Book Review: Conversations With Friends by Sally Rooney

‘Conversations With Friends’ by Sally Rooney was released in 2017, and was adapted into a television show of the same name in 2022. The novel follows Frances, a young woman studying at university in Ireland and her best friend and ex-girlfriend Bobbi’s unconventional relationship with a married couple over ten years older than them, Melissa and Nick.

The book covered some incredibly sensitive issues such as depression, self-harm, suicidal ideation, cheating, miscarriage, fertility issues, and addiction. It is worth being mindful of your triggers before going ahead with this book.

I enjoyed this book, but I hated Frances’ character, I think that made it easier to relate to the other character’s opinions of her. Her narration, which started off witty and wistful quickly became snippy and snide as she came to terms with the emotions she felt. I didn’t like being in her head, she was quick to try and reassure herself that she was above other people because she and Bobbi were so astute and theoretical and critical of the world around them.

I enjoyed the dynamic between Bobbi and Frances. Bobbi was a charismatic, observant and critical person. She saw the world as a blend of theory and practice, and was very sharp. Her opinions on feminism, and on capitalism were upfront and inflammatory, especially since she came from a wealthy family. She, despite the visage she presented among peers etc. seems reasonably aware that despite her radical and views on how best to change the world, is really a nuanced contradiction like everyone else. She isn’t special. And she certainly isn’t a Jesus-like pariah like Frances likens her to.

Frances’ choice to read the New Testament and take in the information as if the word of Christ was actually coming from Bobbi’s mouth had me doubtful about the scope of her feelings, especially since Bobbi had been the one to break up with her, not the other way around. Jesus is a divine figure and likening his words to hers is not only sacrilegious in implying anyone could have said them, but also because she has in essence turned Bobbi into a divine entity too. She considers Bobbi’s hard-hitting criticisms on the world to be similar to the opinions of Christ because she accepts them as fact, and they are easier to digest if she considers them as coming from this familiar source. There were many things about Frances I didn’t like, but this idea of idolising those she loves and holding them above all else was something I could relate to. I’ve done it before and will likely do it in the future unconsciously.

I also loved how this book highlighted the different elements of spoken word poetry and the communities that form among poets, that likely would never speak to one another otherwise. When I attended university in Derby, I found a community of poets across different generations that I wouldn’t have acknowledged on the street without the pretence of poetry forging these relationships. In circles of artistic people, age isn’t necessarily as striking of a problem, you might go to poetry nights at twenty or twenty-one and share a bottle of chardonnay and a night of poetry and comradery in that shared vulnerability with Gladys, a fifty-six year old lesbian, and Holly, a forty-year old woman with two kids, and only ever see then on the first Thursday of the month for poetry, but they become your friends anyway. It was powerful, and highlighted how realistic and vulnerable Melissa befriending Frances and Bobbi was.

Despite all of Frances’ negativity and resentment and anguish, I didn’t hate Melissa. I found her grating, but she was incredibly human in her characterisation. Her use of a camera as an extension of herself was relatable. The way she captured moments in a candid and authentic, beautiful way, and the relationship Frances and Bobbi respectively have with the photographs Melissa takes are very telling. Especially the candid shot she took of them on holiday. Her relationship with her photography, versus her essay writing seem incredibly polarised. While one pathway inspires joy, and allows her to know joy, and see beauty around her, the other forces her to face harsher realities of the world. She never seems to be writing critical essays about the same things her photography highlights.

I loved the contrast that came from Francis handling mental health and the large, unmanageable, feelings she had, versus how she perceived other people’s vulnerabilities. She wanted to capitalise on Melissa’s weaknesses, felt superior and that her own struggles were inconsequential and overdramatic, even when she self-harmed, while being disgusted by her father’s and enamoured with the depth of Nick as a person for having struggled so much. It was so farcically human.

Francis’ struggle with endometriosis also needs to be highlighted. It was the first book I had happened upon that was so upfront about the pain and the way she suffered. Periods aren’t a star in fiction, and getting to see how intense the pain could impact Frances on a day-to-day basis was so sad. Especially when she was given a diagnosis, and informed about how it could impact her life. She wanted children. She realised it was a fact after meeting Nick’s niece, and the fact that she might not be able to have them without using IVF or a surrogate. I felt bad. I felt bad for a character I didn’t like, because so man people with endometriosis struggle with these issues, too, not just this fictional character I didn’t like.

As much as I disliked Frances, I did enjoy her story, and was mortified at the inevitability of the ending, wanting to throw the book across the room at the sheer frustration and futility of human connections. In that sense, it was an incredibly powerful and vulnerable story. I’d definitely recommend it.