“Is that the coat I bought you? he said.
Yes. I wear it to remind me that you’re real.”
— Sally Rooney, “Mr. Salary”
As Rooney’s career reaches new heights, I find myself coming back to “Mr. Salary” to revisit her promising literary beginnings. In “Mr. Salary,” she explores class and connection, laying the groundwork for the themes that define her later novels.
The story follows Sukie’s return to Dublin, where she reconnects with Nathan, a man fifteen years her senior. Neither her friend nor lover, Nathan’s place in Sukie’s life is complicated. She moved in with him when she was nineteen, after her mother died and her father lost all their savings. Nathan takes care of her for nearly three years, leading their friends to believe they shared some kind of “sordid arrangement,” not helped by the fact that their every encounter is heavy with sexual tension. Nathan, wary of their age gap, laughs off the idea and jokes, “I’m not really getting my money’s worth, am I?”
In “Mr. Salary,” she explores class and connection, laying the groundwork for the themes that define her later novels.
Sukie, who’s fallen in love with Nathan, can’t shake the idea. The coolness of her tone throughout the story masks the intensity of her feelings, and the illicit nature of their relationship only worsens the tangible tension between them. Nathan even jokes about having attended her christening—a comment that, while strange, underscores the deep, if unconventional, connection between them. The story is full of exchanges like this that highlight their age gap and attraction to one another, and the scenes are so tense it’s nearly uncomfortable—if not for their obvious intimacy and bond. For instance, over dinner, Sukie contemplates her dying father—the reason for her trip in the first place—and asks Nathan if he would grieve if she died. Uncomfortable with the idea, he tells her to eat her food and drop the topic. Sukie does, but not before casually confessing, “I just want to know you love me”—yet another subject Nathan is careful not to breach.
He deflects because he understands the power imbalance inherent in their relationship, a theme that runs throughout Rooney’s works. In her debut Conversations With Friends, a college student embarks on an affair with an older, married actor. In the widely acclaimed Normal People, while no age gap exists, a class divide complicates the central romance. Across her works—including Beautiful World, Where Are You and her latest, Intermezzo—Rooney explores how power dynamics shape human connection, whether through age, class, or both. Her ability to capture the nuances of relationships transforms her works from plain love stories into insightful examinations of modern romance.
Her ability to capture the nuances of relationships transforms her works from plain love stories into insightful examinations of modern romance.
But romance isn’t the story’s only focus. Sukie returns to Dublin to visit her dying father, Frank, and try as she might to conceal it, it is clear the notion of death unnerves her. Frank, in his weakened state, manages to see right through her: “You’re a cool customer. We’ll see how cool you are when you’re left on your own, hmm? Very cool you might be then.” Although he directs his words to no one in particular, Sukie feels their sting. Yet, the apparent nonchalance of her tone would suggest her detachment. She doesn’t see—or perhaps doesn’t want to see—herself as someone vulnerable to emotion: “Emotionally, I saw myself as a smooth, hard little ball. He couldn’t get purchase on me. I just rolled away.”
Still, the inevitability of death haunts her. She reflects on how her body’s cells constantly die and regenerate: “Nothing inside my body was trying to kill me. Death was, of course, the most ordinary thing that could happen, at some level I knew that.” Yet, she can’t help but feel troubled by the thought, can’t help but stare after the body she sees in the Liffey River.
Rooney deftly intertwines Sukie’s existentialism with her attachment to Nathan. In a rare moment of direct vulnerability, Sukie describes her love for Nathan as “so total and so annihilating that it was often impossible for [her] to see him clearly at all.” For a brief second, her mask slips, revealing the truth behind her cool persona: a yearning so intense it unsettles even her. Ironically, in revealing how murky her own thoughts are, Sukie is the clearest she’s been in the story.
For a brief second, her mask slips, revealing the truth behind her cool persona: a yearning so intense it unsettles even her.
At this point, it’s evident that Nathan represents stability and intimacy to her, and she relies on him in a way she can’t rely on anyone else. Yet, their relationship, at times, feels unbalanced. It’s certainly not exploitative; it’s just that Sukie knowingly takes far more than she gives—a fact that further complicates their already complex relationship.
Rooney does not shy away from this point; rather, as a Marxist, she seems particularly interested in this uneven dynamic. In past interviews, she has discussed her interest in exploring what she calls the “transactional nature of relationships,” or the way capitalism inevitably seeps into our personal lives. It’s an ambitious project that she closely achieves in her novels, but “Mr. Salary” seems to be her first foray into this endeavor. She demonstrates how relationships may be innately transactional, but hints that it is possible to move beyond that framework, to love not simply for utility. It’s a hopeful and touching picture, one deeply sympathetic to lovers like Sukie and Nathan who are navigating the intricate dynamics of love and dependence.
When “Mr. Salary” was published in 2016, it offered a taste of what makes Sally Rooney’s writing so compelling: her ability to dissect power, transaction, and class in the minutiae of ordinary relationships. It’s no wonder she has since become the quintessential contemporary romance writer.
SALLY ROONEY is an Irish novelist. She is the author of Conversations with Friends, Normal People and Beautiful World, Where Are You.
Mr. Salary can be purchased here.
Berkeley Fiction Review 
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