Rebecca

This starts out so lush and winking and allusive and the psychology of it all is so apt, especially poor "Mouse," as my reading club dubbed her, the narrator, with her shining desire and her blind spots and her lust for safety and fascination with the twisted and fearsome, that I have to admit to some disappointment as we declined from keen psychological glimpses and hints through the series of reveals that pull the curtain off the whole Gothic backstory and down into the downright lurid; you feel like you're reading a pulp novel without even meaning to, and I like to know. But much, perhaps most, of this is magnificent like a hand full of aces or a fist full of peacock feathers. I feel like I'd like to've seen the early part protracted show more (perhaps Maxim and Mouse have many adventures in Monte Carlo and on the way home, and we fall for her ingenuity and pluck and get more and more illly invested in his illly illuminated past, while we still think he's a Rochester and not a Heathcliff--and by the way, think of Rebecca as a Catherine for a minute and think about the pulsating polyphonic novel that's just below the surface here--again, partly why I'm let down to see her reduced to a kind of all-purpose malevolence, waiting to be picked up by grad students writing on psychopathy or borderline personality in literature) and the latter part, especially when it gets down to goddamn police procedural basically, compacted. No but this book is great: it will haunt you if you have the right wounds for it to gain purchase, and be one hell of a beach read otherwise. show less

Nearly everyone knows "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." The novel begins and ends with a dream and an awakening, forming a perfect circle to embrace what is still one of the best psychological thrillers I have ever read. Even when you know what's coming, you don't catch the author at her craft; there's not a single wasted word or scene, nor a moment when you feel cheated or tricked. Misled, a little, sure. But in a brilliant way. This is how you create suspense, balance tension with relief, feed the reader just enough to make them crave more. It's hard to make me feel OK about rooting for anyone to get away with murder, but Du Maurier managed. I'm very glad I revisited Manderley myself, as I had forgotten many of its show more finer points, including just how exquisite some of the prose is. This is literary fiction, in the very best sense of the word. show less

I think this is the only book I’ve ever read where the murder victim was a house.
It is very well done, with a nameless protagonist who feels overshadowed by her husband’s first wife.
The atmosphere is sufficiently chilling, with hints of ghosts and a malevolent housekeeper.

I find it a bit shocking that some people feel it is romantic. Du Maurier knew what she was doing in trying to create a sympathetic murderer, she only hints at most of Rebecca’s depravity, but includes sleeping with her cousin on the grounds of her husband’s home in an attempt, I believe, to justify the murder. The fact that he went right out and found a nice, young pliable replacement is glossed over.

The story owes a lot to Jane Eyre.So much so that one show more wonders if Du Maurier read Jane Eyre and started wondering what would have happened if Mr. Rochester had killed his first wife instead of keeping her in the attic.

Anyway, an enjoyable read deserving its place as a classic.
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I've read this book about every 5 years since I was in my late teens. I'm in my late 60s now, and it's interesting how much my perception of the characters has changed over time. In my teens I would have given "Rebecca" 5 stars, now 2 stars is generous. I used to find the second Mrs. de Winter sympathetic, now she just annoys me with her hysteria and melodrama (and yes, probably because I'm annoyed at the memories of myself at that age, acting like that!). But the biggest change has been my perception of Maxim de Winter -- I used to just go along with du Maurier's idea of him as the brooding, angst ridden romantic male lead. Now I just want to snap at him to stop acting like a damn sullen teenager, and start using his words with his show more baffled too-young wife so she doesn't have to walk around on eggshells constantly. And I've finally realized what icks me so much about the relationship between Mrs. Danvers and Rebecca. It's not, as some suggest, an emotionally lesbian relationship, it's that it's a depiction of a sociopath who raised a psychopath. It would be fascinating if it weren't so repellant. And I have to say that my opinion of du Maurier's writing style has taken a nosedive too, much too overwrought for my liking as a cranky old woman. show less

Rebecca starts in an anti-climax mode, where life is boring and repetitive, far away from Mandeley, the grand mansion of the past. Something destructive and almost too dramatic to bear occurred there - but what? The narrator, whose name we never discover, is a meek young thing, with a ghostly, fluid identity, especially earlier on. As a paid companion to an insufferable older woman in Monte Carlo, she meets a famous upper class owner of the Manderley estate, and quickly falls in love with him, despite him being old enough to be her father, and his aloofness. He proposes to her after just a few weeks, and she soon finds herself the mistress of Manderley itself. Totally out of her depth, she doesn't know how to act in this very posh place show more with its army of servants, and is overwhelmed by the guests that flood through its doors. Two details further impinge on her ability. First her new husband's first wife, Rebecca, although dead a year, is everywhere she looks, in the furniture, habits of her staff and, she suspects, constantly in the thoughts of her husband. Second, the formidable, sinister housekeeper, Mrs Danvers, seems not only to secretly despise this new interloper, but to be rather unhinged herself. As the novel unfolds, we discover more of the powerful tendrils of Rebecca from beyond the grave, and how exactly she died. In the process, the new wife slowly discovers her strength and the true character of her husband.

On the surface, with murders and affairs everywhere you look, along with a gothic atmosphere, the book reads a little like a combination of the best pulp fiction novel crossed with a classic 19th century novel, such as Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights. But there are hidden depths here that give it a unique and rich voice to itself. The narrator is consumed by a fascinating over-active imagination, which borders at times on stream of consciousness. Her dreams and fantasies pepper the book with vivid detail, as do her paranoid fears about how Rebecca will always be her husband's true love.

Rebecca as a character is fascinating too in her utter darkness - the extent of her manipulation and the way she behaves with no scruples whatsoever. Mrs Danvers, the housekeeper, has a little of this darkness most definitely. She revels in Rebecca's evil antics and, to some degree, emulates her. But she is not as strong, so the are kinks in her armour, which make her all the more interesting.

The mystery of the book, and the interactions of the boldly painted characters, make it compulsive reading, a vivid, wild story, masterfully told. show less

This is my first novel by Daphne Du Maurier, and to be honest I was a bit skeptic at first. But then I noticed that Hitchcock appreciated her writings enough to have made more than one movie and that is what probably got me allured. :P

When I began reading Rebecca, I was taken by the surprisingly easy yet captivating narrative. It sort of caught me off guard. I can't exactly recall reading a psychological thriller with such beautiful prose or very interesting metaphors.
"A bowl of roses in a drawing-room had a depth of colour and scent they had not possessed in the open. There was something rather blousy about roses in full bloom, something shallow and raucous, like women with untidy hair. In the house they became mysterious and show more subtle."

The mystery was somehow not so difficult to guess. But the execution of it was nicely done. The book's main element seemed to be its its lead characters instead of the the mystery itself - How they reveal themselves and how each develop. I liked Maxim more near the end, I liked his new wife (very interesting how her actual first/maiden name never comes up!) from the beginning. She is someone so inexperienced to the manipulative ways of the world, someone not corrupted by life. Although an adult, she has very much he innocence of a young girl just learning about reality. She may be called naive, but I don't believe naivety is such a negative thing, not in all, not for every thing. At first Maxim seemed to me to be the manipulative older man, who caught hold of something simpler and purer for his own pass-time. But then near the end I could see why Maxim would be so attracted to someone as naive as her.

I could relate to Manderley as well. May be because I had the luxury to grow up in a house with a big garden, pond and close to nature. But I felt for the irritation, the pain that must have been inflicted upon the old inhabitants by a third person, an outsider, with her perfect ways and too perfect modifications.

I haven't watched the movie, but I plan to now that I've read the book. And I hope to read some more of Du Maurier's work. show less

A plain, introverted wallflower thinks herself inferior to her husband's late first wife whose reputation and presence seems to haunt her every waking moment and their house itself and finally exclaims, " . . . It's always Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca."

Anyone of my generation is going to immediately flash to Jan Brady complaining about her perfect older sister and dramatically whining, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!" Unfortunately, without Carol and Mike to provide guidance, our heroine's problems aren't resolved in 22 minutes, and we have to follow her along for several hundred pages as things just get worse and worse.

Long before the Brady vibe kicked in, this book felt like off-kilter homage to Jane Eyre, another marriage with a third wheel show more looming over everything.

Overall, I found myself pulled along through Rebecca by the style of the prose, but it did prove a bit boring for long segments and overlong in general. A lot of plot developments feel like they'd play better on a soap opera than between the covers of a book, but they effectively hooked me and kept me going even as I got a little impatient with the pacing.

For me, the biggest problem is the twenty-year age gap in the marriage, which the husband sums up in the skeeviest way possible with this bon mot: "It's a pity you have to grow up."

In the end I couldn't really like any of the flawed people in the book, but I rather enjoyed watching their turmoil unfold. show less