Review: 4 stars
It’s certainly been a while since I last had a chance to post! Life with two kids and return to work (albeit remote), has been more than a handful. But I feel lucky that we have so far emerged unscathed from the pandemic - that in itself is a blessing!
I was looking for a new show to watch on weekends to unwind a bit, and came across ‘Normal People’ - the BBC and Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s sophomore novel. It inspired me to share my reflections on the source material, which I had read earlier in 2020.
Many find the book “compulsive” and “difficult to put down” - certainly, I echo these sentiments, particularly when Marianne and Connell, our star-crossed protagonists, are in the thralls of their adolescent, tormented romance. What I found most striking though, was the brutally honest, yet somehow misunderstood dialogue between the two of them, and more importantly, the dialogue each had internally with their own self. Connell’s hidden anxieties and fear of conspicuousness drive him to create a divided universe. One of his high school hallways, where he passively watches as Marianne is harshly bullied, and another of his bedroom, where he is mentally and physically entranced by Marianne. He deludes himself in his level of self-importance, believing he has the power to upend the social hierarchy of high school if he admits to his secret affair with Marianne. Connell’s need for self-preservation leads to a painful betrayal, and the first of many scars inflicted upon the fragile, rare bond he shares with Marianne.
I followed the unfolding saga avidly - cursing their ability to completely speak past one another, and amazed by their ability to share absolute truths in an entirely disarming way. They become two magnets that are inexorably drawn together, but monetary woes, controlling boyfriends and their own self-doubt continue to cast polarizing forcefields around them, drawing them apart time and again. Rooney is so skillful in her ability to reflect real relationships - the wounds pile up, are momentarily salved, but the scars and memory of the pain layer upon one another. I found myself yearning for a return to wholeness, perfection and innocence - they way they once were. This does not transpire - Rooney takes each character further into flawed darkness - Connell with depression, Marianne with abusive relationships. The two people who return to one another by the end of the novel are like well-worn puzzle pieces - frayed and bent at the edges, but with an interlocking centre that enables a perfect fit.
The restorative power of relationships - especially the ones that transform and heal your core - is another beautiful theme that Rooney explores. Connell’s steadfast love for Marianne, from affirmation of her beauty to his refusal to hurt her during their most intimate moments, is the kernel of confidence that Marianne uses to grow her self-worth. By the end, his love for her is fact, not to be debated - something that simply will always be true. His love redeems her from the precipice of being unloveable.
I loved the tone of the novel - sensitive, aloof, free of artifice. It is full of joy and heartbreak, and is a fascinating examination into the lives of two complex, intelligent characters. I hope you have the chance to try this as a more cerebral summer romance read!