Trigger warning: mention of emotional and physical abuse

For years, Normal People sat untouched on my bookshelf. It was a gift from an old friend, whose presence in my life diminished due to miscommunication, much like the fragile dynamic between Marianne and Connell. I wasn’t ready to read it then, but perhaps I was waiting for the right moment. Had I picked it up earlier, I doubt I would have recognised the striking parallel between Connell’s imposter syndrome regarding his English degree and my own self-doubt at university. Sally Rooney has undoubtedly redefined the coming-of-age genre and provided all of us who’ve ever felt a little out of place with a space to breathe.

In Normal People, Sally Rooney proves that growing up is not a journey toward self-actualisation but a discovery of identity carved out by relationships. Connell Waldron and Marianne Sheldon are intrinsically linked, yet never truly together; their relationship dictated by class, self-worth and an inherent inability to communicate. The entire novel can be framed within the opening sentence: ‘Marianne answers the door when Connell rings the bell.’ Their dynamic is at times so diametrically opposed that it raises the question: would they ever have been friends, let alone lovers, had Connell’s mother not been Marianne’s cleaner? But even ‘lovers’ is a loose term, as miscommunication and self-sabotage repeatedly drive a wedge between the pair. ‘They had seen something magical which dissolved the ordinary social relations between them,’ yet it constantly is out of their grasp.

Class is one of the most significant external forces that dictate the relationship shared by Connell and Marianne. From a working-class background, Connell is hyper-aware of his status in Marianne’s affluent world. When both are offered a scholarship, Marianne can afford to not think about her financial circumstances. In contrast, Connell cannot, and the fact that they both receive the scholarship only brings out this disconnect between their experiences. Connell, who was once self-assured, feels out of place at the esteemed Trinity University, while Marianne’s social status allows her to blend in seamlessly. In solitude, Connell reveals his vulnerability to Marianne, expressing, ‘I bet you’d pretend not to know me if we bumped into each other [at college],’ to which she replies, ‘I would never pretend not to know you, Connell,’ arguably the most poignant moment of the novel.

Marianne has internalised a deep sense of unworthiness. She views herself as unlovable and damaged due to the emotional neglect and abuse from her mother, along with the physical intimidation from her brother, Alan. Connell becomes a buffer between this painful reality and a new world in which Marianne feels nurtured. Connell invites Marianne into his home for Christmas, offering her a glimpse of warmth and security, and later defends her from her brother by engaging in a physical fight. He reassures Marianne later, ‘No one is ever going to hurt you like that again,’ before admitting he loves her (but we all knew that).

Yet, outside of their private world, Marianne remains an outsider, and Connell reinforces this as he avoids her at school. Marianne often feels as if ‘her real life was […] happening without her,’ merely existing in isolation and ultimately dropping out of school early. At school, ‘she is considered an object of disgust’, and even Connell admits to engaging with rumours about her, recalling that he ‘once heard’ she took off her blouse to wash it in the sink. The relationship between the two is shaped as much by their intimacy as their inability to communicate, which Rooney mirrors through her stylistic choices within the text. In averting the use of quotation marks, Rooney blurs the boundary between internal thoughts and dialogue, mirroring the inarticulacy of youth. Marianne and Connell do not come of age like classic literary protagonists. They never reach a visible resolution; however, in true Connell and Marianne fashion, we are certain this is not the end of their journey. As Connell says, ‘I’ll go,’ Marianne replies, ‘And I’ll stay. And we’ll be okay.’

Shoot me, but I think everyone needs a Connell in their life. Despite their miscommunication, Connell and Marianne’s devotion to each other remains unwavering, vividly portrayed both in the novel and in the series adaptation through Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar Jones’ masterful depiction of the pair. Rooney conveys that growing up is intricate, and the challenge of nurturing meaningful relationships is even more significant, especially as contemporary society compels us to conform to roles that don’t reflect our true selves. Having shared my thoughts, I want to reshape your previous perceptions of Normal People entirely and offer a new view. The main takeaway from Normal People ought to be the longing for authentic connection in a society governed by shallowness, beautifully expressed in Connell’s words: ‘I’m not a religious person, but I sometimes think God made you for me.’

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