There is much doubt cast on Rooney’s talent as a writer, particularly following the wild success of Normal People. She is habitually positioned in a binary: a once-in-a-generation genius or over-rated, her prose hollow and superficial. In Intermezzo, Rooney both experiments with and cultivates her writing with craftful precision, solidifying her place as a great writer and generational voice. I will always pick up a Sally Rooney book. Frankly, I would read her grocery list. 

Intermezzo charts the relationship of two brothers, aged ten years apart, under the shadow of their fathers death. On the surface, they are widely different, even completely oppositional. Peter is a 32-year-old Dublin barrister and Ivan is a 22-year-old casual data analyst and competitive chess player with waning success. Where Peter is charming and seemingly unassailable, surpassing his social standing by successfully integrating himself into Dublin’s middle class, Ivan is presented as an awkward loner and former incel-adjacent who, as we are constantly reminded, still wears braces. Rooney holds a microscope to their relationship, considering the various ways love and grief manifest and weave together, impacting people and their relationships.

Characteristically, Rooney also probes distinctly modern complexities. She touches on issues such as Dublin’s housing crisis and feminism, questioning how we bring our social and economic positionalities into our relationships as each character grapples with what makes a good person. An exquisite character study, her prose artfully shapeshifts to mirror the intricacies of alternating narrators. It shifts from the methodical, structured inner dialogue of Ivan to the stream-of-consciousness, unravelling voice of Peter. Like all of us, the brothers are deeply flawed, their minds somewhat uncomfortable to delve into. A tender and brilliant novel, this is Rooney at her best.