I don’t know why I can’t be like normal people.
I can’t completely say that I really loved Normal People. There was a lot about the characters, about the representation of their relationship and connection that I thought were very well done but that doesn’t necessarily equate to me enjoying the book. I often find myself in this situation; liking a novel in but not enjoying it. I appreciate how artfully written, well-constructed and realistic it is, but it isn’t what I look for in a reading experience.
In part, I think it comes down to Marianne and Connell being extremely real, relatable characters that we explore down to their very core, their hopes and dreams and their anxieties and traumas and personally, I don’t like reality. The novel is called Normal People after all and its portrayal of real people I can find no fault in. It may just be I don’t like real people.
The nature of their relationship would be extremely poignant for those who have experienced something like it; two people who can’t seem to keep away from each other, whose lives mould each other. The worlds they live in, the social circles and relationships they build outside of one another, all seem to be linked to the central connection between them which I find a fascinating concept. For me the most important message is this:
You don’t know who is going to have a profound effect on your life until it happens
Interestingly, I found the television series totally enjoyable. The lead characters seemed to iron out little aspects of Marianne and Connell’s personalities that I found frustrating in the novel and make them seem like they made perfect sense. For one, every time there was a miscommunication between the pair that caused them to break up or hurt each other, I felt the clumsiness of being a teenager, the inability to express ones feelings and so on, were there in every longing glance and awkward silence. Not to mention, the palpable sexual tension that was felt and the gritty realness of the intimacy on the screen.
Coming to the conclusion of my very long-winded thought process, I have decided it is a matter of format. The reality of love and relationships, of growing up and finding out what it means to be “normal” or not, work better for me when I can see the body language, the expressions, the tone of the person rather than just know what is going on in their head.
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more
Most lovers of Austen see themselves in Elizabeth Bennet, the main heroine of Pride and Prejudice and purveyor of witty retorts since 1813. I am no exception. Lizzie is smart, witty, pretty and beloved by one of the most well known characters in modern literature, Mr Darcy. Emma isn’t as instantly likeable as Lizzie but she is completely charming and witty and beloved by all around her. She has been gifted with a wealthy home, good looks and a bright mind, so I can’t really blame her for being overly confident, proud and a little bit insensitive to those around her. That’s where Mr Knightley comes in. He quarrels with her when she is stubborn and thinks she is right, he chastises her when she needs it and because of this, not only does Emma grow as a person, but the pair discover how well suited they are to each other.
Underneath the central romance of the novel, Austen does what she does best, discusses the nature of humanity, society and manners in a way that is engaging and makes the reader question the society around them.
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.
To me, this quote is the heart of the novel. The fact that we never truly say exactly what we mean or how our words are taken the wrong way, is at the heart of discourse. Words, like the people speaking them, are never truly infallible.
My favourite version of Emma is definitely the 2009 version with Romola Garai and Jonny Lee Miller. It’s fun, true to the novel and the chemisty between the pair is palpable and if this gif doesn’t convince you of that, I don’t know what will. I searched high and low for it, having seen it once at least five years ago, so you’re welcome.
light of my life, fire of my loins
It took me an embarassing long amount of time to finally finish reading Vladmir Nabokov’s Lolita, not for any particular reason. Mostly because I was distracted by consuming an enormous amount of Young Adult literature as some sort of coping mechanism in these crazy Covid times. I wanted escapism not an in depth look at the complexity of human nature, sexuality and innocence.
Having seen one of the movie versions years ago, I knew the plot and I knew what to expect when I started reading but what I didn’t expect was some of the most beautiful language I’d ever encountered. It was unnerving. I found myself repeating the opening lines over and over in my head almost like lyrics to a song. The detailed description of the way the human mouth moves around the word Lolita.
Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
It is magical. Made even more so when you learn that English is not Nabokov’s native tongue and he felt the English language is second rate to the rich Russian one. I have done much like Nabokov himself, distracted you with language from the taboo subject nature of the novel itself which is essentially the story of how a middle aged man seduces his twelve year old adopted daughter.
The story is a tragic one in many ways, but I often found myself inraptured by the masterful use of language that I found myself forgetting that the object of Humbert Humbert’s rapturous affections was an underage girl, completely under his power.
Lolita is the perfect example of language triumphing over shocking content, giving it a beauty that it perhaps does not deserve. Just like Lolita, we are easily seduced.
