Review: Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier

Daphne du Maurier's 1938 novel transcends time and expectations: a gothic marriage tale that, despite knowing the conventions in advance, still managed to shock me with plot twists and unexpected turns.

The novel's unnamed narrator is a young woman, whose prospective future is built around being a companion to a rich, older woman, hoping to experience upper class society through the lens of someone's inferior. Her life changes when a wealthy widower sweeps her away, to become mistress of his famous English mansion, Manderley. Not far from any Austenian fantasy, the beginning reminded me of Northanger Abbey, a gothic satire. I though 'of course, Maximillian de Winter killed his wife.'

But the novel had a way of distracting me from the truth. The novel's titular character, the dead wife 'Rebecca' seems to haunt Manderley and its surroundings, in that everyone inside and out have a strange way of mourning her. The new Mrs de Winter feels judged and compared at all times, compelled to imitate Rebecca through the hints of her she finds throughout the house, yet berated for the same act. Her identity is marginal, her dialogue is very sparse in conversations, often responding in only 'yes' or 'no,' as she deems revealing too much of her true self if selfish to her mourning husband.

Set in the 1930's English countryside, the novel speaks to outdated conventions of the upper class, their social practices, and specifically the way that women (and wives) are paradoxically criticised for both conforming and standing out. The main character remains unnamed. Her initial thrill at the marriage proposal (she states clearly that she isn't in love with de Winter, that is not her motive for marriage) is that she will become 'Mrs de Winter,' implying that she can finally escape the marginal existence, the service of another woman, and become someone.

De Winter's attitude changes dramatically once they arrive at Manderley. He becomes gloomy, short-tempered, and withholds affection from his new wife, who believes he regrets marrying her as he is still in love with Rebecca. Once it is revealed this is not the case, that he actually murdered his wife, the main character lingers very shortly on the more disturbing fact: that her husband is a murderer. Instead she seems more comforted by the fact he never even loved Rebecca. Instead of becoming an ally to her husband, helping him to get away with the crime once the body of Rebecca is discovered, she adopts him as an ally to herself.

Against whom?

Well, against Manderley.

Manderley is a villain in its own right. The novel begins with a dream, a nightmare, 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley gain.' Not, 'I was at Manderley.' The sense of belonging that the main character had with her husband near the end wasn't because of the house and what happened inside it, but in spite of that. Manderley and its reputation are what led to de Winter hiding the unhappiness of his marriage, the cruelty of his first wife, and her own crimes until he could no longer bear them. The image of Manderley and its 'successful' marriages haunt the country around it, the very landscape. Their favourite part of the grounds being ironically named 'the Happy Valley.'

It's a monument to a false ideal, that led the characters to murder, desperation, and dark acts. The housekeeper and Rebecca's best friend is so enraptured by this ideal that she even attempts to convince Mrs de Winter to commit suicide by jumping out of Rebecca's bedroom window. Rebecca, in the end, maintained control over the house. It feels more and more, looking back, that she was somehow allied with the house itself, using it and the grounds to her advantage. This feeling becomes more prominent when her sunken boat is discovered by the accident of another boat sinking just off of Manderley's private beach.

12 months after her death, she and the house still hold so much power over the people within it. They represent a bygone era of landed gentry and their influence on the locality, the value of good appearances behind which covert dealings can go unnoticed, despite the general unhappiness of all involved.

The beginning of the novel describes an abandoned Manderley, overgrown with wilderness, returning to a natural state from which Rebecca had groomed it into the beautiful, reputable household it became famous for. It is a bitter image, but by the end, a freeing one. Manderley, as we knew it, is gone, and can no longer hurt anyone.

Daphne du Maurier understands the power of a place and its history eloquently, and also how the past can keep control over the future, haunting without any ghosts or ghouls, but consequences. Rebecca is a clever antagonist, and Manderley enabled her even after her death. Her vengeance comes to fruition long after she died, realising that even her death happened just as she had planned it. The powerlessness that the proprietor of the house, and his outsider wife, feel at her mercy, can only be overcome by leaving, and that is exactly what they do.

There was no heroism to the ending, which did confuse me (my Kindle showed that there was still 5% of the book remaining, but this was a preview of a different novel, so the ending really snuck up on me.) Perhaps du Maurier wanted to convey that there is nothing to be done about a place so haunted and corrupt, that there is no changing it while its reputation – and therefore its power – is still intact. Running away is not cowardly, or if it is then a last resort. Not every story needs, or can have, a hero. This was an idea I had to come to terms with after finishing the novel, and it made me think very hard about who, indeed, was the victim. If there was no hero, then who am I meant to pity? Surely Rebecca, the murdered wife?

I am still unsure, as I write this, but I know without a doubt that is an indicator of a fantastic and well-thought-out story. I'd give this novel 5/5 stars. On revision, I considered deducting one point for the extensive, and oftentimes exhausting prose and dull dialogue, but I now see that it was done with intent, to characterise Mrs de Winter and Manderley in contrast to each other. Manderley's dialogue is present and inescapable, just as Mrs de Winter borders on mute. It was a brilliant way to convey the imbalance of power between the two.