Alexandra Schwartz said, in a review for the New Yorker: “One wonderful aspect of Rooney’s consistently wonderful novel is the fierce clarity with which she examines the self-delusion that so often festers alongside presumed self-knowledge”, and that about sums it up. It’s a testament to Rooney’s talent that she makes it intriguing, enjoyable even.
I would have assumed I’d find it annoying as heck, had I known about it before diving in. Their lack of self-awareness, especially coupled with their elite education and “book smarts”, might be grating for some readers. The characters – especially Frances – know a lot, but they don’t know themselves at all. But the prose is very literary – you can tell, because there are no quotation marks for speech, ha! You could read Conversations With Friends as a coming-of-age novel, but it’s not YA. The narrator, Frances, is very young (21 years old), as Rooney was at the time of writing (and still is, some might say!). The players are a lot more clearly delineated, and their motivations are at least fathomable, if not understandable. In that regard, Conversations With Friends shares a lot of genetic material with Normal People, Rooney’s second novel both feature young Irish intellectuals getting themselves tangled up in complicated love affairs.īut rather than a soapy on-again-off-again romance between two abhorrent youths, Conversations With Friends offers a sharper view of identity and intimacy. The situation quickly evolves into a Golden Bowl-esque love quadrangle, with Frances and Nick carrying on behind everyone’s backs while Bobbi pines after Melissa from afar.
They meet a pair of married grown-ups, Melissa and Nick, who are almost-happily married (it would seem). (And, because we’re friends, if you do I’ll earn a small commission as an affiliate.)įrances and Bobbi are exes, and performance poets, and friends.
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