I want to smash a guitar, too
Thoughts on Bryan Washington's novel
Hello! I still have not seen the SNL with Dan Levy and Phoebe Bridgers, despite being squarely in that target demo. But I DID watch Best in Show and Death Becomes Her, both for the first time, and was riveted. Time well spent.
I’m really looking forward to some upcoming releases in the worlds of books and music. I wrote a review on a new single over at the Music Enthusiast blog, and elsewhere I wrote about one of my favorite shows. And I’m spending money (too much?) on the first Fridays of the month.
I think that covers it. Have a great week.
Bryan Washington’s short story collection Lot was one of my favorite books of 2019. He described being a young Black gay kid in Houston with visceral details that illuminated different corners of the city, that made clear the motivations behind every action and inaction. There were so many experiences in that book that I know I cannot fully understand, but to which I connected, which is perhaps the most one can ask for from a story.
I had trouble getting into Washington’s 2020 novel Memorial, and I braced myself for disappointment.
From the publisher:
“Benson and Mike are two young guys who have been together for a few years – good years – but now they’re not sure why they’re still a couple...when Mike finds out his estranged father is dying in Osaka just as his acerbic Japanese mother, Mitsuko, arrives for a visit, Mike picks up and flies across the world to say goodbye...back home, Mitsuko and Benson are stuck living together as unconventional roommates, an absurd domestic situation that ends up meaning more to each of them than they ever could have predicted.”
The characters, in the beginning, don’t feel as three-dimensional as those in his previous work. I thought the sitcom-y build up that is supposed to propel the story forward seemed forced and nonsensical in a way that felt narrated, as opposed to when reality feels nonsensical. Benson’s introverted tendencies combined with Washington’s unadorned prose — something I ordinarily admire — made the whirlwind setup seem especially clunky.
Soon, though, the narrative pulled me in, and I became thoroughly engrossed in the book. Washington is adept at conveying large emotion, significant moments, with small details and meaningful silences. He weaves in and out of the past, sprinkling important context subtly to inform the reader but keep momentum going.
As in Lot, Washington writes from the perspective of underrepresented characters of different ages and races who do not feel like caricatures, who do not feel like they’re present only to check a box. The same way that Washington writes beautifully about cities — with descriptions that convey what it’s like to be not-a-tourist but not-at-home — he writes intimately from different perspectives, his incredible ability to empathize put into language that unfolds gradually to reveal resonate truths. This perception, this understanding of human intimacy and defense mechanisms, translates to his writing about relationships, allowing readers to understand history and emotional baggage through passing moments. Perhaps Memorial’s greatest feat is portraying profound grief for someone who is still alive, grief for things that are either lost or about to be lost. Washington wisely ends the novel with several questions left unanswered without leaving the feeling that the story is incomplete, a graceful landing after the forced start.
I’ve also been listening to the Object of Sound podcast and it’s excellent.
What should I check out next? And, as always, let me know how I can do better. Thanks for reading! See you later.