(The following has a few spoilers:)
This show gutted me. The final scene, episode 10, Connell and Marianne sit on the floor in her house in fictitious Carriklea. Connell has an opportunity to go to grad school for creative writing in New York City. Wait, tears are forming in my eyes right now just thinking of it. “I’ll go.” Connell says. Marianne says, “And I’ll stay. And we’ll be okay.”
But I won’t! Sniffles.
I can’t with them. I was in the height of my COVID anxiety when I binged this. I was bad. I cried because I was stuck at home with All. The. People. In. My. House. I freakin’ cried a lot. I cried because I am Marianne. I cried because I am Connell. And, again, I’m a Black girl who’s never stepped foot on Ireland soil. Didn’t matter. For two whole days I walked around with an Irish accent. Cheered when Paul Mescal got the Emmy nomination. This is the most unchaste television I’ve watched in a while and I was here for all of it! Teenagers going at it. It reminded me of all the sex I never got when I was in high school.
Now here’s your assignment: Watch it because it’s good and then read Sally Rooney’s titular book, on which the show is based, because it’s equally good. And then read Rooney’s Conversations with Friends. I’m not sure how I feel about the latter. I think I like it a lot, but I’m still mulling it over.
