feedingbrett's reviews
187 reviews

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.

Finding ourselves at the tail end of this couple's grief towards the loss of their daughter years ago, they are, once again, in the majesty of Venice. John, hoping to reignite that noted dwindling passion that sits between them, and Laura, who finds herself sometimes distracted and far more muted than she was in their earlier years together. What starts as a playful game between them through their identification of a pair of twin sisters turns into a foreboding downward spiral that would challenge their lives further.

With Rebecca acting as my only reference point for the works of Daphne du Maurier, the pathway that she has taken as an author from there to this short story is unavailable for me to tap on whilst I absorbed this tale of tragedy. Her style feels rather different here, dividing herself between the characters whilst ultimately taking on a perspective that is neither within its two primary characters; perhaps an insightful outsider. She addresses themes of grief, marital decay, and death in such a manner that feels thick in its overall atmosphere. Approaching her gothic sensibilities that I found in Rebecca and layering it over this Macbethian narrative opened up my mind to such ideas in such an unsettling but curious manner, questioning everything that was served to me.

Don't Look Now proves itself to be more elusive than one may expect, yet it is in that nature that it finds the assertion in residing itself in one's thoughts. You'll find yourself recalling moments that beg for dissection, and yet perhaps to do so may also leave one disappointed, since du Maurier has provided us with something so ambiguous. This may not prove to be her most accessible point but it is a good story within her body of work. It proved to me that her craftsmanship isn't just a one-trick pony.

The most impressive aspect of The Call of the Wild was its ability to tap onto the mindset of its protagonist, a once domesticated dog now hardened by his experience, and unearth the sense of humanity in the way the emotions are being expressed. London withholds himself from entering into the arena of indulgence, with descriptive passages that feel often direct and short. The novel undergoes a pace that is driven by feeling; themes and emotions become the central point of each chapter rather than intricate and precise plotting. I do wish that there was a little more to chew on but perhaps that is an issue that would rectify itself through potential subsequent returns.

Whilst I approached this book knowing very well that it sits within the perspective of a German soldier, any sort of prejudice I had coming into this was thrown out the door by the end of the first chapter. Any sense of nationalistic propaganda is nowhere to be found and instead offered us humanistic themes, empathetic emotions, and a deep, but subtle, heart. Erich Maria Remarque has captured the experience of the front line that its political leaders wouldn't want anyone to hear, see, or feel during wartime. Its characters endure through moments of introspection of their experience and engage in criticism and scepticism towards the agendas that led them there and the ideals that they are supposedly fighting for. No chapter ever feels like a repetitive step, with each moment uncovering something new within the wartime experience and exploring different ideas - or rather angled differently. While other pieces of literature or artforms may draw different or a more comprehensive view of the war but one may find it hard to believe that Remarque - especially if one takes into consideration the time of its release - hasn't made something quite special.

Harper Lee is not afraid to let the narrative slowly set the scene for its readers. We are served within its first few chapters a level of insight into its setting and characters that would initially seem devoid of momentum. However, as it treads along, one could see that such foundations would prove itself fruitful. Had not been for this,To Kill A Mockingbird would have left only a gentle ripple, like a fall from a single leaf. Instead, an emotional wallop was left as it dissected one of the fundamental, but often intently obscured, issues that have plagued our history - all the more penetrative through its chosen perspective of a child's.To Kill A Mockingbird is a snapshot, a snapshot that unfortunately hasn't strayed too far off from what it looks like today.

Conceptually engaging, but dramatically rudimentary. The potential for growth is undoubtedly there but at this point of the narrative, it still finds itself tied to its obligations to 'lay and establish'. Once its characters, plot, and themes begin to flesh themselves out, I would not be surprised if I find myself hooked by the author and the artist's overall vision (Kaiu Shirai & Posuka Demizu, respectively).

From here, we finally find the narrative slowly coming into form with character motivations further fleshed out and a sense of pacing and rhythm that finds balance in both exposition and drama. While still not perfect, it finally finds itself at a point where I feel entertained by its unfolding crawl.

Much like what was presented in the previous volume, Vol. 6 further expands the world, exceeding far beyond what was initially offered to us in the Grace Field House. Character building feels minor at this point, hoping that it would further gain momentum in the near future. At present, this feels like a bridge, one that will bring something substantial on the other side.

Though only in its last few chapters, we finally see a force of momentum in the narrative. Emotions slowly rising, interesting and key characters emerge, and expositions begin to be replaced with action. That joy and engagement that I felt between the third and fifth chapters of the books are slowly creeping in, indicating that something significant is coming. And I am here just waiting to eat it all up.