I went into reading "Rebecca" completely 100% blind!!! Blind trust was all I needed, relying on trusted friends. However, it took me an eternity to make this book a priority. I had "Rebecca" downloaded on my Kindle since 2014. Oh, how foolish I was to wait.

There are an astonishing 313,907 ratings and 13,947 reviews on Goodreads, with an overall rating of 4.2. Ratings like that truly SPEAK! It's not just a hype either!!

"Rebecca" is the most enduring classic of Love and Evil that I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

It combines mystery, gothic thriller, drama, secrets, crime, and suspense. Some parts may seem predictable, yet not all. There are surprise twists and turns that keep you on the edge of your seat. The characters are three-dimensional and unforgettable. The writing is gorgeous, with vivid descriptions that bring the story to life. And then there's the beautiful estate called Manderley.

The author's description of the flowers at Manderley is simply captivating: "No wildflowers came into the house at Manderley. He had special cultivated flowers, grown for the house alone, in the walled garden. A rose was one of the few flowers, he said, that looked better pit them growing. A bowl of roses in the drawing room had a depth of color and a cent they had not processed in the open. There is something rather blowzy about roses in full bloom, something shallow and raucous, like women with and untidy hair. In the house they became mysterious and subtle."

I loved it - I loved it - I loved it!

It's TIMELESS......with more richness than many new release books of this genre.

Special thanks go out to Jean, Sara, and Candy.... and to many other Goodreads friends who read this before me. REBECCA is a novel - once read -- we can never forget!!!!

I'm definitely a new fan of author Daphne Du Maurer. Her other work, "Scapegoat," was also phenomenal!!!

PS..... I need to run out now, but I must come back and start reading 'other' REBECCA reviews!!! I read the last 80% in one sitting!! I'm spent!

I must go offline......but I'll be back - for discussions -- etc!

Happy weekend to this lovely community!

‘Rebecca’ is an exquisitely haunting and romantically gothic ghost story that transcends the ordinary. It's not merely a tale of the supernatural; it's a profound exploration of a young lady's arduous journey of self-actualization and identity. Haunted by the persistent presence of a deceased woman, the protagonist navigates a web of psychological turmoil and mystery. This psychological thriller has rightfully endured the test of time, captivating readers with its atmospheric writing.

The strength of this novel lies in its ability to create a palpable atmosphere. The storytelling masterfully balances mood, darkness, and mystery, drawing the reader into a world of suspense and intrigue. The pacing is impeccable, keeping the narrative flowing at a brisk yet engaging pace. The prose is nothing short of gorgeous, with every sentence painting a vivid picture in the reader's mind. Surprisingly, despite its gothic themes, the novel has a rather cosy feel to it, making it the perfect autumn or Halloween read.

↠ 4 stars

Every year, I increase it to 5 stars. This simple statement holds great significance. It implies a continuous pursuit of excellence and a determination to improve. Whether it's in a particular skill, a project, or a personal goal, aiming for 5 stars shows a high level of ambition. By setting this as an annual target, I am constantly challenging myself to reach new heights. It also provides a clear benchmark for my progress. Each year, I can look back and see how far I have come and what more needs to be done to achieve that perfect 5-star rating. This mindset of continuous improvement not only helps me to grow and develop but also sets a positive example for those around me. It encourages them to strive for excellence in their own lives and pursuits. In conclusion, increasing to 5 stars every year is not just a goal but a way of life.

Getting on my bulletproof vest for this unpopular opinion.....

I saw all the great reviews and thought this was going to be an outstanding one. However, while it's true that the writer managed to create an incredibly spooky atmosphere, that's pretty much the only aspect I could find to praise.

I absolutely loathed the main character. Her sole purpose in life seemed to be ensuring her husband's happiness, regardless of her own. It was all about him. She was like a doormat from the dollar tree. And the husband? He was an arrogant jerk. Seriously, who allows their housekeeper to disrespect them and get away with all sorts of mischief without even calling her out on it? We were constantly being informed about how much money this guy had, yet he just let the maid run wild.

Finally, after getting through the entire story, the twists were simply dumped on your lap. It was like, "Here you go, have a nice day."

I ultimately settled on giving it 3 stars because I did enjoy the mystery elements. But overall, it was a bit of a disappointment.

Every year, I make a promise to myself to include some literary classics in my reading list. However, every year, I fail miserably. 2016 was no different. Although, to be fair, I wasn't very engaged in reading for a significant part of that year. But that's beside the point.

Based on many comments I've read on Goodreads, it seems that "Rebecca" is one of those "aspirational" books that sit perpetually on our to-read shelves, yet many of us never actually get around to reading it. I'm not sure what finally pushed me to step out of my comfort zone and give it a try. But whatever the reason, I discovered that for years, I had this treasure of a novel available, waiting to be enjoyed and discovered. Reading it gave me the same sense of elation as finding a $20 bill in the pocket of a pair of jeans - a delightful and welcome surprise!

So, I'm on a mission. My goal is to convince at least a few of those readers who have been reluctant or simply not curious enough to read this classic to find out why, almost 80 years after its original publication, it remains such a captivating mystery. Here are my thoughts, along with some advice, on why I think any booklover should consider reading this novel:
1. "Rebecca" has aged well. One of the reasons I hesitate to read classic novels is the concern that the writing might sound stale or dated to my modern ears. Fortunately, that was not the case with this story. On the contrary, du Maurier's writing was surprisingly accessible. I would recommend "Rebecca" to anyone who enjoys mysteries in general, regardless of the time period.
2. It has a slow but mesmerizing plot and cadence. If, like me, you mostly read contemporary fiction, be patient. This novel has a slow pace, and the first few chapters can be rather dreary. However, as you eagerly await the mystery to unfold, you'll enjoy the masterful storytelling, the cleverly planted psychological clues, and the wonderful character development. The slow build-up pays off handsomely at the end.
3. Try avoiding spoilers. It almost goes without saying, but avoid reading reviews that reveal too much. I was glad I read this novel knowing virtually nothing about the plot, as I think it greatly enhanced the experience for me.
4. Holy unreliable characters, Batman! We modern readers talk a lot (and sometimes complain) about unreliable characters, but du Maurier seemed to relish playing with our minds in this plot! I'm not sure if the term had been coined at the time this book was published, but to me, "Rebecca" is the ultimate unreliable character, and I mean that as a compliment.
5. Gothic yes, supernatural not so much. I started reading "Rebecca" a couple of times before and gave up just a few pages into it. I made the mistake of taking the references to ghosts and supernatural powers literally. Yes, there are some paranormal overtones, and the story is a little macabre (after all, it is a Gothic novel), but I think the language mostly reflects the parlance of the times.
6. Lots of great imagery. There's so much subtext in this novel that you might think you're reading too much between the lines. But, in fact, it's impossible to escape all the symbolism du Maurier incorporates into this storyline, both the real and the metaphorical kind. The afterword included in the 2013 version I read clarified many of the questions I had and confirmed most of my "sub-reading." If anything, I was struck by how much of du Maurier's psychological nuances I had missed.

In conclusion, "Rebecca" encompasses everything I expect to get in a great mystery novel - interesting characters, a clever plot, and an enjoyable journey that leads to an unexpected but satisfying destination. I'm far from committing myself to reading "War and Peace" or "Ulysses" anytime soon, but I will definitely be looking for more of these literary gems. I'm keeping an open space on my (virtual) shelves to add a few more of du Maurier's engaging novels, and I plan on making time to read them.

Full spoilers ahead! Like for real, I will spoil the book within the first few paragraphs, you have been warned! [I rarely give spoiler warnings but Rebecca is such a brilliant book and I wouldn't wanna be the bitch that "ruined" the suspense for anyone who hasn't read it yet. Go read it, you little fool!]

Anyways, I read Rebecca 11 months ago and still wasn't brave enough to come up with any form of review. I usually don't struggle with writing [funny/witty/fantastic/brilliant/out-of-this-world] reviews BUT from time to time I read a novel that bamboozles me; a book that opens up so many different discussions, that makes me feel so deeply, that I feel absolutely 100% incompetent to write a review for it. Rebecca is one of those books.

\\n  There was Manderley, our Manderley, secret and silent as it had always been, the grey stone shining in the moonlight of my dream. Time could not spoil the beauty of those walls, nor of the place itself, as it lay like a jewel in the hollow of a hand.\\n

Part of me wants to write a review in which I simply gush about this brilliant story, du Maurier's hauntingly beautiful prose, her unique way with words, the thrilling reading experience I had [oh, how loud I gasped and how hard I held onto these pages, reader, you won't be able to imagine!] and all the juicy drama that unfolded in this mysterious tale. Another part of me wants to be more serious about it, that part wants to examine the characters' actions very closely, analyse why I felt so close to our unnamed heroine, how abusive her much older husband, Maxim de Winter, is [and how he's still portrayed as the classical "hero"]; Part of me wants to reconsider the femicide in this tale and how Rebecca, Maxim's former wife, was wronged, how her "sin" was wanting to freely express her sexuality. Another part of me wants to analyse why the first 2/3 of the story are shockingly brilliant and why the story lost its momentum in the last third, basically after the big reveal that Max killed his first wife.

Ever since I've finished this book last autumn its story and characters have lived in my head rent free. I vividly remember reading Rebecca, how I sat on the couch in the living room for hours, turning page after page, being absolutely SHOOKETH by what du Maurier dished out.

Despite its immense popularity, – like seriously, I had no idea how popular this fucking book is, everyone and their mother has read and loved it – this book was only truly put on my radar in 2021 when I discussed ICONIC opening lines in classic literature on my YouTube channel. Someone left me a comment saying that Rebecca's was their favorite: "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." And I know this sounds HELLA DRAMATIC but when I read that opening line it was as if the air had been knocked right out of me, literary worlds opened up in my mind, and I knew I had to order and read this book immediately – which is exactly what I did.

This opening line is everything. It's probably the most perfect sentence I've ever read. I love its lyricism (it even kinda rhymes), I love the questions it raises, I love how beautiful it is. After having read the book I also love how perfectly it encapsulates the narrative's core theme, since it is not Rebecca who speaks. As an unknowing reader might have assumed from the book's title its titular character is actually not its narrator. This is the strange paradox of du Maurier's tale: its characters are doomed to refer (and defer) endlessly to Rebecca, who "always" did things, perfectly and elegantly, a certain way, while Rebecca herself never appears. She haunts this book. Rebecca is its ghost.

Instead, it is the novel's unnamed narrator who speaks that first line – the second Mrs de Winter, a woman perpetually in her predecessor's shadow. No matter how hard she tries, she is quite simply, not Rebecca – her husband's late first wife.

And yet, the more we learn about our unnamed (not nameless! there is a difference!) narrator, the more we take to her. She is exceedingly young — shy, inexperienced, and, in the beginning, under the thumb of a wealthy lady who has employed her as a travel companion. In Monte Carlo, our narrator meets Maxim de Winter, a tall, dark and handsome aristocrat, recently widowed. He swiftly rescues her from drudgery, proposes marriage ('Do you mean you want a secretary or something?' – 'No, I'm asking you to marry me, you little fool.' => du Maurier is a Zelda Fitzgerald stan CONFIRMED!), and takes her back to England to live in his beautiful and ancient estate, Manderley.

\\n  I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.\\n

She goes through this whirlwind of emotions and as a reader you cannot feel quite happy for her. The uneasy feeling that this relationship is doomed is there from the beginning, since the novel begins at the narrative's end, revealing that the couple is now leading a nomadic life. Retrospection taints the novel with a pervasive sense of inevitable doom and a desperate sympathy for the naïve young narrator. Now, night after night, she must dream of Manderley again — of its beauty, to be sure, but also, too, of its oppressiveness. The dual spectres of Rebecca and Manderley haunt Maxim and his bride but the circularity of the narrative makes escape impossible.

The relationship between our narrator and Maxim de Winter is not easily accessible. In some instances I was rooting for them, simply because I wanted her to be happy and she wanted Maxim so badly. In others I was appalled and furious at Maxim's gaslighting, at his constant belittlement of her, her thoughts and ideas, his constant mood swings and unjustified bursts of anger. I was scared for our narrator, especially since she was so insecure and unsure of herself.

\\n  'I'm being rather a brute to you, aren't I?' he said; 'this isn't your idea of a proposal. We ought to be in a conservatory, you in a white frock with a rose in your hand, and a violin playing a waltz in the distance. And I should make violent love to you behind a palm tree. You would feel then you were getting your money's worth. Poor darling, what a shame. Never mind, I'll take you to Venice for our honeymoon and we'll hold hands in the gondola. But we won't stay too long, because I want to show you Manderley.'\\n

Our narrator is a people pleaser. Above all, she wants to please Maxim. She wants to fit in. She wants to be loved, no matter how many times she is being disrespected: "It was over then. The episode was finished. We must not speak of it again. He smiled at me over his cup of tea, and then reached for the newspaper on the arm of his chair. The smile was my reward. Like a pat on the head to Jasper. Good dog then, lie down, don't worry me any more"

But she also wants Manderley. She wants to fit into the big mansion, she wants to be respected and liked by its/her servants, Mrs Danvers especially. But the silent and sinister housekeeper is obsessed with and devoted to her former employer, the late Rebecca de Winter, even beyond her grave. No matter what our heroine does, it is simply not as good as what Rebecca did in the past. Mrs Danvers constant snide remarks remind us and our narrator of that sad truth. She continually attempts to undermine the narrator psychologically, subtly suggesting to her that she will never attain the beauty, urbanity, and charm her predecessor possessed.

When Manderley hosts an annual costume ball, for instance, the second Mrs de Winter is anxious to impress her new husband and his guests. Mrs Danvers encourages her to dress as Caroline de Winter, one of her husband's ancestors, whose imposing portrait graces the mansion's hall. But when she makes her grand entrance, her husband angrily orders her to change. Rebecca had worn an identical costume the year before. And thus, Mrs Danvers' goal of humiliating our narrator is achieved.

\\n  And time will mellow it, make it a moment for laughter. But now it was not funny, now I did not laugh. It was not the future, it was the present. It was too vivid and too real.\\n

Rebecca, among many other things, is also a bildungsroman. Throughout the narrative we witness our unnamed narrator going from a naive and shy girl, entrapped, isolated and manipulated, to an assertive woman who knows and gets what she wants: the love of her husband and regency over her home: "'I'm afraid it does not concern me very much what Mrs de Winter used to do,' I said. 'I am Mrs de Winter now, you know and if I choose to send a message by Robert I shall do so.'"

And yet, as a reader you won't consider this a happy tale. This is not a story with a happy ending, where girl gets boy and all is fine in the world. We know too much of our heroine’s insecurities: she is soon convinced that Maxim must regret his decision to marry her and that he must still be deeply in love with the seemingly perfect Rebecca. She is obsessed both with her husband's love as well as his first wife.

\\n  I could fight the living but I could not fight the dead. If there was some woman in London that Maxim loved, someone he wrote to, visited, dined with, slept with, I could fight with her. We would stand on common ground. I should not be afraid. Anger and jealousy were things that could be conquered. One day the woman would grow old or tired or different, and Maxim would not love her any more. But Rebecca would never grow old. Rebecca would always be the same. And her I could not fight. She was too strong for me.\\n

She views her marriage to Maxim as a sort of contest with his first wife, one that she is constantly losing ... up until her husband's confession about this truth of his first marriage finally brings her peace.

When a diver investigation nearby discovers the remains of Rebecca's sailing boat, with her decomposed body still on board, Maxim is forced to confess to the narrator that his marriage to Rebecca was a sham. Rebecca, Maxim reveals, was a cruel and selfish woman who manipulated everyone around her into believing her to be the perfect wife and a paragon of virtue. On the night of her death, she told Maxim that she was pregnant with another man's child, which she would raise under the pretense that it was Maxim's, and he would be powerless to stop her. Maxim reveals that in a rage he then shot her through her heart, disposed of her body by placing it in her boat and sinking it at sea.

As a woman of the 21st century who considers herself to be a feminist, Maxim's reveal comes as a true shock. I can no longer see him as the hero that du Maurier paints him. What Maxim committed is a femicide. He killed his wife out of jealousy and contempt. His actions can be likened to an honor killing. It's disgusting and wrong, and there's no excuse for it. I don't feel sorry for Maxim and his "moral dilemma". He was not the victim in that situation, Rebecca was. Even though Rebecca had her own agenda for driving Maxim over the edge (she was diagnosed with incurable cancer and characters later speculate whether she wanted a quick death), Maxim killed her for her defiant nature.

\\n  None of the things that he had told me mattered to me at all. I clung to one thing only, and repeated it to myself, over and over again. Maxim did not love Rebecca. He had never loved her, never, never. They had never known one moment's happiness together.\\n

What's all the more worthy of analysis is our unnamed narrator's reaction to her husband's reveal: contrary to popular belief, the narrator thinks little of Maxim's murder confession. Rather, she is relieved (!) to hear that Maxim has always loved her and never Rebecca. Can you hear feminists screaming and crying in the background? No? Because I sure can. It's a clusterfuck. How do we explain that??? Our unnamed narrator, who we came to love and for whom we felt so much sympathy and fear, doesn't care one flit that her husband murdered another woman. She actually feels closer and more loyal to him than before. She even views him as the wronged one in that situation. Our narrator thinks she has "won". It's tragic that she doesn't realise in that moment that this was never a game, or if it was, one that cannot be won. However, you do get the feel that she comes to that realisation later in life, as her retrospective narration is much less naive and more soberly somber.

\\n  I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end. We have conquered ours, or so we believe.\\n

From a modern perspective, it’s also quite clear that there simply wasn’t much our narrator could do about her husband’s crimes. As a woman she was dependent on him, in almost all ways. And she just heard what happened to women, like Rebecca, who challenged that norm to assert a freedom of their own.

This bleakness is further undermined by the novel's ending. Feeling a great sense of foreboding, Maxim insists on driving through the night to return to Manderley. [They've been away, in London, to confirm with Rebecca's doctor whether she was pregnant or not.] However, before they come in sight of the house, it's clear from a glow on the horizon and wind-borne ashes that it is ablaze. Manderley – its beauty, its secrets, its allure – is no more. So who really won?

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” - the opening lines of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca.

As a reader, the joy of discovery is truly thrilling. It's that moment of finding a book you've never heard of, reading it, and falling in love with it. And then迫不及待地telling ten other people about the amazing experience. That's exactly what happened to me when I read Rebecca.

Sure, I didn't exactly "discover" Daphne du Maurier's classic like Columbus discovered America. After all, it was published in 1938 and has never been out of print. I wasn't completely ignorant of its existence either. As a World War II buff and an ex-Ken Follett fan, I knew that the Germans used Rebecca as the key to a code book. I knew that Hitchcock directed a film version. And I knew those famous opening lines.

But none of that made me want to pick up the book. The title seemed innocuous. The opening line was meaningless. (Manderley? What on earth is Manderley?) Somehow, though, after reading some list - I think it was a list of books to read after Gone Girl - a tattered, used copy of Rebecca ended up on my shelf. Then one night it ended up on my bedside table. And the rest is history.

Very very very very very very very small and unimportant history. Rebecca is the story of the second Mrs. Maxim de Winter, told in the first-person from her perspective. When the novel begins, the second Mrs. de Winter - who is never named - is living modestly abroad. She starts a long reminiscence about her time in Monte Carlo, working as a maidservant to an American woman. It's there that she meets the wealthy Maximilian de Winter, the owner of the famous and beautiful Cornish estate called Manderley. After a whirlwind romance, the narrator - fragile, self-conscious, and naïve - marries Maxim and returns with him to his estate.

At Manderley, the second Mrs. de Winter meets three interesting characters, only one of whom is alive. The first is the estate itself, Manderley. Both the house and the surrounding grounds are described in rich, reverent detail. The place has a haunting hold on Maxim de Winter, and soon it sinks its hooks into the second Mrs. de Winter as well. The second major character is the sly, ominous head maid, Mrs. Danvers. She presides over an immaculate, unused portion of the household, with a view of the sea.

The third major character is a memory. She is the first Mrs. de Winter: Rebecca. Although Rebecca is already dead when the second Mrs. de Winter begins her tale, her presence - her ghost - looms large over everyone and everything. Her life and death are the driving force and central mystery of the novel. Rebecca's hold on Mrs. Danvers, on Maxim, on just about everyone she came into contact with, constantly stalks the second Mrs. de Winter.

And that's all I can tell you about the plot. I won't give away any more. One of the great joys of reading this book is that I didn't know the ending. That's rare with classical literature. In today's world, with easy access to the internet, it's hard to avoid learning the twists, turns, surprises, and climaxes of famous literature. Rebecca came to me as an absolute unknown, with only a vague title and a renowned first line.

Well, I will say this. Rebecca starts slow. I feel compelled to say this because after I finished and loved it, I started recommending it left and right. Some of my friends, trusting my judgment, took my suggestion and immediately gave me sidelong glances. "Keep reading," I said. At a certain point, the languorous pacing and the uncertain narrative arc suddenly snap into place like a bear trap. All at once, the methodical plodding gives way to piano-wire suspense. I was tearing through the pages at an amazing rate, nearly skimming. This is the kind of novel that makes your eyes want to cheat over to the right-hand page while the left remains unread.

It should also be noted that the ending is rather - well, it's a bit controversial, at least in qualitative terms. Even Daphne du Maurier had problems with it. (My edition of the novel includes an alternate ending, as well as an essay from the author describing the changes). I say this because the same friends who gave me sidelong glances during the early parts of the novel brought them back when they reached the end.

It can also be said that du Maurier writes beautifully. Although her narrator is never really defined as a person - never given a name, even - she is strikingly distinct. (You can trace a line, I think, between the second Mrs. de Winter and the shy, neurotic Eleanor Vance in Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House). The mystery that du Maurier unveils is peeled carefully, with great precision, so that when you finish, certain parts are worth rereading. Du Maurier is also wonderful at creating a sense of place that is both beautiful and foreboding:

The sky, now overcast and sullen, so changed from the early afternoon, and the steady, insistent rain could not disturb the quietude of the valley; the rain and the rivulet mingled with one another, and the liquid note of the blackbird fell upon the damp air in harmony with them both. I brushed the dripping heads of the azaleas as I passed, so close they grew together, bordering the path. Little drops of water fell on to my hands from the soaked petals. There were petals at my feet too, brown and sodden, bearing their scent upon them still, and a richer, older scent as well, the smell of deep moss and bitter earth, the stems of bracken, and the twisted roots of trees. I held Maxim's hand and I had not spoken. The spell of the Happy Valley was upon me. This at last was the core of Manderley, the Manderley I would know and learn to love. The first drive was forgotten, the black, herded woods, the glaring rhododendrons, luscious and over-proud. And the vast house too, the silence of that echoing hall, the uneasy stillness of the west wing, wrapped in dust sheet. There I was an interloper, wandering in rooms that did not know me, sitting at a desk and in a chair that was not mine. Here it was different. The Happy Valley knew no trespassers. We came to the end of the path, and the flowers formed an archway above our heads. We bent down, passing underneath, and when I stood straight again, brushing the raindrops from my hair, I saw that the valley was behind us, and the azaleas, and the trees, and, as Maxim had described to me that afternoon many weeks ago in Monte Carlo, we were standing in a little narrow cove, the shingle hard and white under our feet, and the sea was breaking on the shore beyond us…

The cover of my copy of Rebecca simply states that it is "The classic tale of romantic suspense." I initially laughed at that tagline because what on earth is romantic suspense? Having finished the book, the tagline still doesn't make much more sense than before. But I understand the copy-editor's dilemma. How do you sell a book like this, a book in which the title character is a figurative ghost (and is literally quite dead)?

Really, the cover should have said "Trust me," and left it at that. So, trust me.

Rebecca is a true classic of Gothic fiction. When one undertakes to review such a renowned work, it can be a rather tricky endeavor. It feels as if one is on the verge of committing a blasphemous act, even if the review is favorable. However, I simply must share my profound feelings about this magnificent piece of literature. So, I bravely plunge in, setting aside my apprehensions.

Rebecca is an exquisitely crafted novel. From its world-famous opening line, "Last night I dreamed we went to Manderley again," to the very end, every word, sentence, paragraph, and pause is meticulously placed. The characterizations are painstakingly done and of the highest quality. As the story progresses towards its predestined semi-tragic conclusion, the reader is completely engrossed and never allowed to relax or withdraw from the narrative even for a moment.

The story begins on the French Riviera, where the unnamed narrator serves as a companion to a wealthy American lady on vacation. There, she meets and falls in love with the middle-aged widower Max de Winter. After a whirlwind courtship, they marry, and she accompanies him to his imposing country estate, Manderley. Immediately upon arriving, she is overcome with feelings of inadequacy, as the entire mansion seems to be haunted by the unseen presence of Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter. The forbidding housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, exacerbates the situation by constantly insinuating that Rebecca was a true lady and that the new mistress of the house is a simple social upstart who can never measure up to her.

The tension reaches a boiling point when Mrs. Danvers cleverly manipulates the new Mrs. de Winter into wearing a costume at a party that Rebecca had worn on a previous similar occasion. Max reacts explosively and demands that she change immediately. Following this incident, the housekeeper almost convinces the young bride to commit suicide. However, a distraction in the form of a shipwreck on the shore occurs, and Max finally tells his young wife the truth about Rebecca.

Rebecca, contrary to her charming exterior, was a cruel and manipulative woman who continuously tortured her husband with tales of her escapades with various men. Eventually, she reveals to Max that she is pregnant with another man's child and that he is powerless to denounce her. Max, pushed beyond his limits, shoots and kills her and then sinks her body in the sea in his boat, making it appear as if she died in a boating accident.

The sunken boat is recovered after the shipwreck, and holes drilled at the bottom are discovered. At the inquest, a verdict of suicide is returned. However, a crisis is precipitated by Jack Favell, Rebecca's disreputable cousin and lover, who claims that Rebecca could not have committed suicide because she had visited a doctor before her death and had important news to impart. Max, his wife, and Jack are all certain that this information is proof of her pregnancy. Instead of succumbing to Jack's blackmail, Max decides to face the consequences.

The novel's final bombshell is dropped when the doctor reveals that Rebecca indeed had momentous news. Suicide is entirely believable because she was suffering from cancer and would have died within a few months. The reader, along with Max and the new Mrs. de Winter, realizes that Rebecca's provocation of Max into killing her was her final act of revenge and escape from a lingering death. The story does not have a happy ending, as a frustrated Mrs. Danvers ultimately sets fire to Manderley and perishes in the flames.

Rebecca is a novel that operates on multiple levels. It can be enjoyed as a straightforward Gothic mystery, and it is no less satisfying for it. The secrets are sufficiently sordid, the mood is satisfactorily noir, and the characters are morbid in their preoccupations. However, when one delves deeper into the many-layered themes of the story, Ms. du Maurier's genius as a storyteller becomes evident. The fact that the protagonist is never named and the novel takes the name of her dead antagonist is highly significant. The entire novel is, in fact, driven by three female characters: the dead Rebecca, who is beautiful, cruel, and strangely attractive; the current Mrs. de Winter, who is pretty, sweet, and likeable but uninteresting; and Mrs. Danvers, who is dark, brooding, and evil like a witch. It is almost a perfect maiden-nymph-crone triad of the pagan goddess, although I doubt if the author intended such a connection. The protagonist's lack of identity and Rebecca's all-pervasive one are almost painfully emphasized.

From a male perspective, Rebecca is the perfect dream girl who, once possessed, becomes the antithesis of what she represented as an unattainable ideal. Max attempts to exorcise her by killing her, but he is unsuccessful. Like a fairytale prince, it is through unselfish love for a pure maiden that he is redeemed. When he confronts his crime, he finds deliverance at the last moment. However, Max still has to suffer the final punishment - the loss of Manderley - and with it, the crone figure also disappears, allowing him to finally build a new life with his princess.

Does the novel have any flaws? In my opinion, the only one I noticed was that the story felt a bit too contrived. The author has laid out a clear roadmap for the reader and carefully guides them along it without allowing for any deviations. The revelations are placed with clockwork precision. This may not necessarily be a flaw in a mystery novel, but it does detract slightly from the spontaneity of the story.

On the first reading, enjoy Rebecca as a mystery. On subsequent readings, delve deeper into the narrative structure, craftsmanship, and psychological undercurrents. This novel warrants careful analysis, especially for aspiring writers. It provides invaluable insights into the art of storytelling.

Rebecca is a captivating classic that masterfully weaves together mystery, secrets, and romance into an intricate and enchanting tale. It follows the story of a young girl who is charmed by a wealthy and much older man, Maxim de Winter, despite his recent heartache from the tragic death of his wife, Rebecca, eight months ago.
Maxim has been trying to forget his past, but the young heroine, whose name remains unknown, falls in love with him and agrees to marry. When she moves into Manderley, the estate where Maxim and Rebecca lived, she discovers the truth behind Rebecca's death by accidental drowning.
This revelation is disturbing to the young and naïve girl, especially when she arrives at Manderley and faces the hustle and bustle of mansion life, as well as the resentment of Mrs. Danvers, who dislikes her because she is not Rebecca.
Du Maurier's Rebecca explores many themes and poses thought-provoking questions, such as what happens when the woman haunting your husband starts haunting you too.
For me, Rebecca was a true delight. It is expertly crafted and beautifully written, and I had that strange feeling of enjoying something so much that I thought I must be sinning.
However, the book does have a slightly depressing atmosphere, mainly because the main character is often fixated on her inability to live up to Rebecca's standards. But this only made me empathize with her more and want to comfort her.
The fact that the lead character's name is never revealed adds to the mystery and sense of inferiority she feels towards Rebecca. It also makes the story more unique and memorable.
Overall, Rebecca is a brilliant novel that I highly recommend to anyone interested in classic literature, mystery, or romance. Give it a try and see if you fall under its spell like I did.

Reread after feeling inspired by The Reading List.

This work is truly an absolute masterpiece of Gothic literature. It is filled with intense emotions and a captivating atmosphere that immediately draws the reader in.

The story unfolds with a sense of mystery and foreboding, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat. The vivid descriptions of the settings, such as the dark and阴森的 mansions, add to the overall Gothic feel.

The characters are complex and well-developed, each with their own secrets and desires. Their interactions and conflicts drive the plot forward, creating a sense of drama and tension.

Overall, this is a must-read for any fan of Gothic literature. It will transport you to a world of darkness and mystery, leaving you with a sense of awe and inspiration.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. This beautiful first line is instantly recognizable and has passed into our culture. It captures our imagination and makes us want to read more. The rhythm is insistent, the mention of dreams intrigues us, and the word "Manderley" echoes in our subconscious. We are already in danger of falling under Daphne Du Maurier's hypnotic spell.

Generally regarded as Du Maurier's masterpiece, Rebecca has never been out of print since its first publication in 1938. It is a tempestuous gothic romance that made its author a household name. The story of the mysterious Rebecca, the mousy replacement, the brooding Maxim de Winter, and all the intrigue and drama is well-known.

Rebecca captured the feel of the age, drawing on the glamour of country society and the sense of impending catastrophe in the pre-war years. Du Maurier, born into a wealthy family in 1907, knew this society well. She was a tomboy as a child and preferred visiting the family's holiday home. All these aspects of her life are reflected in the novel.

Our first introduction to Manderley is ominous. The narrator's journey is filled with foreboding. The drive is like a serpent, and the trees form a great colonnade above. The first glimpse of the house, with its rhododendrons against a "blood-red wall," heightens the sense of unease.

Later, Manderley seems to have a different influence on the narrator. She describes it as a thing of beauty, but this view changes again when events take a turn for the worse. The extraordinary creation of "Manderley" was inspired mainly by Menabilly, a house Du Maurier had known for years.

The actual setting of Manderley mirrors that of Menabilly, hidden away in the woods. In the novel, Manderley has such a presence that it feels more like a character than a place. Du Maurier also based some aspects of the novel on her own life, including her jealousy of her husband's first fiancée.

The narrator, who is unnamed and unconfident, is written as a reflection of Du Maurier herself. The relationship between the narrator and Maxim is uneven and exaggerated, consistent with the period feel of the novel. The novel is filled with gothic elements, such as the grotesque character of Mrs Danvers.

Rebecca is a true classic that can be read on many levels. It is open to different interpretations, like many great works. The opening sentence, with its iambic hexameter structure, shows Du Maurier's love for poetic language. There are myriads of details that can be analyzed as portents, and the author uses various literary devices to heighten the mood and tension.

This fifth novel established Du Maurier's name, but it could be argued that she was still to write her best works. However, Rebecca is a compelling book that once read is never forgotten. It is an excellent read with tension, drama, intrigue, and tragedy, and its characters and places have entered the public's consciousness.

I dread reading classics.

Those seemingly boring and uneventful prestigious novels that, as someone with a reputation for reading a lot, I feel I should have definitely read them.

I truly hate reading books that I’m supposed to read.

Why is it so difficult for me to read a novel that was published before I was born?

Books like Gone with the Wind, War and Peace, a Tale of Two Cities have been sitting on my shelves for years, accumulating dust.

I just cannot bring myself to read beyond the first page.

Yet, every once in a while, I come across a classic and realize that yes, truly, there is a reason why some are justly timeless.

\\n  Rebecca\\n is one of those.

With its enchanting writing and gripping story, it is superior to most love stories written today.

Mind you, the romance is not the main story.

It’s also a mystery with gothic vibes to it.

It's a must-read for all Jane Eyre fans.

I simply couldn’t put the book down once I managed to finish the first chapter.

It was like being drawn into a captivating world that I didn't want to leave.

The characters were so vividly portrayed and the plot was full of twists and turns that kept me on the edge of my seat.

Reading Rebecca made me realize that sometimes, classics can be truly amazing and worth the effort.

Maybe I should give those other dusty classics on my shelf another chance.