It’s official, I’ve reached an age when books set in the past are set in my past. With Susan McCarty’s 2008 I found myself so deeply rooted in a former decade, I instinctively reached for the Fall Out Boy CD I played so many times it became unreadable. An uncanny experience, even if the book itself was an enjoyable read.
2008 is, on its surface, the story of Sam and Stevie — former high school sweethearts who reconnect after the death of their friend Jen. Neither of their lives turned out the way they thought they would, resulting in dissatisfaction and a desire for wider meaning. It’s set during the 2008 economic crisis, which grows increasingly urgent as the novel goes on. From its opening scene, the book reveals itself to be about addiction and loss, themes complicated by the blurred lines between love and obsession.
McCarty has created a fascinating character study within the Sam-Stevie-Jen triangle. Sam, in my eyes, is one of the primary antagonists of the novel. His obsession with Jen, beginning in his teens but extending even past her death, permeates every decision the reader sees him make. His poor behavior, which manifests early as cruelty, stalking and even assault, only heightens after Jen’s death. His alcoholism runs rampant, causing paranoia and hallucinations.
Yet despite his many faults and the wrongs he has committed, Stevie continues to feel a deep connection to him, bolstered by her fond memories from high school. Sam is a final connection to when she last felt safe and fulfilled, which drives her own eventual obsession.
When she loses her job in New York, Stevie moves back home, partly out of a desire to rekindle their relationship. Her regression into her high school self often coincides with thoughts of Jen — idealized in both Sam’s and Stevie’s memories. Jen becomes an illusive figure who can do no wrong, even as Sam learns more about her thoughts and actions through her diaries. He is constantly on the lookout for other villains, refusing to acknowledge the damage Jen has caused.
McCarty manages to walk a rare line with the style of her novel. I tend to dislike stream of consciousness narratives, but she manages to lean into the best parts of the form without falling into confusing structure or muddied meaning. She plays with timelines while delivering repeated gut punches of language. Her impeccable word choice softens many of the novel’s harsher moments. The reader is moved from dream to nightmare and back again, mirroring the substance use and abuse within the text.
She is similarly artful with her use of setting, resisting the pitfalls of a novel rooted in the recent past. There’s no reliance on cheap references to ground the reader; instead, time is spent building the novel’s physical locations, filling it with characters that are as familiar as they are flawed.
2008’s third act twist (which is so good I debated whether I would mention it at all, for fear of inadvertently spoiling something) turns the entire novel on its head in a way that I found phenomenal. McCarty creates a moment that challenges the reader to see everything through a new lens.
I found 2008 delightfully intentional, a work that never loses sight of itself or its message. I look forward to being haunted by this book, from its aching depictions of the Midwest to its mechanical brilliance.
This article was originally published in Little Village’s May 2026 issue.
