“The salt wind from the sea”
I must have read Rebecca at least twice, over the years, the first time in my teens, and have seen the film also at least once, but reading it again after many years is a bit of a revelation.
I’m amazed that the very obvious homage to Jane Eyre did not strike me when I read it previously, because this time, that came into clear focus – no doubt helped by the rather excellent forward by Sally Beauman, in the Virago Modern Classics version I recently found in a charity shop, and snapped up, thinking a re-read would be a very good thing.
Now I always knew that du Maurier was a good writer, as well as a popular one, but, again, my re-read this time absolutely underlined how good she was. Freed from any ‘what happens next’ I soaked up structure, atmosphere, and could not help but compare this book to the sometimes relentless ‘psychological thrillers’ subgenre which burgeons on the bestsellers. Rebecca is a literary fiction book, surely, and it’s easy to see how Hitchcock was enamoured by her wonderfully structured, tellingly visual, darkly sub-textural visions
From that wonderfully brilliant, evocative opening line and paragraph, to the masterly ending where she trusts her readers, so that there is no need to spell out, as though to a child, exactly what has happened, but expects that the reader will connect the little clues, the phrases, and complete the picture themselves, she kept me close and spellbound on a disturbing, unsettling, dreamlike journey, almost skating over all sorts of myths lying beneath. Not only were there the clear nods to Jane Eyre, the scary archetypes of female madness, the charismatic, domineering older man – but I thought also of Bluebeard.
I won’t spell plot, in case, despite this book’s perennial popularity, a lucky person who has never met it happens on this review, but something which struck me forcibly on this reading is the rightness of never naming our narrator, despite the fact that Max de Winter informs her that she has a lovely name. The second ‘Mrs de Winter’ is remarkably unformed. Here is where the young, innocent, exploited ‘companion’ to a spoilt, rich, emotionally unintelligent woman, differs from the innocent and also sometimes exploited Jane Eyre. Jane may be gauche at times, but she has such a clear sense of herself, such discernment. Mrs de Winter has no boundaries, she has incredibly fine empathy and ‘feels the feelings’ of others, but she lacks a healthy and resilient sense of self-worth. She is almost like a mirror-image, or extreme opposite of Rebecca. In this book, we have not one, but I think two (and of course three, if you count the fearsome Mrs Danvers) women with some kind of psychological flaw. Rebecca, the charismatic, is deeply narcissistic, and has boundaries of steel and rock. She is invulnerable to the needs of others. The second ‘Mrs de Winter’ deeply imagines and inhabits what others are feeling; so much so that she loses herself. The other archetype which is played out, is that of Svengali/Trilby – almost anyone can be the second Mrs de Winter’s Svengali – Rebecca’s pervading presence, Mrs Danvers, Maxim, Mrs Van Hopper, and she is manipulated with ease.
And of course Trilby was a work of fiction written by du Maurier’s grandfather, George.
Although I can’t read this as part of my ‘Reading the Twentieth’ challenge, as I am still firmly stuck in 1900, I am finding that my reading or re-reading of books from the first half of the twentieth is being influenced by ‘Reading the Twentieth’ Given that the book was published in 1938, it is surprising that there is absolutely no reference to the events brewing in the wider world, although of course the implacable, sociopathic Rebecca, might be a domestic version of tyranny and dictatorship. Du Maurier is I think creating a dark and mythic world here. It is assuredly realistic, not magical realism, yet the at times highly charged language, the implied, destructive eroticism, take the book into a kind of free-floating world of myth, metaphor and sub-consciousness. The only glancing intrusion of politics happens when Max’s sister, Beatrice, imagines that the central crime which the book leads towards might have been carried out by:
a Communist perhaps. There are heaps of them about. Just the sort of thing a Communist would do
I was intrigued to discover, that when the book came out it was pretty well dismissed by the ‘literaries’ – who only saw its populist appeal, and little more. The Times dismissively said “the material is of the humblest…nothing in this is beyond the novelette.” . The novelist V.S. Pritchett predicted the book “would be here today, gone tomorrow”. Inevitably, one can’t help but wonder how the book would have been viewed if the author had been male. Post-feminism, it has been re-assessed by readers and writers precisely with a feminist perspective, in its examination of the power differential between powerful, worldly men, and young inexperienced women.
Du Maurier interestingly wrote this not in her beloved Cornwall, but in Alexandria, Egypt, where her husband, ‘Boy’ Browning, an officer in the Grenadier Guards, was posted with his battalion. She longed for home, and that longing is most powerfully expressed in this book. There was also, by all accounts, a close to home exploration for du Maurier herself, of the powerful drive of female jealousy ‘Boy’ Browning had been engaged before, to a brilliantly dark haired beauty.
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and a chain upon the gate. I called in my dream to the lodge-keeper, and had no answer, and peering closer through the rusted spokes of the gate I saw that the lodge was uninhabited
I will, in fairly short due course, before the wonderful atmosphere of the book begins to let me go, be watching the film on DVD. It will be interesting to compare. I believe (though I can’t quite remember) that Hitchcock went for a less dark ending.
Certainly, du Maurier, in the ‘present’ of the book – most of it involved the second Mrs de Winter looking back at the events of her new married life – gives us a sense of a terrible sterility. The polite forms are observed, and they are used to paper over the chasms of what must remain unsaid.
This is, of course, a properly fabulous book. Perfectly inhabiting genre, and much, much more
yasmine rose said:
I, too, read this first when I was in my teens but am yet to do a re-read. After your thoughtful review, though, it has sparked my interest again. It’s always interesting to see how your perspectives change or what different things you notice when re-reading a book at another point in your life.
Lady Fancifull said:
Yes, I most value those books which prove they grow over time and re-reads. Thanks for your kind words Yasmine Rose
kaggsysbookishramblings said:
Excellent piece – if I’m honest I’m not sure if I’ve ever read this (though I know the plot). I was more fond of “The House on the Strand” when I was a teen – maybe it’s time to explore du Maurier’s work further.
Lady Fancifull said:
Enjoy the explore!
That's What She Read said:
Great review! Rebecca has been one of my favorites for a long time and I enjoy it more each time I read it.
I recently finished Jamaica Inn and was relieved to find that du Maurier is a consistent writer. I’d worried that her other books wouldn’t be as good, but they are so far! 🙂
Lady Fancifull said:
Yes, I think that’s what happened to me too.
underrunner said:
I’m one of the lucky ones: I’ve just downloaded it.
Lady Fancifull said:
Oh you have a treat in store, underrunner.
JacquiWine said:
What an excellent post! I love your analysis of the second Mrs de Winter, especially your commentary on the comparisons with Jane Eyre. It’s been such a long time since I read anything by du Maurier, but your review leaves me keen to revisit her at some point.
Lady Fancifull said:
This time, my read was a much richer one
madamebibilophile said:
I read this as a teenager and never since – you’ve made me want to re-read as I’m sure I would get much more out of it now, as you found. The comparison with Jane Eyre is interesting, Hollywood cast Joan Fontaine in both roles so I’m amazed it never occurred to me before!
Lady Fancifull said:
You will, I’m sure, Madame Bibi, find it a much more layered book than you might have done in your teens. My re-read turned out to be a wonderful mix of comfort read, and new exploration. A bit like discovering a secret room in a house you thought you knew well, and the door opens into that hidden room revealing all sorts of wondrous things. I was almost tempted to immediately re-read it after finishing it this time, as there was so much more in it. I went to put it on my organised shelves and discovered a very old and battered copy of her The Glass Blowers, which may get re-read at some time soon. And the DVD of Rebecca has arrived, so I shall have a filmic steeping soon
shoshibookblog said:
It’s such a great book isn’t it! I’m really interested in your point about the lack of wider society concern because, in my head, it’s such a period classic. I do think Du Maurier has a lot to say about the nostalgia for the past (symbolised by the feudal, romantic Manderley) when England was great and loyalties were uncomplicated. On the other hand she is part of the great Gothic tradition in which contemporary politics are only obliquely referenced.
I think there is a lot of hatred and fear of modernity in the book – from Rebecca’s flapper-ish existence to the celebrity culture at Monte Carlo, but it’s all tied up so well with a partly Victorian and partly modern story that all I can do is sit back and marvel at the author’s skill.
Lady Fancifull said:
It’s been interesting watching the film so immediately after the book. Am mulling over my thoughts on the film, and even more entranced by the book, and some of what is not stated, but is subtly implied for the reader to think about. There’s a kind of elegant restraint as well as obviously rich, almost cloying descriptions, such as the wall of blood red rhododendrons the second Mrs de Winter is overwhelmed by on her first view of Manderley. Du Maurier doesn’t spell out that blood red connection for the reader, but the reader will subconsciously visualise the overwhelming almost suffocating redness, and feel uneasy, oppressed and a little anxious. I love the slow build of tension in the book enormously
A Little Blog of Books said:
I rarely reread books but when I do, I think Rebecca will be at the top of my list as I read it when I was about 13. I really enjoyed My Cousin Rachel a few years ago.
Lady Fancifull said:
I’m sold on the pleasures of re-reads. It’s why I have such a book mountain and crammed shelves. The idea is that I hope I will be wanting to re-read many of my reads ‘at some point’
Lady Fancifull said:
And I suspect, A little blog of books, that you will find it an immeasurably more interesting book as an adult!