When I saw Sally Rooney was releasing a new book, I immediately began counting down the days until its release. I am not a hardcover girly, but the day the book was released, I rushed to Barnes & Noble and secured my copy. There would be no waiting for the paperback. I was stoked. 

And then, I started reading it. 

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed this book. I found Peter’s POV to be an interesting shift in Rooney’s normal writing style, and I appreciated her experimentation. 

But (don’t hate me for what I’m about to say, please. I apologize in advance) this felt like she wrote the same book for the fourth time. 

The first Rooney novel I read was Beautiful World, Where Are You? And I loved it. I loved the realistic portrayal of the modern romantic relationship. No one knows where they stand with one another, and everything is fluid. But, even when our relationships seem fleeting and finicky, there’s always a time where we need each other. And that need overcomes our pride–our desire to define things and our desire to leave when things are undefinable. Rooney inarguably has a knack for thoughtfully examining and beautifully illustrating these complex connections. For my first time reading Rooney, I was impressed and excited–not many people dive into the fickleness that is the 21st century relationship.

The next Rooney novel I read was Normal People. This one, I didn’t love so much. To me, it just felt flat. Where I was supposed to feel pain–pain for Marianne, pain for Connell, pain as the reader who doesn’t get that happy ending–I just felt frustration. The whole book seems like it could’ve been avoided with just one simple conversation. And, yes, I get that’s the point. But even still, there’s only so long where characters avoid conversation before it becomes unbelievable. Because these characters could never present their feelings to each other in full and at the right opportunity, there was no real character arc. The book just felt like nothing happened. Because, to be quite honest, nothing happens. 

The next Rooney book I read was Conversations with Friends. I LOVED this one. This is my favorite novel of hers to date. Frances is a selfish, immoral character, but at the same time, she’s empathetic, and she cares a lot about the people in her life. This book focuses a little less on the complexities of human connection and a bit more on the intricacies of the human mind. It’s easily the juiciest plot of her oeuvre, and it definitely stands out from the rest. 

But back to Intermezzo.

Again, I did enjoy this book. I think, in terms of the delicate relationships Rooney explores, the ones in this book made the most sense. Or, at least, Ivan and Margaret’s relationship did.

But, again, it just kinda felt like all her other books. People love each other, but they don’t define the relationship. That, more or less, sums up the entire plot. 

Again, Ivan and Margaret’s relationship, to me, made sense. There’s a pretty intense age gap. Ivan has his whole life ahead of him, and so does Margaret, but they’re at drastically different stages in life, with different visions of what the future contains. At least, that’s what Margaret thinks. Ivan, on the other hand, knows his future is one with her in it. But his certainty about her is what makes her so uncertain about him. It confuses her–how could he want her when there are so many women his age he could fancy instead? And thus, a relationship with clearly defined parameters is never drawn. 

Peter’s relationships with Naomi and Sylvia, however, existed in a state of forced confusion. 

In reality, a situation like theirs just wouldn’t exist. A woman like Sylvia, regardless of the sunk-cost fallacy, wouldn’t spare so much as a single minute for a man like Peter, a man who refuses to transform emotionally in any capacity (I mean, seriously, I would have respected Peter more if he full descended into madness or insanity or depravity. But it stagnates for the majority of the story). There’s no realistic or discernible reason why Sylvia stays. Her devotion to Peter, unfortunately, reflects the lack of dimension in this character. There’s no evolution with Sylvia, other than her acceptance that loving Peter means she has to be okay with him banging other women. It’s truly disappointing–her character is otherwise remarkably intelligent and empowering. 

And then, we’re always sort of wondering what, exactly, Peter sees in Naomi. On the surface, he’s able to be the provider he likely longs to be. Dealing with his father’s death, and having no immediate desire to have kids of his own, Peter can feel fulfilled through his caretaker role in Naomi’s life. And her youth clearly captivates him. Between him and Ivan, he’s supposedly the progressive one. Yet, all women are to him are vessels through which he can channel his sadism. His feelings for Naomi exist only because of his tendency to hurt people that rely on him. His feelings for Sylvia seem to be a bit more genuine, but even then, there’s a certain amount of pleasure he derives from inflicting emotional pain upon her, particularly in moments where she begins to depend on him more. 

Peter doesn’t know if he should commit to one or the other, or neither. But the obvious answer (glaringly obvious to the reader, slightly-less-but-still-very-much-so obvious to Peter) is Sylvia. But, God forbid, he can’t have sex with Sylvia because of her injury. So, he loves Sylvia, and he bangs Naomi. Problem solved, right? I guess so, but it takes the entirety of the book to get to this point (even though it’s been happening the entire time). This is the forced confusion I was talking about. If the characters are going to be okay with this arrangement anyway, why did everything have to feel so…well, forcefully confusing?

Overall, as a character, Peter seemed largely unnecessary. The whole book, he was completely zombified. Until the end, where things suddenly became vivid and hopeful. For such a stubbornly broken man, he did a complete 180 over the span of, like, 20 pages. 

When characters spend so long in the cold, gray, darkness that is their lives, to randomly receive a happy ending, it’s almost insulting to the reader. Peter’s sections were so gruelling to me–they were a chore to get through. And, all for what? The women in his life decide they’re okay with polygamy? Well, if that’s all it took, why didn’t he just ask sooner? He clearly cared only about himself for the entirety of the book. We could’ve ripped the bandaid off 100 pages in, rather than 400!

I do think Rooney has a lovely writing style. She’s descriptive, with a clear focus on worldbuilding, particularly from a societal standpoint. The time she takes to research the topics around which she crafts her stories are evidenced clearly–her characters across her oeuvre tend to be especially wise. There’s a lot of skill in creating books about nothing (and this is not an insult, I love books about nothing), while still making them impactful and worth reading. 

I would give Intermezzo a solid 3.5/5. The pace was slow (it took me a while to finish it–at times, I truly wanted to DNF it), the characters lack the emotional depth I look forward to when reading a Rooney novel, and it’s not a particularly rewarding read. That being said, Ivan and Margaret get a sensical, happy-ish ending with which the reader can feel satisfied. And the novel is beautifully written. The stream of consciousness style used for Peter’s POV paralleled the works of James Joyce, and while it can be hard to read at times, I loved that Rooney strayed from her norm here. I would love to see her experiment more in the future. 

It wasn’t my favorite, but am I still going to be patiently awaiting her next book? Of course.