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There’s lots to to like about Sally Rooney’s Normal People. It’s mesmerizing and held my attention for hours, reluctantly interrupted only for meals and walking our dog. It features two sadly believable and likely memorable characters in Marianne and Connell. And their relationship—and some of the other relationships featured as sideshows in Normal People—ring painfully true.

So, despite Sally Rooney capturing my rapt attention, why didn’t I like Normal People more and why didn’t I like it as much as some of my discerning and highly respected GR friends? Before explaining why, I’ll admit to the very real possibility that I’m responding to Marianne’s and Connell’s relationship itself, so compellingly portrayed by Rooney, rather than to Rooney’s writing. Despite Marianne’s often detached and cool emotional tone, Normal People felt soppy to me. Yes, overwrought, and I recognize that this very overwroughtness might aptly capture some adolescent—and of course later—relationships. Around April 2011, I began wondering if Connell or Marianne would develop leukemia and would soulfully declare . By 2015, Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris�� version of started echoing in my head.

But that Sally Rooney, she sure can write. 3.5 stars rounded to 4, subject to likely change after further brooding.

Here's a postscript, added after I read Conversations with Friends. My GR friend Lee referred to Normal People as a "grower", presumably meaning that it's a novel that stays with one after reading it. And so it's been with me. Normal People, its characters, their relationships, and Sally Rooney's impeccable writing has remained with me and continues to percolate in my mind. Despite some qualms, and based upon its many strongpoints outweighing those qualms, I'm changing my rating to 4.5 stars rounded up to 5.