Ditching the Dramatics: Why “Normalcy” Is Our New Thrill

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Unless you’ve been living under a rock the past few years, you’ve likely heard of—or watched, or read—Normal People by Sally Rooney. Rooney’s second novel debuted in 2018, and it, along with the author herself, has since been cemented in the cultural zeitgeist. Set in present-day Dublin, Normal People follows Connell and Marianne, two young adults who are intrinsically linked and revolve in and out of each other’s lives over several years, whether romantically or otherwise. 

Both the book and the show blew up in popularity. Yet the phenomenon of Rooney remained a bit curious: how did this mundane, seemingly uneventful narrative manage to completely entrance millions of people? I think it’s because, as its title might suggest, we as a collective are craving “normalcy” amidst the fast pace of the present. We have been trained to expect instant gratification, otherwise, we aren’t interested. 

The pandemic forced us to slow down, and I think media like Normal People is doing the very same. Rooney’s first novel, Conversations with Friends, was opted for T.V. and will be dropping on Hulu in spring 2022. Starring Joe Alwyn, Alison Oliver, Sasha Lane, and Jemima Kirke, Conversations follows two university students who find themselves swept up in an affair with an older married couple. 

This summary may not necessarily sound like something “normal” or “ordinary –“ yet it’s more accessible when compared to current popular shows like Euphoria or Succession. Rooney is known for her quiet prose, and books that creep by with a slower stride than we’ve been used to over the past decade. There is no outrageous sex or a plethora of drugs and partying with flashing lights and grating hyper pop layered over visceral fight scenes. Everyone is just…. Ordinary. Relatively relatable. 

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I read Normal People in late 2019. When I’d finished, it left me with an uncomfortable feeling. It wasn’t the same icky reaction I had when watching rich kids in Gossip Girl casually toss away lives most people would kill to have. Nor was it the same anxiety coursing through me at the excessive substance abuse and sexual encounters the “teenagers” in Euphoria have on a day-to-day basis. 

Rather, it was an uneasiness at feeling seen. Like Connell and Marianne, I was seventeen when I had a relationship with a boy who could neither be named nor defined, a constant cycle of spinning in and out of each other’s orbit. This is likely a universal experience. I didn’t like feeling exposed and vulnerable when reading and later, watching. The eerily relatable thoughts and actions of the two young Irish teens playing a game of cat-and-mouse and beating themselves—and each other— up for it in the process. 

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Many people who’ve experienced Normal People in either capacity have said the same thing; Rooney had somehow managed to strip back our skin and reach into our brains, not shying back from writing down and describing the thoughts of… well, normal people. It’s aptly named. I think recently, a lot of us are looking for something to relate to. We’re still stuck in the middle of a constant barrage of garishly gaudy media that is not largely resemblant to ordinary peoples’ lives, especially in times of uncertainty (not only with a pandemic but with the vicious cycle of climate change, among other things). 

Don’t get me wrong. I love fantastical books, shows, and movies that are rife with magic and insane plotlines (Riverdale is immensely fun to hate-watch, don’t deny it). But it can be dangerous to continuously search for an escape into another world, or only consume media that is beyond relatable. These types of things only serve to destroy our self-esteem and individualistic natures in the long run. 

If you’re searching for an escape, try seeking out something by Sally Rooney. She’ll do just the opposite, but I don’t see the point in living life without becoming uncomfortably intimate with your own self from time to time. It might help you sympathize and better understand the minds of others, too; at the end of the day, we’re all much more alike than most of us realize or are willing to acknowledge. 

Strike Out, 

Writer: Gillian Bennett

Editor: Noelle Knowlton

Graphic Designer: Katie Boucher

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