Tinteán

A Book Review of Sally Rooney’s Intermezzo by Ynez Galtry

Sally Rooney: Intermezzo, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Sep.2024
ISBN 9780374602635
RRP: $35

Sally Rooney’s new novel Intermezzo has been raved about as one of the top books of 2024 to read. The novel has some harrowingly beautiful phrases: she speaks for instance of grief as ‘a moving force with nowhere to go, her attempt to put words to grief, the laborious peaks and troughs of life, and the healing that comes with relationships. Rooney captures the raw feelings that come from a mixture of love and grief that is felt for a deceased parent, and even from the dissatisfactions of life. Intermezzo connects with a range of themes, oscillating from grief over the death of a beloved parent, navigating interpersonal relationships, loneliness, neurodivergence, consent, openness of sex, acting on whims, and finding what feels right in an increasingly depressing world. Because of this, the novel feels as though it tries to do too much for a four-hundred-plus-page book; it is so busy that the narrative doesn’t really go anywhere at all. The lack-lustre female characters who seem to exist only to bolster their male counterparts, the far too quaint and neatly tied up ending, and the over-exuded Gen Z characters made the novel difficult to read in parts. More often than not I found myself frustrated with the reading process and with the way the narrative felt hindered.

Having also read Rooney’s other acclaimed novel Normal People, I felt that Rooney’s writing at that time connected more with her fellow millennial readers. Whilst it is essential to connect with the younger generation readers and to have continued relevance, Intermezzo feels as though Rooney is trying just a bit too hard to connect with the Gen Z readers, and solely from my reading, I felt alienated by Rooney whilst being from her own generation. The conversations feel stunted in sections, or the characters feel forced to fit into a specific requirement of the generation. What seems to be a technique to connect the two generations where social media shows there is some animosity, it only works to separate them by their differences. The language difference between Ivan and Naomi’s generation to that of Peter, Sylvia and Margaret is a strategic tool for trying to illuminate and cross the generational barrier, but the over-the-top younger lingo was cringe-inducing and felt unrealistic to real-life conversations. 

Intermezzo plays on the delicate line between being successful and the cost to happiness and mental health, or pursuing something you love as a career (which can sometimes destroy the love for it), but finding it is a struggle in a capitalistic economic environment. Peter’s character felt as if it was the only one that had any substance; I have met many ‘Peters’ in real life and can understand the psyche behind this character. Ivan’s character felt like a male, an empty reproduction of Beth Harmon’s character from The Queen’s Gambit which trended on Netflix in 2020. Even in that narrative, Beth’s sanity and success in chess hinges on her having made connections with people as a ‘strange child’ in much the same way that Ivan’s character does. There is no substantial progress Ivan makes that improves his chess after feeling defeated, except his relationship with Margaret. Whilst the concept of having relationships (whether romantic or platonic) is not a new one in the stages of dealing with grief, Margaret and Ivan’s relationship seems overshadowed by the fact that his success seems contingent on sex. 

This focus on the sex lives of both the male characters comes off as almost sexist in its representation of the female characters. The female characters seem to exist in the novel only insofar as they help to complete the male characters. I found myself annoyed at conversations between Ivan and Margaret specifically because of the lack of substance Margaret brings to the conversation. At the end of the novel, Ivan says, ‘I mean she’s very understanding. She understands everything, literally’, and I couldn’t help but feel that is because Margaret’s character only materialises insofar as it benefits the progression of Ivan’s character. I felt thoroughly disappointed by the resolution (or lack thereof) for the female characters. Margaret’s background story deals with the very real concept of Ireland’s rural town gossip; the judgement of getting a divorce; her own internal family struggles; and the build-up to the fact that people learn she is having a sexual relationship with someone who is 14 years her junior. And yet, Ivan is succeeding: Ivan has made amends with his brother; he is no longer just desiring connection but is having sex. Beyond that, Margaret’s story becomes irrelevant. The same could be said for Peter: the ‘love of his life’, Sylvia, who we learn has an accident that prevents her from the one thing Peter clearly needs, but beyond her ‘accident’ we never really find out the inner workings of Sylvia’s decision to leave Peter. There is a whole unwritten story hiding behind a mundane, appeasing character.

The term ‘intermezzo’ in chess refers to an in-between move or an out-of-pocket move,  that is used between tactics to frustrate the opponent’s strategy. Based on the number of references to classical music throughout the novel, there may is some connection with the same musical term, an ‘intermezzo’ being a short and light connecting instrumental section. Neither of which seems to really apply in the case of Rooney’s novel. Whilst music is referred to constantly throughout, the use of this as the title suggests that there is some plot twist or intermediary choice made by the characters; something a bit left-field that would shock the reader that would frustrate, or connect, sections of the novel together. I thought the section dealing with unprotected sex between Margaret and Ivan would be the moment the title comes to play but this appears to go nowhere. Maybe it is cliché and overdone, but the narrative suggests that Margaret might have decided not to get the morning-after pill, perhaps escalating the difficult situation she has with her ex-husband, her mother, and the gossiping township. Perhaps it would have been a turning point for Margaret where she realizes she would like to invest in longevity with Ivan. This is suggested by Peter’s acceptance of Margaret (another blow to feminism), but there is no confirmation that that takes place. Instead, this section seems like a nothing-filler that had no place or effect on the narrative at all. Perhaps realising that Margaret comes across as a very two-dimensional character, Rooney was trying to add complexity to her character, but it falls short of even doing that. It comes off as a superfluous sex scene for the sake of a sex scene.

The book ends on a quaint note with Ivan successfully completing a chess match, and Peter forgives…well, everyone. In a matter of months since their father’s death, it feels as though everything is summed up too neatly. Grief is a long process and manifests differently for everyone, it is also never linear. Grief is something you learn to live with, not get over, and yet, the brothers have displaced their grief with sex and success whilst the female characters remain relatively empty. None of the novel’s resolutions seem realistic: the forgiveness Peter gives to his mother who abandoned him; the ‘throuple’ relationship that Naomi and Sylvia want, even though Peter expresses his doubts, and wonders if it will work; the conversation that seems to end all other conversations with Ivan. And at no point does the book address the very real need of Peter to potentially seek professional help. Not just to deal with his grief, but to deal with the very visceral feelings he has towards committing suicide. Whilst this is a very relevant topic in today’s society and one that I commend Rooney for addressing, it does nothing for those suffering to find some outlet or inspiration of their own. As said before, everything seems tied up too neatly. Peter’s return of will to live isn’t cemented in anything other than his ability to keep his apparent soul mate, as well as the young, beautiful ‘sidepiece’ that he’s fallen in love with (“Should he take the cash prize or the new car[…]” comes to mind). Even Ivan’s renewed self-confidence and ability to return to chess seem dependent on Margaret’s presence in his life. Relationships can be temporal, nothing lasts forever as is glaringly obvious with the loss of a parent; so, this imagery that everything is fixed for both the male characters because of these relationships seems a shallow end for a topic that creates very real suffering and agony of dealing with suicidal thoughts.

Ynez Galtry

Inez is millennial-identifying. She has a BA with a major in Literatures. Her professional experience is predominantly in the legal sphere working as a paralegal in a few different practice areas. She speaks several languages to varying degrees, and spends her time between violin/piano playing, voracious reading, and numerous other hobbies.