Rebecca (And The Art Of Subjective Narration)

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier is a delightfully well-written book and a true work of art. If there's any book that deserved it's position as a classic, it's this one. 

Granted, it did take me a month to finish because I was doing an experiment but that ended up enriching my reading experience so I actually didn't hinder the storytelling, I accidently made it more intriguing. Because of the gaps in my reading time, each time I picked up the book I was so curious as to where we were going next. 

It is a slow-build up story-wise but that helps us better understand our characters, the backdrop and the history with some context sprinkled about. 

I was quite clueless when picking up this book as I wasn't sure what to expect other than some possible murder and ideally a character named Rebecca. Basically grasping at straws trying to think of something I'd heard about this novel before.

Rebecca was released in 1938 as a Gothic novel which follows the story of a young (unnamed) woman who gets married to a recent widower only to find that both he and his household are haunted by the memory of his first wife, Rebecca. Pretty promising premise right?

Well that's because it is. 

Anyways, I'm not going to spoil the book or give much of a review about the novel but if you're looking for a book to read, this fits the bill and it's perfect for the spooky season. But today we're going to delve into a character study of sorts while talking about a writing trope(?) I enjoy when done right. 

So, as said before, our main character through whom we see the entire story unfold, is nameless. We never find out what her first name is, other than a throwaway line about how 'unique' it sounds. This a pretty important but minute detail to keep in mind as we move forwards in the book as it sort-of showcases how insignificant she is to the story from a objective perspective. She does stuff that moves the plot but in general as a person, she is treated as an afterthought. We only get a way to address her after she gets engaged, and even then it's her husband's name we are to use. Mrs. De Winter. She has no identity of her own. 

Now, you might be wondering why I find the main character so interesting as even the author herself clearly prioritized the first (now-dead) wife, Rebecca more. I mean, it's her name on the book and she leads all the mysteries throughout the story. Well, that's because I'm a contrarian and there's something to be said about forceful motivations. We, as a reader are from the beginning supposed to be interested in Rebecca. And I'll admit, I bit the bait quite well. But as the story progressed, I found myself more and more confused and curious about the workings of the current Mrs. De Winter. Which is funny because we read all her thoughts and yet she is also a mystery. But she's a more relatable mystery. 

The difference between Rebecca and Mrs. De Winter is that unlike Rebecca, she isn't shown to be a perfect woman capable of no wrong. She's a child, with childish notions of love and duty. And I find that character more complex that the typical evil, too-beautiful-for-her-own-good role we get from Rebecca. Don't get me wrong, I definitely sympathize with both but let's give the main character some appreciation too. 

I did mean it though when I said she was basically a child because she is around twenty one when she first meets Maxim De Winter and he is in his forties. Age gaps are real and obviously in a relationship it does affect the way each person sees things. After her engagement, which happens in the span of a week, she finally comes down to Maxim's estate in England, Manderley. There she is faced with constant visual and audible reminders of the late Mrs. De Winter, her predecessor. And as a result, she feels insecure, jealous and curious about her and her death which isn't a leap from the her reserved ways in the beginning of the book.

Here's where (one of) my favorite writing quirks shines in this novel in particular. Subjective narration. Subjective narration is when a story is told through the lens of one character's experience at a time. It's limited to what the narrator sees, hears , feels or knows for a fact. The way it's done in the book is to limit what she knows in turn limiting what we, the readers, know as well. This is something that is used in writing mysteries or crime thrillers to make the twist or reveal more shocking. We get hints through our narrator, but not the whole picture. 

In Rebecca, this style of writing leads to an air of secrecy regarding the late Mrs. De Winter, fracturing what relationship the narrator and Maxim has and causing the narrator to feel out of place in Manderley and it's staff. She is constantly comparing herself to a woman who is hauntingly present in the halls of her new home and the hearts of the people who visit it. She feels as though her husband is not over her death and only as a child would, tries to take her place and 'be an adult'. She constantly fears being called a 'child' and worries about her husband's affection for her.

As we unravel more and more about their lives before her, she somehow disappears in her own storytelling. This is done on purpose and notably so. You see, even when trying to make a dive into her character you will fail miserably as she is not of importance. She is merely a vessel to tale this tale. With no true happy ending, tied to a man who himself does not and will not ever be satisfied. She is a sad reminder of all the women who become hollowed out due to the men in their life and simply stop existing for themselves.

Every feeling our main character has is in relation to her husband. Her husband's dead wife. Her husband's home. Her husband's staff. Her husband's family. Everything she does after her marriage is nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. 

And that's interesting to me. A person who becomes invisible when somehow telling a story where they essentially cause the inciting incident that leads to the movement of the plot.

See, Rebecca is alluring and cryptic there's no doubt. But even in her mystery I don't really care enough for her personally to know why she did the things she did or to hear her side of the story. And that's not a bad thing. It's more fun to read a book and have a different take than other people. Books and media in general should be made to entertain multiple trains of thought. But there's something alluring about the mindset of our bland, normal narrator because at a certain point, she starts withdrawing her otherwise incessant opinions of everything. When things start get morally grey, she starts telling us less. Slightly reminiscent of a teenager keeping something private from everyone including her secret diary. Which, in a way, is the role we play, a secret diary. 

So, while Rebecca herself is a good character, She-who-is-literally-not-named is equally good. And that of course is a credit to Du Maurier's incredible writing abilities. Distinguishing the two women to be polar opposites. Something that becomes clearer the more you reach the ending. 

And when we get to the plot twist of the story, the narrator's perspective causes her to make a rather stupid, yet selfless mistake. Once again showing how the way someone views a situation affects their reaction to it. Subjective narration is, above all things, messy. And Du Maurier seems to revel in the mess.

The true villain here is not the women but the man. Are we surprised though? 

Go check the book out if you get a chance! 

🐄