‘imagine Me Gone,’ By Adam Haslett

After 15 years of the usual business — John struggling to make ends meet as an entrepreneur, Margaret fussing over the three kids — John’s flattening depression resurfaces. When a second failed love affair with an unstable lesbian along with his Klonopin dosage’s increasing ineffectiveness threaten to derail him, it becomes all too clear that Michael is on a path to end up just like his father. Without giving away too many more particulars, it’s safe to say that Haslett hits the nail on the head when it comes to describing just how anguishing and time-consuming psychiatric disorders can be, not only for the afflicted but also for the flailing loved ones trying their damnedest — and failing — to find a suitable fix. [...] herein lies the kicker: Because these chapters are told from the alternating perspective of each of the five family members, we believe every word in them and bear witness to just how complex and multi-angled the issue of mental illness can be. [...] his feverish musings on his own well-being via a psychiatric intake form are also pure genius: half clearheaded, half delusional, yet undeniably brilliant, vibrant, and, dare I say it, funny. While Michael is busy going bonkers, it comes as a relief to read about Celia and Alec’s sorting of goals and their conflicted feelings about love, family and careers — in other words, topics at least partially unrelated to their brother’s steady decline. In another nod to themes explored in “Stranger,” Haslett’s portrayal of Alec’s first brush with real love with a man after years of steamy yet anonymous Grinder hookups might make your heart catch in your throat (mine certainly did). [...] too, Margaret’s chapters, while arguably a smidge underdeveloped, lay bare the intricacies of what it means to be an unconditional caregiver — to put your entire life on hold in a last-ditch hope that your actions might somehow be capable of changing a loved one’s fate. To filch an expression from Michael’s phrasebook, reading some passages might make your head feel “compressed to the density of an anvil strapped to a potting wheel left on high speed in a sun-drenched meadow … or like getting root-canal work while vacationing in the tropics.”