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Skillful Writer

@bookwormchocaholic / bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com

Christian. Manic Rumbeller. Period Drama nut. Chocolate and coffee addict. Book lover. Well, that's about it.
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Still thinking about contrast between Jane Eyre and the second Mrs de Winter. I think Rebecca is clearly a retelling of Jane Eyre as psychological horror, the main characters all villainized (even the narrator) to a heightened degree. And I think the main thing that people forget about Jane Eyre is that it is not just a romance (though that is central to the story), but also a bildungsroman. We see Jane's unhappy childhood home and her persecutions at school, but also her friendships, her joy in art, her steady progress with her pupil, before Mr. Rochester ever steps onto the page. She is a whole and complete person, and can live (with some trials!) without him. Not so for Mrs. de Winter. Like Jane, she has no money and no connections, but we learn virtually nothing about her life before Maxim. Both she and Jane sketch, but it's a cruel joke for our narrator--she is lugging around her pencils and her art books, but the beauty of Manderley only oppresses her. The second Mrs. de Winter's only possession is raw nerves. All of this is to heighten the contrast with her and Rebecca. Bertha Mason is a physical reality but a specter in Jane Eyre, her personality barely more than a footnote. While Rebecca shapes the entire eponymous book. Mrs. de Winter is a void. The horror of being only a wife, only the mistress of the house, fills that space.

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grogv

books i’ve read ❥ rebecca // daphne du maurier

the house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. that was yesterday. to-day we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different, changed in some infinitesimal way. we can never be quite the same again.
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The Narrator of Rebecca and Jane Eyre of Jane Eyre are so similar in some ways, but in one important thing, completely opposing.

Both come from poor backgrounds, they are women of the fringe of the gentry who must work to live, they believe themselves to be physically unattractive, they fall in love with a much older man, they come to a house haunted by that man's previous wife, and they have a rich imagination (Jane's paintings, The Narrator's flights of fancy). They are also both desperate to be loved.

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A Lukewarm Defense of Rebecca de Winter

Look I am not going to argue that Rebecca was actually a good-hearted person. She was a bad person. She traumatized poor Ben and her treatment of Frank can be called workplace sexual harassment.

But I see people depicting Maxim as a poor man trapped in an abusive marriage and I just don’t agree. He had the instinct to kill her as early as her confessing her general sexual behavior to him in their honeymoon:

“She sat there, laughing, her black hair blowing in the wind; she told me about herself, told me things I shall never repeat to a living soul. I knew then what I had done, what I had married.” (…) “I nearly killed her then,’ he said. ‘It would have been so easy. One false step, one slip. You remember the precipice.” (Chapter 20)

Now, I think it is clear that Rebecca didn’t confess to being a serial killer or something. She confessed to being sexually active. Now, what that pertains to can be debated, did she have sex with multiple men, did she have affairs with women, or is it simply her not being a virgin? Either way, Maxim’s instinct to kill her there is horrifying. And it is also horrifyingly realistic, unfortunately.

Then they make a pact. Rebecca never cheats on Maxim, because she never lies to him. And we don’t actually know how much Rebecca was driven to marry with Maxim. She might have strived to marry him but this could also be an arranged marriage where both parties weren’t crazy about it. We don’t know. They make a pact. Rebecca will be able to carry on her affairs in exchange of managing Manderley excellently and putting a good face to the public and Maxim accepts. He isn’t a poor fifteen years old girl forced into an arranged marriage with an abusive man, he had a choice, he could easily divorce her, but he ultimately valued his reputation above his happiness. When Rebecca breaks this contract and brings her lovers to Manderley, he threatens to shoot Jack and ultimately shoots Rebecca.

Yes Rebecca does terrible things like her treatment of Frank, but Maxim doesn’t kill her because of these things. He kills her because she polluted the shades of Manderley by bringing Jack Favell into the grounds and then threatened him with someone who does not have his DNA owning Manderley. He does not shoot her because of jealousy or hurt, it’s an entirely pragmatic murder to prevent this latter possibility from happening. He does bring that gun to the cottage in preparation for an encounter with Favell, this is not a spontaneous crime of passion. And Rebecca manipulated him knowing that it will cause him to kill her, which does not say anything good about his character.

He does not feel one bit remorseful about the murder, he freely admits to that. Despite everything else that can happen afterwards, it was still worth it for preventing her son from owning Manderley. He is motivated enough to conceal the murder to the point of purposefully misidentifying a Jane Doe, which is horrible if you think about it a bit.

Some defenders of Maxim say that we would be ok with the murder if the genders were reversed. When some people defend women killing their abusive husbands those women are often battered wives who fear for the physical safety of themselves and frequently the safety of their children and who can’t walk away from the marriage without fearing for their lives. It is excused when it is regarded as self-defense. If a woman killed her husband for merely being a serial adulterer and having illegitimate children I would absolutely regard that woman as a horrible murderer. Also a simple gender reversal doesn’t work. Women and men are not equal in the society Rebecca and Maxim live in, and the attitudes towards the sexual promiscuity of men and women are absolutely different.

There are some other charges laid against Rebecca. Animal abuse is one of them, it comes from an episode related admiringly by Mrs Danvers of her whipping a horse bloody. This episode is certainly harrowing and is one of the most disturbing scenes in the book, but I think the disturbance is caused as much by Danvers’s admiration in relating it as much as the actual act itself. When put into context Rebecca is actually sixteen when this scene happens. It is also important to remember that hunting is the chief hobby of most of the characters in the book. They are not a class of people super sensitive about animal abuse. The same thing also can be said regarding the “incest” charges laid against Rebecca, these people are British gentry in the interwar period, while being with your cousin was getting less common, it was certainly not considered wildly abnormal, and no one in the book regards it as incest.

Regarding the trauma of poor Ben, this is certainly the worst thing Rebecca has done. And it is the first clue in the book to her true character. Rebecca threatens Ben with sending him to asylum so that he won’t talk about Jack and her being at the cottage. Remember that Maxim threatened shooting Jack if this happens. What Rebecca does is horrible but it is not motiveless cruelty, she does it for self-preservation. It is certainly not excusable and it does not make Ben’s trauma any less real, but it is not a sure sign of psychopathy.

I am not trying to paint Rebecca as a poor little victim, the whole point of the book is that she lived and died on her own terms. But I am very much disturbed by the real-life readers of the book excusing her murder by saying that she was emotionally abusive. My visceral reaction might have been caused by me coming from a culture where femicide and honor-killings are quite common. Many people in my country would still unequivocally regard an adulterous woman being murdered by her husband as entirely just. And there were multiple discussions surrounding femicide prevention about the time I started reading Rebecca, and I’ve seen in real time many men adopting the “emotional abuse by the wife” defense to explain away the prevalency of femicides. I am not joking. So I may be bringing my own cultural context into my reading of the novel. It might strike Western readers as merely a scandalous murder mystery, in my context there is nothing scandalous about Rebecca’s murder, it is a depressingly typical societal ill.

And Rebecca’s life wasn’t as glamourous as people seem to think it is. This is what Mrs Danvers says about her childhood:

“She was lovely then,’ she said. ‘Lovely as a picture; men turning to stare at her when she passed, and she not twelve years old” (Chapter 18)

And this is said by the woman who raised Rebecca. Her beloved cousin attempts to use her murder to get money, and his first response to learning about her having cancer is hoping that cancer is not contagious. Doctor Baker was clearly impressed by her stoic response to learning her illness and it was the most impactful part of the novel for me. She dies quite a bloody death. Rebecca’s life story gets very depressing when you stop to think about it.

I was put off by the possibility that the book might be trying to manipulate us into justifying femicide. But I think the last chapter proves that this was not really the intent. The last chapter was not the melodrama that I was expecting it to be. It was a farce laden with dramatic irony. And the last sentence of the book is “And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea”. The sea is Rebecca’s symbol in the book. They murdered her and concealed her murder and they don’t get to live in the house she created.

I am not saying you can’t love Maxim or you can’t ship him with the narrator. You absolutely can. And you can hate Rebecca the character. But I think excusing her murder on the basis of her being emotionally abusive is too much for me.

I really like this analysis.

I read the introduction by Sally Beaufort, and while I think she clings a little too strongly to the idea of Rebecca as a dominating character/presence (for me, Rebecca was very notably filtered through other people, constantly narrativised by Mrs Danvers or Maxim or Favell and the narrator herself), the connections drawn between Daphne Du Maurier’s life and the narrator/Rebecca’s were really interesting.

You could see that Du Maurier related to both women, but seemed to view Rebecca as the darkness in herself that she ought avoid and the narrator as more of an ideal. Rebecca is intensely sexual, she is infertile, she is all those things that women are told they are wrong to be. No-one treats Ben like a human being in this book and it is appalling, and while Rebecca’s behaviour is still cruel and unjustifiable, it reflects her time and her desperation.

From what I could tell, it seemed Du Maurier wanted to villainise Rebecca and those aspects of herself that she contained, wanted to kill her but the book itself is a testament to Rebecca’s refusal to truly die and if it is a burial, it is one that is also perversely resurrective.

If Rebecca’s death is ultimately a suicide (and if it is, it is in part Du Maurier’s own), it is one that she was able to plan because she knew Maxim had it in him to kill her. That must have been a disturbing knowledge to live with.

What you say about femicide absolutely still resonates in the Western world. We are horribly negligent about reporting on it in media, but the statistics of women killed by their male intimate partners is horrifying, even if those killings are not honour-based (and in the UK, we do still have honour killings).

But, as you say, genders reversed, Maxim has still committed a horrifying crime— although the almost Grecian dynamic of the preservation of property and bloodline cannot be replicated if the genders are reversed.

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eyreguide

Jane Eyre & Rebecca

I’ve always thought that Daphne du Maurier has acknowledged that her 1938 novel Rebecca was a re-working of Jane Eyre, but I haven’t been able to confirm that (if anyone does know of a direct quote from du Maurier, please let me know!)  But nevertheless there are still many similarities between the two in terms of plot and themes, and having recently re-read Rebecca, I wanted to dive into how these two wonderful books mirror each other.

Both Jane Eyre and Rebecca are deemed Gothic novels - stories in which romance, suspense, and horror intertwine. And both novels heavily feature elements often associated with Gothic stories - death, fire, madness, young and innocent women, and older, imposing men.  

The relationship dynamic between the two couples feature some similarities, (older man, younger woman, class difference, mystery/secrets between the two) but there are also important differences - Jane and Rochester get to know each other more, and their courtship is not quite as whirlwind as the second Mrs. de Winter and Maxim. In Rebecca, the tension does not lie in whether or not Rochester and Jane will declare their feelings for each other, but in whether Maxim loves his second wife, even though he married her. Jane Eyre appeals to me for the tension in a romance undeclared as I found in my re-reading of Rebecca that I felt very frustrated by how Maxim treated his wife. I did understand why he felt estranged and unsure - it was endearing to find out that he wasn’t sure if she could love an older man like him as much - but he did kind of ignore her for most of the time she was at Manderley. Granted the girl also spent most of her time trying to pacify Maxim whenever he showed a temper, so the dynamic between the two felt much less romantic than in Jane Eyre.

In bringing the two main characters together within the first few chapters, Daphne du Maurier is given time to develop the suspense and psychological dread that defines Rebecca. Film adaptations can add as many shadowy hallways and dramatic musical beats to Jane Eyre as they want, but the story is much more focused on character development and romantic tension. Once the reader becomes absorbed by the narrator in Rebecca, her every thought seems to tend towards “I’m not good enough.” or “He doesn’t love me.” Her neuroticism can be exasperating but I of course also empathized with her insecurities. And I enjoyed the way the author plotted how every scene seemed to exacerbate that. Rebecca is such a great example of how one’s inner monologue affects you.

With the actual character of Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier creates an interesting version of Bertha Mason. Rebecca and Bertha share many traits - beauty and accomplishments, an alluring personality, and ultimately selfishness, greed, and a malicious streak. While some of Bertha’s vices may be explained by mental illness, Rebecca stands on her own as fully embracing her vices. She shows no remorse, yet is still captivating as the villain of the story. Just as Bertha proves an obstacle to Rochester’s happiness, Rebecca ingeniously places an obstacle to Maxim’s happiness even in death. It’s fascinating how du Maurier crafted a story where the dead haunt the living - but in a way that feels realistic and doesn’t rely on paranormal intervention. The story is also beautiful in its simplicity - the other characters build up Rebecca in the mind of the second Mrs. de Winter and the reader so that it makes sense to name the book after her. For despite the de Winters’ attempts at happiness there is seemingly no escape from Rebecca and her machinations.

It is also interesting to consider Rochester and Maxim. One is adamant that he can not kill - even indirectly - his first wife, and another does so in a moment of passion. I wonder if that could be a commentary on the superior nature of one over the other - but if Rochester was in a situation closer to Maxim - where he had to acknowledge Bertha as his wife, with the possibility of raising her child which he knows is not his - would that drive him to commit such a crime? Impossible to say, but a very thought-provoking conundrum. You could even consider that if Jane was in a similar situation to the second wife - would Jane work to cover up her husband’s crime? I kind of believe in that case that she would not.

Even if du Maurier does not acknowledge Jane Eyre as a direct inspiration for Rebecca, I love thinking about Rebecca as a sort of inversion of Charlotte Brontë’s novel. Where the focus is not on the two characters in love, but on the shadow between them and how that shadow grows until it must be acknowledged. Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre is more of a plot device in how she affects the relationship between Jane and Rochester - with Jane only going on to develop further and achieve independence. Rebecca does cause the second Mrs. de Winter to develop further, but she is limited in her transformation. I love the two works for different reasons and find them both engrossing and intelligent reworkings of a romantic Gothic tale.

Lovely to read!  I especially enjoy the Bertha/Rebecca comparison.  I would add a comparison between Grace Poole and Mrs. Danvers both as caretakers of the first wife, who both honestly care about their wards, but their differing opinions of the second wife.  And when you mention inversion of the original I think of the fire, and the difference between how it is started.  Grace wanting to keep Bertha from starting fires, vs Mrs. Danvers being the one to start the fire.

 I don’t believe Jane would keep Rochester’s secret in a case like this.

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RE: Netflix’s Rebecca. I think the problem is, it tries to make the film too much of a love story... but in the novel that is clearly not the case. (book spoilers)

Per the book, our narrator is a very damaged girl with serious Daddy Issues.

Max is clearly an abusive older man type. He may or may not be exaggerating about Rebecca’s antics. She was promiscuous, sure, but was she as ridiculously and cartoonishly evil as he was making her out to be? Doubtful.

Then our narrator is like: “Oh, I don’t care about you violently murdering your pregnant wife, just as long as you didn’t love her.” 

So, again: The second Mrs De-Winter is a problematic woman.

And then at the end they are stuck in a bland life, shuffling from hotel room to room and trying to be ignored. There is no excitement. There is no sex and therefore no children. The highlight of their day is enjoying scones and waiting for news on the radio about cricket scores. (A fate worse than death, surely?)

This is the couple’s punishment for getting away with murder.  . 

To be fair to the remake, even the Hitchcock version overlooked this aspect too. But it’s a problem with the new version too.

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