Sally Rooney has lost my book club and I’m not sure how I feel

There was a time, not long ago, when Sally Rooney could do no wrong. As the ‘It’ writer of the millennial generation, she captured the angst of the early 20s perfectly.

Like pretty much everybody else, I loved Normal People, and devoured both the book and the television series.

After being swept up in Normal People-mania, we all went back and read Conversations With Friends, and later, Beautiful World, Where Are You. It was between these two books that some members of my book club dropped off the wagon.

Alongside my friends, I also wavered as the early 20s angst that Rooney depicts so well started to get a little grating.

We were at a point in our lives when we had moved past our own romantic struggles and joys, and were facing quite different experiences as we wrangled toddlers, re-entered the workplace and saved for houses.

Perhaps our 20s were getting too far behind us for us to sympathise with these cool, clever young people who were searching for love.

It felt a bit like navel-gazing at a time when we faced big problems, like how to get our babies to sleep.

Despite this, I felt Rooney never lost her way with words. She continued to identify and illustrate feelings that I’d always struggled to name, however long ago I’d felt them. She made me nostalgic for the uncertainty and potential of a yet-to-be revealed future.

When she released her latest, Intermezzo, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I kept hearing good reviews and so was excited to get my hands on it.

From early on, I noticed that the text was a little denser than her other books, and the ideas more elusive. This time, Rooney had expectations of the reader – she wasn’t giving the story away with ease. But I quite liked the challenge, having recently fallen deeply in love with easy-to-read crime fiction – here was a completely different style of writing that took effort to read.

Intermezzo explores the lives and relationships of two brothers, chess champion Ivan and his barrister brother, Peter. The brothers have had a fractured relationship, not without its warmth, and the recent loss of their father has left them unsure of how to approach each other.

The realities for the boys were complex, with one young and inexperienced and the other walking a line between being judgmental and protective.

I enjoyed the chess storyline and its parallels with the boys’ attempts to reach each other, despite their differences in personality, age and experience.

Some of their arguments were brutal as they came close to mutual understanding but then swung wide, sending them back into their opposing corners.

Rooney was masterful as she captured the fragility of the boys’ relationship, and the underlying desire for love from both brothers.

However, despite my respect for the intelligence and style of this novel, along with the ideas of family, loyalty and grief that it tackles, I finished it unmoved and a little irritated. I was frustrated by the inability of the older brother, Peter, to make a choice between women he loved. While relationships are complex, it feels that Rooney’s are more weighty than they need to be, consuming characters’ lives and sending them into self-made despair. I feel that the focus on romantic relationships and their potential dramas above all other aspects of life is immature. Maybe I’m just too old.

But while I might have misgivings, and my friends have given up on Rooney, I have not. I am still excited by the way she writes and what she has to say. And I love how writers like this bring readers together to discuss their work, whether they love it or hate it. Any book that reminds me of my youthful obsession with romantic love at least has the benefit of giving me a fresh glimpse back at my former self, and takes my attention away from my current, very middle-aged concerns and obsessions.

So, I’m already looking forward to reading Rooney’s next book, even if it’s not on my book club’s list.