rebecca.

I missed most of Christmas because of this book. I struggled to stop reading. I lay in bed while my family talked and my neck got twisty and raged at me to stop – but still I read on.

It my housemate, Kathryn’s, possiblyfavourite book. She spent a long time hunting for the perfect cover of ‘Rebecca’ and I began to keep an eye out, too. (Book hunts are the best – I join them whenever I can. They give you every reason to stroll into a bookstore with purpose and a vague but rewarding sense of ambition.)

Tessa lent me her copy. Tessa doesn’t particularly like this book because the nameless heroine is so incredibly pathetic and since it is written in the first person, you get the full extent of her insecurity and feminine frailty. However, our protagonist has the most brilliantly odd imagination and also she wrote the book – so she must be slightly interesting. (When Tess heard my defense, she scoffed and responded, ‘No. It was Daphne du Maurier who wrote the book.” Which is true – but not the point.)

I understand perfectly why it is one of Kathryn’s favourites. I also understand why Tessa can’t stand it. I understand both of these partly because I know my friends very well. But also because it’s that sort of book. Clever, nauseating, very dated but always a classic.

It is gross and engrossing. 

It’s wonderful.

Our nameless narrator tells her sinister tale of falling in love with the wealthiest widower you’ve ever met. He is at least 20 years older than her. But he marries her neatly and brings her back to his massive mansion where they have servants and tea. His previous wife (who drowned) is Rebecca and she was beautiful and everyone loved her (maybe a bit too much) and the new little wifey feels she will forever exist in Rebecca’s glorious shadow, haunted by the perfect previous mistress.

There is a constant underlying creepiness throughout, aided by the ominous and (I think) semi-insane housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers. There is a lot of horticultural magnificence that goes on in this book. The weather and trees and plants are overwhelming.

Of course it sorts itself out. The end drags on a bit, but our heroine finally grows into herself and seems to mature. By ‘mature’ I mean she eventually becomes brave enough to boss the servants around and is no longer afraid of them. It takes a while, but she finally realizes she is in fact good enough to be an upper class snob. I sincerely mean it when I say, Good for Her!

But I thoroughly enjoyed despite seriously weird gendered and classist ongoings. Like any good British book, there is a lot of food and a faithful dog. Books with food are always good at Christmas.