Intermezzo
Sally Rooney, Faber, £20

IN her latest, fourth novel, Intermezzo, Sally Rooney continues her exploration of intimate relationships, albeit with a shift away from the clear political critique that characterised her earlier works. Its focus lies on what makes personal relationships successful, and, surprisingly, an emphasis on unconditional love as something close to God.

Rooney’s previous novel, Beautiful World, Where Are You, ended with one character stepping back from activism, retreating into a subjective sense of peace and stability – dependent, the reader might think, on sufficient income. That choice felt tentative—perhaps an individual’s decision to pursue personal happiness over political engagement. With Intermezzo, however, this focus on private happiness and detachment from societal ills is presented not as a protagonist’s choice but as a theme that permeates the entire narrative. 

The novel focuses on two brothers, Peter and Ivan Koubek, and their relationships. While both brothers experience obstacles in achieving personal fulfilment, the political elements that once gave the novelist’s protagonists a radical edge are not as prominent. Where we might expect Rooney’s young protagonists to challenge economic precarity or political hypocrisy within contemporary Irish society, this fades into the background as their concerns become far more personal. 

The Koubek brothers’ half-Slovak background is little more than a narrative footnote, an embarrassment for the brother who strives to fit in with his professional colleagues, but provides no further depth or meaningful friction within the plot. 

We encounter characters (a lawyer, a free-lance data analyst, an arts centre manager, a university lecturer and a student) whose worlds are or aspire to be middle-class, removed from the struggles of the working class that had a space in Rooney’s prior works.

One of the most significant shifts in Intermezzo is its treatment of religion. Rooney recently stated in an interview with The Irish Times: “I have gone from being dogmatic atheist to being very interested in the intellectual and spiritual traditions of Christianity. That’s a heritage that it would be dishonest of me to say isn’t central to who I am as a thinker and as a writer.” 

This reflects some conversations had by the protagonists in Intermezzo as they discuss God and religion. While fervour varies, religious belief is no longer questioned or subverted but embraced as part of a personal transformation and the overall authorial point of view. As a consequence, Intermezzo veers dangerously close to sentimentality, wrapping up complex human conflicts in a neat bow of “spirituality” and fulfilment in love. 

Rooney’s previous protagonists often reflected a left-wing ethos, their relationships reflecting the alienation inherent in capitalist society. Now, however, her protagonists gravitate to places away from society, suggesting that Rooney now views private, secluded happiness as viable solutions to the alienation once experienced. None of the people presented in the novel emerge from their comfort zone to seriously combat injustice. 

For readers who admired Rooney’s earlier critiques of alienation, Intermezzo may feel less like a continuation of her political journey and more like a departure from it.

Rooney’s personal convictions remain unapologetically leftwing. She has taken bold stances and is highly respected in Ireland for protesting against Israel’s policies in Palestine, including her decision to withhold translation rights to Hebrew. Additionally, she is a prominent signatory of the latest open letter by artists calling for sanctions against Israel. There is no question but that she has put her head above the parapet.  

It is therefore surprising that instead of defying or questioning the social status quo in Ireland, Intermezzo seems to gravitate to the comforts of convention.