Normal People highlights the relational tensions that often arise as a result of class disparity. Connell comes from a working-class background and is very conscious of his modest upbringing, especially since his mother works as a housecleaner for Marianne’s family, who are very wealthy. Marianne and Connell tend to avoid the subject of money when possible, and though Connell doesn’t necessarily hold Marianne’s wealth against her, he can’t help but notice the many ways in which she takes her own privilege for granted. The difference in their economic backgrounds becomes especially pronounced when they go to college at Trinity in Dublin, where Connell has a hard time fitting in because so many of the students are wealthy. Marianne, on the other hand, finds it easy to make friends. She also does a number of things that underscore her lack of awareness surrounding her own privilege, like apply for a scholarship simply to demonstrate her intellectual abilities. Whereas Connell (who receives the same scholarship as Marianne) feels as if his entire life changes once he receives the money, nothing about Marianne’s daily life shifts at all. Connell notices Marianne’s entitlement and the different way she approaches money, but what’s notable about this unequal element of their relationship isn’t necessarily that it pushes them apart, but that it doesn’t. It’s true that Connell and Marianne are from different economic backgrounds, but the novel doesn’t suggest that this class disparity creates an insurmountable problem in their relationship—rather, Normal People simply acknowledges the subtle ways in which things like money and class can gently weigh on relationships.
Even though Connell’s not hostile about the fact that Marianne is wealthy, it’s undeniable that the difference in their backgrounds creates a certain imbalance in their relationship. This imbalance is perhaps most glaring when they first get to know each other, since Connell has to pick his mother up from cleaning Marianne’s house. Consequently, the first formative conversations of their relationship take place in Marianne’s mansion, making it hard for Connell to overlook not just the difference in their lifestyles, but also the fact that his mother works for her family. Even other people recognize the class disparity between Connell and Marianne, as Rob teases Connell by suggesting that Marianne must see him as her “butler.” For the most part, Connell shrugs off such thoughts, but he does get upset when his mother suggests at one point that Marianne’s mother might not like the idea of him dating her—he has never fully thought about the possibility that Marianne’s family might look down on him, and he’s surprised to find that it makes him “furious.” The implication, then, is that he has no problem with the class disparity between him and Marianne but does have a problem with the notion that her mother might feel “superior.” His concern therefore has little to do with money and everything to do with dignity and respect.
It is perhaps because Connell cares more about respect than money that he’s able to ignore Marianne’s occasional entitled comments and behavior—after all, he knows that she respects him. Her admiration for him is obvious, as she goes around college telling people nice things about him, like that he’s the smartest person she’s ever met. In fact, he gets a special thrill out of hearing her say this to rich students whose parents are successful, influential figures in society. That he derives pleasure from outsmarting students with more financial privilege than him suggests that he does have some animosity toward the rich, at least on a certain level. This animosity might have to do with the trouble he has fitting in at Trinity, since he feels like everyone around him lives in a different world—a world in which opportunity and possibility appear out of nowhere. That’s also the world Marianne is used to, and though she doesn’t necessarily flaunt her wealth, Connell is very aware of how unconcerned she is about money. Unlike him, she doesn’t have to work her way through college, nor does she have to pay for her own housing. When they both receive prestigious scholarships that pay for school, lodging, and meals, Connell knows that Marianne only took the scholarship exams to distinguish herself as intelligent, focusing on prestige without considering that the scholarship could have gone to someone who actually needed assistance—someone just like Connell.
Despite passing moments of tension surrounding Marianne’s privilege, though, Normal People isn’t a novel about how class disparity ruins relationships. Instead, the book merely uses Connell and Marianne’s contrasting economic backgrounds to illustrate a simple idea: namely, that some people can afford to never think about money while others cannot. And while this distinction doesn’t always wreak havoc on romantic connections, it’s hard to keep it from bringing itself to bear on a relationship in at least some ways.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Money, Class, and Entitlement ThemeTracker
Money, Class, and Entitlement Quotes in Normal People
Well, you're smarter than me.
Don't feel bad. I'm smarter than everyone.
Marianne is grinning now. She exercises an open contempt for people in school. She has no friends and spends her lunch-times alone reading novels. A lot of people really hate her. Her father died when she was thirteen and Connell has heard she has a mental illness now or something. It’s true she is the smartest person in school. He dreads being left alone with her like this, but he also finds himself fantasizing about things he could say to impress her.
Lately he's consumed by a sense that he is in fact two separate people, and soon he will have to choose which person to be on a full-time basis, and leave the other person behind. He has a life in Carricklea, he has friends. If he went to college in Galway he could stay with the same social group, really, and live the life he has always planned on, getting a good degree, having a nice girlfriend. People would say he had done well for himself. On the other hand, he could go to Trinity like Marianne. Life would be different then. He would start going to dinner parties and having conversations about the Greek bailout. […] After that he would never come back to Carricklea, he would go somewhere else, London, or Barcelona. People would not necessarily think he had done well; some people might think he had gone very bad, while others would forget about him entirely.
Then we'd both be in Dublin, he says. I bet you'd pretend you didn't know me if we bumped into each other.
Marianne says nothing at first. The longer she stays silent the more nervous he feels, like maybe she really would pretend not to know him, and the idea of being beneath her notice gives him a panicked feeling, not only about Marianne personally but about his future, about what's possible for him.
Then she says: I would never pretend not to know you, Connell.
Back home, Connell's shyness never seemed like much of an obstacle to his social life, because everyone knew who he was already, and there was never any need to introduce himself or create impressions about his personality. If anything, his personality seemed like something external to himself, managed by the opinions of others, rather than anything he individually did or produced. Now he has a sense of invisibility, nothingness, with no reputation to recommend him to anyone.
He could just tell her about the situation and ask if he could stay in her place until September. He knew she would say yes. He thought she would say yes, it was hard to imagine her not saying yes. But he found himself putting off the conversation, putting off Niall’s enquiries about it, planning to bring it up with her and then at the last minute failing to. It just felt too much like asking her for money. He and Marianne never talked about money. They had never talked, for example, about the fact that her mother paid his mother money to scrub their floors and hang their laundry, or about the fact that this money circulated indirectly to Connell, who spent it, as often as not, on Marianne. He hated having to think about things like that. He knew Marianne never thought that way. She bought him things all the time, dinner, theatre tickets, things she would pay for and then instantly, permanently, forget about.
Hey, listen. By the way. It looks like I won’t be able to pay rent up here this summer. Marianne looked up from her coffee and said flatly: What?
Yeah, he said. I’m going to have to move out of Niall’s place.
When? said Marianne.
Pretty soon. Next week maybe.
Her face hardened, without displaying any particular emotion. Oh, she said. You’ll be going home, then.
He rubbed at his breastbone then, feeling short of breath. Looks like it, yeah, he said.
[…]
He couldn’t understand how this had happened, how he had let the discussion slip away like this. It was too late to say he wanted to stay with her, that was clear, but when had it become too late? It seemed to have happened immediately.
Everything is possible now because of the scholarship. His rent is paid, his tuition is covered, he has a free meal every day in college. This is why he's been able to spend half the summer traveling around Europe, disseminating currency with the care-free attitude of a rich person. He's explained it, or tried to explain it, in his emails to Marianne. For her the scholarship was a self-esteem boost, a happy confirmation of what she has always believed about herself anyway: that she's special. Connell has never really known whether to believe that about himself, and he still doesn't know. For him the scholarship is a gigantic material fact, like a vast cruise ship that has sailed into view out of nowhere, and suddenly he can do a postgraduate program for free if he wants to, and live in Dublin for free, and never think about rent again until he finishes college.
