Have you ever read a book with characters so vividly drawn, they begin to feel like real people, woven into your daily thoughts like old friends? You think about them the way you would someone you know, and when the story ends, you’re left with a strange, aching sense of loss. That’s exactly what happened to Evie and I whilst reading Sally Rooney’s latest masterpiece, Intermezzo.
Join us for our first conversational piece where we delve into Sally Rooney’s Intermezzo.
Francesca: Hi Evie – so excited that we are getting to do this! Our good friend (Hi Lizzie!) recommended us this book, and I have to say I absolutely loved it, so I am looking forward to unpacking everything and hearing your thoughts!
Evie: Oh, hello! I’m so glad we get to talk about this because I have just finished it, and I need to debrief. It needed to come with a warning because I feel so empty without knowing what Ivan and Peter are up to…
Wait, What is Intermezzo About Again?
Francesca: Just a quick summary of the book before we dive in: Set in contemporary Ireland, Intermezzo follows two brothers grappling with the aftermath of their father’s death. Peter, the older sibling, is a successful lawyer entangled in emotional turmoil, haunted by his past with ex-girlfriend Sylvie while navigating a complicated new relationship with Naomi, a much younger woman. Meanwhile, Ivan, a gifted chess player, embarks on a surprising romance with an older, previously married woman. The story explores the brothers’ interactions and relationship in a world shrouded by grief.
Evie: In short, think grief, intimacy, weird family dynamics, beautiful sentences, and men trying really hard not to cry.
So Let’s Get Into It … Who Was Your Favourite Brother?
F: Hmm, now this is tricky.
E: No time to waste. Pick a brother, Cheska. Choose your fighter.
F: As a classic middle child (*can you tell I am a middle child…?*), I really relate to both brothers. I connect with the sense of responsibility that often comes with being an older sibling, but I also strongly empathise with the younger brother’s frustration, feeling overlooked or not taken seriously. For Peter, a really touching moment of growth comes when he meets Margaret, and he feels that he is seeing his brother as an adult and independent being for the first time. There’s an innocence in Ivan’s love for Margaret; they’ve simply fallen for each other, despite the societal stigmas surrounding their relationship. I think that moment marks a shift for Peter. There’s a sense of acceptance, perhaps even relief, especially when Ivan invites him to spend Christmas with them and shows a level of understanding towards Peter’s complicated relationships with Naomi and Sylvie.
E: Yes! Both were written so well, you kind of fall for them in turn and feel so strongly towards them because the reader is made to understand them so well. I started off as team Ivan as I related to him a bit, as a youngest sibling. Also, in the beginning, I found Peter’s complexities and his position a bit stifling and claustrophobic.
F: Sorry I have to jump in here … don’t you think that is the beauty and magnificence of Rooney’s writing? The lack of punctuation, the meandering, spiralling internal monologues? It’s so claustrophobic – but in the best way! It makes you feel like you are actually in Peter’s head, which makes it even harder to swallow – the overwhelmingness and constant flow of thoughts was exhausting to read, and makes you sympathise even more with Peter. Imagine living with those thoughts …
E: Definitely, it’s all-consuming but in the best way. I think Ivan’s chapters felt calmer and more stable, so I looked forward to reading his chapters more than Peter’s, especially because of his love story with Margaret unfolding. But by the end, Peter was the character I felt the most for. His complex relationships started to make sense, and the interaction that sold it to me was when he met Margaret outside of the chess competition. I think his moment with Ivan after that was so tender that I actually felt proud of him.
F: So, we are both Team Peter …?
E: I fear yes …
Let’s Talk About Chess
E: Chess, I think, acted as a reminder that Ivan has been so shaped by Peter. He started playing chess because of him, and then it ended up taking up such a huge portion of his life. Also, chess, as something that brought Ivan and his dad together, was an important theme throughout the book. More metaphorically, the fact that the book takes turns to tell the story of each brother in chapters mimics the patient nature of chess, each waiting to make a move. It was like a progression of their lives through similar moves to chess.
F: Yes! I totally agree. I think Chess represented the strategy, control, and foresight that both brothers seek in their lives. It’s structured, rule-bound, and cerebral (much like Peter’s approach to life), but unlike chess, real life doesn’t always follow logical moves. For Ivan, who teaches chess, the game might also represent a rare space where he feels competent and in control, in contrast to his more uncertain emotional world. There’s also something telling in how chess is a silent, adversarial game between two people, much like the emotional standoff between the brothers. Rooney uses it to reflect the subtle tensions, calculated silences, and the unspoken strategies we use to survive our inner lives and each other. Their emotional constipation …
Speaking of Emotional Constipation, Let’s Get into the Juicy Stuff: Men, Feelings, and Rooney’s Lens
E: Is Rooney writing men… or writing projections of women’s fears of men?
F: Here is the thing … controversial take, but I am just not convinced anyone (male or female) is as emotionally articulate as Rooney has written them to be. Does anyone actually think that hard? Most of us are just struggling to survive day-to-day. I think my next read will have to be a book written by a man exploring grief, love, or the emotional weight of life, just to compare perspectives.
But what Rooney does remarkably well is portray the emotional internalisation many men experience, shaped both by societal expectations and their own discomfort with vulnerability. Her male characters often wrestle with the quiet burdens of feeling, without the language or permission to express them fully. What’s particularly interesting is how she positions the women, Margaret, Sylvie, and Naomi, as catalysts for emotional openness. Through their presence and interactions, Rooney creates space for the brothers to confront and express their inner lives, even if only partially. Rather than writing projections of women’s fears of men, she seems more intent on exposing the emotional limitations that masculinity, as it’s often constructed, imposes on men themselves.
E: My initial thought on this was that Rooney is expressing women’s fears of men. The way that Peter had Sylvie and Naomi at his disposal was something that made me uncomfortable and initially not warm to Peter. But as the relationships got more intense and complex, it was easier to understand that what these men were doing was circumstantial and responses to their environment. Because of this complexity, I’d now settle with the idea that Rooney is actually writing men. But as Cheska said, I will also have to read a book written by a man exploring similar themes. I rarely read books narrated by men, and so it makes this question hard to answer.
What did Rooney nail about masculinity and grief here?
F: What I find so powerful is Rooney’s ability to capture the paradox of grief, that it can be utterly devastating and yet exist alongside the mundane rhythms of everyday life. She portrays this tension beautifully through the two brothers. Peter, for instance, outwardly maintains a successful career in law, but through his internal monologues, we gain intimate access to his profound suffering. Ivan, on the other hand, struggles with self-confidence, yet gradually finds his way toward happiness in his relationship with Margaret. What Rooney captures so insightfully is not just their individual pain, but their inability to recognise that they are both grieving, albeit in very different ways.
E: Their distinct relationships with their father and their differing personalities shape their mourning processes. Rooney seems to suggest that grief is deeply personal, and that part of its complexity lies in how difficult it can be to see and validate someone else’s version of it, even, or especially, within a family.
Let’s Talk Uncomfortable Moments (Because There Were Plenty)
E: What parts did you find were most uncomfortable? Why?
F: Without a doubt, the most uncomfortable aspect for me was Peter’s oscillation between Sylvie and Naomi. There’s something deeply unsettling about the way he navigates these relationships, not just because of the emotional ambiguity, but because it feels like he’s trying to extract different things from each woman without fully committing to either. With Sylvie, it’s intellectual stimulation; with Naomi, it’s a kind of youthful vitality or escape. What’s uncomfortable is how little self-awareness Peter seems to have about the power dynamics at play, and how easily his indecision edges into emotional irresponsibility. It reveals something quite raw about entitlement, avoidance, and the way grief can mask or excuse emotional detachment.
E: I agree! Getting a look into their psyche was kind of unsettling… Boys are a mystery, and seeing Peter have two very intense and emotional relationships happening at the same time seems worrying. Like Cheska said, that unawareness of what he needs and wants is uncomfortable and in the wake of him trying to work it out himself, he has left two women in the lurch.
Why did she choose to use Ivan, Peter and then Margaret as narrators? Why not the other women?
F: I have a theory—though I admit it might be a bit speculative, so bear with me—but what if the choice of narrators is deeply tied to how the male characters perceive the women in their lives? Margaret is the only woman given narrative voice, and perhaps that’s because Ivan sees her as an equal. He respects her, engages with her as a partner, and doesn’t diminish her presence or agency. In contrast, Peter’s relationships with women, Naomi and Sylvie, are marked by imbalance. Naomi is younger, less established, and somewhat adrift in comparison to Peter, while Sylvie, though intellectually stimulating, can never sexually satisfy Peter. In a way, their lack of narrative voice might reflect Peter’s own inability to fully see or understand them as equals.
E: I think that is an incredible theory! I think it’s easy to see why that has weight to it, too. Ivan, if we were to go deeper into the idea, puts Margaret on a bit of a pedestal. The way he fell out with Peter about his judgment of her, and simply his narration and thoughts about her, prove his love and admiration. In this vein, it makes sense that Margaret got her own chapter because she is in a whole other league through Ivan’s eyes.
F: So do you think you missed hearing from Sylvia and Naomi?
E: My thought on this is that it would have been interesting to hear more from Sylvia. It was definitely a choice to not give her space to talk through her accident; perhaps to keep the reader sympathising with Peter rather than passing sympathy onto Sylvie? Naomi did appear to be a side character, someone who Peter needed for certain things and validation, but Sylvie seemed more. Also, the way Ivan had a relationship with her, to me, would give her the reason to have her own section to narrate and her story was linked with the brothers, where as Naomi’s was an entirely separate entitity, not to be harsh, but I don’t think her narrative would have added much to the story, but Sylvie’s would. I completely get why she wasn’t added, though. It could’ve got too saturated with narratives, and it was inherently a story about Peter and Ivan, and they were plenty for the story.
What Do Their Family Roles Tell Us About Their Relationships?
E: It seemed that everything Ivan and Peter were looking for from each other and their relationships was a reflection of their family dynamic. Ivan had always felt Peter didn’t respect him as a man and treated him as a child. Peter never felt he was allowed to be a child; always the protector and parent. Ivan then ends up with Margaret, a woman closer to Peter’s age who does respect him and even allows herself to be cared for by Ivan. Peter ends up equally caring for Naomi, just as he did for Ivan, because that is what he is used to. It felt like Ivan was searching for the validation he needed, and Peter found his validation and stability from remaining as the protector.
F: Exactly. It’s like they’re both reacting to roles they didn’t choose but have never been able to shake off. Rooney doesn’t just write brothers. She writes about siblings who are haunted by their own childhood versions of each other.
The Ending: Gutted. Empty. Bereft.
E: What was your gut reaction? How did you feel when you finished the book?
F: I was devastated. I felt like I had been dumped haha.
E: I just knew that I would miss them. I put off finishing the last few pages because I didn’t want it to end. I felt like I knew the characters, and so finishing the book was like cutting off old friends.
So Final Thoughts:
Reading Intermezzo felt like gaining two new friends, flawed, familiar, and unforgettable. Rooney’s writing invites you into the deeply internal lives of Peter and Ivan, exploring grief, masculinity, and sibling dynamics with lyrical precision. The book’s structure, like a chess game, mirrors their standoff nature, silent, strategic, unresolved. We found ourselves switching allegiances, feeling both frustrated and protective, which is testament to how real these characters became. Rooney captures the beauty and burden of unspoken emotions, crafting a story that lingers long after the final page. Finishing Intermezzo left us raw, grateful, and ready to talk about it together.
BEYOND THE WORD 