My cannibalistic problem

So far, I've watched about 8 episodes of Normal People. I like many things about it, it is touching and good and real, and I really have nothing against Sally Rooney or any of the actors, all of them seem massively talented and soulful. And yet, there is this subtle sense of resentment that's growing inside me as the episodes go on.

It's not a huge deal. What I mean is simply this: I'm lying on my couch and empathizing with the pain of Connell and Marianne, and then suddenly, for a few minutes, a disillusioned boredom takes over.

It's just getting sort of annoying, to be forced to accept that these Instagram humans are the protagonists of the world, forever and ever, while everyone else's life is background noise.

But really, this isn't intellectual. Actually, it's cannibalistic. It's like I've been eating certain types of people all my life, and now I'm starting to get a bit sick and would love to eat something else. You know?

Recently I read Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend and I fucking loved it. It's the best book I've read in a while. It's like what would happen if Karl Ove Knausgård wrote Harry Potter. Basically, it's intoxicating literature: clear and grand and true. I LOVE ELENA FERRANTE!!!!!!! Still, I have to admit that I became alienated for a while when Lila grew up to be Exceptionally Beautiful™. It's so lame.

I mean, Lila was described as an intense, ingenious, disturbing, weird-looking child. She already was interesting. Why does she have to become the Hottest Girl in Italy? (Although, in Ferrante's case, I did forgive that eventually. The books are just so real and good in other ways, and I guess I eventually kind of started to understand the point of that turn of events.)

The subliminal message of a lot of art and popular culture is: Suffering is beautiful, but only if you look like a supermodel. I actually don't have a problem with the first part of that message. The ability to aestheticize the difficult parts of life can be a revolutionary power. The process of finding some grace and glory in suffering is existentially crucial: it makes you less afraid of living your life. And that is really the very reason why these aching Instagram humans are getting boring.

The fact is that art and popular culture have the power to make almost anything seem romantic or heroic or appealing. I don't understand why people aren't using that power more creatively and courageously.

It seems like in 9 out of 10 cases, the stories that include non-supermodel protagonists who are in pain are either comedies or Realistically Depressing and Disgusting art house stuff. There's nothing wrong with that, I just think that it would be interesting to see more artists being ambitious with that ability to create grace and glory in bleak places.

Here's my challenge to you, whoever it is who's reading this: write a story about an unimpressive-looking person who's living with irritable bowel syndrome. Show the beautiful, heroic tragedy in that life. If you manage to do that, you've really done something very, very interesting.