Rebecca, book review (Daphne du Maurier)

Opening with one of the most famous lines in the history of literature, Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca will be no stranger to many of you, as it wasn't for me, but with my memory for all things past being somewhat vague, and the passage of time since I first picked up this masterpiece being rather long, I thought it only right to add it to my 'year of the reread' list.

Beginning with a short dream - the one of Manderley - before being whisked off to Monte Carlo where our unnamed narrator is the bored and rather put-upon companion to a Mrs Van Hopper (a rich but rather crude woman, who quickly falls ill), she soon finds herself lunching, riding around in a motor car, and falling in love with the recently widowed Mr de Winter.

There is a distinct difference in their ages, upbringing (read: breeding) and social standing, but a connection has been formed, and so, when Mrs Van Hopper discovers that she has to leave post-haste for New York, a decision has to be made and Mr de Winter proposes.

They honeymoon for several weeks before returning home but with the bride having no family to return home to, they head for Cornwall, to Manderley.

There are four main characters in this novel: Rebecca, Mr de Winter, our narrator and Manderley - sorry Mrs Danvers - with its imposing mile long drive, its vast grounds, mazes of passageways and unseen doors, and of course, let us not forget, The West Wing - where Rebecca used to reside before her unfortunate accident at sea. However, where the house oozes a charm and warmth but with a sense of foreboding, Mrs Danvers dispenses with the former as she robotically runs the house, and she is very much the 'other woman', sometimes spooking the new Mrs de Winter by turning up when least expected, and her presence, her constant niggling, her suggestion on what dress her new mistress might wear to the upcoming fancy dress ball, the fact that she keeps the West Wing as a homage to Rebecca - her old possessions, even down to her hair brushes, remain as they were the night she died - all adds to the sense that Rebecca has never left; that she's still there, alive in the walls, the furnishings, in the flowers that grow outside or are cut and placed in vases around the house.

There's also Frank Crawley, the estate manager, Bee and Giles, Maxim de Winter's sister and brother-in-law and Jack Favell, Rebecca's cousin and all round bad egg, but the really clever thing about this book is how the characters with no real voice - Rebecca is dead remember and a house can't talk - monopolise the narrative. Of course, Mrs Danvers plays a key roll in unsettling the new Mrs de Winter by reminding her how beautiful Rebecca was, how organised and successful her running of the house was, how much everyone loved her, flocked to her, held her in the highest esteem, which speeds you through the book in no time.

Du Maurier writes with such skill and passion throughout this book that even when we encounter the mundane, those elements of daily life like: walking the dog, eating breakfast, reading the paper, you are still enveloped in the scene, to the extent that you can almost hear the ticking of the carriage-clock, the creek of a floorboard, the rustle of a folding newspaper, and it is this skill, along with her amazing ability to create tension out of nothing, like the change in the weather, a thunderstorm with no rain, Maxim de Winter confessing his crime two thirds of the way through but leaving Rebecca's secret, the fate of Maxim and Manderley to the end, that elevates the author and this novel to one of the best I have read.

Five stars then for Rebecca and a commitment to continue working my way through the author's extensive back catalogue.

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Frenchman's Creek, book review. (Daphne du Maurier)

There's an old adage that I bet you've all used at least once in your lives: Never judge a book by its cover, and with this book - well, the edition I read anyway - that couldn't be further from the truth.

We're back in Cornwall (it is du Maurier after all) and we're at the country estate of Navron House, but hold on a minute, what's this? Our heroine, Lady Dona St. Columb has left her husband in London and demanded to be left in peace. Has told him that she requires space to think, a place to be herself, free from the confines of their life in the city, the endless dinner parties, polite smiles and acceptance of invitations from people she doesn't actually like or care for!

Oh, and it gets better.

There's a pirate on the lose, a Frenchman at that, and he's outwitting the local lords and landowners, pilfering their wares and interfering with their womenfolk, or so it is said, but on stumbling upon a ship in a creek by her land, Lady Dona is kidnapped, albeit temporarily - for the pirate is indeed a thief and a philanderer - but he's also much, much more.

He is not slovenly or cutthroat, his ship and his crew are honourable hard working thieves and furthermore, this dashing pirate (Aubery) knows more about her ladyship than he has any right too; but how?

Well, we soon find out and their love affair unfolds, and there is passion and nudity, sex and thievery - bear in mind here that this book was written in nineteen forty-one by a woman - and I love that she writes so passionately about a woman cutting her ties from her husband, freeing herself from the life that was expected or her, on entering into an adulterous affair with a pirate, and a Frenchman to boot (you should remember that the war was on and France had fallen when this book was first published).

Du Maurier's flagrant disregard for propriety is one thing but her depth of characters, her ability to have the reader rooting for the pirate and the adulterer as opposed the law abiding citizenry of Cornwall - whose possessions and women are being stolen and defiled remember - is simply brilliant, and talking of brilliance, Aubery's daring raid on Navron house and Lady Dona's dinner party, where he and his cohorts rob her guests of their jewels and their dignity, the theft of Phillip Rashleigh's merchant ship from the harbour in Fowey and the Frenchman's escape attempt at the end (no spoilers here) drip so delectably from the page you just drink them in and are, in my opinion, worth reading the book for alone.

This is only the third du Maurier book I've read and as with My Cousin Rachel, which I put off reading for fear I wouldn't like it as much as Rebecca, it has been sitting on my shelf for well over a year but as soon as I finished the first chapter I knew I'd made that same mistake, I'd left it too long. Du Maurier's writing is simply superb here, her grasp of the English language sublime and with it's period use of certain words, is a joy to read - Susan Hill I think, is her modern equivalent and is why she was given permission to scribe Rebecca's sequel, Mrs De Winter - but I don't think even she can equal du Maurier and you all know how much I love Susan Hill.

Frenchman's Creek is only a short book but it lacked nothing for it. Four and a half stars.

Don't forget to search my blog for your favourite authors and books. If I haven't read them yet why not message me with your recommendations.

My Cousin Rachel, book review. (Daphne du Maurier)

I purchased this book from the charity shop (nothing out of the ordinary there then) about five years ago, and there it languished, on the 'to-read' shelf in the wardrobe: constantly overlooked, constantly put aside for something else, something more modern, more exciting, faster paced, more edgy.

That's sixty months, sixty! Or to put it another way, one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-six days I wasted, before reading My Cousin Rachel.

What an idiot, what a fool.

If only someone had told me. If only someone had written a review or a blog post, explaining how stupid I was being, telling me how I should have read this the day I bought it - hell, telling me I should have gone and bought it sooner, read it years earlier; well, now there is.

I implore you all, fellow book bloggers, bibliophiles, bookaholics, all those lovely people around the world that might read this post, all those that might have done as I have, and left this book to gather dust, read it now.

Du Maurier's incredible writing comes to the fore here, such believable characters, such eloquent prose, such beauty in her portrayal of Cornwall, (where the book is mainly set), and such suspense.
When Ambrose goes to Florence for the winter, to enjoy the warmer climes of Italy, his cousin and ward, Philip, thinks nothing of it, but when he marries and his letters become increasingly erratic, Philip starts to worry, so much so that he heads over to Italy himself.
On his arrival, he finds that Ambrose, who had looked after him since he was a small child, has died, and his wife, the mysterious cousin Rachel, has vanished.
Shortly after Philip's return to England, Rachel appears, but his anger, the betrayal he felt, evaporates. He is under her spell, captivated by her, but all is not plain sailing. One minute, there's delightful frivolity between Rachel and Philip, the next, it turns on a sixpence and one is shrouded in doubt.

Is Rachel all she is supposing to be? A grieving widow? Penniless? Did her first husband really die in a duel? Who is the mysterious Signor Rainaldi, friend or foe? And what of the hidden letters from Ambrose, talking of deceit, poison?

Du Maurier weaves such a web of doubt and intrigue here, that you just can't help but continue to read. You stay up late, you get up early, you skip lunch, avoid going out, and you put aside the chores, until you've reached the fabulous climax.

With the film released on June 9th (in England at least), I implore you to read this before seeing the screen adaptation, you will not be disappointed.

Five great big giant gold stars for this book then, and the best book I've read so far this year.