Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thoughts: Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier
In a previous post, I said I fell asleep while reading the first quarter of Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca two years ago. In the same post, I also admitted that I’m an uncultured Philistine (an uncultured Philistine? Talk about redundant) who feasts on babies for breakfast. Just kidding (about the Philistine part). I finished reading the book, and guess what? Rebecca didn’t make me want to stab my eye out with a plastic fork or do violent things to an already-dead author.
In fact, I kind of loved it.
Originally, I thought Rebecca was one of those books whose brilliance solely depends on its ‘shock’ factor, and, once again, the book proved me wrong. I looked up the ending halfway through the book, because I couldn’t stand the suspense anymore. (Damn you, Wikipedia, for encouraging my spoilertastic tendencies.) Even if I already knew the ending, I still stayed up until the wee hours of the morning and raced through the final half of the book. Yes, I knew what was going to happen, but I still had to know HOW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. So, no, Rebecca’s brilliance doesn’t just depend on its completely heartrending ending. It can hold itself up with or without the shocktastic ending.
The unnamed narrator tells the story a couple of years after the events in the book transpire. After I finished reading the book, I immediately reread the first chapter to gain a little more insight on the characters. This particular method of storytelling made me think of all the things that we look back on with regret, the things we can never change. Words we could have said but clutched closer to our hearts instead, a street we could have crossed at a particular moment, or a door we shouldn’t have slammed shut.
This book actually made me cry. *HIGHLIGHT TO READ SPOILER.* That scene where Maxim actually tells the protagonist he loves her, and that he never loved Rebecca. Why did you tell her when you were about to get arrested, Maxim, why?!?!?!?! Sniff. Sniff. *END OF SPOILER.*
The writing was UH-MAZING—the perfect mix of beautiful and creepy. I don’t regret reading Jane Eyre before diving into this scrumptious masterpiece, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Maxim de Winter and Mr. Rochester are two different characters who are *ahem* hot in their own unique ways. Both are tortured and oh-so brooding, but the similarity ends there.
Rating: 8/5 I AM NOT KIDDING. THIS BOOK IS THAT GOOD.