Scan barcode
A review by djinnduffy
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
5.0
This may be long, so bear with me.
I first read Rebecca in middle school, 6th or 7th grade. Reading it then was like making a new friend, connecting with someone so much like yourself with all your fears and hopes and dreams shared. The young nameless lead was like holding up a mirror, and her love for the handsome, brooding Maxim tapped so profoundly into my own daddy issues, I still see the impact today.
I know I read the book more than once between high school and college, but I’m not sure of how many times, and beyond those years I don’t think I’d picked it up again. If I felt in the mood for Manderley, I would watch the lovely Hitchcock version and feel the itch satisfied. I’ve seen the Hitchcock version countless times at this point, and the less satisfying BBC miniseries twice. But I honestly couldn’t say when I last read the source material, so this August I made a decision to read this formative book again.
Reading Rebecca at 30 has been an absolute experience. I won’t speak too much to specific feelings, as they’re personal and don’t necessarily reflect on the story. But what I will say is that reading this book grown up has allowed me to set aside some of those dramatic romantic yearnings that dominated my experience as a young adult and appreciate Du Maurier’s actual craft. Let me tell you: it’s very good.
Her descriptions are lush and clear. The overwhelmingly beautiful Happy Valley. The ominous beach and the ever-present sound of the ocean’s waves. The unnaturally red rhododendrons. The gothic element of the environment came through much more clearly for me this time, I’m happy to report. She also does so well with her characters, showing their qualities through their words and actions, rather than simply telling me what they are like. Mrs. Van Hopper is crass and thoughtless. Frank is kind, if shallow. Beatrice is tactless but sincere. And sometimes, of course, our assumptions are wrong. But that’s the joy of this book: seeing early actions in a new light once new information is made available.
Then, of course, there is the 2nd Mrs. de Winter herself, who I must speak at least a little self-indulgently about. Du Maurier has done such an excellent job with this woman. She’s not particularly brave or heroic. I don’t know if I would even like her all that much if I met her at a party. But it can’t be said enough how successful Du Maurier is at giving us a character that speaks so strongly to the inner romantic in all of us. No wonder this book resonated with so many of us as teens.
I was absolutely shocked and enamored while reading with how many times the 2nd Mrs. de Winter literally disappears into her head to fantasize years or decades into the future about her life in both fortunate and unfortunate ways. For example, when Maxim asks her to marry him, she just retreats into a daydream of how romantic and lovely it would be to be mistress of Manderley, and she never even accepts his proposal! It's hilarious and charming and sad and painfully relatable to most teenage girls just looking to be something grander than they are. As a teen, all I wanted was to be her. To have Maxim offhandedly propose marriage to me, and then laugh about how badly the proposal was staged. As a kid, she was living out my fantasy. As an adult, I can only laugh and shake my head at her naïveté.
The anxieties of youth are also laid bare. There is a painful conflict for our young lead when it comes her dreaming herself into these elegant mature future versions (and my god, is she obsessed with being older) only to be faced with the reality of her own timidity. And that’s relatable too. She sees herself as mistress of Manderley so happily until she gets there, when she even notes for herself that now she has to deal with the reality that she's young and anxious and inexperienced--the fantasy has been made real, with all its responsibility attached. We want so much when we’re teenagers—and even as adults—yet there’s often such a terror when we get it. We expect our lives will change, but then don't know how to contend with the fact that, though our circumstances have changed, we ourselves have not. We’re still the same, warts and all. How do we reconcile that?
I didn’t want to make this review so personal, but obviously that was easier said than done. And I think it’s because those deeply personal reactions are what make this book so lasting. When I first read it, I had no idea why I connected with it so much. Reading it now, almost 20 years later, it makes so much more sense.
There’s plenty more that could be said about this book. About marriage, love, gender roles, patriarchy, the homoeroticism, the brief brown-face, an ending I think is a bit anti-climactic. This is a complicated book with plenty of opportunities for criticism, but I’ll leave my review here. At the end of the day, this is still my favorite novel.
I first read Rebecca in middle school, 6th or 7th grade. Reading it then was like making a new friend, connecting with someone so much like yourself with all your fears and hopes and dreams shared. The young nameless lead was like holding up a mirror, and her love for the handsome, brooding Maxim tapped so profoundly into my own daddy issues, I still see the impact today.
I know I read the book more than once between high school and college, but I’m not sure of how many times, and beyond those years I don’t think I’d picked it up again. If I felt in the mood for Manderley, I would watch the lovely Hitchcock version and feel the itch satisfied. I’ve seen the Hitchcock version countless times at this point, and the less satisfying BBC miniseries twice. But I honestly couldn’t say when I last read the source material, so this August I made a decision to read this formative book again.
Reading Rebecca at 30 has been an absolute experience. I won’t speak too much to specific feelings, as they’re personal and don’t necessarily reflect on the story. But what I will say is that reading this book grown up has allowed me to set aside some of those dramatic romantic yearnings that dominated my experience as a young adult and appreciate Du Maurier’s actual craft. Let me tell you: it’s very good.
Her descriptions are lush and clear. The overwhelmingly beautiful Happy Valley. The ominous beach and the ever-present sound of the ocean’s waves. The unnaturally red rhododendrons. The gothic element of the environment came through much more clearly for me this time, I’m happy to report. She also does so well with her characters, showing their qualities through their words and actions, rather than simply telling me what they are like. Mrs. Van Hopper is crass and thoughtless. Frank is kind, if shallow. Beatrice is tactless but sincere. And sometimes, of course, our assumptions are wrong. But that’s the joy of this book: seeing early actions in a new light once new information is made available.
Then, of course, there is the 2nd Mrs. de Winter herself, who I must speak at least a little self-indulgently about. Du Maurier has done such an excellent job with this woman. She’s not particularly brave or heroic. I don’t know if I would even like her all that much if I met her at a party. But it can’t be said enough how successful Du Maurier is at giving us a character that speaks so strongly to the inner romantic in all of us. No wonder this book resonated with so many of us as teens.
I was absolutely shocked and enamored while reading with how many times the 2nd Mrs. de Winter literally disappears into her head to fantasize years or decades into the future about her life in both fortunate and unfortunate ways. For example, when Maxim asks her to marry him, she just retreats into a daydream of how romantic and lovely it would be to be mistress of Manderley, and she never even accepts his proposal! It's hilarious and charming and sad and painfully relatable to most teenage girls just looking to be something grander than they are. As a teen, all I wanted was to be her. To have Maxim offhandedly propose marriage to me, and then laugh about how badly the proposal was staged. As a kid, she was living out my fantasy. As an adult, I can only laugh and shake my head at her naïveté.
The anxieties of youth are also laid bare. There is a painful conflict for our young lead when it comes her dreaming herself into these elegant mature future versions (and my god, is she obsessed with being older) only to be faced with the reality of her own timidity. And that’s relatable too. She sees herself as mistress of Manderley so happily until she gets there, when she even notes for herself that now she has to deal with the reality that she's young and anxious and inexperienced--the fantasy has been made real, with all its responsibility attached. We want so much when we’re teenagers—and even as adults—yet there’s often such a terror when we get it. We expect our lives will change, but then don't know how to contend with the fact that, though our circumstances have changed, we ourselves have not. We’re still the same, warts and all. How do we reconcile that?
I didn’t want to make this review so personal, but obviously that was easier said than done. And I think it’s because those deeply personal reactions are what make this book so lasting. When I first read it, I had no idea why I connected with it so much. Reading it now, almost 20 years later, it makes so much more sense.
There’s plenty more that could be said about this book. About marriage, love, gender roles, patriarchy, the homoeroticism, the brief brown-face, an ending I think is a bit anti-climactic. This is a complicated book with plenty of opportunities for criticism, but I’ll leave my review here. At the end of the day, this is still my favorite novel.