The messy work of love: ‘Palaver’ by Bryan Washington
In Palaver, a finalist in the 2025 National Book Award for Fiction, Bryan Washington returns with another tender, sharply observed story about identity. The novel follows a young black gay man, known only as “the son”, who has built a quiet, anonymous life in Tokyo. He teaches English, spends his evenings in a local gay bar, and shares his apartment with his cat, Taro. His world is small and contained until his mother, whom he hasn’t seen in a decade, turns up unannounced from Houston just before Christmas.
The reunion is awkward from the start. Old wounds between mother and son run deep, rooted in long-held secrets, grief and the son’s fraught relationship with his brother, Chris. Moving elegantly between Tokyo, Houston and the mother’s childhood in Jamaica, Washington explores how migration, race, family and sexuality have resulted in their fractured bond.
What makes Palaver so powerful is its honesty. There’s no neat reconciliation or easy forgiveness, just two people circling each other, trying to find ways to speak again after years of silence. The tension between them is real, but so is the care that slowly re-emerges. In these moments, sometimes awkward, sometimes tender, Washington captures the messy, funny, deeply human work of love and repair, whether it’s to be reforged by a bowl of noodles or a cat that likes to be scratched.
What stillness lies beneath the surface: ‘Summer at Mount Asama’ by Masashi Matsuie
Set in 1980s Japan, Summer at Mount Asama follows young architect Tōru Sakanishi as he joins a small but prestigious Tokyo firm founded by a disciple of Frank Lloyd Wright. When the team retreats to a quiet village near Mount Asama to design a national library, the mountain’s calm beauty starts to mirror their inner lives — and hint at the tensions beneath.
The novel builds its power through atmosphere. Long, hot days, professional rivalries, and the steady rhythm of work and connection lead to a low-key romance developing alongside the team’s complex project, revealing much about Matsuie’s characters’ ambition and emotion. He writes with an architect’s precision, showing how design shapes the people who practise it. The result is a restrained, finely structured story about creativity and the search for belonging. This is a finely tuned story written for readers who appreciate detail and the minutiae of everyday life.
At what cost does one become oneself?: ‘The South’ by Tash Aw
Tash Aw’s The South, longlisted for the Booker Prize 2025, takes us to 1990s Malaysia, where 16-year-old Jay Lim and his family move from the city to a crumbling rural estate inherited after his grandfather’s death. Set against the backdrop of the Asian financial crisis, the novel captures a country and a family in transition.
Jay meets Chuan, the son of the farm manager, and their friendship soon develops into something tender but uncertain. Aw’s writing is lush and restrained in this coming-of-age story about inheritance and identity. It’s also about how place shapes who we become. Like much of Aw’s work, it balances intimacy with history, showing how the personal and the political are always linked.
The strange magic of starting over: ‘Send Flowers’ by Emily Buchanan
When Fiona’s boyfriend, Ed, dies during an environmental protest, she’s crushed — until a mysterious plant arrives on her doorstep. She becomes convinced Ed has come back as the plant, and that belief changes everything.
Send Flowers is a strange, funny and moving exploration of grief in an age of climate anxiety. Emily Buchanan blends magical realism with modern life, weaving Instagram activism with eco-guilt and broken-heartedness into a tender story about loss and regeneration. Fiona’s voice is witty and sharp, but the novel’s charm lies in its warmth and compassion. It’s a reminder that healing from loss often starts with small acts, such as remembering to water a houseplant.
The infinite loop of fate: ‘The Man Who Died Seven Times’ by Yasuhiko Nishizawa
A locked-room mystery meets Groundhog Day in this clever Japanese novel. Teenager Hisataro Fuchigami relives the same day over and over after his grandfather is found dead in the family mansion. Each loop gives him another shot at solving the murder, but each time something changes. Nishizawa spins a twisty story that’s part detective puzzle, part time-travel thriller. The result is both entertaining and strangely philosophical. As Hisataro pieces together the clues, he also starts to rethink fate and forgiveness. Originally published in 1995 and newly translated into English, The Man Who Died Seven Times is inventive and unexpectedly moving — a perfect pick for mystery lovers who like a side of metaphysics with their murder.
