the novel. Washington, who is half Jamaican, highlights the culture’s emphasis on storytelling, whether written or oral. This influence is evident in the way Palaver weaves together the narratives of characters searching for pieces of home in a foreign city. The mother, born and raised in Jamaica, finds echoes of her past in Tokyo, a city that both challenges and reflects her identity.
Finally, there’s Washington’s relationship with Texas. Despite living in Japan, he frequently returns to Houston, a place he credits with shaping his storytelling. ‘It’s integral to my sense of narrative and possibility,’ he says. The city’s diversity and the way it brings people from different backgrounds together have profoundly influenced his work. Without Houston, he admits, he might not have the capacity—or even the interest—to tell stories.
Palaver is more than just a novel; it’s an invitation to reflect on our own relationships, identities, and communities. So, here’s the question for you: How much of your identity is shaped by the people and places around you, and how much is truly your own? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s start a conversation that’s as rich and complex as the story itself.
