May 29 2009
Contest Winner, First Place: Rebecca
Review by Elisabeth F., Age 19
“She was still in the house as Mrs. Danvers had said, she was in that room in the west wing, she was in the library, in the morning-room, in the gallery above the hall. Even in the little flower-room, where her mackintosh still hung. And in the garden, and in the woods, and down in the stone cottage on the beach. Her footsteps sounded in the corridors, her scent lingered on the stairs. The servants obeyed her orders still, the food we ate was the food she liked. Her favorite flowers filled the rooms. Her clothes were in the wardrobes in her room, her brushes were on the table, her shoes beneath the chair, her nightdress on the bed. Rebecca was still mistress of Manderley. Rebecca was still Mrs. de Winter.”
I don’t think I would necessarily call Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca my absolute favorite novel, but it was one that I greatly enjoyed the reading of and one that taught me some important things about writing. I relished the writing style immensely. One develops a taste in literature just as in anything, and before I had read two chapters of Rebecca I sensed that it was just to my own particular taste. I was sure I was going to enjoy the book if only for the sake of the writing. The author combines keen descriptive power with economy of words – nothing superfluous, just enough to give you a startlingly clear picture with seemingly little effort.
The story you may be familiar with, especially if you’ve seen the movie version. A young girl, shy, awkward and unsure of herself, becomes the second wife of an older widowed man whose first wife was legendary for her beauty and personality. The ‘second Mrs. DeWinter,’ the narrator of the story, whose name is not even given, feels overshadowed and even haunted by the memory of the first Mrs. DeWinter, Rebecca—she feels that her husband can never love her in the same way he loved Rebecca. As revealed in the quote above, she feels like a stranger and intruder in her own home. I read that the author herself described this book as basically ‘a story about jealousy, pure and simple,’ or words to that effect, but I got much more from it. It has a lot to do with imagination and how a person can torture themself with it if they let it run away with them. It also has a good deal to do with hiding things, in not speaking out about how one feels at the right moment and what effect that can have. It’s partly a tale of mystery and suspense, partly a love story and also a good part about everyday life and how that can be the most difficult thing of all.
I saw the movie, a classic directed by Alfred Hitchcock, before reading the book. It is an excellent adaptation that portrays the story well. There is one major difference in the plot, probably because of 1940s production codes, but strangely enough it does little to change the actual ending of the story.
The thing that fascinates me the most about this book is the way Daphne du Maurier captures so effortlessly the way the human mind works. Reading this book was one of the major influences in forming my personal theory of what makes a great writer. I think one of the hallmarks of being a good writer is to be able to put into words the things everyone thinks but no one knows how to explain. In Rebecca we are inside the mind of the narrator, almost thinking her thoughts along with her. We are experiencing her conflicting feelings while standing outside the door of a room full of people she hesitates to meet, her inexplicable sensation of melancholy when packing to leave a hotel, the way she allows her thoughts to run away with her when she has an apprehension of some disastrous happening in the future. It all seems so real because we’ve all felt the same things ourselves, maybe without knowing it. The little practical details that always intrude even at tense moments are all there—I particularly remember a scene in which the narrator and her sister-in-law, during an awkward conversation, avoid looking at each other and busy themselves by petting a small dog who is delighted with all the unexpected extra attention. Or how the narrator notices trivial things—like a worn place on the carpet—while listening to the most important revelation of the story from her husband.
Of course, the trick in writing fiction like this lies not in directly imitating the successful work of another author, but in having or developing a sensitivity to the drama that can be found in ordinary and everyday things, and not always depending on the melodramatic to give your story interest. That’s not to say there’s no melodrama in Rebecca; quite the contrary! But the unusual events seem to have equal value with the ordinary ones, fitting into the general scheme of the story rather than being the cause of it.
When a book can combine this kind of insight with good writing, it is bound to offer enjoyment to an eager reader and writer like myself.
Elisabeth’s review was the only entry in the 18 and up age category — yet her chances of winning would have been excellent even if it had not been. She explores the fine writing and insight of a famous author, using fine writing and insight of her own. As Elisabeth herself puts it, “One of the hallmarks of being a good writer is to be able to put into words the things everyone thinks but no one knows how to explain.” Elisabeth, you’ve done a marvelous job of explaining the impact of this classic. Congratulations!
