Reading Sally Rooney
On Intermezzo, death of the author and the need to define progress.
September was the month of Intermezzo and it took me some time to finish the book, as well as collect my thoughts. Rooney retains her direct, unadorned style, exploring various relationships (that are diametrically different) with a new level of intimacy. Although as an author, she rejects the idea of constant progress and reinvention, Intermezzo feels like a step forward into the unknown, a more mature literary ground.
In Beautiful World, Where Are You, Rooney offered a glimpse into a young author’s life, while at the same time she refrained from commenting on any autobiographical threads that may tie her work to her life. Yet, the latest line of interviews that came out around the publication of Intermezzo provide insight into her creative perspective, highlighting the main elements we as readers recognize in every book: human relationships and perhaps, love.
“[Rooney] credits her husband, John, with making her writing possible, and not just by bringing her cups of tea and emptying the bins. ‘Having had this experience of falling in love when I was very young, with somebody who completely transformed my life, and transforms it every day, has allowed me to write stories about people whose lives are transformed by love,’ she says. ‘Without that, I don’t think my work would be recognisable. Just his presence in my life made it possible for me to write everything that I’ve written.’” (source)
Beyond the “sad girl literature” label
Sally Rooney’s work is mostly featured on lists of books broadly called - in internet-speak - “sad girl literature”. A term I understand, but find quite limiting. While I could agree, I won’t, because I still see a stronger connection to the reality of meandering human lives and its grievances, rather than to meaningless flaunting of sadness. Rather than indulging in sadness, her characters embody the messy realities of human life. Reducing the texts to the adjective “sad” misses their nuance, as they explore the intricacies of life, communication and relationships.
Since the publication of Normal People, Rooney’s writing style has polarized the literary world. Her minimalism can be adored, as well as criticized as hollow and unsubstantial; her stories are ordinary, which is the key ingredient that keeps many readers cheering for her. Nonetheless, Rooney’s gift as an observer of the fragility of human relationships remains unchanged throughout all of her novels, distinguishing her among the vast amount of literary voices. It is also important to see the above mentioned as something that holds her books and writing together. Any text of hers is also laced with commentary on the broader world we live in: gender equality, social critique, ethics, as well as pleasures of the flesh.
A reflective pause: exploring grief and change
Intermezzo, after having read Rooney’s previous work, felt more restrained in a way, if that’s even possible. Perhaps even a bit more mature and calm. The story follows two brothers, Ivan and Peter. Peter is the eldest, a barrister who is juggling two romantic relationships with vastly different women - in terms of character and lifestyle. While Ivan, ten years younger, an esteemed chess player, overly aware of climate and political issues, begins an unexpected affair. The novel follows them in the three months after their father’s passing, noting down their reactions to this event: through that, also shining a light on their subjective perspectives, world view, personalities and the events that have shaped them, repeatedly asking the question, “how should one live a life?”
For two grieving brothers and the people they love, this period in their lives signifies an interlude - after all, that is what intermezzo means in music terminology; in chess, it is an unexpected move. A time of remembering and sadness, desire, despair and possibility. This is certainly one of the large parts of the novel: testing out what is possible, how far can we go, in which way can we stretch our own lives for them to still remain ours. The trigger point for such a shift in life is, exactly like here, the loss of a loved one, and can go in many directions, opening up new doors, yet closing some at the same time.
Peter’s passages read as more frantic and fragmented, a series of short descriptions as life passes him by, while his brother’s are more organised, compartmentalised, capturing their contrastic approaches to life. In them the intricacies of sibling relationships can be recognized, as well as their respective personal change and sibling dynamic.
A central theme of the story is grief, its many forms and how it can shape a person. Both personal and existential, Intermezzo explores loss on multiple levels: grief for what we hoped for, for everything that didn’t happen and what could have happened, the pain of change. Again, a simple emotion that in a way defines life on Earth, carefully picked out from the myriad of life experiences, taken apart. Rooney branches out into many directions, however, skillfully explores two core questions: the first, under which circumstances if life endurable; second, what can life look like in times of change and rupture of your reality.
Rooney’s signature minimalism
Rooney remains true to her style - minimalistic, raw, mundane and economic, which is exactly what divides the literary audience. As an author, she focuses on human stories that everyone can relate to - not in their entirety, but at least in some fractions. This consistency in her work is what readers look for in her texts, however, this time, she decides to subtly push her self-defined boundaries, going outwards to terra incognita. Intermezzo contains a large stylistic shift, mainly in the chapters from Peter’s point of view - her tone and writing remain ordinary and day-to-day, yet moves into the realm of testing out where language can go and what and how can be expressed, using it functionally parallel to emotions her characters are feeling (or e.g. reflecting substance use and various intoxication states). Unfinished sentences, a few words describing complex events and emotions, fragmentary writing. Secondly, the decision to center on male perspectives is a carefully considered one, using Peter and Ivan as a prism to see the world through. Instead of purely disassembling intimate and romantic relationships (but while also doing that), Rooney digs deeper to issues of family, everything that has been left unsaid and the invisible that ties families together.
The media representation of Rooney as an author is seemingly very much connected to her youth, she observes, “the experience of being a young woman in the public eye is not always a completely pleasant or easy one. There’s so much to say and think and argue about when it comes to the role of young women in our culture,” she continues. “But I would love not to be the focal point on which that discussion sometimes rests. I would love that not to be me.” (ibid). Of course, describing Rooney as the “voice of a generation” or “voice of millennials” is largerly a marketing strategy that polarizes by definition - readers either feel seen by Rooney, or come running and screaming that her characters are totally unrelatable. While I don’t subscribe to the idea of one author being able to carry the weight of a generation, I think what she does perfectly is capturing universa experiences in a contemporary context, not subscribing to a particular generation.
“All the usual Rooney elements are here: intense, in some way unequal relationships; absent fathers; and digressions on the Dublin rental market, feminism and late capitalism.” (source)
Critics have been pointing out that her characters remain shallow in their discussions of the variety of societal and political topics Rooney decides to point out in their everyday life, this in a way reflects the way human conversations largely function: touching topics that we find significant and yet remaining on the surface. Her range is quite wide - housing crisis, non-traditional relationships, chronic pain, enduring life post injury, grief, age differences. These themes are quite universal and not tied to Irishness, as many of the settings and themes of her previous novels are - which is a new aspect, too, considering the way Ireland and Irishness play its own role in Rooney’s novels. Maybe except for the first problem, the housing crisis, illustrating Dublin and its reality that is frequently described as much worse than anywhere else nowadays.
On stagnation and progress
Sally Rooney openly rejects the idea that one needs to be constantly changing and growing, a stance that seems both a response to her success and a core part of her literary identity. Intermezzo balances on a fine line: it maintains the themes and style familiar to Rooney’s readers while also shifting into a different form. This choice creates quite an intriguing Gedankenexperiment for the readers: we seek unity and consistency in works by our favourite authors, on the other hand, we are still looking for a change, something new we can hold on to - a marker of their growth as writers.
While I completely understand why Rooney would want to distance herself from this particular notion, Intermezzo contains - amongst the very Rooney-esque elements - a variety of aspects that bring the book forward and create something new.
Being a reserved person, distancing herself from her books and work, not giving her audience any insight to her life, being careful about not talking about what aspects of her books may be autobiographical - that is Rooney’s formula. At the same time, she stresses that she does not feel like standing on a pedestal over her characters, or observing them from behind - much rather, she could walk in into one of her books (but still remaining private to her audience in terms of her own life). This is an interesting notion in the age of autofiction, because on the level of literature as such, we are way past the carefully crafted borders of death of the author. This is mainly driven by autofictous elements of contemporary works that have been on the rise in the last few years. The duality here is obvious: it is impossible to observe any work of art without glimpsing at the author, it is perhaps a very human tendency. On the other hand, any work can exist independent of its creator - in some ways. Rooney’s work invites us to glimpse her, yet it can still stand apart from her identity.
Intermezzo - a shift created by an unwillingness to evolve
Respecting Rooney’s stance on resisting the constant need to grow and change, Intermezzo still marks a subtle progression into a space that the previous books don’t inhabit. In a quite sober way that doesn’t digress too much from what we know, but enough to be noticed by readers and literary critics. Perhaps it is maturity seeping through, maybe the very Rooney-elements that all her books contain and that will change with the characters and the story.
No longer seeing myself as an ultrafan, I don’t feel the need to defend her work at all costs, accepting the fact that a book and its writing can be beautifully crafted, while also not resonating on every level. As someone with a background in linguistics, I appreciate how Rooney shapes language to serve both her and her characters. In Intermezzo, she accomplished a nuanced blend of everything she does best: it’s a seamless, quiet transformation that respects all that came before, while shapeshifting into something completely new.