Morality is the backbone of many popular stories. Heroes are Good, Villains are Bad. The former embodies current societal values and ideas, while the latter represents less acceptable, or extreme value systems. Tests of moral strength are given to the Heroes to ensure their inherent Goodness before they defeat the Villains and triumph. Everyone throws a party at the end to celebrate the moral victory. Heroes get medals and live happily ever after (unless you’re a Wookie, apparently). 

The real world isn’t so simple. Morality shifts with time and culture. People do bad things for good reasons, and vice versa. Most humans could never fit into perfect Good or Bad boxes- the vast majority of us are somewhere in the middle. Someone may sway between Good and Bad all their life, adjusting for cultural shifts, age, and experience. This murky area is ripe for interesting stories, stories about people or things trying to find what makes them Good or Bad, or if such categories even exist. Conversations with Friends wants to dip into those muddy waters.

Conversations begins with Frances and Bobbi, two 21-year-old college students, meeting Melissa, a mid-thirties photographer and essayist who writes about the art scene in Dublin. The two girls begin to socialize regularly with Melissa and her husband, Nick, becoming entangled in a strange dance of intimacy between the four of them. When Frances starts an affair with Nick, it forces her to confront issues she’s been avoiding on her way to becoming an adult. The ripple effects tear through her social circle, affecting everyone she cares about. It is a look into a young adult floundering with life choices and realizing that, as an adult, they have consequences.

Instead of dipping into muddy waters, this book asks you to put on your galoshes and wade. Exploring gray morality can be fun but when you’re hit with questionable action after questionable action, the book felt less like a dirty lake and more like a swamp. I’m only human- I had strong opinions on a few of the topics broached. After trudging through three hundred pages of Frances’ murky morality I was sore, tired, and not sure why I’d forced myself to cross the swamp in the first place. 

An important aspect of any book is that the reader can empathize or sympathize with the main character. For a while, I could. I felt bad for Frances and could see how her youth had blinded her to some of the issues she was facing, but I could only give her so many chances. There were several themes brought up in the book (you can check the Spoiler section for a more in-depth look) but no matter how they were dealt with you could almost guarantee Frances was going to hurt someone she cared about. Reading through the viewpoint of someone being cruel and then surprised by the consequences is exhausting, to the point of forgetting why you’re bothering with the trudge in the first place. 

The journey isn’t helped by the style of narrative. It’s interesting that this bothered me so much because, for what Rooney was trying to do, it was the right choice not to have this be a straight three-act story structure. Our lives don’t follow linear plot progressions, so why should this coming-of-age vignette? It lent the book a great sense of realism where these events could be happening over in Dublin right now. The problem is, the style falls apart when you don’t like the characters. After so long following Frances through peaks and valleys of conflict, I wanted there to be some resolution, some reason for crossing the swamp. Instead, the open-ended last chapter left me frustrated. Frances has the rest of her life to figure out her issues- I, on the other hand, have a limited amount of hours to read during the day and it felt like they’d been wasted.

It wasn’t all terrible. I enjoyed Rooney’s writing style a lot. She writes in the exact opposite of Show-Don’t-Tell and yet still manages to make each scene vivid, filling in the crevices of characters and setting with clipped sentences and a limited vocabulary. Little details pop (like Bobbi’s Mario towel on the beach) and the dialogue sounds like real humans, both when they’re speaking and in emails and texts (I love how Bobbi, with no shame, double-, triple-, and quadruple-texts because Same). Even as I grew weary with the characters, Rooney’s writing was a lesson in how little someone can write and still say so much. 

Craft alone can’t save a book, though. The characters, especially Frances, didn’t click with me. The themes were often handled well, but others felt haphazardly thrown in to see if they’d stick. Would I recommend this book? Not enthusiastically. Probably with caveats. As it is her debut novel, I may consider reading her other work out of respect for her craft alone but not anytime soon. Despite looking past the cover, Conversations with Friends ended up not being my cup of tea. 

If you’ve finished the book and would like a more in-depth look at some of the themes, feel free to scroll down! I look forward to sharing our next Book of the Month with you soon- it is very different from anything we’ve read so far. Until then, happy reading!

The review above is intended for people who have not read or completed the book. For that reason, it is spoiler-free. The following section is going to discuss some of the themes, what worked, and, in my opinion, what didn’t. That means there are SPOILERS BELOW. If you plan to read this book, venture no further. This is your warning.

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Alright you know the drill: spoilers ahead. turn back now or forever hold your peace.

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I think what confused me most about Conversations with Friends is how well it was written, both stylistically and thematically, versus how much I could not stand everyone in it. I have to admit that two-thirds of my initial reflection on the themes is positive and that I appreciate what Rooney did! But for the love of all that’s holy, I will never pick this book up again. Let’s dissect that a little. 

Rooney’s depiction of youth is great. Frances puts off thinking of the future, Bobbi is abrasive and free-wheeling; both are self-absorbed. They’ve hit the age where they’re technically adults but are only beginning to experience the adult world. Both struggle with their idealistic value systems when pushed against their standard of living and way of life. Bobbi considers herself an anarchist, Frances a communist. Neither wants to concern themselves with money for different reasons. That doesn’t stop them from living a lifestyle where they’re around people with money, going to vacation homes, and meeting publishers at parties even as they critique the wealth around them, tongue-in-cheek. It also doesn’t stop Frances from having money issues later in the book where, suddenly, she’s forced to compromise her values to make sure she can eat, or Bobbi from “hoping” she can be a professor. They’re slowly having to ditch their self-absorption to recognize their belief systems won’t change the society they live in.

Another of Rooney’s triumphs is Frances. Yes, I don’t like her. No, me not liking her doesn’t make her a poorly-written character. Frances is an interesting and thoughtful depiction of a traumatized kid struggling into adulthood. Her alcoholic father’s rages taught her not to show emotion or vulnerability, to keep it all inside. That manifests in an increasingly fraught Frances incapable of expressing her feelings as situations get tense and she loses control. She ends up self-harming as an outlet because she finds the pain to be better than being vulnerable with anyone. Her spiral into self-destruction is based on flawed coping mechanisms she taught herself in her youth. This includes her cruelty, which, while I still can’t stand it, makes for a very interesting and well-rounded character by the end of the book. 

Where it all seems to fall apart is that by the end of the book nothing feels like it’s changed. There’s been some self-reflection from Frances, but not enough to not see Nick again. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t expect this to be a morality tale about extra-marital affairs, but the lack of real, observable character growth made me wonder why. Why did I read this if the biggest growth we see is Frances being nicer to her mother and saying she loves her dad (which, also, what?!)? She doesn’t tell anyone about her endometriosis diagnosis, she plans to see Nick again, and she has this intimacy with Bobbi that she hasn’t resolved. It feels like her character arc was a straight line, with only a bump or two of growth near the end. 

Then there’s my biggest issue: the age gap. It’s mentioned a total of three times. Once by Frances’ mother (“I don’t know what this woman is doing hanging around college students at her age.”), once by Phillip (“I didn’t think you would let someone take advantage of you like that.”), and once by Melissa (“21 is young, right? But what if you were 19, would he still have done it then? Is he the morbid guy in his 30s who secretly finds 15-year-old girls attractive? Has he ever used the search term ‘teen’?”). Each time Frances shrugs it off. Granted, from real-life stories I’ve heard about age gaps like this, that seems to be the norm. If the 21-year-old feels in control, they won’t see it as a big deal. But as someone between that gap, I can say: There is a power differential, this age gap is not healthy, and I agree with every character that called it out. It’s as if a parade of red flags passed before Frances’ eyes and she just shrugged. I couldn’t just shrug. Add that on top of the fact that both Frances and Nick are deceiving Melissa and, even when she does grant consent it is not enthusiastic, the entire affair leaves an awful taste in my mouth. 

It’s a shame I can’t enjoy this book. It had so many good things going for it. Unfortunately, I can’t enjoy a book about terrible people doing terrible things to each other. It’s depressing, it’s frustrating, and all of them need to go to therapy. Here’s hoping next month’s book isn’t such a bummer. See you then!