Family Meal, Bryan Washington

This was a slow burn. I really wasn’t sure how much I liked it, and then the final third pulled everything together in such glorious, moving ways, it was really a wonder. The first two sections were engaging, but also dwelt quite a bit in varieties of self-destructive misery, all the more painful because it centered queer Black men. It wasn’t gratuitous or ultra-awful (thankfully), but it was sad and seemed stuck, like it wasn’t going to go much anywhere else — lyrical reflections of past joy layered with grief and mourning in the present. But — without giving too much away — it does go somewhere, not to transcendence but to some really poignant processes of working through; slow healing.

It’s interesting — I was just writing about how Sally Rooney’s novels feature a fantasy of total understanding and acceptance without explanation. and I think this novel has that too, except differently. It’s not mind-reading, it’s a possibility of honest and open communication — not where the person lays themselves bare, or is totally transparent, but where they are able to say what they need and want, without having to disclose more than they would like to. And it recognizes that such communication is very difficult, for many reasons, but also presents it as a real balm. It was incredibly moving.

I trusted this novel because I liked Memorial so much, and it really does deliver, if you’re patient. It’s a beautiful book.