What could be the cue for a social comedy becomes something much, much more. Memorial is an exploration of life, love, and death. Washington's writerly skills are quickly established, and while the present and the past are woven together in each chapter, the narrative has an insistent forward push.
The first section focuses on Benson, who is dealing with Mike's mother — "So how long have you been sleeping with my son?" — and the way his life shapes in the absence of his partner. The second section picks up on Mike arriving unexpectedly on his father's doorstep and finding himself assisting in the running of the small Osaka bar that his father stubbornly refuses to give up, despite his terminal prognosis.
It is a novel of well-observed detail and fast perceptions. Some of the minor characters are stock-types but in general Washington's cast list is an all-star ensemble. That said, Washington also has a knack for creating what could be described as "quiet anecdotes of meditation" that ask the reader to linger and consider them, despite the urge to proceed. It is a skilful performance.
Memorial is also a grown-up book. It isn't interested in gay or straight, it is interested in human beings. Sex is given a practical place. Cooking is discussed. Work has its role. The range of relationships is large and probably accurate. It is an emotionally adventurous novel, which reaches and achieves a rare perfection.
Memorial, by Bryan Washington (Atlantic, $45)