Reading People Reading Sally Rooney: Literary Voyeurism and the Decentralized Critic
In the release of "Intermezzo," we are no longer just consuming literature—we are consuming each other.
It’s mid-October 2024, which can only mean one thing in certain circles: it’s Sally Rooney season. If past Rooney novels like Normal People and Beautiful World, Where Are You ignited discussion, Intermezzo has solidified something more profound: a decentralized, democratic form of literary criticism. What’s remarkable about this wave is that the response is no longer just academic or journalistic. Instead, it’s happening in real-time on Substack and social media, where reflection replaces the traditional review, and the private act of reading becomes a collective performance.
We aren’t just reading Sally Rooney; we’re reading people reading Sally Rooney.
This phenomenon of decentralized literary criticism is worth examining, particularly in how it seems to invite a new form of voyeurism—one that exists not just in Rooney’s text but in how people read and write about her work. When
recently dedicated an entire digest to Intermezzo, featuring multiple reflections from various readers, it wasn’t merely a collection of reviews but a snapshot of an emerging, dynamic form of cultural discourse. Everyone, it seems, has an opinion about Rooney (either very good, very bad, or very mild), and those opinions form an intricate web of interpretations that bypass the gatekeeping of traditional literary criticism. The conversation is no longer confined to academic journals or prestigious publications; it thrives in self-published essays, social media posts, and reflections that blur the line between criticism and personal confession.Decentralized literary criticism functions as a network of responses, where there is no single authoritative voice but a chorus of perspectives that influence each other in real-time. It is inherently democratic—anyone can participate—and it blurs the boundaries between professional and amateur, public and private. This is a critical departure from the top-down model of literary criticism, where critics shape the discourse. Instead, readers shape the discourse themselves, not merely as passive consumers of literature but as active agents in interpreting it. In this way, Rooney's reception becomes more about the experience of being part of something—something larger than the text itself. As
writes on Substack, “It’s so exciting to feel part of something, Sally Rooney Season, where everyone is reading and discussing her books in a spirited, invested fashion.” Here, we see the shift from individual reading to communal engagement, where the act of reading becomes something more performative, a participatory cultural ritual.But there is, perhaps, also a murkier element lurking beneath this cultural fervor—one that I would argue is fundamentally voyeuristic. Voyeurism, in its most basic sense, involves deriving pleasure from observing others without their knowledge or consent. Sigmund Freud famously linked voyeurism, or scopophilia, to a form of sexual pleasure, rooted in the desire to look and derive satisfaction from looking without being seen. In Sally Rooney’s novels, this dynamic plays out not only between characters (Marianne and Connell…) but between readers and text, and between readers and other readers.
Rooney’s novels are exercises in intimacy and distance, where characters' most private thoughts are laid bare for us to observe. Her narrative style—famously minimal, often lacking discourse markers—heightens this voyeuristic effect. Readers are invited to peer into the unsaid, to fill in the emotional gaps between her characters' interactions. This act of filling in those gaps feels like a form of eavesdropping, an invasion of privacy. We are privy to her characters’ inner lives in ways they themselves are often not, and this creates a sense of voyeuristic power. The reader becomes an observer, watching these characters navigate their complex emotions, miscommunications, and unspoken desires, without intervening. And this position is inherently pleasurable: we can witness their lives, their messiness, from a safe distance, insulated from their consequences.
But this voyeurism extends beyond the relationship between reader and text. In the era of decentralized literary criticism, we now engage in a more reflexive kind of voyeurism—one where we are not only watching Rooney’s characters but watching other readers watch Rooney’s characters. Lacan’s concept of the gaze is helpful here. In Lacan’s theory, the gaze is not simply about seeing but about the awareness of being seen. When we engage with Rooney’s work in public forums like Substack, we are not just performing the private act of reading. We are hyper-aware that others are reading alongside us, and that our reflections on the text are being consumed by others. This creates a feedback loop of observation, where we are both the watchers and the watched.
Take, for instance, the response from
, who points out, “[A]t this point her haters are also fans because they talk about her so much.” The constant discourse around Rooney—whether positive or negative—reflects this dynamic. Even those who critique Rooney are drawn into the same system of observation and performance. They watch her work, scrutinize it, and participate in a public conversation about it, aware that their critiques are being observed by others in turn. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle of looking and being looked at, of reading and being read, that reflects Lacan’s assertion that desire is always mediated by the gaze of the Other.Foucault’s concept of the panopticon—a structure where individuals are constantly aware that they might be under surveillance, and therefore regulate their own behavior accordingly—further illuminates this dynamic. In Intermezzo, Rooney’s characters are often caught in cycles of self-surveillance, questioning how they are perceived by others, and attempting to manage those perceptions. But this extends to the readerly experience as well. In our today’s digital landscape, where platforms like Substack encourage public reflection, readers are constantly aware that their interpretations are subject to close examination. This post is a living, breathing example of it! We perform our readings knowing that others will be reading our reflections, much like prisoners in the panopticon regulate their actions, aware they might be observed at any moment.
I particularly resonate with
’s reflection of “[thinking] of [the characters] when I wasn’t reading the book.” This comment captures the inescapable nature of Rooney’s world. Her characters, like the readers themselves, are consumed by observation—both of others and of themselves. The pleasure we derive from Rooney’s novels is not just in watching her characters, but in knowing that others are watching with us. It’s a communal form of voyeurism, where the boundaries between reader and text, observer and observed, blur.This brings us back to the notion of decentralized literary criticism. In traditional criticism, the critic occupies a position of authority, standing apart from the text to offer a considered, objective assessment. But in Rooney’s reception, the reader is no longer a detached observer. Instead, they become part of the text’s cultural life, engaging with it publicly, and performing their interpretations for others. The private act of reading becomes a public spectacle, a form of social participation where the lines between reader, critic, and character dissolve.
In the end, this new form of decentralized literary criticism represents a shift in how we engage with literature. We are no longer content to read in isolation. We want to watch, and we want to be watched. Rooney’s work, with its intricate depiction of human relationships, invites this kind of engagement. Her novels are not just stories; they are mirrors, reflecting back to us our own impulses, our desire to be part of something larger, our need to be seen as readers and thinkers in a digital landscape where everything is up for scrutiny.
In this performance of reading, we are no longer just consuming literature—we are consuming each other.