She’s often labelled as the literary voice of the millennial generation, but are her soaring sales purely down to her writing alone or are there bigger cultural factors at play?
Sally Rooney’s recent book, Intermezzo, was inescapable before it was even published. From the moment it was announced, it flooded Instagram with its uniquely Rooney-style cool minimalism and sombre prose.
As galleys (press send-outs) began circulating, my feed was saturated with posts from celebrities and influencers eager to display this status symbol of ‘intellectual cool’.
Sally Rooney’s ascent from relative obscurity to literary fame began with the 2020 lockdown-era release of Normal People on BBC iPlayer.
The adaptation drove waves of new readers to her earlier works, such as Conversations with Friends, while making her subsequent novels, Beautiful World, Where Are You and Intermezzo, the publishing events of their respective years. This solidified her status as the literary voice of the millennial generation.
As reading gained newfound prominence among Gen Z through the rise of ‘BookTok,’ owning and being seen to read Rooney’s books evolved into the ultimate badge of young intellectualism.
Yet her success presents a striking paradox. How does an author who is resolutely offline, writing about characters equally removed from the digital world, achieve such a dominant presence on social media, a space defined by personal branding and relentless consumer-driven trends?
Like many industries, social media has completely changed the publishing industry. The creation of literacy influencers like Jack Edwards to the promotion of self-publishing novels to making reading both cool and importantly more accessible.
Sally Rooney’s novels have become a staple in the online community, cementing themselves as the cultural status symbol of the digital age. Her books are not just praised for their themes and narratives but as markers of intellectualism and taste, often existing in ‘shelfies’ or ‘what’s in my bag’ flat lays.
Heartfelt reviews or emotional montages of her TV adaptations have propelled her to new heights, reaching audiences who may not encounter her otherwise.
This online buzz has turned Rooney and her novels into more than just literature, they have become aspirational commodities, furthered by the dedicated Instagram and Pinterest posts capturing her intellectual chic essence.
Ironically, however, this trendy commodification exists in tandem with the anti-capitalist tendencies of the author, woven throughout her novels.
Other millennial authors like Everything I Know About Love’s Dolly Alderton and Coco Mellors, author of Cleopatra and Frankenstein and Blue Sisters, have achieved similar ubiquity on social media.
However, their success feels more intuitive: both authors maintain active social media presences, with a combined following of over 500,000 on Instagram.
Their books, steeped in contemporary culture, reflect the realities of twenty-somethings immersed in the digital world, often referencing dating apps and social media itself whilst still being beautifully written.
By contrast, Rooney and her characters are profoundly offline, with little to no digital footprint. And yet, her books continue to dominate Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest, becoming emblems of taste for a generation eager to highlight their intellectual credentials.
A key defining difference between Rooney’s works and that of Alderton and Mellors lies in their stylistic framing. While the latter authors also tackle weighty themes their narratives are romanticised and aspirational. For example, Cleo, the protagonist of Cleopatra and Frankenstein, grapples with parental loss, much like the brothers in Rooney’s Intermezzo.
But where Mellors depicts a cool girl character juxtaposing grief with the glamour of New York’s contemporary art and party scene, Rooney sets her story against the bleak, grey streets of Dublin in midwinter.
This contrast is starkly reflected in what has become a rite of passage for popular online books; the curated aesthetic, mostly found on Pinterest and TikTok.
A quick Pinterest search reveals Cleopatra and Frankenstein boards brimming with vibrant party scenes, art, and aspirational fashion on skinny blonde girls, while Intermezzo is intellectual, sombre mood boards. The former is energizing and shareable; the latter, almost boring and austere.
It would be insulting to insist the popularity of Rooney’s novels is wholly down to the social media status symbol they have become.
They were popular in literacy circles far before ‘BookTok’ was a thing and remain popular with readers of many ages, a recent Faber event discussing Intermezzo was attended by everyone from students to pensioners.
An Irish woman in her mid-fifties attending told me Rooney’s writing “makes me nostalgic of my own time as a young woman in Dublin. Even three decades on I can relate to her characters in that way. I think that’s why she is so popular, even if her characters are young they deal with issues we dealt with when we were their age and still do now.”
Rooney’s novels delve into universal themes writers have been tackling for decades; class, sexuality, relationships, and communication being her most prominent and resulting in generations of readers resonating with her work.
Her characters are often flawed, contemplative, and caught in the complexities of modern life, being twenty or thirty-somethings in a late-stage capitalist society.
They navigate not only their interpersonal dynamics but also, an important thing for Rooney, the broader societal structures that shape their experiences.
This combination of personal vulnerability and social critique gives her books a timeless yet consciously aware millennial relevance.
Intermezzo delves into the aftermath of grief, and the different forms it can take focusing on two brothers attempting to process the loss of their father.
Rooney approaches this with her signature blunt minimalism, offering glimpses into the inner workings of her characters through awkward, realistic dialogue and vivid stream-of-consciousness narration.
The lack of a clear resolution and ending mirrors real life and real grief, making her characters feel authentic and relatable to readers of all ages.
Her focus on class, particularly in the disparity between working-class and privileged characters, is a thread that runs through all her novels.
In Normal People, Connell’s struggles with fitting into Marianne’s world of inherited privilege highlight the subtle ways in which socio-economic differences manifest in relationships.
Similarly, in Intermezzo, Rooney explores the friction between aspiration and reality, as her characters grapple with their place in the world.
These are weighty themes often only explored in depth in hard-to-read classics. Her prose is simple but also holds significant meaning, allowing readers to immerse themselves in the emotional lives of her characters.
This simple yet effective writing style is a key reason her books are appreciated in book clubs and academic discussions, appealing to a wide spectrum of readers.
By addressing these universally hard to talk about themes paired with modern-day, overly conscious living Rooney’s work stands out as more than just literary fiction, it shows the anxieties, aspirations, and contradictions of the millennial generation.
Chrissy Ryan is an ardent Rooney fan and founder of North London’s Bookbar, a bookshop and wine bar celebrating the social side of reading. She tells me she is “fascinated by the way that she intellectualises in an academic way, emotion and sex and relationships, there’s a whole index at the back (of the book) of quotes and references (which have been) very intentionally borrowed from sort of everyone from Shakespeare to Joyce to Wittgenstein, and she’s did she like philosophizers around these things that the rest of us find really everyday and commonplace.”
Much like the music industry now crafting songs designed to blow up on TikTok, the publishing industry increasingly markets books for online virality.
Genre fiction, a piece of literature that is formulaic in structure, and not particularly distinguishable from other books of the same genre, particularly romance, fantasy, and their popular hybrid, ‘romantasy’ thrives in this space due to its accessibility and emotional instantaneity.
Rooney’s novels, by contrast, are often slow, introspective, and at times pretentious. They demand more from the reader, with complex themes like mental illness, classism, and grief. Yet, despite their intellectual rigour, Rooney’s books dominate social media.
These platforms, plagued with visual trends and quick consumption, often celebrate only the surface-level qualities of works like Sally Rooney’s novels that can fit into minute-long reviews.
Elegant covers, quotable lines, or aspirational association of the left-wing elite, all while bypassing the critical engagement they demand and would get at book clubs are literary discussions.
Are readers genuinely taking the time to engage with the themes of class, mental health, and human connection that Rooney explores, or are they simply showcasing her books as cultural artefacts, another novel to tick of the list, adding to your cultural capital.
By turning literature into a status symbol, there is a risk that its literary and cultural impact becomes secondary to its image. In the case of Rooney, whose works critique consumerism and social inequality, this commodification is particularly ironic, reflecting the tension between her art’s intent at creation and the way it is consumed once out in the world.
Perhaps it’s the allure of her ‘cool minimalism’ and unfiltered exploration of human connection that captures the zeitgeist. Or it is the cultural capital they represent, signaling “elite” literary taste and elevating their readers above the consumers of lighter, commercial fiction.
However, the social media-driven popularity of her books complicates this narrative. The young, anti-capitalist readers who align with Rooney’s politics are not necessarily the ones creating TikTok trends or Pinterest boards featuring her work.
Instead, these platforms often highlight her books as aspirational commodities, a cultural artefact it is cool to own, undermining her critique of capitalism.
Rooney herself remains a strongly private person, but her political views are anything but. A self-declared Marxist, she has publicly supported boycotts of Israeli cultural institutions and recently commented on the Middle East conflict, stating that “it is difficult to avoid the conclusion we are witnessing an unfolding genocide.”
These progressive stances resonate with her audience of young, educated readers, for whom political alignment is increasingly integral to their consumption choices.
As debates about separating art from the artist gain momentum, Rooney’s politics further cement her as a voice for the progressive young adult.
Tara likes to spend her time creating book videos on TikTok. She tells me as someone who is intrested in politics, specifically that at the intersection of literature and politics she takes great interest in the views of those who create the work she consumes.
She says it was Rooney’s outspokenness that first attracted her to the author’s work: “I do think you’re kind of aligning yourself with that political side because I don’t think you could love her books without standing with that side of politics.”
Tara also believes for most people on BookTok or Bookstagram (the bookish side of Instagram) posting a Sally Rooney book, whether that be an aesthetic flat lay or a quote that spoke to them, they do so for more than its simple visuals: “Posting it because it’s pretty is great, but there’s a heavy kind of stand of politics that comes with promoting her books.”
But is Rooney’s bestselling literary prestige now in conflict with her anti-capitalist values? The overwhelming merchandising campaigns accompanying her last two book releases, such as tote bags, bookmarks, and exclusive collector’s editions paint a picture that feels distinctly capitalist.
A New York Times article published at the same time as Rooney’s third novel raised the question of the extensive branding surrounding Beautiful World, Where Are You.
This level of commodification seems far removed from Rooney’s declared socialist beliefs, raising questions about whether her work’s cultural prominence has been bolstered by the very system she critiques.
Sally Rooney’s name and book titles have amassed thousands of TikTok videos and Pinterest boards filled with ‘aesthetic’ images. Among these are ‘gift guides’ and outfit recommendations inspired by her characters,’ content that clashes with Rooney’s anti-commercial ethos.
Even though Rooney’s estimated net worth is said to be approaching £10 million, she appears to have remained steadfast in her Marxist beliefs, rarely engaging in public appearances or flashy displays of wealth.
Sally Rooney’s literary success exists at the intersection of culture, capitalism, and social media, if one of these were to go Rooney and her books would only have a fraction of the success they have enjoyed.
While her works remain grounded in the exploration of complex human relationships and societal issues, their commodification as aspirational symbols, though not her fault, does complicate her critique of consumerism.
In the digital era, where identity is often curated for consumption adhering to strict conformality of the chosen ‘aesthetic’, Rooney’s books embody both a cultural revolution and an ironic symbol of the very capitalism they critique, leaving us to question whether literature, like everything else in the digital age, has become just another object to be consumed and displayed.
Featured image by Libby Cameron.