Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

Title: Rebecca
Author: Daphne Du Maurier
Genre: Classic, romance, mystery, suspense
Publisher: Avon, 1938
Source: Borrowed from my sister
Read for: Fun, reread

Mrs. de Winter has fallen in love abroad, been swept off her feet by the widower Maxim de Winter. After a perfect honeymoon, he brings her home to Manderley, his sprawling, elegant estate, and Mrs. de Winter falls in love with it. However, as the days pass at Manderley, Mrs. de Winter feels the presence of Maxim's first wife, Rebecca, from the organization of the desk to the untouched west wing where she used to sleep. Will Rebecca's legacy -- or her devoted friend and housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers -- destroy Mrs. de Winter's happiness?

I've mentioned before on this blog that I read Rebecca first in the eighth grade, when we were given a choice of about six books and we read them like a little book club. I was drawn in by the romantic cover and name, and I remember enjoying (and being shocked) by the story. A few years later, when my sister read the book in school, she decided it was her favorite book and bought a copy. While I remembered the barest details of the plot, I couldn't remember much about the book except that I had enjoyed it, so I decided to reread it. I have been planning on rereading it for about six or seven years now, and I've finally gotten to it.

One thing that stood out to me on this rereading, something that may have escaped me when I read it at thirteen, is the abundant and descriptive language. Du Maurier is not sparing with her words, but in this case it gives a strong sense of atmosphere that pervaded me entirely while I was reading the book. I could vividly picture the morning room at Manderley, the eerily preserved west wing, the abandoned cottage by the sea. Like Mrs. de Winter, surrounded by the ghost of Rebecca in her home, I had a strong sense of her character, her personality, even though she is never actually living in the book.

The story itself is also compelling, despite its slow, languid pace. It revels in descriptions and details, but it places them conveniently, in a way that tantalizes and arouses questions in suspicions. While the story is slowly paced rather than snapping and thrilling, every word is well-placed. I don't feel that the language is superfluous; it simply paints a more complete picture.

Another aspect of the novel that I'm certain I wasn't aware of the first time I read it is its connection with Jane Eyre. Reading the book with that perspective in mind gave it new depth to me. I could definitely see the connection between Maxim and Mr. Rochester (and it begs the question -- whose act is more despicable?). The connection with Jane and our lovely nameless narrator is less obvious -- while they are both "plain and little," with no money or family to speak of, Jane is plucky and moral whereas our lovely nameless narrator does whatever her dear Maxim does. If you really want to get into those comparisons, Raych has done a magnificent job, and I refer you to her post about it.

So overall? Thoroughly satisfying reread. If I could sum up Rebecca in one hyphenated word, it would be well-crafted. Every detail was thought of, every scene played out with painstaking surety, leading to the devastating climax, which was depressing in more than just one way -- it was also depressing to know I will never be able to write like that. Oh well, at least I can read it.

4.5 stars

Warnings: Vague allusions to scandal, homicide

Why I Read... (Modern) Classics (Part 2)

A couple of weeks ago, I explained why I love to read classics. However, noticeably missing from that list were the 20th century "modern classics," books that fulfill all the requirements of my definition of a classic except for the "stands-the-test-of-time" requirement. I do realize that the 20th century is over and that some of these books have now been around for more than one hundred years. However, the books from that time period, regardless of whether or not they can officially be called classics, has a very distinct literary flavor different from contemporary literary books or classics of an earlier date. I realize that my definitions are in no way official. However, to me there is a distinction, which is why I am making this a separate post from the previous Why I Read Classics post and the future Why I Read Literary Fiction post. 

I think I really began to read modern classics in high school, when I was exposed to Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck. Although my first reactions were negative  (both The Pearl and A Farewell to Arms were "too depressing" for my tastes), after my AP English teacher suggested East of Eden as my senior classics project, I was hooked. Since then, I have slowly uncovered other modern classics either on a whim (The House of Mirth), the suggestion of friends (Atlas Shrugged, Of Human Bondage) or, in the last year or so, the suggestion of other bloggers (The Age of Innocence). I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but as a whole, this group of books has been the most influential and moving for me. I think it is a combination of the fact that they are powerful, strongly written masterpieces that weren't written in the far distant past, making them more relatable for me. They make up the majority of my top ten list. 

Why I Read (Modern) Classics

* Beautiful writing. Especially Edith Wharton and John Steinbeck. Their words just make me ache. There is certainly more to a good book than a great plot or strong characters. I think I could just read page after page of their words even if they were meaningless rambles. 

* Relatability. Like I mentioned above, the time periods and experiences in these classics are a little closer to home. While I still haven't experienced many of the things described in books written in the 20th century, they are things I've heard of, paradigms that if I don't hold, I at least know some older adults who hold or have held them. 

* Soul-searching. I feel like many of the modern classics are directed inward, rather than outward. The focus is strongly on character development and what the characters are learning about their inner selves. I know that this doesn't apply to all modern classics, but it tends to apply to the ones that I enjoy. 

* Paris. Okay, this is a more whimsical reason to be reading. But have you noticed how often this beautiful city shows up in modern classics? Especially those by the Lost Generation, of course. I love Paris - the short months I lived there are still some of my favorite memories. Any book that can take me back is probably going to be pretty enjoyable for me. 

Recommendations

* Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald. This book is loosely based on Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald's experience with Zelda's mental illness. It is dreamy and rambling at times, and raw and heartbreaking at others. Definitely not for the faint of heart, but beautiful writing.

The movie East of Eden deviates significantly from the book... but James Dean is in the movie. 

* East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I've met very few Steinbecks that I didn't like, but this one is the masterpiece in my opinion. Steinbeck's ability to peer straight into the human soul is dead on with his unique and insightful characters. He also manages to invent both the most horrifically evil and and the most pure and good characters and put them in the same book.

* The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck. This is another book where Steinbeck peers right into the heart of an issue and renders it with heart-breaking accuracy. Added bonus: This one reads like a thriller - it is very intense. 

* The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. This is the first Wharton I read, and it knocked me off my feet because of the beautiful language and the tragic characters.

* The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. And then this one hit me even harder, because Paris is in it. This is the type of book that I can't read too often because it is too intense an experience for me. The sadness and tragedy in the book can affect my own emotions if I'm not careful.

* Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham. Phillip is my literary soul-mate, in some ways. As someone who changed her major 7 times and is back getting a second bachelor's degree, I can appreciate his difficulty in finding what he really wants from life. I can also appreciate the difficulty in getting over a toxic relationship. 

For Further Recommendations, Visit...

* Literary Musings. Brenna does a great job of exploring modern literary masterpieces, both contemporary and more classic.

* Bookworm Meets Bookworm. Beth has great insightful reviews of similar books to the ones Brenna reviews. 

The Book Thief

This book surprised me.

I had heard of it from several people, but I didn't know anything about it except that it was narrated by Death. I wasn't sure what to think of that. And the first few pages, I wasn't sure how I liked "Death"'s voice. It seemed flippant, immature even. But after those first uncertain pages, I was hooked, much like Death was hooked, on the Book Thief's life. And once I got used to Death, I liked him - liked the stark, simple, and unforgivingly honest images he used to describe his observations and actions at the margins between life and death.

This story is about a German girl in World War II. But it isn't quite that simple. Yes, you get the Hitler Youth uniforms and the harrowing descriptions of the treatment of the Jews. You get the bomb raids and the constant death and the militant, robotic youth. But you also get German children throwing bread to the Jews as they march. You get a glimpse of the privations the Germans went through, from coffee to their family members (all in the name of serving the Fuhrer, of course). And of course, you get book stealing. I'll let you read the book to find out how that comes into play.

So back to my love-hate relationship with Death's voice. One thing I quickly grew to love about this book was the way Death inserts little anecdotes and facts into the text. Example: He is describing a situation with the main character, Liesel, and a boy she meets, and suddenly this little announcement is inserted into the text:

THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN
A BOY WHO HATES YOU
A boy who loves you.

It is kind of trendy to have "abstractness" in books, I have been noticing - random things like those little anecdotal inserts, or weird drawings, or a strange point of view (like Death narrating the story). But in this book it wasn't tacky - it worked.

I loved the way Death gave the images in perfect detail but left you to feel the emotions of them. For example: "Her mouth jittered. Her cold arms were folded. Tears were frozen to the book thief's face" (pg. 8). Or (a happier image) "In the basement, when she wrote about her life, Liesel vowed that she would never drink champagne again, for it would never taste as good as it did on that warm afternoon in July" (357).

Death also gave longer, more developed images that I couldn't get out of my mind - a woman sleeping, bent over an accordion. A boy painting himself black and reenacting an Olympic race. A fistfighter defeating Hitler in an imagined fighting match, only to have Hitler call the audience back to fight him, yelling, "Can you see that this enemy has found its ways - its despicable ways - through our armor, and that clearly, I cannot stand up here alone and fight him? [...] Will you climb in here so that we can defeat this enemy together?" (254). That held my attention more than any translation of Hitler's words ever could. Wasn't that really what gave him his power - his words, his ability to convince people that not only was he smart, but he was morally correct? That imagined scene brought me closer to that than any history book ever could.

This book is raw. It is different. It will pull you in and not let you forget its characters. You may find yourself mentally arguing with Death sometimes. But I think you will end up enjoying his story, even if he bugs you at the beginning. 5 out of 5 stars. Buy this book. Highlight it, think about it, loan it to your friends, and read it again.