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I tried reading Normal People before but didn’t get very far. Thanks to David's review, I decided to give it another try. And so glad I did! I think I know what caught me out the first time; it was that the writing operates at two different levels: on the one hand, the level of conversations (I’m wondering about Rooney’s first book now, Conversations with Friends), intimate conversations between lovers, for example, but quite often, just ‘normal� conversations, little exchanges between friends, parents and children, conversations which are not about very much, nothing there to suggest that something deep and profound is coming. And that is what may catch you out in Normal People; because it is precisely those moments, moments where the characters try to articulate with difficulty, with lots of ‘I don’t know�, and ‘um�, something about themselves, so deep and profound that it’s hard to put in words, hard to communicate to others. It’s perhaps things that they would rather not have to admit about themselves (such as Connell’s desire to fit in), or things that hurt badly (such as Marianne’s prone-ness to submission). Things that one might perhaps try to say casually, without thinking, but only because it hurts so much to think about for more than a milli-second.

The strength of the book, its exquisite strength, is that beneath these ‘normal� conversations, these ‘um� and ‘I don’t know’s, Rooney makes you hear those profound and intimate things that other writers would take paragraphs of careful, sometimes ponderous, prose to put across. And yet, Rooney does not do what lesser writers do. She never resorts to the cheap tricks of the profession. She constantly keeps those two characters in sight (and a few others but the emphasis is on Marianne and Connell), switching from present tense to past tense almost imperceptibly (and the present tense in narrative is not easy to pull off), focusing on their inner development (which for the most part of the book feels like no development at all but an endless return of the same, only with the roles changed). For example, in the beginning it is Connell who is at ease, socially masterful and comfortable in his own skin; this changes with Marianne being the socially capable one later on. Yet, at no point does this oscillation feel like a redemption as in superficial narratives of self-realisation. Even in the end, there is no final catharsis, but only a small movement which manages, slowly and with setbacks, to break from the initial position of the two characters (their weaknesses, their longing, their desire for conformity) towards something more authentic and more satisfying.

Needless to say, I’m giving the book 5 stars. Not only that, I would like to urge those of you who haven’t read it so far to take the plunge. Maybe you’ll feel like I felt the first time I tried to read it. Hopefully, you won’t. I’m more than happy to discuss this book with those who have already read it or those who will read it soon.