Once I knew what it meant, I decided that the title of Intermezzo by Sally Rooney couldn’t have been more fitting. The book Intermezzo is an interlude, a space to pause. Through her writing, Rooney offers us exactly this opportunity. The story is a tender interlude in the lives of two brothers, and for readers, a chance to step into a reflective moment on life’s complexities. We realize that all life’s events, however big or small they seem at the time, are ultimately just a chapter in the relatively small book of our own lives. It’s wonderful in both showing this, yet not making it feel like nothing is ultimately worthwhile.

I have read Rooney’s previous novels (including Normal People), and I found them good—very good, really, I guess in theory, but I was constantly on the verge of feeling that I’d outgrown some of the raw angst her characters typically experience. This one, though, felt different. I listened to Intermezzo on Audible, and there was something about the narrator’s lyrical voice that elevated the story into a class above the rest. The narration was filled with a warmth that brought every interaction and every conversation in the text to life. The book is, if you like, a love letter to the strength of family, the power of grief, and the tangled relationships that make us who we are.

The story centers on two brothers in mourning: Peter, the elder, a fairly successful lawyer (though perhaps not quite as hot-shot as he and those around him believe him to be), whose life appears polished but is layered with hidden messes; and Ivan, a chess-playing genius with a quieter nature and a somewhat strained connection to others. Ivan is often seen by Peter as “on the spectrum,” and the brothers struggle, as brothers do, to bridge their different ways of being in the world. Rooney captures their dynamic beautifully, with all the little hypocrisies—and larger ones—the moments of frustration, and the tender care that seeps through despite everything.

Peter is struggling—his father’s death has up skittled him, and he’s grappling with his own relationships, including a complicated history with an ex-girlfriend and his current relationship with Naomi, a younger woman who embodies a refreshing strength but also makes unconventional choices that challenge Peter’s—and the reader’s—views. Rooney doesn’t give us answers or judgments; instead, she lets us sit with these complexities. Naomi is unapologetically herself, and her relationship with Peter is real and flawed in ways that prompt readers to examine their own perspectives. Peter didn’t plan to fall in love with Naomi; he still loves his ex, and the idea of having both women in his life—exploring something beyond monogamy—fills him with fear, self-loathing, doubt, and uncertainty. And yet… it has its attraction.

Considering Peter’s messy life, it’s perhaps ironic that he is critical of Ivan’s relationship with a much older woman. Yet his intentions are good. Rooney is masterful in creating quiet and not-so-quiet moments where the brothers’ unspoken and spoken judgments and insecurities make themselves known.

The book flows with deeply realistic conversations, each one a brushstroke that paints the brothers’ shared history, love, and individual struggles. Rooney’s talent here is her subtlety, the way she lets us glimpse raw, honest emotions without ever overstating. Listening to their exchanges unfold through the narrator’s voice felt like a privilege; it made the story feel personal, intimate, as though I was a part of something that really mattered.

In the end, Intermezzo is a love story in its own quiet, real way—a story of brotherly love, of grief, and of the connections that, even in their imperfect, messy forms, hold us together. It’s a testament to life’s unpredictable beauty, the interludes that shape us, and the resilience we find in each other. Rooney has created an intermezzo not only for her characters but also for the reader—a pause to reflect on life’s beautiful, complex mess.