© Enda BoweThe BBC's Normal People is a beautiful retelling of Sally Rooney's novel, but what goes into making a perfect modern romance?
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The stakes were high for the television adaptation of Sally Rooney's Normal People. The 2018 book was of course one of the most acclaimed titles of the year - the novel everyone was heads-down in on public transport, a must-be-seen-to-read story shared widely on social media platforms particularly by those in their 20s.
Rooney was hailed the 'voice of a generation' and the decade's Salinger equivalent, but, hyperbole aside, it would be difficult to find someone who had read Normal People and didn't devour it. Booksellers kept stashes hidden behind the counters, Waterstones branded it their favourite book of 2018, and it even made the prestigious Booker Prize longlist. And yet, Rooney's book isn't about highfalutin, pretentious concepts or niche, pedantically researched areas of history - it's a love story between two teenagers.
That's not to say Rooney's writing is not brilliantly well observed, with a Joan Didion-like air of coolness and detachment; the simplicity of her prose and her ability to communicate a universal experience is of course what made her book so popular. It is, however, the sort of subject matter that might be sniffed at among academics - the tale of two Irish teenagers who meet and fall in love at school and later go to university in Dublin. The book follows the brittle, vulnerable Marianne and charming, yet self-doubting Connell over the course of four years. It's a will they-won't they narrative that is as bingeable in television form as it was as a book.
© Enda BoweMarianne and Connell as played by Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones in Normal People Normal People is set in 2008, but it could have taken place in any era. It beautifully portrays the singular agony of first love in a contemporary context, but it is also about being young and in love at any time. What it does differently - what all truly good love stories do - is talk about love beyond romance. Connell and Marianne are from different sides of the tracks (his mother cleans at her grand family home), but they are perfectly synchronised in terms of intellect. They don't always do the right thing by one another, and yet they have a mutual deep understanding of who the other is. "I just like talking to you," says Connell. "He's the smartest person I've ever met," says Marianne later. They are overjoyed at each other's achievements and they see the gaping potential and possibility in the other. They challenge one another's belief systems and they expand the other's horizon - they are integral to one another's growth. They have a sexual and intellectual chemistry that stalks their on-off-but-always-together narrative. They feel intense frustration at how much they care about what the other thinks. They are not the first and they certainly won't be the last couple to feel that there is so much to say, but no words - regardless of how verbose the two protagonists are - that seem big enough to satisfy the complexity and intensity of a feeling.
The reason this story appeals to so many people is because we've all been there - and god, how we want it to work out for them. As a race we all strive for meaningful connection, the kind that feels like a slow exhale, or the gentle dropping of shoulders. We want for Marianne and Connell to get to that part, away from the exquisite hold-your-breath angst. When two people share such electrifying connection, when they are so seemingly perfect for one another, we want so much for them to find peace together. Love isn't just fireworks; it can also be quietly resolute. We want for him or her to make the other so content and calm that they make the other fall asleep on the sofa by soothingly stroking their hair.
Other recent romantic television series have followed the same template. In
Fleabag, we're rooting for our destructive heroine (love stories don't need their leads to be likeable, they just need to be interesting) to find contentment after her battle with double grief following the death of her mother and latterly her best friend. She uses a lot of alcohol, unfulfilling sex and dates to deflect her pain and loneliness. Step forward the 'Hot Priest' as he is now commonly known, and the two fall in love hard and fast - in fact, so hard he doubts his faith for her. This is the first man to really see her, a fact artfully demonstrated by the tearing down of the fourth wall. No one else has ever noticed or cared when Fleabag turns to address the audience before, but the priest does. "Where did you just go?" he asks her. There will have been some who were left disappointed by the couple's parting of ways during the series finale, but Fleabag was given something more than a traditional happy ending - the experience had helped her grow. He had helped her tear her walls down.
In new Channel 4 series Feel Good, starring and written by comedian Mae Martin, we follow a fledgling couple, Mae and George, on their path to true love. Mae is gay and George was previously straight, and yet they connect and romance follows. Like in all good love stories, jeopardy lays ahead - with Marianne and Connell, it's social divide, identity and communication blockages, while in Fleabag, it's faith. For Mae and George, it's sexuality and addiction issues. When we leave them both at the end of the first season, they have rekindled their relationship and lay post-coitally in bed, but we know that there is more trouble ahead. Again, we're rooting them for them both - two humanely flawed people who connect despite their divides.
© Luke VarleyPhoebe Waller-Bridge and Andrew Scott in Fleabag
Love stories have long been seen as lighthearted fluff or melodrama derided with gendered, elitist snobbery. It is a dilemma that Normal People's Connell battles with as he reads Jane Austen's Emma: "It feels intellectually unserious to concern himself with fictional people marrying one another. But there it is: literature moves him." Can we still write off this genre with such condescension when the current tide of on-screen love stories is so grounded in reality and our own experiences? We're not talking about the cheesy gloss and archaic stereotypes of 90s and 00s romcoms anymore. The reason Fleabag, Normal People and Feel Good have received so much acclaim is that they are relatable. We have all struggled to find the right words and have made the wrong call in a relationship. We have all made ourselves more and less vulnerable than we should in matters of the heart.
We live in a cynical world, where sincerity and earnestness are still scoffed at. And yet we still believe that people will continue to meet and fall in love because that's an unarguable fact. A good love story appeals to everyone, from teenagers who have never been kissed to jaded cynics complaining about the 'ball and chain' at home. They have the capacity to see us through rosé-fuelled evenings in with friends, date nights, break-ups, hangovers, good days and bad days, and, most pertinently, pandemics.
Stay at home to stop coronavirus spreading - here is what you can and can't do. If you think you have the virus, don't go to the GP or hospital, stay indoors and get advice online. Only call NHS 111 if you cannot cope with your symptoms at home; your condition gets worse; or your symptoms do not get better after seven days. In parts of Wales where 111 isn't available, call NHS Direct on 0845 46 47. In Scotland, anyone with symptoms is advised to self-isolate for seven days. In Northern Ireland, call your GP.
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