Lisa Gabriele

The author set herself a high bar in tackling a modern reimagining of Daphne du Maurier’s classic psychological thriller, Rebecca, with its famous first line—“Last night I dreamed I went again to Manderley.” Gabriele’s first line, “Last night Rebekah tried to murder me again” is startling, if lacking the original’s poetic power.
Nevertheless, a novel is more than its opening line. I reread the set-up for du Maurier’s gothic thriller to reacquaint myself with the story and show more her style, so I could assess whether Gabriele’s new novel stands up to the original, since it so deliberately invites the comparison. I ended up with a mixed opinion.
As in the original, Gabriele’s (again, unnamed) narrator, a rather unsophisticated if sincere young woman, does not fit easily in the social set of her new fiancé, wealthy New York Senator Maxim Winter. Winter dismisses her feelings of being out-of-place, despite (or is it because of?) her stark dissimilarity to his late wife—the beautiful, charming, and talented Rebekah. I didn’t really warm up to the narrator—odd, since the book is written in the first-person—nor did I find her a wholly convincing character.
As in the original, most of the story takes place at a legendary and enormous family residence. The Winter estate, Asherley, was built on its own island at the far eastern end of Long Island, facing the sea.
In a brilliant move by Gabriele, the narrator’s antagonist is not the confidant of the late Mrs. Winter, the housekeeper (Mrs. Danvers in the original); in Gabriele’s version, the principal opposition to the marriage and to the narrator herself comes from Max and Rebekah’s teenage daughter, Dani. Many of us have seen how fraught relationships with step-children can be, and this was a persuasive adjustment to modern times. There is a lot going on with Dani, though her rebellious teenage machinations are hard to forgive, for narrator and reader alike.
While the set-up of the two novels is reasonably similar, their plots begin to diverge about half-way through. Even so, having Dani volunteer to help the narrator find a wedding dress evokes nail-biting echoes of disaster that play out in a completely unexpected way.
Gabriele’s writing style is, of course, markedly different from that of a novel written eighty years ago. Still, I miss du Maurier’s long loopy sentences and lush descriptions. In the new version, you see the Winter mansion through modern eyes and a more practical, less dreamy affect. In place of a wall of blood-red rhododendrons, you have a profusion of vases full of Rebekah’s favored deep red roses. Tastes differ as to whether a more florid style better fits a romantic story about a woman blinded by love—or is she?—and haunted by her dead rival.
Gabriele’s narrator is a refreshingly modern woman, appreciative of Max Winter’s extreme wealth, but not overawed by it. Even so, she finds herself trapped by circumstances. In today’s world, a difficult housekeeper would be dismissed; it’s not so easy to divest oneself of a step-daughter, even a calculating, substance-abusing, and foul-mouthed one like Dani. Gabriele, having set aside the evil housekeeper, finds new ways for Rebekah’s memory to torment the new Mrs. Winter, while the ghost of du Maurier’s Rebecca necessarily haunts The Winters. show less

“Last night Rebekah tried to murder me again.”

How to start a book that insures interest is piqued from the get go! 🤩

I don’t know what has been up with me just lately but I just haven’t been able to get my teeth stuck into any books which was weird and downright worrying, and then I started this one and my readers block was instantly lifted. (Thank You Lisa Gabriele!) So much so that I tore through it in one sitting. Now I’m just suffering sleep deprivation instead 😂

This might show more be sacrilege to say being an avid reader but …. I have never read Rebecca 😱 But now I think maybe I should remedy that faux pas if this book was anything to go by. So I can’t pass comment to the inspiration or homage to Rebecca just yet but in some respects I think reading The Winters with no comparisons worked to my advantage. Reading it with a fresh pair of eyes and preconceptions there was no expectations and I just thoroughly enjoyed it on its own merit.

The storyline was fascinating as are the characters, even if not all are completely likeable. Told from the main protagonist’s narration, (who remains nameless!) from her life working in the Cayman’s where she meets the handsomely charming Max Winters, their whirlwind romance and her move to his ancestral home, Asherley, in the wealthy Hampton’s to become the new Mrs Winters. Her very own Cinderella, rags to riches fairytale. Or so it would seem!

Max lost his first wife in a tragic accident leaving him to raise his daughter Dani alone and being as normal as a privileged teenager can be she is less than enthusiastic about her fathers new wife to be. But is it as simple as not liking her new stepmum? Not wanting her mother to be replaced and another woman walking in her mothers shoes so to speak?

At every turn around the opulent Asherley she is faced with the previous Mrs Winters, Rebekah’s presence. From the hundreds of photos of Rebekah that Dani keeps on display of her mother and their happy family to Rebekah’s room which is still untouched our heroine feels almost compelled to compare herself to the stunning woman who came before her. Even the wedding is planned into being the opposite to Max’s first one.

As the wedding draws ever nearer the tensions between Dani, Max and the new stepmother ratchets up even further bringing with it a few twists and turns along the way. Will the wedding proceed or will Dani’s behaviour call a halt to the proceedings and frighten her new stepmum into leaving Asherley for good?

I absolutely loved this book and thoroughly enjoyed it start to finish and could quite happily read it all over again 😀

Whether you have read Rebecca or not this is a great read and I can see it hitting the top ten when it’s published on 31 Oct 2018 on kindle and 15 Nov 2018 in hardback as it really is that good! show less

Do you know that feeling when a book leaves you reeling, defying your expectations, demanding to be read at all hours and staying with you long after you finish? That for me was The Winters. Wow! Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca has long been one of my favourite novels, and I when I came across the title of this book, my first thought was 'Oh no, someone has tried to update my beloved book'. I haven't been impressed by previous sequels and prequels - Susan Hill's Mrs De Winter was deathly dull show more and Sally Beauman's Rebecca's Tale was cracked - but I had to give this a try, ready to post a three star review - or worse.

How wrong I was! This is how seriously impressed I am - I think Lisa Gabriele's retelling might actually be better than the original! Shock horror! The nameless narrator in Du Maurier's book is primarily why I love the story so much, because I can identify with such crippling shyness and lack of confidence, and I wondered how such a nonentity could ever be successfully dragged into the modern day, but once again, I was wrong. Still nameless, but now of Cuban heritage, Lisa Gabriele has crafted a narrator with slightly more independence that her predecessor, but the overpowering need to be loved, to be safe remains, only for different reasons: 'Imagine having the courage to talk back to people you don’t like, who don’t like you, or better yet, not reacting at all, simply shrugging it off and moving on with your day'.

“Born on a boat, lives on an island, now an orphan, working for a witch. You’re a Grimms’ fairy tale set in the Caribbean," Max Winter summarises his new fiancee's life. They meet in the Cayman Islands, where the narrator works for an Aussie businesswoman who runs a boat rental service for tourists. Max Winter, a state senator from Long Island, is still in mourning for his glamorous wife Rebekah, who died in a car crash near their home, Asherley, two years ago. He meets the narrator and falls in love with her, wining and dining her on the island until she is forced to choose between her livelihood and her love for Max. He proposes and takes her home to his own island in East Hampton, where his magnificent gated property waits - and so does Max's daughter, Dani.

The twists and turns in this version of Du Maurier's classic both took me by surprise and improved on the original for me, so I won't say any more. BUT - for modern readers who hate that Max apparently gets away with murder in Rebecca, and his new wife supports him, there is a satisfying turn of events. Dani was the real delight for me, however. Obviously she is the updated Mrs Danvers, coming between Max and his new wife with memories of his beautiful lost love, but she has the stronger claim - she is Max's teenage daughter, lately bereaved of her beloved mother, and not just the housekeeper who could easily be dismissed. She is catty, vindictive and unbalanced, living in her mother's old bedroom and wearing her clothes. When she seems to soften and allow her stepmother into her life, there is always the suspicion that she cannot be trusted. And when she claimed the kitten that the second Mrs W saves from imminent dispatch with an axe, my heart was constantly in my mouth that she was going to hurt the poor thing (I can't animal cruelty as a shorthand for psychopathy). I was relying too much on my knowledge of the original novel, however.

There are some worthy references to Rebecca, especially the dress scene, which almost tips over into Jane Eyre territory (not one of my favourite novels). My favourite moment, when the narrator forgets that she is Mrs [De] Winter now is missing, but her internal fantasies are just as strong: “I’m telling you, a little drama just played itself out on your face. I saw it. What were you thinking?” Max asks. I love that spilling over of daydream into reality, when her face journey betrays her thoughts!

I can't really say more about the plot, but READ READ READ! Even the familiar opening chapter, with the narrator in exile, is not what you think. I'm going to buy the paperback version with the roses on the cover, just so I can return to this amazing retelling in the future. Rebecca has been replaced once again! show less

The Winters is a page-turning tribute to Rebecca, with a blend of modern and gothic secrets.

Our unnamed protagonist is working as a crew hand in the Cayman Islands, when a handsome, recently widowed banker comes in looking for a boat, and it’s love at first sight. After a speedy courtship, Max Winters asks her to marry him and move back to New York with him.

But the Cinderella story twists on Long Island, where she finds her new home is a monument to her husband’s first wife, and show more inhabited by their moody, hostile daughter. There’s a contrast between the subtle distance from the household servants (telling her to enjoy her visit, for example) and the open animosity from Dani, but the house is unfriendly and unfamiliar. Max has secrets, too, in case being a New York banker with undisclosed business in the Cayman Islands didn’t tip you off.

This is such a gothic story — the family estate is only accessible by a winding, deserted bridge, part of the house is a locked-off memorial to the first Mrs. Winter, there are loads of dark roses delivered constantly in her memory, there’s the threat of insanity and imprisonment, and there’s a massive greenhouse that no one may ever enter again. This isn’t a historical novel, this is a modern-day Long Island banker and politician, living his best brooding-gothic life.

The narrator is never named, and she doesn’t say her age or at times, even her appearance is vague. I often find this kind of device a bit gimmicky (I want to read a story, not watch a trick), but it works here because for so much of the story, she is passive, mostly acted-on by others and not really a driving force. By the time she develops some agency, I’d forgotten the omission.

I loved the reveals and secrets, even though if you’ve read Rebecca, there are some clues. There are also hints of Jane Eyre here, which adds to the mood. The modern setting makes it harder to accept some of gothic-horror red flags (Surely there’s some rational, everyday reason no one can ever enter the greenhouse? Maybe it’s structurally unsound and Max just wants her to be safe?) which adds another layer of suspense because the narrator’s never quite able to trust what she sees, hears, and discovers in the mansion. show less