Mothers and Sons

There is always a dance between the truth and self-justification, between what happened and what we tell ourselves. This dance is central to Mothers and Sons, Adam Haslett’s new novel. This one is for you if you have grappled with personal history and family relationships. And it marks an impressive start to my 2025 reading.

Mothers and Sons focuses on Peter, a gay asylum lawyer, and his estranged mother, Ann, a co-founder of a women's retreat. Through their interweaving narratives, Haslett examines how we construct stories about ourselves and our past—sometimes to heal, sometimes to hide, and sometimes to justify. The novel's genius lies in how it reveals how these personal narratives can simultaneously illuminate and obscure the truth, much like holding a flashlight in a dark room: what we choose to illuminate often leaves other areas in shadow.

The prose is precise and evocative, never wasting a word. Late in the novel, it dawned on me that Peter’s professional work—helping asylum seekers craft their narratives to justify their stay in America—is similar to his struggle to write his own story. Meanwhile, Ann's role as a source of healing for other women while struggling to connect with her son creates a poignant tension that drives the narrative forward. I found myself more drawn to the chapters featuring Peter than Ann, but perhaps that is my bias shining through.

If you are not familiar with Adam Haslett, he is one of the stronger writers out there today. I’d also recommend his last work, Imagine Me Gone. It contains similar themes about the impact of the past and how that shapes the present, family dynamics, and individual struggles. Imagine Me Gone presents a broader family canvas and focuses on a brother-brother relationship; Mothers and Sons—well, the title says it all.

This book will resonate with readers who appreciate nuanced family dramas, those interested in the psychology of relationships, and anyone who has ever struggled to bridge the gap between their perspective and that of a family member. It's also a strong addition to the canon of queer literature, though its universal themes of connection, understanding, and self-discovery transcend any categorization. This book reminds me of my favorites from last year: Hollinghurt’s Our Evenings Rapp’s Wolf at the Table and Attenberg’s A Reason to See You Again. I suppose I have a thing for family dramas since they help me understand my own experiences or at least provide catharsis to process what I've been through.

Bottom Line: This novel not only entertains but also serves as a lesson about our own tendencies to shape and reshape our personal histories. It is an excellent choice to begin the reading year with.