I thought I should return to my reading of Rebecca, begun five months ago and paused one month ago at 38%, noticing my heavy feeling as I reached for it.

Du Maurier's writing is wonderful and atmospheric, and if it was all descriptive of the gothic Cornish environs in which she set her story, I'd be happy with that, but I don't give a fig* about any of the characters and really don't care how it ends (which I know, anyway, from film adaptations). So, 👋📔🚮

* I changed my original word choice to "fig", then realised that this is probably a euphemism for that original word, looked it up to see that this is a misapprehension as it comes from "to give the fig", an insulting Spanish gesture of placing the thumb between the second and third finger, so reminiscent if the British V-sign and American "flip the bird" that, actually, I think I was right in the first place!🖕 ( )

Emblazoned on the front of my copy of Rebecca are the words “The Classic Tale of Romantic Suspense.” Romantic? I would debate that. The suspense part they definitely got right. I’ve also heard it described as the perfect example of a modern gothic tale. That I could also agree with. But before I get into all that… a bit about the story. It centers primarily around a young, unnamed woman, who meets Maxim de Winter – a handsome and seemingly charming man, though twice her age. He proposes to her rather abruptly, just a few weeks after meeting her, to which she accepts. She is however his second wife – his first having died nearly a year before. Soon she and Maxim return to England, to his beautiful and mysterious seaside estate called Manderley. Next to nothing is known or revealed about the first wife, except her name is Rebecca, and she seems to have left in her wake an ominous and imposing presence.

When I first heard about this book, I honestly thought it was going to be a ghost story. There is actually nothing supernatural at all in this book. Needless to say, the leftovers of Rebecca’s seemingly indomitable personality pervade every aspect of Manderley, and consequently our main character’s life. That is truly the primary source of suspense in this story – and it works really well. Perhaps even better than if it had been a ghost story. Du Maurier certainly knew how to build up an almost suffocating sense of terror. It’s especially relatable (I think) if you happen to be a twenty-something young woman with anxieties or who is often unsure of oneself. Many of the things that the main character thought about, felt, or became paranoid about, I could really relate to. That right there probably made it scarier for me.

Another aspect I particularly liked is the way du Maurier sets the mood. The way she describes Manderley and the grounds had me particularly enthralled. I can see where it gets the description as being a gothic story. All the rain, the gloom, the fog, the forest smells, (yes I could practically smell them), were perfect. (Being from the Pacific Northwest, I am a big fan of forest smells, rain, fog, and gloom. ;))

People keep raving about how this book is a romance... I didn’t get that feeling at all. In the beginning of the story, when the main character first meets Maxim, I could see it as being romantic. But after that… not so much. As soon as they arrive to Manderley, Maxim just seems annoyed with his new wife, and mocks her nearly throughout the story. OK surely it could be excused as him being guilt-ridden about stuffing up what happened concerning Rebecca… but I digress. I just didn't get the romantic "feels". Additionally, at the end of the book, (or the beginning if you don’t have an edition with the original epilogue), the main character seems to be more of a caretaker to Maxim rather than a lover. It honestly just seemed very one-sided to me. This issue of it not feeling very romantic, and my being annoyed with both the main character's and Maxim's behaviors/attitudes made some parts of the novel a bit tedious for me.

Besides that, I would completely recommend Rebecca to almost anyone. But especially if you love gothic stories, stories set in England, or if you are a fan of mysteries. In the end I would give Rebecca a rating of 3.5 stars. ( )

I really liked how this book started. The famous line "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again". She writes in beautiful detail about what she sees in the dream and then talks a bit about the present before going back to the beginning of the story. I really enjoyed the writing style and I loved - or loved to hate - all the main characters, even Beatrice who was so relatable. I feel like we all know someone like her who really means well but just goes about it all the wrong way.
The description of Mrs. Danvers gave me the creeps but that's exactly what the author was going for. My only complaint was that the abrupt ending left me unsatisfied.
There was some blasphemy and other mild profanity.
This book was reviewed on the Literary Club Podcast episode 57
https://www.buzzsprout.com/1984185 ( )

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

BIBLIOGRAPHIC DETAILS:
-Print: COPYRIGHT ©: (1938) 10/21/1987; ISBN: 978-0385243025; PUBLISHER: Doubleday; PAGES: 284; UNABRIDGED. (Info on Hardbound from Amazon)
-Digital: COPYRIGHT ©: (1938) 2003; PUBLISHER: Little Brown and Company; PAGES: 282; UNABRIDGED. (Info from Libby’s digital version (LAPL))
*Audio: COPYRIGHT ©: (1938) 24 Apr 2015; PUBLISHER: Recorded Books, Inc.; DURATION: 15 hrs approx; Unabridged; (Info from Libby)
-Feature Film or tv: Netflix.

SERIES: No

MAIN CHARACTERS: (Not comprehensive)
Mrs. De Winter – Protagonist
Mrs. Van Hopper -Socialite
Mr. Maxim de Winter – widowed love interest
Rebecca de Winter – late wife of Maxim
Mrs. Danvers – Manderley’s head housekeeper
Frith – Footman
Robert - Footman
Jasper – A young Cocker Spaniel
Alice – A housemaid
Clarice – Mrs. De Winter’s personal maid
Ben – An “idiot” who frequents the bay
Beatrice – Maxim’s sister
Giles – Beatrice’s husband
Frank Crawley – the agent
Colonel Julyan – Kerrith Magistrate
Mr. Favell – Rebecca’s cousin

SUMMARY/ EVALUATION:
SELECTED: When I read in Nelson Mandela's biography that he had read many (or maybe all) of this author’s works, I became curious and made a note to read something of hers. Later, my husband and I happened upon a movie called “Scapegoat”. I noticed in the credits that it was based on a book of the same title by this author. That’s when I decided to try something soon. This was available on Libby in audio, so it’s the one I tried. I remembered starting a movie on Netflix of the same name that I’d not gotten all the way through because I wasn’t in the mood for a scary movie which I thought it was supposed to be. It’s not.
ABOUT: A young woman agrees to be an older woman’s companion, and through this woman, who she soon finds is an embarrassingly obvious social climber, while staying at a hotel in Monte Carlo, meets a widowed man who takes an interest in her. I won’t say anymore, although this book is so old, probably most people know what it’s about.
LIKED: I enjoyed the characters and the plot.
DISLIKED: It starts out at a slow pace, as the main character recalls her long ago past and describes the scenes. It was hard to get used to after reading so many thrillers, but once I got used to it, it did set the tone. I think I’d have liked this more when I was younger and could relate more to the young newlywed’s shy character. We readers spend a lot of time in her imagination worrying about what everyone thinks, always assuming the worse.
OVERALL: I liked it enough to read more of the author’s works.

AUTHOR:
Daphne du Maurier
From Wikipedia--
“Dame Daphne du Maurier, Lady Browning,[1] DBE (/duː ˈmɒrieɪ/; 13 May 1907 – 19 April 1989) was an English novelist, biographer and playwright. Her parents were actor-manager Sir Gerald du Maurier and his wife, actress Muriel Beaumont. Her grandfather was George du Maurier, a writer and cartoonist.
Although du Maurier is classed as a romantic novelist, her stories have been described as "moody and resonant" with overtones of the paranormal. Her bestselling works were not at first taken seriously by critics, but they have since earned an enduring reputation for narrative craft. Many have been successfully adapted into films, including the novels Rebecca, Frenchman's Creek, My Cousin Rachel and Jamaica Inn, and the short stories "The Birds" and "Don't Look Now". Du Maurier spent much of her life in Cornwall, where most of her works are set. As her fame increased, she became more reclusive.[2]GENRE:
Fiction; Historical Fantasy; Action & Adventure; Romantic Fiction”

NARRATOR:
Alexandra O’Karma
From IMDb---
“Alexandra O'Karma was born in 1948 in New York City, New York, USA. She was an actress, known for Terms of Endearment (1983), American Playhouse (1982) and Law & Order (1990). She was previously married to John Stuart. She died on September 6, 2019 in New York City, New York, USA.”

TIME FRAME:
1930’s

LOCATION:
Monte Carlo; Manderley, an estate on the Cornish coast

SUBJECTS: Marital relations; society; servants; death; widowhood; guilt

DEDICATION
Not found.

SAMPLE QUOTATION:
From Chapter 2:
It is when I remember these things that I return with relief to the prospect from our balcony. No shadows steal upon this hard glare, the stony vineyards shimmer in the sun and the bougainvillea is white with dust. I may one day look upon it with affection. At the moment it inspires me, if not with love, at least with confidence. And confidence is a quality I prize, although it has come to me a little late in the day. I suppose it is his dependence upon me that has made me bold at last. At any rate I have lost my diffidence, my timidity, my shyness with strangers. I am very different from that self who drove to Manderley for the first time, hopeful and eager, handicapped by a rather desperate gaucherie and filled with an intense desire to please. It was my lack of poise of course that made such a bad impression on people like Mrs. Danvers. What must I have seemed like after Rebecca? I can see myself now, memory spanning the years like a bridge, with straight, bobbed hair and youthful, unpowdered face, dressed in an ill-fitting coat and skirt and a jumper of my own creation, trailing in the wake of Mrs. Van Hopper like a shy, uneasy colt. She would precede me in to lunch, her short body ill-balanced upon tottering, high heels, her fussy, frilly blouse a complement to her large bosom and swinging hips, her new hat pierced with a monster quill aslant upon her head, exposing a wide expanse of forehead bare as a schoolboy’s knee. One hand carried a gigantic bag, the kind that holds passports, engagement diaries, and bridge scores, while the other hand toyed with that inevitable lorgnette, the enemy to other people’s privacy.
She would make for her usual table in the corner of the restaurant, close to the window, and lifting her lorgnette to her small pig’s eyes survey the scene to right and left of her, then she would let the lorgnette fall at length upon its black ribbon and utter a little exclamation of disgust: “Not a single well-known personality, I shall tell the management they must make a reduction on my bill. What do they think I come here for? To look at the page boys?” And she would summon the waiter to her side, her voice sharp and staccato, cutting the air like a saw.
How different the little restaurant where we are today to that vast dining room, ornate and ostentatious, the Hôtel Côte d’Azur at Monte Carlo; and how different my present companion, his steady, well-shaped hands peeling a mandarin in quiet, methodical fashion, looking up now and again from his task to smile at me, compared to Mrs. Van Hopper, her fat, bejeweled fingers questing a plate heaped high with ravioli, her eyes darting suspiciously from her plate to mine for fear I should have made the better choice. She need not have disturbed herself, for the waiter, with the uncanny swiftness of his kind, had long sensed my position as inferior and subservient to hers, and had placed before me a plate of ham and tongue that somebody had sent back to the cold buffet half an hour before as badly carved. Odd, that resentment of servants, and their obvious impatience. I remember staying once with Mrs. Van Hopper in a country house, and the maid never answered my timid bell, or brought up my shoes, and early morning tea, stone cold, was dumped outside my bedroom door. It was the same at the Côte d’Azur, though to a lesser degree, and sometimes the studied indifference turned to familiarity, smirking and offensive, which made buying stamps from the reception clerk an ordeal I would avoid. How young and inexperienced I must have seemed, and how I felt it, too. One was too sensitive, too raw, there were thorns and pinpricks in so many words that in reality fell lightly on the air.
I remember well that plate of ham and tongue. It was dry, unappetizing, cut in a wedge from the outside, but I had not the courage to refuse it. We ate in silence, for Mrs. Van Hopper liked to concentrate on food, and I could tell by the way the sauce ran down her chin that her dish of ravioli pleased her.
It was not a sight that engendered into me great appetite for my own cold choice, and looking away from her I saw that the table next to ours, left vacant for three days, was to be occupied once more. The maître d’hôtel, with the particular bow reserved for his more special patrons, was ushering the new arrival to his place.
Mrs. Van Hopper put down her fork, and reached for her lorgnette. I blushed for her while she stared, and the newcomer, unconscious of her interest, cast a wandering eye over the menu. Then Mrs. Van Hopper folded her lorgnette with a snap, and leaned across the table to me, her small eyes bright with excitement, her voice a shade too loud.
“It’s Max de Winter,” she said, “the man who owns Manderley. You’ve heard of it, of course. He looks ill, doesn’t he? They say he can’t get over his wife’s death…”

RATING:.
3.5

STARTED READING – FINISHED READING
8/7/2023 to 8/14/2023 ( )

4.5/5 My reactions to reading this in my teens and early 20s: what Gothic romance, oh, Byronic Maxim! Ah, love! I loathe Rebecca! #theylivedhappilyeverafter
My reactions as someone in her late 50s: The unreliable masochistic narrator is desperate for a father-like husband with the last name de WINTER (sterility, coldness) and a first name of Maxim (a rule of conduct) to be completely submissive to. But did I still love it? YES. #agirlcanstilldream ( )