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A review by visorforavisor
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
dark
mysterious
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
It’s been years since I read du Maurier’s classic, Rebecca, and it’s still just as good — better, even.
The tension in the story, the alluring kindness of Maxim de Winter, and the fact that his past with Rebecca is getting in the way of him expressing his true affections to his young bride are simply fantastic to read. The pace of the story is very slow but somehow the pages just flew by. It doesn’t feel as though the book is as long as it is (well over a hundred thousand words, I believe). The characters are varying degrees of relatability: personally I see a lot of myself in our nameless narrator, and I love Frank Crawley; Beatrice is the kind of bumbling, filterless person I really like; and Maxim does try, bless him.
Oddly, despite the inevitable historical language, I actually didn’t mind the portrayal of the “idiot”, Ben. The acknowledgement that people do abuse and manipulate us (mentally disabled people), and make threats that nobody would ever believe have been made, felt good. The simple fact, too, that he is a nice person was wonderful. For 1938 it’s good!
The intrigue and mystery surrounding the late Rebecca de Winter is one of the best tension-fuelled factors in any book. For more or less the entire story, our narrator is motivated by her desire to live up to Rebecca and what she represented, even just in the estimation of Maxim; I think that she could take or leave people like the bishop’s wife. As we find out more and more about Rebecca and how universally adored she was, our picture of her becomes clearer — and the periodic reminders that she died by drowning make us feel sicker.
I remembered the reveal from the last time I read this (about six years ago), but it was still so bloody good. The suspense, the heightened emotions, the tightly-strung importance of that scene: they were so strong, just like the scent that our narrator finds on Rebecca’s things.
Maxim’s behaviour is dubious, and he is careless. I don’t think, however, that he is the abuser that some would have painted him as. He is emotionally disconnected and hasn’t done a lot of the work that he should have. I think, though, if we claim he’s manipulating his second wife, we remove her agency. She knows he’s a shitty person. Her decision (which it is) to still love him makes her interesting (as well as considerate, I think, given the circumstances of why he did what he did). He treats her badly sometimes, out of what I believe is carelessness and emotional trauma from having been abused, but he also treats her well when he realises what her problems are. They’re both absolutely dreadful communicators, and — don’t get me wrong — he could have been a lot nicer about the whole dress thing. But I think some people could do with remembering that men can be abused too.
The tension in the story, the alluring kindness of Maxim de Winter, and the fact that his past with Rebecca is getting in the way of him expressing his true affections to his young bride are simply fantastic to read. The pace of the story is very slow but somehow the pages just flew by. It doesn’t feel as though the book is as long as it is (well over a hundred thousand words, I believe). The characters are varying degrees of relatability: personally I see a lot of myself in our nameless narrator, and I love Frank Crawley; Beatrice is the kind of bumbling, filterless person I really like; and Maxim does try, bless him.
Oddly, despite the inevitable historical language, I actually didn’t mind the portrayal of the “idiot”, Ben. The acknowledgement that people do abuse and manipulate us (mentally disabled people), and make threats that nobody would ever believe have been made, felt good. The simple fact, too, that he is a nice person was wonderful. For 1938 it’s good!
The intrigue and mystery surrounding the late Rebecca de Winter is one of the best tension-fuelled factors in any book. For more or less the entire story, our narrator is motivated by her desire to live up to Rebecca and what she represented, even just in the estimation of Maxim; I think that she could take or leave people like the bishop’s wife. As we find out more and more about Rebecca and how universally adored she was, our picture of her becomes clearer — and the periodic reminders that she died by drowning make us feel sicker.
I remembered the reveal from the last time I read this (about six years ago), but it was still so bloody good. The suspense, the heightened emotions, the tightly-strung importance of that scene: they were so strong, just like the scent that our narrator finds on Rebecca’s things.
Maxim’s behaviour is dubious, and he is careless. I don’t think, however, that he is the abuser that some would have painted him as. He is emotionally disconnected and hasn’t done a lot of the work that he should have. I think, though, if we claim he’s manipulating his second wife, we remove her agency. She knows he’s a shitty person. Her decision (which it is) to still love him makes her interesting (as well as considerate, I think, given the circumstances of why he did what he did). He treats her badly sometimes, out of what I believe is carelessness and emotional trauma from having been abused, but he also treats her well when he realises what her problems are. They’re both absolutely dreadful communicators, and — don’t get me wrong — he could have been a lot nicer about the whole dress thing. But I think some people could do with remembering that men can be abused too.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Toxic relationship, Animal death, Emotional abuse, and Murder
Moderate: Incest and Suicide
Minor: Cancer and Terminal illness