Families torn apart, identities in flux, and a mother’s unannounced arrival on a doorstep—this is the explosive premise of Bryan Washington’s highly anticipated novel, Palaver. But here’s where it gets controversial: What happens when the people we’re closest to are also the ones we’re most estranged from? Washington’s story, set against the vibrant backdrops of Houston and Tokyo, dives into the messy, beautiful complexities of human connection, leaving readers to question: Can we ever truly escape our past, or does it always find a way to knock on our door? And this is the part most people miss: It’s not just about the mother and son at the heart of the story—it’s about the communities, the friendships, and the found families that shape us along the way.
In Palaver, Washington masterfully weaves a tale of a man living in Tokyo, working as an English tutor by day and finding solace in the camaraderie of a gay bar by night. He’s built a life for himself in Japan, yet his roots in Houston—particularly his strained relationship with his mother—linger like a shadow. When she unexpectedly shows up on his doorstep just before Christmas, the stage is set for a confrontation that forces both characters to reckon with who they are and who they want to be. Boldly, Washington refuses to give his main characters names, referring to them simply as ‘the mother’ and ‘the son.’ Why? Because this story isn’t just about individuals—it’s about the roles we play and the identities we’re assigned, often without our consent. As the narrative unfolds, these generic labels peel back to reveal deeply personal desires, dreams, and disappointments, challenging readers to consider: How much of ourselves do we give away to the labels society imposes?
Washington, a Houston native now living in Japan, draws from his own experiences as a gay Black man to craft a narrative that feels both intimate and universal. But don’t mistake this for autobiography, he cautions. While his life informs his work, Palaver is a product of imagination, observation, and a relentless curiosity about the human condition. ‘We can only produce what we see, what we experience, what we know,’ he explains, ‘but the stories themselves are their own entities.’
The novel also explores the idea of community—how it shapes us, sustains us, and sometimes suffocates us. From the baker down the street to the friends at the bar, every character in Palaver is a piece of a larger puzzle, reflecting Washington’s belief that ‘taking care of one’s community is also taking care of oneself.’ Here’s the thought-provoking question for you: In a world that often feels fragmented, how do we balance our individual desires with our responsibilities to the people around us?
Jamaica, too, makes a subtle yet significant appearance in the novel, a nod to Washington’s Jamaican heritage. The island’s rich storytelling tradition influences the book’s exploration of identity and belonging, as characters grapple with the pieces of home they carry—or leave behind—in their journeys. And this is where it gets even more intriguing: What if the places we think we’ve left behind are actually the keys to understanding who we are?
As for Washington’s relationship with Texas, it’s far from being in the rearview mirror. Houston, he says, is ‘integral to my sense of narrative and possibility.’ The city’s diversity and dynamism have shaped his voice as a writer, reminding him that stories are not just told—they’re shared, experienced, and lived. So, here’s the final question for you: How do the places we come from continue to shape the people we become, even when we’re thousands of miles away?
Palaver is more than a novel—it’s a conversation starter, a mirror held up to our own lives, and a reminder that the stories we tell about ourselves are never truly finished. What’s your story? And how much of it are you willing to share?
