Paris Review contributing editor Maya Binyam’s Hangman is a shockingly original first novel about exile, race, and the African diaspora in America and beyond.

In the morning, I received a phone call, and was told to board a flight. The arrangements had been made on my behalf. I packed no clothes, because my clothes had been packed for me. A car arrived to pick me up.

A man returns home to Sub-Saharan Africa after twenty-six years in America. When he arrives, he finds that he doesn’t recognize his country or anyone in it. Thankfully, someone recognizes him, a man who calls him brother–setting him on a quest to find his real brother, who is dying.

Hangman tells the story of that search, and the phantoms, guides, tricksters, bureaucrats, debtors, taxi drivers, relatives, riddles, and strangers that will lead him to the truth.

It is an uncommonly assured debut: an existential journey; a tragic farce; a slapstick tragedy; and a strange, and strangely honest, story of one man’s stubborn quest to find refuge–in this world and the world that lies beyond it.