Longevity & Reappraisal
in Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, 1935
In the autumn of 2024, I studied abroad in Bath, England with a program called Advanced Studies in England. The program was dominated by English-majors and the adjacent subject areas, and so naturally, I felt like I was in heaven. In one of my courses, the focus was on mental illness and its perception in female-focused literature. The reading list included "lunacy-study" classics like Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys, 1966), The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath, 1963), and The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides, 1993).
The course was fast-paced, requiring us to read a new book nearly every week, and upon reflection, I realize I only have a surface-level understanding of a majority of them. One of these books was Rebecca, a 1935 novel by Daphne du Maurier.
I handed back my physical copy at the end of the semester (had to travel light back to the States!), so for my second read of this book, I found a lovely audiobook on the Libby app. This was narrated by Alexandra O'Karma, who did a great job with the different voices and really embodied the narrator's distinct energy and style. It was 15 hours long, and I listened at 1.5x speed (total time: 10 hrs).
Going into this book, I was first elated to see that both the ebook version and audiobook had queues of people waiting to read it, a more unusual thing to see for a book that is almost 100 years old. Of course, there are some books, like The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1925), which are this age, and nonetheless stand the test of time. When it comes to female authors, or gothic fiction past the prime of the Georgian-Victorian gothic craze, the popularity is typically far less. I luckily had the audiobook on hold, and was able to dive in right away.
I was particularly happy to be reading this book again because I knew there was a major twist, but couldn't remember what it was or even when it was revealed. When it came, I was genuinely surprised. In this blog post, I want to examine how this book has aged, what I connect with as a 21st century reader, and my meditations on some of du Maurier's creative choices.
Spoilers Ahead!
91 years later: dynamics in Rebecca
One of the first things I noted and took some issue with in this novel was the significant age-gap between our narrator and Maxim de Winter. She is only 21, while he is double her age, at 42. Somehow, it feels more acceptable to read about an age-gap like this in a Jane Austen novel than a 20th century one, but with a bit of research, it is not that unusual.
The average age for women to marry in the 1930s was 21.3 years old, and men who were widowed were regularly encouraged to remarry and take a second wife. Luckily in this book, the awkwardness of an older man marrying a teenager is avoided, a dynamic that cannot be boasted by all 18th century literature.
This book sits at an interesting crux between the past and the present, with some very out-of-date aspects, and some very modern ones. For example, the marriage between the narrator and Maxim is not blindly approved by all; in fact, it is objected to on the basis of his age multiple times by multiple characters (none of which are either of the betrothed).
Another interesting border that this book operates on is within the mind of our narrator. She simultaneously has considerations which are irrelevant in my modern world, AND an internal monologue that sounds just like me. On the precipice of adulthood, this narrator is thrust into a mature world of calling-cards, fancy-dress balls, and estate management, formalities abstract to me as a reader in 2026. However, with that comes her concern for reputation, relationships, and intrinsic happiness, and I am once again reminded that she is my age. Perhaps it is things like this which keep Rebecca on course lists and bookshelves; in many ways, self-consciousness and the desire for acceptance never could age, only morph to modern demands.
The Narrator
One of my favorite parts of this book is the tension between the narrator and Rebecca, though she only ever exists in the mouths and minds of other characters. The narrator is truly haunted by her despite never meeting her in person, and I was half-expecting to incur an apparition of Rebecca every time I pressed play on the next chapter. The narrator is so intimidated by the past that she treats the name itself like a curse, only daring to utter it after many chapters. What makes this so particularly effective in this novel is that our narrator is never given a name of her own, besides being called Mrs. de Winter. Of course, this name feels foreign to her, since Rebecca is the original and "true" Mrs. de Winter.
In a sickening way, the narrator could have been any girl, and the events of the novel would not change. The book is not about her at all. It is not important who she is, where she came from, or what she does; the only thing that matters is that she is not Rebecca.
Our narrator is mentally abused by the housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, who perceives her presence as Maxim's second wife as an intentional erasure of Rebecca's life. One of the things I struggled with in this novel was the narrator's continued failure to notify anyone of this manipulation. She is set up for failure with her costume at the fancy-dress ball, and failed to mention Mrs. Danvers's involvement to anyone at all. Similarly, after Mrs. Danvers attempts to convince the narrator to throw herself out the window, she never reports the traumatic incident. Perhaps this is a social dynamic I cannot understand as a 21st century reader, but if it were me, I would certainly be telling anyone who would listen about this abuse.
The Ending
There are so many things to talk about with this ending. Right off the bat, one of the more popular criticisms of this novel is the burning of Manderley in the final chapter, a scene which many claim to be a copy of Jane Eyre's (Charlotte Bronte, 1847) ending. I take less umbrage with this, to be honest. Fire is a symbol used for cleansing in so many pieces of literature, and it feels a bit harsh to claim this a copy when it is simply using a typical dynamic in the gothic genre.
My largest issue with this part is its abruptness; the cliffhanger is too steep for me. Was Mrs. Danvers the one who set the fire? Did Frank report this on the phone to Maxim, or did he really have a gut feeling that they should return to Manderley at once? What happened to the staff of Manderley during the fire?
I additionally have a lot of complex feelings about du Maurier's intentional muddiness when it comes to the investigation into Maxim and Rebecca's supposed "suicide," since it is the hinge-point of the final resolution.
It is very clever that, in the end, Rebecca tricked Maxim into killing her with the false-pregnancy scheme, but at the same time, I lost the aspect of suspense during the investigation. Every few pages, the narrator would mention that Baker, the doctor, would reveal Rebecca's pregnancy and Maxim would essentially be cuffed on the spot. The redundancy of this led to the actual reveal feeling underwhelming rather than relieving.
In addition, I wonder how the note left to Favell could factor in to this ending; it feels completely out of character that the very secretive Rebecca would decide to reveal this to Favell. My only possible speculation is that the note was intended to bring him to Manderley for a confrontation after her planned attack with Maxim?
Final Conclusions:
I am so glad that I decided to reread this book. Walking away with questions and theories is, for me, a sign of a job well done in this genre. The book creeped me out, got me angry, and left me genuinely invested in the life of the narrator, and even, at times, Maxim.
I am aware of (and have watched) the movie adaptation of this book, and note that it has several marked differences, one of which is the lessened age-gap between the narrator and Maxim. While this may make it more palatable to a modern audience, I also think it saps some of the power dynamic away, which is so critical to the sociality amongst characters.
Rereading a book also allows me to reevaluate my original opinions on the book. Whereas before I found it slightly underwhelming for gothic fiction, I now view it more as a nuanced and subtle exploration of the complex issues within. Perhaps I will continue on this train and give a second look to other books from this course...
stay tuned! xoxoxo