Summary:
At school Connell and Marianne pretend not to know each other. He’s popular and well-adjusted, star of the school soccer team while she is lonely, proud, and intensely private. But when Connell comes to pick his mother up from her housekeeping job at Marianne’s house, a strange and indelible connection grows between the two teenagers – one they are determined to conceal.
A year later, they’re both studying at Trinity College in Dublin. Marianne has found her feet in a new social world while Connell hangs at the sidelines, shy and uncertain. Throughout their years in college, Marianne and Connell circle one another, straying toward other people and possibilities but always magnetically, irresistibly drawn back together. Then, as she veers into self-destruction and he begins to search for meaning elsewhere, each must confront how far they are willing to go to save the other.
Sally Rooney brings her brilliant psychological acuity and perfectly spare prose to a story that explores the subtleties of class, the electricity of first love, and the complex entanglements of family and friendship.
My take: 2 looks
Chosen by my sorority collegiate/alum book club, this is not a book that I would have normally read. The summary sounded too melodramatic and full of angst to be of interest to me, and it surely did deliver on both of those marks.
Basically, Connell is popular and poor, Marianne is unpopular and rich, and both are brilliant high school students. They go on to the same college, where Connell struggles socially, while Marianne blossoms. Very formulaic. There was opportunity on so many levels for the author to focus on one aspect of their story and dissect it into a meaningful narrative.
For example, the differences in economic status and what that meant to them both individually and together. Was this a private school, and, if so, how did Connell’s single mother afford it? There was mention of his backpack and that it was old, but it was in passing. Is that because he couldn’t afford a new one, or because these things simply didn’t matter to him? There really was no tension over economic status beyond a few brief mentions by friends that her family wouldn’t approve of him because of his lower caste. Until those comments, neither seemed to think anything about the difference in wealth.
Another beautiful plotline could have been Marianne’s obvious social disfunction early on, then Connell’s depression and anxiety later. Nope. Apart from sentences like, “She exercises an open contempt for people in school,” and several visits to the college mental health facility, mental health was not a main topic. The fact that they grew up in very different familial situations was not explored. There is one interesting aspect of her personality that I won’t spoil, but here was another greatly missed opportunity to further unwrap the mentality and brokenness leading to this description: “…she experiences no more ownership over her own body than if it were a piece of litter.”
Finally, the two never really seemed to mature, especially in their communication, which was very frustrating. The novel spans several years, and a reader would expect to see some progress on how intimately they knew one another’s way of communicating. This exchange was earlier in the book:
- What about it? he says.
- Did I do something to annoy you?
- No. What do you mean by that?
- When you walked off and just left me there, she says. I felt kind of awkward. I thought maybe you were gone after that girl Niamh or something, that’s why I asked about her. I don’t know.
- I didn’t walk off. I asked you if you wanted to go out to the smoking area and you said no.
- She sits up on her elbows and looks at him. He’s flushed now, his ears are red.
- You didn’t ask, she says. You said, I’m going out to the smoking area, and then you walked away.
- No, I said do you want to come out to the smoking area, and you shook your head.
- Maybe I didn’t hear you right.
- You must not have, he says. I definitely remember saying it to you. But the music was very loud, to be fair.
- They lapse into another silence. Marianne lies back down, looks up at the light again, feels her own face glowing.
- I thought you were annoyed with me, she says.
- Well, sorry. I wasn’t.
- After a pause he adds: I think our friendship would be a lot easier in some ways if, like … certain things were different.
- She lifts her hand to her forehead. He doesn’t continue speaking.
- If what was different? she says.
- I don’t know.
And this was near the end:
- I really wanted you to kiss me last night, she says.
- Oh.
- Her chest inflates again and deflates slowly.
- I wanted to as well, he says. I guess we misunderstood each other.
- Well, that’s okay.
If the author wanted to convey a sense of hesitation, or indicate that they were just “missing” one another’s meanings … well, that supports my point that they remained, for years, stunted in the way they talked, dancing around subjects, and never actually being forthright. Since these two characters say often, “I don’t feel this way with anyone else,” it makes me wonder if their “growth” sexually was the part Rooney meant to mature.
The one positive of the book was the format. I did enjoy the layout, choosing pivotal moments in their relationship to highlight, with such chapter titles as “Six Weeks Later”. It was a nice framework to the flow of the story. At the same time, it set the expectation that there would have been growth in that amount of time, which didn’t happen.
If you are looking for a well-crafted story about teen angst and relationships, pick up “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky.
This one is not recommended.
