What is it about Normal People?

I’ve been thinking about Sally Rooney’s “Normal People” for months. I read the novel a lifetime ago (March of this year). Everyone in my life is probably (read: definitely) tired of hearing me talk about it. This story stuck with me, and I hope you’ll do the same as I try to get to the root of what it is about Normal People that lends itself to obsession. For those that haven’t read it yet, here’s the premise:

Connell and Marianne grew up in the same small town in Ireland. The book picks up with them in school, where their relationship starts. We follow them through their years at Trinity College as they gravitate towards each other through various degrees of love and friendship.

Simple enough, right? Wrong.

The book jumps right into Marianne and Connell’s lives, and doesn’t provide frivolous context. Rooney trusts the reader to catch on quickly, and why wouldn’t you? The story is all too familiar to anyone who’s endured the trials and tribulations of youthful infatuation and general adolescence. Time moves quickly in the novel, which may explain why the book is so hard to put down. By switching perspectives between Marianne and Connell, Rooney let’s the reader in on what the other can’t see. It’s a frustrating experience. The reader has to stand by as Marianne and Connell fall victim to miscommunication, as both of them struggle to express their true feelings.

It’s brilliant. You can’t help but be invested when you’re in both of their heads. You don’t even have to like Marianne or Connell to feel for them. Their story feels personal and universal at the same time. Both characters are flawed and transitioning through an important phase of life. They make mistakes. They handle things poorly. They are susceptible to peer pressure. They are learning. They are growing - together and apart. Although Marianne and Connell are the focus of the story, their relationships with peripheral characters are telling. Both of them find themselves trapped in friendships of convenience, making decisions that they wouldn’t have made otherwise - Connell in high school, and Marianne in college. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been there, done that, and had similar regrets.

You see Marianne and Connell change as time passes. Marianne is simultaneously intimidating and insecure. You watch as physical and emotional abuse wear her down over time, changing her from a defiant girl to a submissive young woman. Connell is brilliant, but painstakingly shy. He represents the classic aspiration of fitting in and belonging somewhere. He is crippled by his desire to be liked by everyone and his fear of being judged by everyone. He straddles between the identities he has tried on for everyone else, but himself and Marianne. I could be projecting, but I think they both just want to be liked for who they are.

This book gnawed at feelings that I’ve been repressing since my own years in school. There were multiple times when I felt like I could be both Marianne and Connell. It’s a testament to Rooney’s writing that the story feels so personal. It means something when a stranger describes feelings you couldn’t find the words for. Rooney manages to create a collective outlet for individual feelings and experiences. If I can find myself relating to two small-town Irish students, maybe my experiences are more common than my anxiety makes me think. Maybe Marianne and Connell are just as normal as I am.

Photo by Enda Bowe

After I finished the book for the first time, I felt unsettled. I needed more. There had to be more. Luckily, we get more in the form of a TV adaptation. The show is a seamless adaptation, and we see Marianne and Connell come to life through Daisy Edgar Jones and Paul Mescal. They are the perfect embodiment of these characters, portraying every emotion authentically and honestly. It didn’t feel like a performance. The show only added to the depth of the story - a visual translation that made everything more real.

There is no internal monologue to support scenes in the show. There is just Marianne, Connell, and the dynamic that exists between them (a character in itself). The intimacy between them is tangible, the chemistry is palpable (I’ve basically said the same thing twice, let’s see who notices). I found my anxiety building while watching the show. There were moments when I felt like something was off. I only realized after, that it felt wrong when Marianne and Connell weren’t in scenes together. It’s subtle, but it’s there and it’s a little devastating. The whole experience is painful and beautiful.

Both the novel and the adaptation give a full representation of young love. You don’t need one to enjoy the other. They can stand alone as works of art, but I think they’re better together - similar to Marianne and Connell.

I sobbed multiple times while watching the show. I had so many feelings. I have so many feelings. Sometimes, I feel embarrassed by how much the story has affected me. How could I let fictional characters hurt me so much? The answer came from the novel itself:

It feels intellectually unserious to concern himself with fictional people marrying one another. But there it is: literature moves him.

It’s that simple. I was moved by Normal People. Isn’t that the point of great art? To make people feel something? I won’t apologize for feeling so much. It’s normal.

In the meantime, you can find me following Connell’s Chain on instagram and listening to Hide and Seek on repeat.