Sunday 1 September 2019

How Sally Rooney's 'Normal People' makes me feel


It makes me want someone in my life who makes me feel nervous, who I am so desperate to impress.

The book has given my mind a kind of genuine portrayal of love I could never have fathomed before.  And I know the feelings are so emotionally realistic because while I may not have ever experienced this kind of adoration first hand, it's the kind of thing I've been imagining a lot lately - how a single touch can make you feel special, beautiful, fragile but safe; the way he looks at you, you feel seen, feminine, adored, like you and only you have the power to make him feel sheer happiness; you know he would do anything for you, anything to make you happy, and you feel submissive to him in the same way; the kind of mutual respect for each other's opinions, and the way you could watch the cogs turn in his head all day, and you know he feels the same; when thinking about him makes you feel exquisitely happy, or sad, or something.

It's how the book begins with a conversation full of palpable tension - so hyperaware of every little movement and noise, thoughts are zoning in on the paper being rolled between your fingers.  It's something for them to do.  Heart pounding, awkward, and when it's over you go back to your room, look in the mirror and re-enact the way you must've looked, the way he must've seen you, wishing you could've done something or said something differently.  It makes you feel a heavy wave of hopelessness and sadness.  That is how much you want to impress him.  That is how intrigued you are by him.  At every waking moment, the thought of when you might see him again is in the background.  As you sort your thoughts out in the shower, you imagine telling him things, telling him honest opinions and anecdotes, and portraying yourself as your best self, but still yourself, and he is becoming a little more intrigued with your mind with every word.

This obsessive emotional connection is one I feel a stark relation to, a feeling I criticise as pointless.  Romance is supposed to be easy, isn't it?  It's supposed to feel right from the beginning, like you have a mutual emotional understanding.  There's no awkwardness; just a back-and-forth ease, full of laughter and fun, something that will progress so naturally that it requires no effort, easy vulnerability, and no sense of shame.  That's how you know he's the one, right?  I've never thought that feeling of awkwardness, genuine intrigue and nervousness could ever be a sign of potential, could ever lead to some kind of deep future connection.  If you're not easily open on first encounter, then how could you ever be easily open?  Yet, somehow, in this story, a nervous dreaded intrigued encounter grows progressively and beautifully, allowing two people to change each other for the better, like two thorns entwined during their most malleable years as they make their way towards the sky.

Upon buying the book, I was under the impression that the title, Normal People, was referring to how two normal people in our society behave, like an ode to all of us readers allowing us to feel less alone.  However, while lying in the dark in a vulnerable moment, Marianne asks why she can't be like normal people, like him, in a seemingly healthy relationship, with a seemingly healthy group of friends.  Whether this really is an ode to the general population, with our potentially shared grievances about belonging; or whether this is an ode to her character, and those alike, seemingly cold, unlovable, strong and alone.  There's something in a derisive, wild female personality that always makes her less of the ideal girlfriend who reads books quietly on the train like Rory from Gilmore Girls.  There's something about the unorthodox girl who feels stuck under a bell jar of being unlikeable, yet stubbornly defies socially liked characteristics anyway, if only to make excuses for the shame that stems from a lack of belonging.  Or does every girl feel this way sometimes?

And then there's the description about how the opinions of the people around us, the shame we have towards our honest feelings, can lead us to do illogical, regrettable, cruel things.  There's a kind of realness in the way she portrays the desperation to be liked by everybody, and how those with weaker personalities would 'betray any confidence, any kindness, for the promise of social acceptance'; or the way Helen criticises Marianne's choice to discuss ethics and politics over lighter conversations as self-obsessive.  I would probably give the same criticisms if put in the same situation.  But then, there's the way Marianne describes the social ladder in school, how she sees herself at the bottom, but sometimes sees herself as completely off the ladder altogether, unphased by the hierarchal social constructs put in place.  Whether this is self defensive or forward-thinking, I'm not sure.  But we have all thought that way some time, even if just to feel superior, and the book portrays this so incredibly well set in a university full of prestige, elitists and intellectuals.

All I feel is sadness now that I have finished.  This book has added an intensity and thoughtfulness to my life that I hope lingers for a while.  Two people experience the kind of love we have all experienced a part of, and I know that all love is different, and there is no one definition of love, but I truly hope that everybody experiences a level of closeness to another person that is something like this one day.

Love,
M


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