July Book Club: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

‘There was Manderley, our Manderley, secretive and silent as it had always been, the grey stone shining in the moonlight of my dream, the mullioned windows reflecting the green lawns and the terrace. Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand.’

At twenty-one, Rebecca has been a luscious reading experience for me. The protagonist embodies the twenty-something imposter syndrome that seems to transcend history. As our nameless main character moves passively through a mounting gothic landscape, we feel the contrast between her inner world and exterior. Maxim de Winter brings excitement to the protagonist’s mundane life of service, carrying with him the formidable memory of Rebecca.

Monte Carlo is the opposite of sublime Manderley, just as the new Mrs de Winter is a foil to Rebecca. Dark and light pervade the story, with clear-cut lines between the two arenas until the final third of the novel, when the moral waters become murky. Something that has always struck readers of the book is Manderley as a gothic function, an existing representation of everything Rebecca was. Abundant, collected, identifiable, Manderley becomes the quote “little fool’s” personal playground to seek out Maxim’s elusive dead wife.

Rebecca as a Feminine Gothic Archetype

In some ways, we experience a version of Rebecca that borders on the vampiric. To me, she even feels like a version of Carmilla from Sheridan Le Fanu’s gothic tale. Her unapologetic darkness is reminiscent of a classic feminine villain. However, I was left with a fondness for Rebecca, likely marked by intrigue and annoyance towards the protagonist for siding with Maxim. Mrs de Winter’s inability to take hold of Manderley is both pitiful and fuel for Rebecca’s overarching intrigue. The aesthetics of Rebecca are lush: long dark hair, perfect desk, red flowers, crashing waves. This only heightens the anonymity of our heroine, who believes herself to be plain, flat-haired and meek. Again, this may be why the costume party feels like such a shift. It externalises her obsession with being more.

Danvers and the Preservation of Rebecca

Desperate to fulfil the role of mistress of Manderley, the heroine turns to Mrs Danvers, the ghostly housekeeper. A huge turning point in the novel for me was the costume ball in which the heroine commits a true social catastrophe. This moment externalises the hostility of Mrs Danvers and forces the heroine to realise that Mrs Danvers is the dead woman of her new home, a figure who is beyond convincing. Danvers is able to maintain Rebecca’s overshadowing presence, even preserving her bedroom.

Mrs Danvers’ refusal to find comfort in the new Mrs de Winter was interesting. Perhaps it was because her new mistress could not replicate Rebecca. Or was Danvers determined to maintain Manderley as Rebecca’s playhouse? This intense difference between Danvers’ approach to love and Maxim’s is an interesting take on obsession and where we draw the line between infatuation and adoration. If the story were told from Danvers’ peeping window, what would it feel like, and who would be our enemy?

Obsession and Transformation

The magic of the story, I believe, is the perspective of the young newcomer. She is the only person who could feel every minor social error and possible hint with such extremity. Danvers is the physical representation of Rebecca’s death, and it seems to be her sole duty to immortalise her. The protagonist’s performance, and later acceptance of Maxim’s deeds, does not undermine the gothic but rather makes me feel that Manderley has forever changed her, in the way obsession does. She is willing to brush off murder in the name of security and to be free from Rebecca and Mrs Danvers. In all honesty, I also felt a little relieved when it was revealed that Maxim killed Rebecca because…he did not love her after all. When this relief subsided, it was wholly clear that Maxim was the true villain of the tale.

What is a Ghost?

Rebecca is not a ghost. Or is she? She certainly has a presence beyond death, and her memory haunts every room, conversation and plot point. In popular imagination, a ghost has a motive or unfinished business. Du Maurier’s representation of a ghost dominates the mind, feeding on the insecurity of the new Mrs de Winter. Rebecca’s power after death was either constructed by her, through her possible self-designed death, or by the protagonist’s desire to embody her.

The Narrator

One thing I loved about this book was the extremely human narrator. She never takes one situation literally, instead always ruminating on an alternative. In some ways, she is hypervigilant because she feels under threat. This lends her a strange, subversive power which, for most of the novel, she gives freely to Rebecca by painting her own version of her. Only when I saw the narrator side with Maxim did my mind suddenly shift into questioning her morality. Du Maurier does an excellent job of keeping the reader on side until she flips the narrative.

Why Read (or Re-Read) Rebecca Today?

What can this gothic creation tell us about our own lives? In many ways, the book is timeless. I imagine the messages about grief, justice, obsession and femininity all shift as we age, rendering it a story that can grow with us. This may be due to the many angles at which we experience the gothic in the novel. It is an early example of ecological gothic, with the preserved garden becoming ‘straggled’ with ‘tortured elms’ and ‘skeleton claws’ as the protagonist revisits her old home in a dream. The sea is a constant, shifting reminder of Rebecca’s presence and the intimidation of the unruly feminine. Rebecca would go on her boat on her own whenever she liked. Only the sea could tame her. This illusive character, never ‘on stage’, is another key to the novel’s longevity; Rebecca’s intrigue is immortalised.

Rebecca and the Classics Shelf

The novel follows a working-class woman who finds herself with an aristocratic, older gentleman. Daphne du Maurier discusses class divide, gender politics and age-gap relationships throughout the novel. The class divide is evident in the protagonist’s discussions with Mrs Danvers, the staff of Manderley, and her interactions with Beatrice. Frank Crawley is an engaging character in his observation of the protagonist and her skewed perception of reality. This is just one of the many enduring themes of the novel. The power dynamic between Maxim and the protagonist is also a deeply relatable, timeless one that any person can tangibly understand.

The Duality of Women

Another element that contributes to the novel’s ongoing popularity is the duality of women. The new Mrs de Winter and Rebecca exist in constant comparison. One is supposedly meek, the other magnetic. One defined by lack, the other by excess. This duality reflects a broader cultural fascination with idealised femininity and the threat of its darker mirror. Rebecca captures the anxiety of being measured against another version of oneself, and the unspoken fear that had circumstances been different, we might have become the other woman entirely. While reading, I was struck by the demonisation of Rebecca and the narrator’s limited view of her predecessor. In this way, I feel like Rebecca is a book that, though timeless, certainly lands differently with readers over the years. It would be fascinating to see how Maurier herself viewed her characters.

Symbolism of Manderley

Rebecca also pays homage to its gothic roots by thoroughly steeping beautiful Manderley in dripping obsession. The image of the bloody rhododendrons particularly stuck with me and really gave me a personal sense of Rebecca’s taste and impact. If readers enjoy symbolic readings, then Manderley is rich with symbolic potential, from vases of flowers to the hidden boathouse. The blood red rhododendrons are a visual reminder of Rebecca’s impact, perhaps hinting at her ‘promiscuity’ as it was presented in the book. Of course, the rhododendrons also remind the protagonist of her perceived inferiority as she muses: ‘these were monsters…too beautiful…too powerful,’ (page 72) as she sees the flowers. These adjectives are endlessly attached to Rebecca, with Frank begrudgingly admitting that she was the ‘most’ beautiful. However, the boat house, hidden away near the sea, holds the truth of Rebecca’s other life.

Reading Experience

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. I loved the beautiful prose, rich themes and plot twists. I found the pace good for a classic read as I sometimes find them more challenging in terms of reading momentum. I do find the sections with Mrs Danvers the most compelling and also enjoyed any time Beatrice was present as she added a nice insight into Rebecca and Maxim’s relationship. There are a few things that would encourage me to reread. For example, I would love to read Rebecca again now that I know all of the answers. I think this would offer a fresh perspective on the opening chapters in particular. It’s also just tempting to reread to spend more time in creepy (but gorgeous) Manderley.

Cinematic Lifelines: 1940 vs 2020

In watching Rebecca brought to life on screen, we inevitably look for how well Manderley oozes, and how effectively Rebecca haunts. The 1940 adaptation, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, leans into the uncanny and gothic with a restraint that feels entirely at home in du Maurier’s world. It offers a subdued, creeping dread: the camera lingers in long shadows and silent staircases, reflecting the protagonist’s spiralling mind. The house is not just haunted by memory, but by light and shadow, architecture and silence.

The 2020 remake, with Lily James as our unnamed heroine, presents a brighter Manderley, bathed in golden light and delicate pastels. Where the original whispers, the remake sighs, beautifully, but often too softly to disturb. There is something unsettling about the choice to render the gothic in gloss. Rebecca’s presence is more romanticised than malevolent, and the tension, so deeply psychological in the book, feels dressed up rather than lived in.

Performances and Portrayals

Casting choices reflect these tonal shifts. Joan Fontaine’s original Mrs de Winter is all nerves and timidity, a woman seemingly unravelled by her own internal narration. This mirrors the book’s obsessive interiority. Lily James plays the same role with a modern grace that feels slightly out of place in the oppressive weight of Manderley; her heroine is a little too poised, her emotional unravelling too subtle to rival the novel’s mounting dread. However, I really enjoyed her performance in the scene with Mrs Danvers in Rebecca’s preserved bedroom. I felt the two actresses had a really compelling back and forth and actually love how Mrs Danvers embodies her book counterpart. This scene was my favourite in the film by far. I loved the design of the room, extremely luscious and devoid of warmth. Both performances enhanced by my enjoyment a lot and I would, therefore, give the 2020 film a rewatch.

Armie Hammer, as Maxim de Winter, brings charm but lacks the tortured ambiguity of Laurence Olivier’s portrayal. Even in Monte Carlo, Olivier’s performance is slightly inward with his eyes betraying inner torment. In the 1940 version, his distance carries danger. In 2020, he feels emotionally unavailable.

Final Thoughts on Adaptations

The spirit of Rebecca herself, so ghostly in du Maurier’s writing, is most faithfully preserved in Hitchcock’s vision. We never see her, yet we see her everywhere: in the monogrammed stationery, in the preserved bedroom, in Mrs Danvers’ chilling reverence. Kristin Scott Thomas is magnetic in the 2020 version and Judith Anderson’s original portrayal of Danvers is unforgettable with her monotone yet sinister body language and speech. I enjoyed both of their portrayals equally and the two varying perceptions of the book character.

Overall, I found both films enjoyable but experienced more dread during Hitchcock’s film, thanks to the nods to classic gothic cinema and consistent, chilling performances. That being said, Lily James and Kristen Scott Thomas made Wheatley’s interpretation feel real alongside an enjoyable view of Manderley in colour.

Ratings:

Book 4/5

1940 Film 4/5

2020 Film 3/5