A Marxist review of Normal People (2018) by Sally Rooney
In an interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1S5bOdJq3U Sally Rooney says that she is a Marxist and that she would like to write a Marxist novel but doesn’t quite know how to do it. So, when she wrote Normal People, she just told a story that has human relationship at its core, which in itself is axiomatic of any kind of socialism, so subconsciously perhaps, her novel does express Marxist ideas. Nevertheless, since Rooney wants to be a literary Marxist, she should/could have read some of the Marxist writers who would/could have given her some tips on how to do it. Maybe she has but from my perspective it seems unlikely, hence let’s give her a helping hand.
While there are no rules that say that a Marxist novelist must only write rousing, social realist, revolutionary tomes to uplift the working classes, there are some guidelines as elaborated by the likes of György Lukács and Berthold Brecht. Given that the former is often considered the expert on the novel while the latter is the consummate socialist playwright, let us briefly consider what Lukács has to say. Accordingly, the author’s task is to show the dialectic between the consciousness of the characters (appearance) and the social forces (essence) that create them. Lukács cites Thomas Mann as the master of this genre, and having read, in the original German, both the Magic Mountain and the Buddenbrooks, I can attest to the great ‘appearances’ of the characters but I am not so sure about the ‘essences’ that were supposed to have created them. Surely then, Brecht is the master of the ‘essence’ even though as a playwright he has to focus on the ‘appearance’, as it were, of the actors. Thus, as is well known among Marxists, Brecht has quite a different perspective in these matters, disagreeing with Lukács:
The new ascendant class shows it. It is not a way back. It is not linked to the good old days but to the bad new ones. It does not involve undoing techniques but developing them. Man does not become man again by stepping forth from the masses but by sinking deeper into them. The masses cast off their loss of humanity and thereby men become men again—but not the same men as before. This is the path that literature must take in our time when the masses are beginning to attract to themselves everything valuable and human, when they are mobilizing people against the dehumanization produced by capitalism in its fascist phase. It is the element of capitulation, of withdrawal, of utopian idealism which still lurks in Lukács’s essays and which he will undoubtedly overcome, that makes his work, which otherwise contains so much of value, unsatisfactory; for it gives the impression that what concerns him is enjoyment alone, not struggle, a way of escape, rather than a march forward.
https://newleftreview.org/issues/I84/articles/bertolt-brecht-against-georg-lukacs
Having studied Brecht and having seen one of his great plays Der aufhaltsame Aufstieg des Arturo Ui in the Berlin Ensemble in 1969 (then still under Helene Weigel), I am on the side of Brecht.
Given these contradictions within a Marxist framework, how does Rooney and her Normal People measure up? In terms of Lukács’ prescriptions, there is certainly a lot of ‘consciousness of the characters’ (Marianne and Connell) but there is not much ‘essence’ apart from the social class differences alluded to between the main characters (and their families, friends and university students). If one takes a sympathetic point of view, one might be able, at least by reading the sub-text, to reach the conclusion that Marianne’s masochistic leanings are caused by her abusive bourgeois family, given that at the end of the novel she seems to disown her mother and brother (or at least they seem to disown her). Connell as the Irish working-class lad also alludes on occasions to class differences, especially as a student at Trinity, which is described as a bourgeois academic institution where students mainly talk about how much money their parents earn. In Brecht’s terms, however, there is not much of the ‘march forward’ to discern, even though occasional protest marches in Dublin are mentioned. This is a shame because Dublin, Ireland and the rest of the world in 2011 to 2015 (as is the timeline in the novel) is in a phase of ‘our time’ that equates to Brecht’s dictum of
… this is the path that literature must take in our time when the masses are beginning to attract to themselves everything valuable and human, when they are mobilizing people against the dehumanization produced by capitalism in its fascist phase …
and where all we have to do is replace ‘fascist’ with ‘neo-fascist’. Current mass movements in the US and elsewhere seem to do just that, so the question is how much does Rooney’s novel contribute to this struggle – as it should? Are Marianne and Connell and the rest of the crew being screwed by neo-fascist capitalism? Do they submit or do they mobilize? It seems to me that mainly the former is the case, as the protagonists struggle with their love life in ever more complicated scenarios, and while at the end of the novel there is some sort of resolution, it is denied again in the last line, what with Marianne encouraging Connell to part from her again and accept his literary scholarship in New York (sic). All the agonising episodes in between, described in minute detail, do have a touch of social realism but the overall effect seems to be a rather morbid teenage fascination with feeling miserable and unhappy, relieved only by the organic sexual encounters between Marianne and Connell, which in turn get a somewhat voyeuristic treatment (good for the TV movie version though). Other attempts at ‘realism’ seem cantered on describing mundane procedures in great detail, like making and drinking cups of tea and coffee, eating an ice cream, driving a car, getting dressed and undressed. The latter, though, has a touch of class consciousness, what with Connell’s wardrobe smelling of working-class poverty, while Marianne can afford the latest brands to good effect.
With all this huge emphasis on the personal love life, one would have liked a few explorations into the other realms that seemingly occupy the lives of Marianne and Connell, namely what they are studying at university. While Connells’s forays into English literature entail the small sub-plot of him becoming a writer, the only hint we get for Marianne is that she is doing a thesis on incarceration in Ireland – sounds an interesting topic. Both Connell and Marianne are portrayed as A+ students at high school and at university – how do they do that in between endless personal dramas? It seems incongruous, for I always pictured, stereotypically, A+ public school students as ambitious, right-wing, career-minded bullies (also good at sports like rugby or tennis) who become the proverbial doctors, lawyers and politicians like Boris Johnson – not at all like the super-sensitive, somewhat neurotic Marianne and the lost soul, Connell, who descends into depression at times. Sure, complicated people like that can turn into conflicted artists, living tragic lives, creating great art along the way. Maybe Sally Rooney thinks of herself that way, yet she also has a self-awareness that seems to transcendent this scenario, inasmuch she echoes Brecht in the line
… literature, in the way it appeared in these public readings, had no potential as a form of resistance to anything …
in other words, does her novel (and her public readings of it) offer any resistance to anything, as it really should? Is she taking the mickey out of her own writing? If so, one has to congratulate her for her sense of self-depreciation, for indeed, to quote Brecht again, the writer too ‘does not become human again by stepping forth from the masses but by sinking deeper into them’. Then again, Rooney’s marketing team plays the capitalist card as stupidly as possible, what with cover page emblems of ‘The Million Copy Bestseller’ and ‘Winner of the 2018 Costa Novel Award’. Not everybody who studies English or American literature at university becomes an award winning author who sells millions of copies and whose novels are turned into TV-series but I suppose if you are plucked from the masses, as was Rooney, by a literary agent (sic) whose profession it is to turn art into hard cash, then good luck to you!
In capitalist societies in particular, everyone wants to be a winner, hence winners are celebrated as evidence that you too can be the one amongst the billions of losers (obeying the great capitalist maxim that the winner takes all and that being number two on the list is just a tragic failure). Sally Rooney knows how this commodification of literature works and yet she cannot escape the trappings that are demanded of her. Maybe she thinks of herself as some sort of secret agent that smuggles Marxist ideas into her novel, thus subverting the whole exercise, laughing secretly at implementing Marx’ dictum that capitalism will produce the rope to hang itself. As such there is perhaps no point in calling for class struggles and revolutions because nothing will change until the rope is fashioned, ready for use. There are signs of this happening, in the USA in particular but also in pseudo-Marxist countries like China where the masses of people might be ‘beginning to attract to themselves everything valuable and human’. If Rooney’s novel contributed to this Brechtian notion, even with a miniscule proportion, then well done! On the negative side, her novel can easily be hijacked as an object of ‘enjoyment alone’ or a ‘way of escape’, such as Brecht accuses Lukács of being his main concern. Watching and listening to various interviews with Sally Rooney, where she is made (or forced) to explain her novel, one has the inescapable impression that the hosts and audiences never get beyond the level of ‘enjoyment’, and Rooney is relieved to leave it at that (it makes sense commercially). If, however, she wanted to get to a Brechtian level, she should have considered scripting her novel for socialist theatre (there is plenty of good dialogue that would suit such an enterprise) – and not selling the rights for TV.
