Although Sally Rooney’s hit novel Normal People came out in 2018, it has had a slight renaissance in recent years following its adaptation for the screen. I decided to read it this summer and was completely unprepared to dive into this book of life. The novel centers on two characters, Connell and Marianne, who are both very different people but inextricably linked, and this becomes more apparent as we see their (sometimes confusing, sometimes genuinely sweet) love develop over the years. We begin with these characters in their final year of school, where Connell is very popular with his peers, is successful in school, and comes from a working class background. Marianne, on the other hand, is an outsider at school who doesn’t seem to care about conforming to societal standards and comes from a wealthy family – where Connell’s mother happens to be employed as a clerk. This novel follows them into college, where they reunite and their social experiences seem to have completely changed. They are forced to grapple not only with this narrative twist, but also with their resurrected romantic relationship.
Before picking up this book, I was under the impression that it was a love story. Vogue even described the book as a “classic coming-of-age love story,” and while the intense love between Connell and Marianne is the focus of the book, I couldn’t ignore the glaring class differences between these characters. Early on, we learn that Connell’s mother works as a cleaner for Marianne, and that our two protagonists come from different socioeconomic backgrounds; their college years essentially define them. This book, like many others online, has been marketed by readers as a so-called “miscommunication cliche,” and admittedly, Connell and Marianne do suffer from miscommunication—but what struck me was that Sally Rooney, herself a Marxist, uses the miscommunication between Connell and Marianne to illustrate how class differences can affect relationships.
For example, the scene where Connell couldn’t afford his apartment but couldn’t ask Marianne if he could stay in hers is a key moment in this novel as it represents the breaking point of their relationship. What is a frustrating moment for readers is an embarrassing moment for Connell as he can’t bring himself to address the obvious – their different circumstances. It is mentioned that “he and Marianne never talked about money”, and throughout the book I felt that this particular subject was the source of most of their unspoken tension. They never talked about their different situations when they were together and thus were never able to properly communicate with each other as their different class identities are so crucial to the rest of their social lives. It’s as if Connell feels that if he mentions it or brings it up in any way, the bubble in which their relationship exists will be shattered. Marianne is a physical reminder to Connell of how inferior his socioeconomic class is, and this not only tarnishes their relationship, but also makes him feel inadequate compared to her. We later find out that Marianne simply assumed he would stay with her and that she would have said yes if he had asked. Their class difference is a pulsating barrier between them that Connell constantly feels, but that Marianne either likes to ignore or doesn’t notice, as she doesn’t seem to be negatively affected by it.
This novel is so much more than a typical love story—it’s about self, sexuality, class, and how different upbringings change the way you treat people. What I found both fascinating and disturbing was Marianne’s tendency to allow herself to be degraded. She degrades and humiliates herself over and over again just to get Connell’s love. By proposing a secret relationship, she lets herself think she doesn’t deserve respect, and by acting submissive and accepting hurt during intimacy, she accepts the love she thinks she’s worthy of. Marianne grew up in a neglectful and abusive home and was isolated at school, and these horrific moments ultimately impact her relationships—she’s used to being afraid in a place where she should be safe. With Connell, she fully exposes herself for the first time in her life, and it’s devastating to read. On one hand, her devotion to him seems nice and shows that she feels safe with him, but both seem uncomfortably aware that she would only too gladly welcome him bossing her around. By degrading herself in sexually intimate moments, it’s almost as if Marinette is punishing herself for not being lovable, something she says repeatedly throughout the novel. She treats her relationships with other men as business, forcing herself to be what she thinks people expect her to be because of what she’s been told her entire life by the abusers around her. That’s why she’s confused when she asks Connell to hit her and he refuses—even though she knows the way she’s being treated isn’t okay, she’s internalized the abuse she’s experienced and believes there’s something inherently wrong with her.
One moment that stuck with me was when Marianne confesses to Connell that she didn’t tell him about her brother’s abuse when they were together because she didn’t want him to think she was broken. Connell, however, admits to himself that he “always thought she was broken.” It’s a devastating moment for both of them, and a perfect example of how fascinating it is to live through their inner monologues, as they seem to think they know each other so well, but in reality they are in the dark about each other’s feelings for most of the book. The lack of quotes admittedly irritated me at first, but as I read I didn’t even notice, instead I was able to appreciate its absence, which indicates the lack of communication in the novel and blurs the lines between what is said and what is left unsaid.
Rooney’s writing style focuses a lot on the simple everyday moments of life – she focuses on making a cup of tea or pouring a glass of wine, which seemed very fitting for a novel about the lives of ordinary people and I found it to be a joy to read. When I finished reading, I really liked the clever first line of the novel: “Marianne opens the door as Connell rings the bell” as it describes their relationship in full. Connell seems to have Marianne in this consuming grip and the worst part is that they are both aware of it. It seems to hang like a bell jar over their relationship, keeping them trapped in this strange dynamic and Marianne in a further state of bondage. Although this sounds morbid, the end of the novel is a beautifully developed nod to the first line. Our two characters are both still in love and happy together, but they ultimately put themselves and their own futures before the relationship. Marianne tells Connell to go to New York and that she will “always be here”; although she always answers the door when Connell rings, Marianne no longer feels she has to do that – instead, she has chosen to stay. Marianne has gained confidence and self-esteem by the end of the novel, while Connell finds confidence in his writing and his future. This separation, which they choose for themselves, symbolizes their personal growth, and surprisingly, I quite liked the open ending, which shows how life is full of uncertainties and possibilities.
Sally Rooney has written an intense novel about love that reflects the complexities and hardships of real life that make us so utterly and desperately normal.
Edited by Dan Ramos Lay, Literary Editor
