Dear reader, just when you thought our staple of Hibernian heretics couldn’t get more hyper, we have this scintillating morsel from our sage of the near north Joe, (Archbishop Mannix was my father’s father) Blake. And Joe has done it again, presenting us with a another slab of life rendered real, visceral and pulsating. We beg you to read this book, read the review first and find yourself a Christmas stocking. If you don’t, we will!
Take it away Joe….
Normal People, by Sally Rooney, Faber and Faber, rrp $19.74
Reviewed by Joe Blake
When 25-year-old Irishwoman Sally Rooney burst into print in May 2017, with Conversations with Friends, the literary world was agog. How could someone so young produce something this good? Well, 18 months later she’s produced something better; this one made the Man Booker longlist before it was even released. It deserved to, if only for its searing meditation on class, but there’s a lot more than that in here.
When we meet them, Marianne and Connell are two very bright sparks completing their final year of high school in a regional town in Northern Ireland. Each is from single parent family, but what different families they are! Connell’s is straightforward: he’s the product of a one-night stand when his mum was 17. He’s never met his father, never even asked who he was. Since then his mum has never had another relationship, and, because of bringing up Connell, has no education and is forced into menial low-paid work. She’s bright herself, and is open and loving with her only child. Connell is well-adjusted and very popular with his friends.
Marianne’s situation, by contrast, is extremely complex, with the layers of complexity revealing themselves gradually as the story goes on. Initially we see her mother as a rich lawyer, widow of another rich lawyer, then we find that the dead father was violent towards his wife and children. Her mum is distant and her older brother is horrible, which may all add up to explain why Marianne makes no effort to fit in at school, and in fact is openly antagonistic towards everybody.
Our two heroes get to know each other across a class divide: Connell’s mum is the cleaner at Marianne’s mansion. (We find out later that she’s paid “fuck all” for doing this.) When Connell comes to pick up his mum after work, he and Marianne strike up interesting conversations, and one thing leads to another … They find solace in each other, but Connell is unwilling to be seen in public with the socially unacceptable Marianne. She’s fine with this; she has no need for acceptance, until …
This wouldn’t be a story about love without miscommunication and stupidity, and a fair bit of both happens. Their two worlds spin apart for a while, but each ends up at the same place when they finish school: Trinity College, Dublin, where the cream of Irish society head for university. For Connell, the word “cream” is reminiscent of Samuel Beckett’s description: “Rich and thick.” These lads would be perfectly placed in our very own Liberal Party. He doesn’t fit in, but Marianne does; she’s found her milieu, probably because she thinks she’s escaped the horrors of home. Not true really, as she discovers when she falls into toxic relationships and friendships.
Throughout the story, one constant appears: both Marianne and Connell feel as if only the other truly understands them. That doesn’t mean they can sustain a one-on-one relationship, but they always have each other’s back.
This beautiful novel is a riveting story (I read it in one go) but it has so many small details that make every line a delight. I’m not sure if it will win this year’s Booker, but there’s no doubt Sally Rooney will have several of those on her mantelpiece before too long.