Beyond illustrating the angst of their mutual attraction with a thousand penetrating angles, Normal People’s TV adaptation fails as both an adaptation and as a standalone show. Obviously, the book is better-the book is always better. It becomes quickly clear, in both book and show, that Connell and Marianne are working out some deeply buried issues upon each other, in a give-and-take of dysfunction that is painfully familiar to anyone, I think, that has been young and in love. The thrill of deception, the power they might wield over each other, suffuses their affair. The class tensions in their town of Carricklea, which are directly related to Connell’s working-class anxiety about how his schoolmates see him, are bruising in her taut, efficient prose. Each of Rooney’s sentences seems coiled with potential danger, like a viper ready to strike. Normal People, the novel, is about two people in love, but it’s not quite a romance.
But-for oblique, teenage reasons-no one else can know. The sex is hot, the attraction undeniable. Fueled by a shared interest in books, Connell and Marianne start hooking up after school. That secret, laced with the embarrassing power of money, leads to another, darker secret. But they have a secret: Connell’s mother works for Marianne’s family, cleaning their mansion twice a week. Connell’s a popular sports star, while Marianne’s the bullied class misfit. The 12-part series adapts Sally Rooney’s novel to tell a provocatively familiar love story between Connell ( Paul Mescal) and Marianne ( Daisy Edgar-Jones), who, when we meet, are teenagers in a small town in Ireland. I will give Normal People this: There’s nothing more relatable than being naïve and horny-especially in the petri dish of hormones that is high school.
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