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A review by feedingbrett
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
4.0
We see through the eyes of the new Mrs. de Winter, who enters into the famed life of Manderley, only to find herself disillusioned, oppressed, soulless. Coming from a background of perceived insignificance, often defined by the companions that she follows, longing for that grip of identity that has proven elusive to her all her life - this is especially true as she finally steps into the grand home of Manderley, where she finds herself leashed by Rebecca, the late Mrs. de Winter.
Daphne du Maurier demonstrates her capability to hold us in place without placing significance in plotting. Yes, the unravelling of certain details and the momentum that is shared through the eyes of our protagonist does impart a sense of stimulation for us to turn the page. However, it is in the meditative study that it carries for its titular character that truly leaves an impressionable mark on its readers.
There is an argument I carry on with myself, that despite the manner in the way that the narrative unfolds itself - our protagonist slowly coming to grips with her own aspiration as the true and current Mrs. de Winter - Rebecca is an itch that cannot be scratched. Undoubtedly, the growth of our protagonist cannot be denied but as the text reminds you, time and time again, that Rebecca's mark has already been left in the world, long before her tragic passing. Not even the imparted will from the living would ever be able to completely disintegrate her. Our protagonist strives to find her place in this new world, read with extreme dedication, and yet at no point do we ever even hear anybody mutter her actual name; she carries on like a shadow. Manderley thrived under Rebecca's guidance, and she, herself, self-actualised under Manderley.
This is a dark novel, where any sense of victory is sparsely felt. It projects as this consuming tale that may alienate readers who desire a greater force in its plotting; clamouring for a sense of direction towards something tangible and clear. That feeling would only really present itself in its last few chapters, and even then, it doesn't stray too far from the methods that it undertook prior. But for myself, I found reward in its determination, and arguably, its stubbornness.
du Maurier has crafted something that lingers with you as much as its titular character has lingered onto its protagonist. I felt a strong sense of sadness in Rebecca's all-consuming nature, empathising with the demoralised impact that she has left on other characters. The novel's thematic ideas are inviting in their concept and thoughtful in their execution. Like Rebecca, even after its conclusion, it continues to relentlessly populate my thoughts.
Daphne du Maurier demonstrates her capability to hold us in place without placing significance in plotting. Yes, the unravelling of certain details and the momentum that is shared through the eyes of our protagonist does impart a sense of stimulation for us to turn the page. However, it is in the meditative study that it carries for its titular character that truly leaves an impressionable mark on its readers.
There is an argument I carry on with myself, that despite the manner in the way that the narrative unfolds itself - our protagonist slowly coming to grips with her own aspiration as the true and current Mrs. de Winter - Rebecca is an itch that cannot be scratched. Undoubtedly, the growth of our protagonist cannot be denied but as the text reminds you, time and time again, that Rebecca's mark has already been left in the world, long before her tragic passing. Not even the imparted will from the living would ever be able to completely disintegrate her. Our protagonist strives to find her place in this new world, read with extreme dedication, and yet at no point do we ever even hear anybody mutter her actual name; she carries on like a shadow. Manderley thrived under Rebecca's guidance, and she, herself, self-actualised under Manderley.
This is a dark novel, where any sense of victory is sparsely felt. It projects as this consuming tale that may alienate readers who desire a greater force in its plotting; clamouring for a sense of direction towards something tangible and clear. That feeling would only really present itself in its last few chapters, and even then, it doesn't stray too far from the methods that it undertook prior. But for myself, I found reward in its determination, and arguably, its stubbornness.
du Maurier has crafted something that lingers with you as much as its titular character has lingered onto its protagonist. I felt a strong sense of sadness in Rebecca's all-consuming nature, empathising with the demoralised impact that she has left on other characters. The novel's thematic ideas are inviting in their concept and thoughtful in their execution. Like Rebecca, even after its conclusion, it continues to relentlessly populate my thoughts.