Who Cares? A Story of Adolescence

In Short

Set against the backdrop of an awakening New York, this novel follows Joan, a girl desperate to escape a house where everything—from the furniture to the servants—seems to be waiting for death. She finds an unlikely partner in Martin, a man whose own life is defined by the sudden loss of his father. Their story is one of missed signals, reckless games, and the painful process of growing up. It remains a poignant exploration of how we try to outrun our own hearts before finally learning to stand still.

The Story

The story begins with Joan, eighteen and suffocating in a home filled with the elderly, writing a desperate plea to a friend. She feels like a trapped animal, craving life and movement. Her path crosses with Martin, a young man who has been forced to confront the harsh reality of death after finding his father suddenly deceased. Initially, Martin is a picture of self-conscious, "clean-minded" conformity, hiding his imagination behind a mask of athletic normalcy. When he and Joan meet, they recognize a shared, desperate need for companionship in a world of strangers.

They marry impulsively—a "magic carpet" solution to keep Joan from being dragged back into her grandmother’s stagnant, aging household. However, their marriage is not a fairy-tale union but a turbulent, confusing initiation. Joan, terrified of losing her freedom or appearing "domestic," clings to a philosophy of "who cares," using flirtation and independence as armor. She attracts the attention of Gilbert Palgrave, a sophisticated, self-involved man who is bored with his own wife, Alice. Gilbert sees in Joan a "Great Emotion" he has long sought, leading to a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse that pushes the fragile trust between Joan and Martin to the brink.

As the months pass, the characters drift through the city’s social strata—from jazz clubs and secret meetings to the quiet, introspective calm of a sailboat under the stars. Martin struggles with his pride and his inability to reconcile his deep, sincere love for Joan with her repeated, stinging rejections. Joan, meanwhile, begins to realize that her "joy-ride" is empty, though she is too stubborn to admit her faults until she is backed against a wall.

The climax arrives when Gilbert, consumed by obsession and hurt by Joan’s mockery, reaches a breaking point. In a tense confrontation at their house, Gilbert prepares a loaded weapon, intending to end their impasse. Martin, having been drawn back to Joan by his unwavering devotion, interrupts the scene. He is shot in the struggle, an act that finally shatters the barriers between them. In the quiet aftermath of the hospital, Martin and Joan are forced to stop playing games. Joan admits her foolishness, and Martin confesses that his love was never the casual thing she assumed. They abandon their masks, finally acknowledging that their maturity has been earned through the pain they inflicted on one another and those around them.

How It Unfolds

The garden of shadows Joan describes her life as a prisoner of old age, surrounded by ancient trees, elderly relatives, and the suffocating atmosphere of a house waiting for death. She feels like a trapped bird, longing for the spring and the life that seems to pass her by.

A sudden grief Martin, a bright and imaginative young man, is transformed by the sudden death of his father, which forces him to confront the "riddle of life." He emerges from this tragedy with a newfound manliness and a deep, wistful desire to find someone to anchor him.

The impulsive union To secure Joan’s freedom from her grandmother’s control, Martin proposes marriage, which she accepts with immediate, frantic relief. They embark on a marriage that is less a partnership and more a mutual attempt to outrun the expectations of their families.

The game of indifference Joan adopts a motto of "who cares" to hide her vulnerability, leading her into a dangerous, shallow flirtation with the sophisticated Gilbert Palgrave. She views their interactions as a performance, unaware of how deeply her actions hurt Martin and complicate her own internal growth.

The breaking point The tension between Gilbert’s obsession and Martin’s quiet love reaches a violent conclusion when a confrontation over the weapon leaves Martin wounded. This moment of blood and crisis forces Joan to discard her elfish impertinence and face the reality of her choices.

The honest return In the quiet of the hospital, the masks fall away as Martin and Joan finally speak their truths. They confess their love and their mutual fear of vulnerability, at last shedding their adolescent pretenses to begin a life together based on sincerity.

The People

Joan is the story's restless heart, a girl who masks her fear of growing up with a "Who cares?" attitude that borders on cruelty. She views life as a series of scenes to be acted out, only realizing the weight of her choices when her games threaten to destroy the one person who truly knows her. Martin is her mirror: a young man whose innate sensitivity is tempered by a rigid, athletic upbringing. He is defined by his capacity for waiting and his deep, unwavering loyalty, even when Joan treats him as a secondary character in her own drama. Gilbert Palgrave serves as the story’s cautionary figure—a man who has lived entirely on the surface, moving from one "Great Emotion" to the next, until his own vanity and selfishness lead him to a dark, desperate obsession. Alice, Gilbert’s wife, provides a necessary contrast; she possesses the vision and maternal patience to see Gilbert’s weakness for what it is, and she ultimately represents the quiet endurance that the younger characters must learn to value.

In Its Own Voice

"I feel like a rabbit with its foot in a trap, listening to the traffic on the main road--like a newly fledged bird brought down with a broken wing among the dead leaves of Rip Van Winkle's sleeping-place."

Joan writes this letter to her friend, Alice, to express the profound isolation and claustrophobia she feels while living in her grandmother’s house.

"He had left a fit, high-spirited father to drive to a golf shop to buy a new mashie, returned to take him out to Sleepy Hollow for a couple of rounds--and found him stretched out on the floor of the library, dead."

This incident serves as the defining trauma that strips away Martin's youthful innocence and sets him on his path of searching for connection.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book investigates the transition from adolescent selfishness to adult accountability. It asks whether one can truly love another without first relinquishing the ego—the "armor" that protects us from being hurt. The author suggests that youth is not merely a chronological age but a state of mind characterized by the refusal to take responsibility for one's own happiness. The "Who cares?" motto serves as the central problem; it is a defense mechanism that prevents genuine intimacy. The narrative argues that maturity is not found in the acquisition of wisdom, but in the willingness to be "badly hurt" and to admit, without pretense, that we need others to survive the "riddle of life."

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the introspective, character-driven fiction of the early twentieth century—think of the tone of F. Scott Fitzgerald but with a more earnest, less cynical heart—will find much to admire here. The book captures the frantic energy of youth, the specific, stifling atmosphere of a dying era, and the universal ache of trying to find one’s place in a world that feels both vast and indifferent.

You may find the prose occasionally flowery, particularly in its descriptive passages of nature, and the period-specific attitudes toward gender and marriage will feel distinctly rooted in the early 1900s. However, the emotional core—the struggle to be "real" in the face of a social landscape that encourages performance—is remarkably modern. The way the characters hurt one another, not out of malice but out of a desperate need to feel something, is rendered with startling clarity. It is a book that stays with you because it captures that specific, agonizing moment when the "magic carpet" of childhood burns away, leaving the characters standing in the cold, clear light of adulthood. It is a sincere, often tender, and sometimes brutal look at what it means to finally stop acting and start living.