Rebecca
Author:
Genres: Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Romance
Book Type: Paperback
Author:
Genres: Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Romance
Book Type: Paperback
This was one of the most bizarre books I've ever read in my life.
Let me begin by saying that du Maruier is not a bad writer. Her prose is often beautiful, but it's bogged down by overly detailed descriptions. Her skill in writing is also, in my opinion, wasted in trying to chronicle the attitudes and antics of such strange and unlikable characters.
The book begins with our unnamed narrator (I took the liberty of calling her 'Hortense' in my head) living in Monte Carlo with the woman she works for. There, she meets Mr. de Winter, a handsome widower, who for some reason takes a fancy to her. Hortense and Mr. de Winter go on a few drives and have dinner together, and all of a sudden she's in love with him. For a supposedly romantic book, I wasn't feeling the romance at all. Hortense notes several times that de Winter never mentions loving her or being happy with her, despite asking her to marry him. Strange sense of romance, if you ask me.
Once married, the two return to de Winter's estate, Manderley. Hortense quickly learns that the house still functions as if the first Mrs. de Winter was still alive - they have tea when she had it, arrange things as she arranged them, etc. Hortense makes no attempt to change anything, saying she's too shy to stand up to anyone. Her actions give shy people a bad name. I'm shy myself, but I'm not a spineless automaton who lives entirely inside my own head.
That brings me to my next point. So much of this book revolves around Hortense thinking about the past, future, or how the present could be different. The amount of pages we had dedicated to imagined conversations, what-ifs, and wishful desires was ridiculous. I could barely focus on the plot because every two paragraphs Hortense was breaking off to think about something else entirely. Many of the things were in her control to change, but Hortense doesn't take action. She acts as if she has no willpower. It was difficult to read about and impossible to empathize with such a strange, weak-willed character. She's supposedly 21 but acts more like a child of 10 or 11 - and a meek one at that.
Everyone in this book has an obsession with Rebecca. Hortense hates her and is jealous to the point of obsession. De Winter is obsessed with her essentially coming back and haunting him. Mrs. Danvers is just plain obsessed with her (I assume because she practically raised her). It's disturbing to read about a group of adults who are so fixated on one person. Very odd incident of hivemind that I don't even think the author knew she was creating.
The most bizarre part of the book was when Hortense learns that de Winter killed Rebecca (this plot point, by the way, was so obvious, I can't imagine anyone being surprised by it), all she can think is how great it is that he never actually loved Rebecca. What? You learn the man you're married to is a cold-blooded murderer and you're HAPPY about it? What kind of sane woman would have this reaction?
Speaking of marriage, now would probably be a good time to talk about the fact that their relationship is laughable. Once he's confessed to being a murderer, de Winter gushes about how much he loves Hortense, after treating her like an annoying guest at Manderley ever since they've been married. He's hardly paid any attention to her, much less tried to make her happy or at least comfortable. And last time I checked, you don't keep huge, disturbing, life-altering secrets from someone you truly love.
Since I mentioned it at the beginning of this review, I suppose I should elaborate on the overly detailed writing. We don't need three paragraphs about plants that Hortense saw in a dream, or half a page about what's being served for lunch. Conversations that Hortense was IMAGINING sometimes spanned entire pages. Why - just why was this written? Why?
To summarize: there was nothing romantic about this book. The 'suspenseful' plot twist could be seen coming from a mile away. The characters were detestable. This reads like a botched version of Jane Eyre with absolutely none of that novel's redeeming qualities.
Let me begin by saying that du Maruier is not a bad writer. Her prose is often beautiful, but it's bogged down by overly detailed descriptions. Her skill in writing is also, in my opinion, wasted in trying to chronicle the attitudes and antics of such strange and unlikable characters.
The book begins with our unnamed narrator (I took the liberty of calling her 'Hortense' in my head) living in Monte Carlo with the woman she works for. There, she meets Mr. de Winter, a handsome widower, who for some reason takes a fancy to her. Hortense and Mr. de Winter go on a few drives and have dinner together, and all of a sudden she's in love with him. For a supposedly romantic book, I wasn't feeling the romance at all. Hortense notes several times that de Winter never mentions loving her or being happy with her, despite asking her to marry him. Strange sense of romance, if you ask me.
Once married, the two return to de Winter's estate, Manderley. Hortense quickly learns that the house still functions as if the first Mrs. de Winter was still alive - they have tea when she had it, arrange things as she arranged them, etc. Hortense makes no attempt to change anything, saying she's too shy to stand up to anyone. Her actions give shy people a bad name. I'm shy myself, but I'm not a spineless automaton who lives entirely inside my own head.
That brings me to my next point. So much of this book revolves around Hortense thinking about the past, future, or how the present could be different. The amount of pages we had dedicated to imagined conversations, what-ifs, and wishful desires was ridiculous. I could barely focus on the plot because every two paragraphs Hortense was breaking off to think about something else entirely. Many of the things were in her control to change, but Hortense doesn't take action. She acts as if she has no willpower. It was difficult to read about and impossible to empathize with such a strange, weak-willed character. She's supposedly 21 but acts more like a child of 10 or 11 - and a meek one at that.
Everyone in this book has an obsession with Rebecca. Hortense hates her and is jealous to the point of obsession. De Winter is obsessed with her essentially coming back and haunting him. Mrs. Danvers is just plain obsessed with her (I assume because she practically raised her). It's disturbing to read about a group of adults who are so fixated on one person. Very odd incident of hivemind that I don't even think the author knew she was creating.
The most bizarre part of the book was when Hortense learns that de Winter killed Rebecca (this plot point, by the way, was so obvious, I can't imagine anyone being surprised by it), all she can think is how great it is that he never actually loved Rebecca. What? You learn the man you're married to is a cold-blooded murderer and you're HAPPY about it? What kind of sane woman would have this reaction?
Speaking of marriage, now would probably be a good time to talk about the fact that their relationship is laughable. Once he's confessed to being a murderer, de Winter gushes about how much he loves Hortense, after treating her like an annoying guest at Manderley ever since they've been married. He's hardly paid any attention to her, much less tried to make her happy or at least comfortable. And last time I checked, you don't keep huge, disturbing, life-altering secrets from someone you truly love.
Since I mentioned it at the beginning of this review, I suppose I should elaborate on the overly detailed writing. We don't need three paragraphs about plants that Hortense saw in a dream, or half a page about what's being served for lunch. Conversations that Hortense was IMAGINING sometimes spanned entire pages. Why - just why was this written? Why?
To summarize: there was nothing romantic about this book. The 'suspenseful' plot twist could be seen coming from a mile away. The characters were detestable. This reads like a botched version of Jane Eyre with absolutely none of that novel's redeeming qualities.
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