How to Exist: Boundaries Edition
Successful adulthood, as a shared experience, seems to be best encroached upon as a continual stream of human discoveries made in hindsight. As such, it seems worth mentioning that we will probably learn the most important, esoteric truths after tripping over them and faceplanting. You freak out just one time at a wedding reception, crashing into a table of hors d’oeuvres while sobbing—next thing you know, you’re sitting on a tufted couch unpacking your mother’s penchant for leaving you at home for days on end with nothing more than a freezer full of Bagel Bites and some off-brand soda. Societally, we seem to be more consumed than ever with the questions that stem from these, our most shameful and discordant moments:
1.) How did I get to where I’m currently at?
and
2.) What, if anything, can I do about it?
“Here” can function either as a cursory glance at one’s personal situation or a close scrutiny of our culture’s makeup. Such emerge the underlying questions looming over us like storm clouds: what is the best way to be, anyway, and why does it seem like everyone around me is conspiring to make it harder for me to become that? Seeking to be a healed, well-developed adult in 2024 seems at once complex, frequently challenging, and unavoidably necessary, especially when one is given to an honest mind and at least a few moments of contemplative silence. ‘Nomsayin’?
This book seems to tackle these admittedly overexposed questions with humility, a fair dose of levity, and the precision of a scalpel’s edge. Frankly, “You Only Ever Call When You’re in Trouble” is a masterwork in what I’ve dubbed the “Greta Gerwig-ification” of fiction. In it, we closely tail a single, fractured family, along with the many dissolving relationships left in the wake each of the three (okay, maybe four) members leave behind them. Meanwhile, we take a journey through the family dynamics that play into the underpinnings of their most personal misgivings.
This works at both the lexical and storytelling levels, because while this makes for a truly captivating read, you can also see the blind spots contributing to the multitude of issues present in their lives. While identifying with many of the characters, I could also see exactly what I would say to each, would they be the kind of friend I could brunch with..
This book is also marvelously written, frankly. Stephen McCauley seems to possess the “everyman” empathy that previous generations crowned John Updike the spokesperson of. He also has a rather keen sense of moral conviction, not too unlike literature’s other big “John”. Unlike Steinbeck, however, McCauley seems far more interested in posing questions rather than presenting solutions.
He writes the lives of his spectrum of characters beautifully, putting each through the crucible with a sense of honesty and delicacy. There is humor, certainly, but it never feels too tongue-in-cheek (we get it, John Franzen, you are funny in the most Mensa way conceivable). Everyone is at a hard impasse, it seems, but no one in this novel takes themselves quite so seriously (even when they, perhaps, should). Ultimately, YOCWYT reads like a kind of atlas of 2024’s zeitgeist: how we define success, the upbringings that inform those definitions, our obsession with holistic wellbeing, and how to navigate the minefield of easy, false answers presented to us daily.
If you have ever experienced a season of life in which you hyperfixated on ”attachment styles”, family psychology, personal development; or if you are currently in the process of dismantling your less-than-healthy coping mechanisms, McCauley will likely be right up your bowling alley. Our ramshackle mental health revolution is a confusing one, certainly, fueled by algorithms and described in myriad testimonies a lá Bessel van der Kolk. This book is a brilliant offering, asking us to look at how we choose tackle the complex, captivating relationships that keep us wide-awake at night and pleasantly dissociative during the day; all those tricky thought distortions that drive us to—and away from—one another at our most pivotal moments.