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A review by npryan
Rule Britannia by Daphne du Maurier
1.0
For some time before joining Goodreads I maintained a social media list of my favorite books. Thus when I did join, the process of listing all my top books was straightforward. Unfortunately it had the knock-on effect of making it look like I thought every book I'd ever read a fantastic work, so in a way devaluing the ratings. I don't remember every book I've ever read, but as they come back to me I add them to Goodreads (so making it appear that after years of reading solely great books, I've suddenly hit a patch muddled with all sorts). This one I was reminded of when reading an article about British pubs as DdM's Jamaica Inn was mentioned.
I read Rule Britannia around the time of the Brexit vote (not that long ago, so how quickly it was forgotten!) due to a BBC article claiming it foresaw Brexit and all it's shenanigans and problems all the way back in the 70s. If it hadn't been so long to get it from the library and read it, I may have been inclined to drop the Beeb a line to tell them it's nothing of the sort. I suspect someone still with some kind of income from DdM's work managed to sneak the idea into the head of someone else with some influence at the Corporation.
DdM can certainly string a narrative along, there's no doubting that. But such a skill doesn't guarantee a good story; instead (as is the case here) often one so bad one is inclined to read it to the end to see how much worse it can get. Though I may be too generous to the author here - without the Beeb suggesting it contained great nuggets of prediction, I wholeheartedly doubt I would've made it much past page 87.
I see the plot coming about like this: DdM has some highfalutin friends to dinner, everyone has too much wine (despite some people present having to drive - but hey, it was the 70s after all) so start becoming all wonderfully lovey and fawning. A ridiculous 'what-if' scenario starts to get talked out and someone suggests it would make the most excellent plot for DdM's next novel. Swept up in the glassy-eyed inebriation of it all, DdM not only says she damn well will write it, but actually gets up the next day, let's a fussy ego get in the way, and does.
The result is a disaster of literature; twee and arrogant in such equal measure, it goes right over the head of the author (and everyone else involved - but who would really care when they knew a name like DdM's alone would sell copy?) that the plot is no more than one convenience of nonsense after another until enough pages are filled to make a book.
Conversely, I am now a little intrigued to read Jamaica Inn; this review alone does not put me off DdM wholesale. One of my fav authors James Jones wrote some diabolical works in later life without it ever having a negative impact on the great books of his earlier years.
I read Rule Britannia around the time of the Brexit vote (not that long ago, so how quickly it was forgotten!) due to a BBC article claiming it foresaw Brexit and all it's shenanigans and problems all the way back in the 70s. If it hadn't been so long to get it from the library and read it, I may have been inclined to drop the Beeb a line to tell them it's nothing of the sort. I suspect someone still with some kind of income from DdM's work managed to sneak the idea into the head of someone else with some influence at the Corporation.
DdM can certainly string a narrative along, there's no doubting that. But such a skill doesn't guarantee a good story; instead (as is the case here) often one so bad one is inclined to read it to the end to see how much worse it can get. Though I may be too generous to the author here - without the Beeb suggesting it contained great nuggets of prediction, I wholeheartedly doubt I would've made it much past page 87.
I see the plot coming about like this: DdM has some highfalutin friends to dinner, everyone has too much wine (despite some people present having to drive - but hey, it was the 70s after all) so start becoming all wonderfully lovey and fawning. A ridiculous 'what-if' scenario starts to get talked out and someone suggests it would make the most excellent plot for DdM's next novel. Swept up in the glassy-eyed inebriation of it all, DdM not only says she damn well will write it, but actually gets up the next day, let's a fussy ego get in the way, and does.
The result is a disaster of literature; twee and arrogant in such equal measure, it goes right over the head of the author (and everyone else involved - but who would really care when they knew a name like DdM's alone would sell copy?) that the plot is no more than one convenience of nonsense after another until enough pages are filled to make a book.
Conversely, I am now a little intrigued to read Jamaica Inn; this review alone does not put me off DdM wholesale. One of my fav authors James Jones wrote some diabolical works in later life without it ever having a negative impact on the great books of his earlier years.