I was sent by my high school for a competition, in senior year (2017) a literature festival of sorts, the theme of which was mystery and thriller. There were a number of events (in which I am proud to announce we won a position in every single one). But for our main presentation my best friend and I chose to use the novel Rebecca. With the release of the 2020 film, it seemed only right I revisit the book.

Rebecca is a mystery written by Daphne du Maurier and published in 1938. It follows the life of the narrator (The second Mrs. DeWinters) as she meets, falls in love with and marries Maxim Dewinter, the owner of the great estate of Manderley. It is within the magnificent walls of the estate that one meets the titular character, Rebecca, Maxim’s first wife and the original Madame of Manderley

While reading I was reminded of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. The setting is similar, with Manderly playing a parallel to the haunting moors. The writing is sinister. It reads like a lullaby. Soft and subtle language that flows into a crescendo. The writing takes the reader through a number of dips and highs. I myself not being a fan of mystery found my heart racing as I turned on all the lights, suddenly afraid of the shadows.

The characters seem to come alive on the page like shadows. And while the book is named for Rebecca and narrated by the second Mrs. DeWinter, the true star is the old housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers. She seems to be lurking in all the dark corners of the house, watching and waiting for the narrator to make a mistake. And in her desire to please, the narrator becomes cowed by the old housekeeper. And so while she might be in name Mrs. DeWinter, it always seemed to me the true Madame of Manderley was Mrs. Danvers, her loyalty strictly given to Rebecca, and her aim to get rid of the narrator as quickly as possible. She was a perfect character, with the balance between disloyal and psychopathic written to perfection.

Rebecca, remains a classic Goth mystery. It is the cream of the genre. The writing is haunting enough to border on horror. The characters are complex enough to teeter on the thin line between devoted and obsessed, naive and doormat, there and not there. The characters whirl in and out of the writing. It felt to me like the book was an intricate dance of sorts. Waltzing to the tune of the writing until the last few chapters, where everything is revealed in quick succession. The build up is phenomenal.

I haven’t had the pleasure to watch the acclaimed Hitchcock movie of the 1940’s (aside from the fantastically chilling suicide scene), and nor have i watched the 2020 adaptation. But having reread the book, I’m looking forward to watching both and pinning down the similarities within the novel.