by Kaylee Zou

I find myself thinking about Sally Rooney at least once a day. 

In 2019, while I was studying abroad at the University of St Andrews in Scotland, I first came across Rooney when I had to read Conversations with Friends for Contemporary Fiction class. I ended up writing more than one analytical essay about this novel, defending theses that I cannot recall the details of now. Our professor also assigned her viral essay from 2015 “Even if you beat me” about Rooney’s experience as a champion in collegiate debate. 

Shortly after I returned from Scotland, I read Normal People by my own choosing, and then just this summer I finished her latest novel Beautiful World, Where Are You. 

I am extremely drawn to the uniquely persistent melancholy that pervades Rooney’s writing across all her novels. For me as a reader, it is precisely her depictions of deep-seated sadness and anxiety in her works that elevate her novels into masterpieces of delivering emotional impact. Stylistically, Rooney is astounding. Rooney’s characteristically straightforward sentences hit close to the ground and provide for very literal depictions of plot, setting, and character development. Her command of free indirect speech, evident in Normal People, is extremely controlled and effective. If in Connell’s mind, some people thought Marianne was the ugliest person in school, Rooney writes for him, “Some people thought she was the ugliest girl in school.”

I find her novels to be quick reads, but not beach reads. The pacing of the novels feels faster than most literary fiction works. Every word and sentence included feels absolutely necessary. It is difficult to skim or skip any single word in her novels. When Rooney moves on to a new sentence, she is usually immediately sharing a new thought. Perhaps a little delusionally, I always felt her voice kind of sounded like my own. Or maybe that is all part of Rooney’s literary genius, that her writing is so authentic, so relatable that readers hear their own inner monologues in those of her characters. 

Her novels also adapt amazingly well to TV. I binged Normal People with my best friend over the span of a weekend. Together we cried and laughed and cried and cried. The show plays out almost like it is a page-by-page exact, perfect adaptation of the novel. At one point, my friend and I opened up my copy of Normal People and compared an episode’s dialogue to the dialogue written in the book and found it to be essentially word-for-word. I have not seen Conversations with Friends yet, so I cannot speak specifically about it, but if its quality is anything like that of the Normal People mini-series, then I will probably love it. 

However, I must disclose that despite my admiration for Rooney, all three of her novels end on notes of rather confusing disappointment for me. I have read each of these three books in entirety from start to finish only once because the lingering emotion of disappointment follows me so intensely that it almost physically pains me to pick up works of hers for second readings. I always want deeply for her characters to be redeemed more than they are, for her characters to experience more change, meet new people, grow up and move on, but Marianne and Connell stay together (this is debated, but according to my interpretation they mostly do), Frances goes back to Nick, and the two “couples” in Beautiful World, Where Are You more or less stay in their original pairs. 

There is no author that is more widely read in my immediate friends and peer groups than Rooney. I had not since grade school (during the Harry Potter era) experienced so many of my friends discussing one set of books. Many of my friends debated over Rooney with me. Some were avid fans. Others were strong haters. One friend said, “I literally could not get through Normal People. They were all too…normal.” And because of my own mixed feelings, it was hard for me to know where I fared on the scale. 

But here’s the thing, I often think of Sally Rooney. When I go to work on my writing, I often pick up one of her three novels, flip to a random page and observe how she writes to me. So what is this but fandom? I contemplate my own confusing disappointment over and over again, unsure if I am disappointed even, unsure what it is that I want more of from her books. I am very aware of my fixation on her. What I further know is that when her next book comes out, I will rush to read it. So what is this but Rooney’s consistent success? In spite of my emotion being disappointment, what more could you want from your own work as a writer than for your readers to derive so much emotional impact that they feel it for years?

So here is what I have to say to those working on their own writing. You don’t need to create likable characters. You don’t need to create characters who please their readers. You don’t need to have your characters make choices that you would make. You don’t even need to like your own characters on a personal level. Well-written, impactful, and evocative writing does not depend on the likability of its characters. Good writing is good writing, and it supersedes this need.