Sally Rooney

The Good Wine is not just about good wine — it is the savoring of decadence and long baths. It is slow dancing at a wedding, cinnamon rolls and the warmth of the sun. It is bliss, it is pleasure — it is that “Champagne Shit” as Janelle Monáe has recently put it. My Good Wine is as simple as your craft beer, your aperol spritz, your various kinds of martini or your French 75. 

“Love in the Time of Serial Killers” follows Phoebe, a PhD candidate interested in the rhetoric and composition of true crime.

With her latest endeavor “Lapvona,” it's evident that Moshfegh is not impervious to her newfound widespread name recognition or status as the definitive writer of “unlikable female protagonists.”

Though Rooney attempts to offer psychological and philosophical insights, such efforts fail through the medium of Oliver and Alwyn’s flat affection.

The film positions its only point of intrigue as its lesbian romance, an insufficient measure given its lack of depth and inchoate narratives.

Considering the brevity of her work, how is it that Rooney has swiftly become this acclaimed literary sensation?

Each of these four books practically insist on being read by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate and a flannel blanket.

The novel excels in the way it shifts focus from the individual and onto the relationship.

Intimacy, according to “Normal People,” is a living, breathing entity that exists between two people, suspended in a web of vulnerability.