Rebecca
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I have mixed impressions. While the novel reads well - quite a page-turner to be honest - the prose is fluent and full of intriguing allusions, there are a couple of things I found irksome enough to compel me to write this review.
First of all, the characters are flat.
Much in contrast with E. M. Forster's protest against the 'flatness' of characters, the truth is that the majority of Literature's most admired and famous characters are flat. Rarely does a novel provide space for characters' 'roundness' and rarely is it even a feasible, let alone a desirable quality.
But the characters in Rebecca have this strange kind of flatness that imprisons them in passivity, rules over the plot development and makes their reactions predictable. Spoiler alerts aside, their flatness goes as follows:
Nameless Narrator - introverted, young. Suffers from inferiority complex (obsessively compares herself to Maxim's dead wife Rebecca) Loves Maxim to a fault.
Maxim - older, wealthy, probably attractive. Nothing more comes to mind.
Mrs Danvers - adored Rebecca, grim reaperish in appearance.
Frank Crawley - loyal, good (in a very vague sense, yes). A character who elevates boringness to a virtue.
Maxim's sister Beatrice - frank, plain-spoken, otherwise ok.
Ben - idiot.
Jack Favell - Rebecca's cousin and lover. Drinks. Is impolite. Had relations with a woman who had relations with everybody. For all these reasons, he's a baddie.
Rebecca's development
The only character which sort of develops in the novel is, unsurprisingly, Rebecca. The NN, very tellingly unnamed while the whole novel bears the dead wifeâs name, competes with a ghost gilded with her own fantasies of perfection she can never attain. Sheâs inexperienced, the situation complicated and so she becomes the victim of her own imagination. The situation, frame of mind and emotions are actually portrayed very convincingly. But once this is over and the truth about Rebecca is revealed, we find that what was developing was merely the perception of Rebecca through NNâs eyes. Regrettably, at the end of this âdevelopmentâ, Rebecca turns out to be just as flat a character as the rest of them â which is to say, portrayed very one-sidedly.
Consider this: When Rebeccaâs dead body is found in the shipwrecked boat, Maxim cannot otherwise but tell his wife the truth of Rebeccaâs tragic demise. We learn that he killed Rebecca out of frustration because she was a vicious, perverted woman and an unfaithful wife. The narrator, plagued by the convictions that her husband doesnât love her because he still loves the perfect dead Rebecca she can never outshine, hears her husband tell her he loves her for the first time. In simplified terms, the revelation takes place as follows:
Maxim: I never loved Rebecca. I killed her and now Iâm facing legal charges. I love you instead, NN.
NN: Yay! Then everything is fine.
The flexibility of justice?
Shockingly, the concept of justice is flexible in Rebecca. Maximâs episode with police investigations and court hearing is won in advance. Everyone respects him because heâs rich and has the loveliest house which serves as a cool party venue. Everyone turns out to have known the truth all along, but they all joined forces to help save Maxim from the verdict he would, well, deserve. Favell confronts him repeatedly and, convinced Rebecca would never commit suicide, strives for justice, to which he is not entitled simply because heâs a baddie, as explained above.
And then thereâs the ending. Itâs dramatic and lyrical, but it disappoints. The image of Manderley ablaze is powerful alright and invites to different interpretations â whether literal or figurative. But, in my opinion, the story was in need of a more satisfying closure. Just a couple of more lines probably would have done the magic.
Find your Manderley
Throughout the novel, the word Manderley is particularly resonant and significant. Du Maurier seems to have created Manderley not only as a fictional place, a mere (albeit melodious) word, but as a concept somehow transcending the realm of the novel. I also think Manderley is the key to the novelâs success. The novel is romantic, gothic at times, notably Jane Eyre-ish, conventional, and reminiscent of the good old romantic stories of the past.
Regarding its first publication date (1938), this was the era of great cultural shifts and the Modernist tendencies were already solidly underway. On the background of the historical period, Rebecca with its conventional plot, (arguably) moralistic message and formulaic, yet harmonically pleasing, language seems almost nostalgic. Free of the Modernist degradations and novelties, du Maurierâs writing is her own Manderley as well as the Manderley of plenty of readers even nowadays â an old peaceful place one can always dream of returning to.
First of all, the characters are flat.
Much in contrast with E. M. Forster's protest against the 'flatness' of characters, the truth is that the majority of Literature's most admired and famous characters are flat. Rarely does a novel provide space for characters' 'roundness' and rarely is it even a feasible, let alone a desirable quality.
But the characters in Rebecca have this strange kind of flatness that imprisons them in passivity, rules over the plot development and makes their reactions predictable. Spoiler alerts aside, their flatness goes as follows:
Nameless Narrator - introverted, young. Suffers from inferiority complex (obsessively compares herself to Maxim's dead wife Rebecca) Loves Maxim to a fault.
Maxim - older, wealthy, probably attractive. Nothing more comes to mind.
Mrs Danvers - adored Rebecca, grim reaperish in appearance.
Frank Crawley - loyal, good (in a very vague sense, yes). A character who elevates boringness to a virtue.
Maxim's sister Beatrice - frank, plain-spoken, otherwise ok.
Ben - idiot.
Jack Favell - Rebecca's cousin and lover. Drinks. Is impolite. Had relations with a woman who had relations with everybody. For all these reasons, he's a baddie.
Rebecca's development
The only character which sort of develops in the novel is, unsurprisingly, Rebecca. The NN, very tellingly unnamed while the whole novel bears the dead wifeâs name, competes with a ghost gilded with her own fantasies of perfection she can never attain. Sheâs inexperienced, the situation complicated and so she becomes the victim of her own imagination. The situation, frame of mind and emotions are actually portrayed very convincingly. But once this is over and the truth about Rebecca is revealed, we find that what was developing was merely the perception of Rebecca through NNâs eyes. Regrettably, at the end of this âdevelopmentâ, Rebecca turns out to be just as flat a character as the rest of them â which is to say, portrayed very one-sidedly.
Consider this: When Rebeccaâs dead body is found in the shipwrecked boat, Maxim cannot otherwise but tell his wife the truth of Rebeccaâs tragic demise. We learn that he killed Rebecca out of frustration because she was a vicious, perverted woman and an unfaithful wife. The narrator, plagued by the convictions that her husband doesnât love her because he still loves the perfect dead Rebecca she can never outshine, hears her husband tell her he loves her for the first time. In simplified terms, the revelation takes place as follows:
Maxim: I never loved Rebecca. I killed her and now Iâm facing legal charges. I love you instead, NN.
NN: Yay! Then everything is fine.
The flexibility of justice?
Shockingly, the concept of justice is flexible in Rebecca. Maximâs episode with police investigations and court hearing is won in advance. Everyone respects him because heâs rich and has the loveliest house which serves as a cool party venue. Everyone turns out to have known the truth all along, but they all joined forces to help save Maxim from the verdict he would, well, deserve. Favell confronts him repeatedly and, convinced Rebecca would never commit suicide, strives for justice, to which he is not entitled simply because heâs a baddie, as explained above.
And then thereâs the ending. Itâs dramatic and lyrical, but it disappoints. The image of Manderley ablaze is powerful alright and invites to different interpretations â whether literal or figurative. But, in my opinion, the story was in need of a more satisfying closure. Just a couple of more lines probably would have done the magic.
Find your Manderley
Throughout the novel, the word Manderley is particularly resonant and significant. Du Maurier seems to have created Manderley not only as a fictional place, a mere (albeit melodious) word, but as a concept somehow transcending the realm of the novel. I also think Manderley is the key to the novelâs success. The novel is romantic, gothic at times, notably Jane Eyre-ish, conventional, and reminiscent of the good old romantic stories of the past.
Regarding its first publication date (1938), this was the era of great cultural shifts and the Modernist tendencies were already solidly underway. On the background of the historical period, Rebecca with its conventional plot, (arguably) moralistic message and formulaic, yet harmonically pleasing, language seems almost nostalgic. Free of the Modernist degradations and novelties, du Maurierâs writing is her own Manderley as well as the Manderley of plenty of readers even nowadays â an old peaceful place one can always dream of returning to.
DNF @ 25%.
Maurier's writing style really captured me at the beginning - not to say that her writing grew absurd the more I progressed, but it was what made me stay to continue reading for a while. That is to say, were it not for that, I wouldn't have read so far in. The pace of this book is slow, and everything is pretty long-winded. It's extremely descriptive - the mentioning of the narrator's immediate environment as well as her thoughts. Oh, boy, her thoughts. So full of her imaginations that it made me a little confused as to whether or not that situation really happened. The narrator's a young woman in her early twenties (I think) with low self-confidence and extremely introverted. I recognise the mind of an introvert, but to have the author write out every single thought is just... extremely tiring to get through.
I learnt about this book through the Netflix film that is coming soon. I think I'll wait for its release. This book is not for me.
BUT maybe, just maybe, I'll get back to it when the irritation of the book's pacing has worn off. I read so many reviews the describes how the good parts will come after the halfway mark, and it's intriguing.
Maurier's writing style really captured me at the beginning - not to say that her writing grew absurd the more I progressed, but it was what made me stay to continue reading for a while. That is to say, were it not for that, I wouldn't have read so far in. The pace of this book is slow, and everything is pretty long-winded. It's extremely descriptive - the mentioning of the narrator's immediate environment as well as her thoughts. Oh, boy, her thoughts. So full of her imaginations that it made me a little confused as to whether or not that situation really happened. The narrator's a young woman in her early twenties (I think) with low self-confidence and extremely introverted. I recognise the mind of an introvert, but to have the author write out every single thought is just... extremely tiring to get through.
I learnt about this book through the Netflix film that is coming soon. I think I'll wait for its release. This book is not for me.
BUT maybe, just maybe, I'll get back to it when the irritation of the book's pacing has worn off. I read so many reviews the describes how the good parts will come after the halfway mark, and it's intriguing.
Enough people don't know about this book. It is fantastic reading, full of those quintessential aspects of reading we all enjoy so much: plot twists, complex and compelling characters, mystery, and vivid imagery. Even just the first line gives me shivers.
"Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderlay again."
Cleverly constructed, this book is imbued with mystery. The main character's name is never revealed. What a rewarding challenge. Told from first person perspective, it chronicles the bizarre love story of the unnamed woman and Maxim, a troubled, wealthy heartbreaker prone to fits of unexplained rage tempered with the tenderest of feelings and expressions. This wealthy man has a secret. His first wife died tragically and mysteriously. She is the real focus of the novel, an insidious presence casting a threatening shadow over their lives their marriage, and the house, Manderlay.
If you have seen the movie, read the book. If you are reading the book, go see the movie when you're done. Normally I much prefer books to movies (and probably still do even in this case), but this is one of those wonderful few times when the movie is just as good as the book. Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine are magnetic to watch and Hitchcock directs the film adaptation beautifully.
But most of all, go read the book. :)
"Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderlay again."
Cleverly constructed, this book is imbued with mystery. The main character's name is never revealed. What a rewarding challenge. Told from first person perspective, it chronicles the bizarre love story of the unnamed woman and Maxim, a troubled, wealthy heartbreaker prone to fits of unexplained rage tempered with the tenderest of feelings and expressions. This wealthy man has a secret. His first wife died tragically and mysteriously. She is the real focus of the novel, an insidious presence casting a threatening shadow over their lives their marriage, and the house, Manderlay.
If you have seen the movie, read the book. If you are reading the book, go see the movie when you're done. Normally I much prefer books to movies (and probably still do even in this case), but this is one of those wonderful few times when the movie is just as good as the book. Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine are magnetic to watch and Hitchcock directs the film adaptation beautifully.
But most of all, go read the book. :)
“Rebecca” is like a gothic rollercoaster ride that you never want to end! This classic novel drops you into the life of an unnamed young woman who marries the mysterious Maxim de Winter. Imagine stepping into his sprawling estate, Manderley, only to find yourself haunted by the ghost of his first wife, Rebecca. Talk about an awkward welcome party!
Du Maurier’s writing is beautifully atmospheric, making Manderley feel like a character in its own right, full of secrets, shadows, and a touch of the eerie. You can practically feel the chill in the air as the narrator grapples with her own insecurities and the overbearing memory of Rebecca, who seems to have been the perfect wife. The tension is real, and you can’t help but root for our heroine as she tries to carve out her own identity amidst the lingering whispers of the past.
The themes here are deep and relatable. It’s all about identity, jealousy, and how the past can cling to you like a bad smell. The narrator’s journey is one of self-discovery, and it’s captivating to see her evolve. And let’s not forget about Maxim, he’s complicated, and you’re left wondering if he’s a tortured soul or hiding something darker.
Overall, “Rebecca” is a must-read if you enjoy a mix of romance, mystery, and a little bit of psychological drama. It’s a timeless tale that keeps you on your toes, reminding us all that love can cast some seriously long shadows. Dive in, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself thinking about it long after you’ve turned the last page!
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