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loreofyupu 's review for:
Rebecca
by Daphne du Maurier
I wondered how many people there were in the world who suffered, and continued to suffer, because they could not break out from their own web of shyness and reserve, and in their blindness and folly built up a great distorted wall in front of them that hid the truth.
What happens once you marry a widower and realise that his first wife refuses to remain dead? She whispers from beyond the grave, her presence lingers in the sprawling estate. Everybody you meet has nothing but the sweetest praises to sing of her. You inadvertently start comparing yourself with her ghost, feeling the more inferior each time you do it.
One summer in Monte Carlo, a young and impressionable girl befriends the recently widowed Maxim de Winter. Mr. de Winter is famously known to be the owner of Manderley, a fairytale estate on the coast of England. Very soon, she falls head over heels in love with Maxim, acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on an actor twice her age. Maxim, lonely in his large house back at England, marries her hastily- to rescue her from her unfavourable situation, and to ease his own boredom.
This was a time period where women were expected to fit into either of the two extremes of the spectrum- the subservient devoted wife or the wanton bad girl. It is unsurprising that Maxim wanted a young, earnest, wide-eyed wife like the narrator, to shove around as he pleased. Meanwhile, the narrator was looking for love, and the lack of intimacy in their marriage leaves her befuddled. The life she was promised as mistress of Manderley is not the one she gets. With huge shoes to fill, she is always second-guessing herself, too timid for her own good. She might not be the most beloved literary protagonist, but I empathised with her because she mirrored what I might have done in a similar situation.
It is clever that while we never see the title character Rebecca, the narrator herself remains unnamed throughout the book. It is a play on confused identities. She is simply the second Mrs. de Winter, a poor replacement for the legendary Rebecca. She is too fearful to confront the truth and lives in a reality of her own making. She indulges so deeply in her fantasy of Rebecca that she loses sight of her own self more and more each day.
Rebecca, always Rebecca. Wherever I walked in Manderley, wherever I sat, even in my thought and in my dreams, I met Rebecca. I knew her figure now, the long slim legs, the small and narrow feet. Her shoulders broader than mine, the capable clever hands. Hands that could steer a boat, could hold a horse. Hands that arranged flowers, made the models of ships, and wrote ‘Max from Rebecca’ on the fly-leaf of a book. I knew her face too, small and oval, the clear white skin, the cloud of dark hair. I knew the scent she wore, I could guess her laughter and her smile. If I heard it, even among a thousand others, I should recognise her voice. Rebecca, always Rebecca. I should never be rid of Rebecca.
She needs to exorcise Rebecca's ghost before having any chance at happiness. The essence of this Gothic Romance is the battle between two women, one waking up to a new life and one not content to remain a ghost. It is the struggle for power and autonomy, over a man and their lives with that man.
The plot twists didn't take me by much surprise and it wasn't the thrill that kept me going. The star of the book is its writing, delicate and ornate. Manderley itself lives and breathes. It is as much a character in the story as the humans. The spirit of the dead Rebecca animates the house. Like any good Gothic tale, the setting surrounds you and forms an indispensable role in propelling the story forward. The narrative is constructed exceptionally well. So nuanced but ambiguous just enough so you wonder what goes on in and around the walls of Manderley. The narrator's descriptions are painfully innocent, as she tries to comprehend every encounter and person with her juvenile senses. Her experiences and discoveries bring us closer to the heart of the mystery of Rebecca and of Manderley too.
What happens once you marry a widower and realise that his first wife refuses to remain dead? She whispers from beyond the grave, her presence lingers in the sprawling estate. Everybody you meet has nothing but the sweetest praises to sing of her. You inadvertently start comparing yourself with her ghost, feeling the more inferior each time you do it.
One summer in Monte Carlo, a young and impressionable girl befriends the recently widowed Maxim de Winter. Mr. de Winter is famously known to be the owner of Manderley, a fairytale estate on the coast of England. Very soon, she falls head over heels in love with Maxim, acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on an actor twice her age. Maxim, lonely in his large house back at England, marries her hastily- to rescue her from her unfavourable situation, and to ease his own boredom.
This was a time period where women were expected to fit into either of the two extremes of the spectrum- the subservient devoted wife or the wanton bad girl. It is unsurprising that Maxim wanted a young, earnest, wide-eyed wife like the narrator, to shove around as he pleased. Meanwhile, the narrator was looking for love, and the lack of intimacy in their marriage leaves her befuddled. The life she was promised as mistress of Manderley is not the one she gets. With huge shoes to fill, she is always second-guessing herself, too timid for her own good. She might not be the most beloved literary protagonist, but I empathised with her because she mirrored what I might have done in a similar situation.
It is clever that while we never see the title character Rebecca, the narrator herself remains unnamed throughout the book. It is a play on confused identities. She is simply the second Mrs. de Winter, a poor replacement for the legendary Rebecca. She is too fearful to confront the truth and lives in a reality of her own making. She indulges so deeply in her fantasy of Rebecca that she loses sight of her own self more and more each day.
Rebecca, always Rebecca. Wherever I walked in Manderley, wherever I sat, even in my thought and in my dreams, I met Rebecca. I knew her figure now, the long slim legs, the small and narrow feet. Her shoulders broader than mine, the capable clever hands. Hands that could steer a boat, could hold a horse. Hands that arranged flowers, made the models of ships, and wrote ‘Max from Rebecca’ on the fly-leaf of a book. I knew her face too, small and oval, the clear white skin, the cloud of dark hair. I knew the scent she wore, I could guess her laughter and her smile. If I heard it, even among a thousand others, I should recognise her voice. Rebecca, always Rebecca. I should never be rid of Rebecca.
She needs to exorcise Rebecca's ghost before having any chance at happiness. The essence of this Gothic Romance is the battle between two women, one waking up to a new life and one not content to remain a ghost. It is the struggle for power and autonomy, over a man and their lives with that man.
The plot twists didn't take me by much surprise and it wasn't the thrill that kept me going. The star of the book is its writing, delicate and ornate. Manderley itself lives and breathes. It is as much a character in the story as the humans. The spirit of the dead Rebecca animates the house. Like any good Gothic tale, the setting surrounds you and forms an indispensable role in propelling the story forward. The narrative is constructed exceptionally well. So nuanced but ambiguous just enough so you wonder what goes on in and around the walls of Manderley. The narrator's descriptions are painfully innocent, as she tries to comprehend every encounter and person with her juvenile senses. Her experiences and discoveries bring us closer to the heart of the mystery of Rebecca and of Manderley too.