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By: Amelia Carruthers,
on 12/16/2015
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There are so many reports of agents that may cause cancer, that there is a temptation to dismiss them all. Tabloid newspapers have listed everything from babies, belts, biscuits, and bras, to skiing, shaving, soup, and space travel. It is also tempting to be drawn into debates about more esoteric candidates for causative agents like hair dyes, underarm deodorants, or pesticides.
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By Lauren Pecorino
There is a tendency to complain about policies when writing blogs, but I think it is time to commend the British campaigns and innovations in treatment. They have proven to be some of the best in the world and have had a major impact in the fight against cancer.
One of the best British campaigns is against cervical cancer. Getting personally posted invitations to attend your next PAP screening, supported by pamphlets of information, is something few women ignore. Those who try to ignore these invitations are rightly and relentlessly bombarded with regular reminders.
And, with the knowledge that a sexually transmitted virus, Human Papilloma Virus (HPV), is responsible for all cases of cervical cancer, the UK implemented a national school-based HPV vaccination programme that has proven to yield high uptake. By 2009, 70 percent of 12-13 year olds in the UK were fully vaccinated. These results are admirable compared to the results of alternative on-demand provisions offered by other countries including the USA. Note that the vaccine is recommended for early teens as it is a preventative vaccine and not a therapeutic vaccine, and must be administered before the initiation of sexual activity for it to be effective. The vaccine prevents about 70% of cervical cancers caused by two specific strains of HPV. PAP screening is still important to catch cases that are not prevented by the vaccine. An added bonus of this campaign is that the same vaccine also protects against some head, neck, and anal cancers caused by HPV infections.
Another great British effort is towards the prevention of lung cancer. The anti-smoking adverts have been haunting, especially the most recent one released by the UK Department of Health that shows a tumor growing on a cigarette. It is brilliant. I wish I had designed it. The advert strikingly conveys the message that if you saw the damage smoking causes, you would not smoke. The percentage of male cigarette smokers have fallen from 55% in 1970 to 21% in 2010 and a decreasing number of deaths due to lung cancer has followed this trend.
Click here to view the embedded video.
The UK is also a model of good practice in that it is the only country in the world which has a network of free ‘stop-smoking’ services, recently supported by specialized training for National Health Service Stop Smoking practitioners.
We can help the national campaign at a personal level by being more opinionated and outspoken when it comes to letting those around us know that smoking is harmful and “uncool”- especially among the young. We must ensure the message is passed down to new generations.
Finally, the UK is at the leading edge in using stem cells to help replace organs damaged by cancer. Tracheal transplants using tracheal scaffolds from cadavers seeded with the patient’s own stem cells have been used to replace damaged tissue for patients with tracheal cancer. Currently scientists at University College London are developing very similar procedures to grow a new nose for a patient who had lost their nose to cancer. These innovative approaches are the result of a continuously open, well-supported but regulated stem cell research policy, not yet seen in the USA.
Well done Great Britain!
Lauren Pecorino received her PhD from the State University of New York at Stony Brook in Cell and Developmental Biology. She crossed the Atlantic to carry out a postdoctoral tenure at the Ludwig Institute for Cancer Research, London. She is a Principal Lecturer at the University of Greenwich where teaches Cancer Biology and Therapeutics. The teaching of this course motivated her to write The Molecular Biology of Cancer: Mechanisms, Targets, and Therapeutics, now in its second edition. Feedback on the textbook posted on Amazon from a cancer patient drove her to write a book on cancer for a wider audience: Why Millions Survive Cancer: the Successes of Science.
Read a World Cancer Day Q&A with Lauren Pecorino.
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The post World Cancer Day 2013: The Best of British appeared first on OUPblog.
Chapter 25 -- In which it is decided that the whole crew will head to London to meet with the mysterious Doctor Baker.
The truth screamed in their faces and they did not see. They all stood there, staring at one another, and they did not understand. I dared not look at them. I dared not betray my knowledge.
I'm with her, man. How have they not put two and two together? Woman's specialist, then she wanted to speak with Favell, who was her lover... DUH.
"Is my word enough for you?" said Maxim, turning to Colonel Julyan. And for the first time Colonel Julyan hesitated. I saw him glance at Frank. And a flush came over Maxim's face. I saw the little pulse beating on his forehead.
That must have been just crushing for Maxim.
I held out my arms to him and he came to me like a child. I put my arms round him and held him. We did not say anything for a long time. I held him and comforted him as though he were Jasper.
And I didn't detect any irony in that statement. Granted, comforting a dog is quite different than absentmindedly petting a dog, but still.
Just when I thought there were no laughs left in this book:
"Giles and I think it much more likely that if those holes weren't done by the rocks they were done deliberately, by some tramp or other. A Communist perhaps. There are heaps of them about. Just the sort of thing a Communist would do."
As usual, poor Beatrice, trying to do the Right Thing but instead, putting her foot in it.
Chapter 26 -- In which the description of London provides a contrast to Manderley, and the de Winters, Julyan and Favell meet with Doctor Baker.
While I can't imagine that she won't be back to Manderley before leaving forever and ever, the beginning of this chapter felt like a farewell.
Re: Baker's information -- Oh, wow. Rebecca set Maxim up. While I can't go so far as to say that she forced his hand, she did goad him into it. She wouldn't have wanted to go the other way.
Now I really do feel bad for him. I, too, fell into all of the traps this darn book had to offer.
Chapter 27 -- In which Mrs. Danvers gets her revenge.
I think he's right -- Rebecca did win. Not just because she tormented him (and then, in turn, his new wife) from Beyond the Grave, but because he ended up losing the one thing that he'd always loved, too.
I rather want to turn to the beginning and start again.
Previous posts:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Chapters 13-15
Chapters 16-18
Chapters 19-21
Chapters 22-24
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Chapter 22 -- In which the boat builder lets loose at the inquest and our narrator faints.
"It seems so odd to us, Madam, that she should have let herself be trapped like that in the cabin. She was so experienced in a boat."
"Yes, Frith. That's what we all feel. But accidents will happen. And how it happened I don't suppose any of us will ever know."
Can you imagine a conversation like this taking place a few chapters ago? Everything Frith said would have sounded ominous, and Mrs.deW2 would have been all nervous and monosyllabic. But, now -- he's almost asking for guidance and telling her that he'll "do anything that might help the family" and she's in complete control of herself and of the conversation.
They talked about him as Max de Winter. It sounded racy, horrible.
Remember when she wanted to call him Max? When she was jealous that Rebecca had always called him Max? I wonder if Rebecca called him that to irritate him.
This was good:
I still avoided his eye, but I was more convinced than ever that he knew the truth. He had always known it. From the very first. . . . I understood it all. Frank knew, but Maxim did not know that he knew. And Frank did not want Maxim to know that he knew. And we all stood there, looking at one another, keeping us these little barriers between us.
At the inquest:
The coroner was a thin, elderly man in a pince-nez. There were people there I did not know. I glanced at them out of the tail of my eye. My heart gave a jump suddenly as I recognised Mrs. Danvers. She was sitting right at the back. And Favell was beside her. Jack Favell, Rebecca's cousin. He was leaning forward, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on the coroner, Mr. Horridge.
Uh oh.
You know, I wondered if anyone was going to mention the holes in the bottom of the boat.
Chapter 23 -- In which our narrator faces down Jack Favell, we learn for very sure that Frank knows The Truth, and Colonel Julyan is called to Manderley.
Have you noticed that whenever Mrs.deW2 is in a dark place mentally, she starts thinking of Mrs. Van Hopper?
Wow. Jack Favell is a pig. If Rebecca was at all like him, I rather think that Maxim's actions were somewhat justified. (A divorce probably would have been a better move and all, but that wouldn't have been very Gothic, would it?) If he'd come to Manderley with the intent of killing Maxim, or of getting Maxim to admit to wrongdoing, that would be something. But, no. He came to blackmail him. Gross.
Chapter 24 -- In which Ben and Mrs. Danvers are questioned, and Rebecca's appointment diary is unearthed.
I do think that class -- or maybe, more simply, deportment -- has been a factor in the conversation between Favell, Maxim and Julyan. If Favell hadn't been drunk, had been able to keep himself calm and in check, if he'd, you know, repressed his urge to blackmail, he'd have come off as much more believable and sympathetic (not to mention honest), and Julyan would have probably taken him more seriously. OR, you know, he could have brought the note to the authorities before the inquest. Or even brought it up at the inquest.
But he's just horrible horrible horrible, and even if it is simple snobbery that is keeping him from being taken seriously, I can't say that I care very much.
Now, finally, Ben comes into it. And he is AWESOME.
Next up: Mrs. Danvers.
Oh wow, I did NOT see that coming. It was also pretty awesome, even though she did it for (I'd assume) very different reasons than Ben. She's... something, huh?
Phew. I feel like I held my breath all the way through that chapter. Sorry about the lack of notes. My head is spinning.
Previous posts:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Chapters 13-15
Chapters 16-18
Chapters 19-21
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
The final three. Chapters 25-27
The conversation from the last chapter continues. Everyone is puzzled about who this Dr. Baker is and why Rebecca would be going to see him. Mrs. Danvers is especially shocked that Rebecca would dare to keep a secret from her. She's described as "dazed" and "bewildered." After some discussion, it is agreed that they will all go and see this Dr. Baker in person the next day to see if they can unearth the secret that died with Rebecca--to discover why she wrote Favell saying there was something she had to tell him about immediately.
At last the couple are left alone together for the night.
When he had gone [Frank being the 'he'], and shut the door behind him, Maxim came over to me where I was standing by the fireplace. I held out my arms to him and he came to me like a child. I put my arms round him and held him. We did not say anything for a long time. I held him and comforted him as though he were Jasper. As though Jasper had hurt himself in some way and had come to me to take his pain away.
See the transition. She's not Jasper anymore. He is. They've switched roles.
I went and sat down at Maxim's feet. . .The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten o'clock. Maxim put his arms around me and lifted me against him. We began to kiss one another, feverishly, desperately, like guilty lovers who have not kissed before.
Chapter 26
I woke Maxim. He stared at me at first like a puzzled child, and then he held out his arms.
More proof of the role reversal that has occurred.
The beds where we had slept had a terrible emptiness about them.
I know another blogger had mentioned the two separate beds in the master bedroom before. But this struck me as odd. Why would a book that has no problem hinting at the sexuality of Rebecca and scumbags like Favell, be prudish enough to have our properly married couple sleeping separately? Is this common to books of this period????
The chapter then continues on about their trip to London to see Dr. Baker.
For some reason Favell pushes his way through the pleasantries and is the one to make the request.
"The jury brought in a verdict of suicide," said Favell coming forward, "which I say is absolutely out of the question. Mrs. de Winter was my cousin, I knew her intimately. She would never have done such a thing, and what's more she had no motive. What we want to know is what the devil she came to see you about on the very day she died."
"You had better leave this to Julyan and myself," said Maxim quietly. "Doctor Baker has not the faintest idea what you are driving at."
At first it seems to be a dead end. Dr. Baker has no records showing he ever saw a Mrs. de Winter. But then they think about the possibility of her using a false name. The name she used? Mrs. Danvers.
Funny that Favell dislikes the doctor because he didn't offer them drinks.
You want to know if I can suggest any motive why your wife should have taken her life? I think I can. The woman who called herself Mrs. Danvers was very serious ill." He paused. He looked at every one of us in turn. "I remember her perfectly well," he said, and he turned back to the files again.
I remember being shocked the first time I read this back in high school. I had assumed that Rebecca was telling the truth--that she was pregnant--and that the visit would reveal those details. I remembered this time round that she wasn't pregnant, but I didn't remember the details of how it all worked out.
She stood it very well. She did not flinch. She said she had suspected it for some time. Then she paid my fee and went out. I never saw her again. . .The pain was slight as yet but the growth was deep-rooted. . . and in three or four months' time she would have been under morphia. An operation would have been no earthly use at all. I told her that. The thing had got too firm a hold. There is nothing anyone can do in a case like that, except give morphia, and wait.
Chapter 27
Favell's still desperate for a drink.
Favell is making threats that though the law has let Maxim off the hook, he never will.
They make their way back to Manderley (minus Favell of course). They stop off to have dinner.
"I believe," said Maxim, "that Rebecca lied to me on purpose. The last supreme bluff. She wanted me to kill her. She foresaw the whole thing. That's why she laughed. That's why she stood there laughing when she died."
A quick phone call with Frank reveals that Mrs. Danvers has run away from Manderley. Packed up without a word.
They decide not to spend the night in a hotel, but to drive through the night until they reach Manderley.
I want to get home. Something's wrong. I know it is. I want to get home.
The last images of the book are of them being in a car driving towards Manderley in the wee morning hours--after 2AM--and seeing the sky turn red and orange and crimson--as Maxim realizes that Manderley is ablaze.
And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
Bookshelves of Doom
Chapters 19-21
If you thought the last few chapters were exciting, they pale in comparison to these. Chapter 19 is a major turning point for the book. Everything changes. Everything. Once I read these, there was absolutely NO way I could pace myself. I had to finish the book all at once.
Excitement on the Cove--Chapter 19--A Time for the Truth.
Big changes are on the way. With the ever-scary confrontation with Mrs. Danvers out of the way, our narrator is increasing her territory. She's actually acting like mistress of the estate instead of her shy, awkward, anxiety-ridden self. She's learned to be assertive with the staff. Leila noted that Frith's attitude towards our narrator has changed. I think it's not Frith's change, it's our narrator's. I think she's had an attitude change. She's now sending out different vibes. People are treating her differently because she's acting differently. She is commanding respect now. If she's not afraid of Mrs. Danvers, why would she tremble at Frith? The saying is that dogs smell fear...I'd suggest something similar here. I think the servants treated her such because they could "smell" her fear, her weakness, her uncertainty, her distress. The person who just a week or so before had to sneak out of the house in order to eat cookies without the servants or staff knowing is now the boss. Also, and this is total speculation on my part, but maybe just maybe the servants respect her for coming back down to the party last night. Maybe they thought that Maxim was an a** and cheered when he couldn't cow her into spending the night in her room sobbing.
The shipwreck. The cove. The divers.
I don't know if I'd be drawn to the scene of a ship-wreck, to wash from the shores a boat--a ship--in distress. True, the people--the sailors--are safe enough. And I don't think they'll be a loss of lives, but it will be destructive in other ways. Some more unexpected than others. For example, divers are being sent down to explore. Clue number one that a big secret is about to surface. Clue number two is our narrator's conversation with Ben. Both are such obvious clues, that it would be hard to miss where it's going.
Captain Searle's revelation: the divers have found Rebecca's boat--and found a body within its cabin.
Confession time for Maxim...
but first this little gem from our narrator:
I don't want you to bear this alone...I want to share it with you. I've grown up, Maxim, in twenty-four hours. I'll never be a child again.
And this time I think it's true. I think she actually is different now than she was before.
There never was an accident. Rebecca was not drowned at all. I killed her. I shot Rebecca in the cottage in the cove. I carried her body to the cabin, and took the boat out that night and sunk it there, where they found it today. It's Rebecca who's lying dead there on the cabin floor. Will you look into my eyes and tell me that you love me now?"
See? Big, big, big changes. I like Maxim the wronged husband turned murderer better than the slightly mad, always defensive, aloof, supposedly grief-stricken one.
Chapter 20
It was very quiet in the library. The only sound was that of Jasper licking his foot.
What an odd way to break the tension in the scene. Focus on the dog.
I knelt there by Maxim's side, my body against his body, my hands upon his shoulders, and I was aware of no feeling at all, no pain and no fear, there was no horror in my heart. . . What he has told me and all that has happened will tumble into place like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle. They will fit themselves into a pattern. At the moment I am nothing, I have no heart, and no mind, and no senses. I am just a wooden thing in Maxim's arms. Then he began to kiss me. He had not kissed me like this before. I put my hands behind his head and shut my eyes.
"I love you so much," he whispered. "So much."
This is what I have wanted him to say every day and every night, I thought, and now he is saying it at last. This is what I imagined in Monte Carlo, in Italy, here in Manderley. He is saying it now. . .He went on kissing me, hungry, desperate, murmuring my name.
Odd time for a love scene. A little late some might say. I don't know if this is a test on Maxim's part, or a manipulation. Or if this is his light bulb moment. If he just now realized how much she does mean to him. Now that he might lose her, is he seeing her for the first time? Or has this been another secret, another burden to him. Has he been tormented with the idea that if she really knew him for who he was--what he had done--that she'd reject him so he had to prepare himself, guard himself from loving her so that when she rejected him he could blow her off saying, "Well, she didn't mean that much to me really, I didn't even tell her that I loved her. She never awakened much passion in me. She was just a companion, a chum."
But apparently the kissing stops and he realizes that she's just the kissee.
"You don't love me," he said. "that's why you did not feel anything. I know. I understand. It's come too late for you, hasn't it?"
"No," I said.
"This ought to have happened four months ago," he said. "I should have known. Women are not like men."
"I wan you to kiss me again," I said, "please Maxim."
"No," he said, "it's no use now."
"We can't lose each other now," I said. "We've got to be together always, with no secrets, no shadows. Please, darling, please."
I'm not quite sure how Maxim's done this. How he's gone from confessing his crime to confessing his love and suddenly worked it so that now she's the one begging him, she's the one needing him, clinging to him, but he's done it.
A few pages later,
I took his hands away from his face and looked into his eyes. "I love you," I whispered, "I love you. Will you believe me now?" He kissed my face and my hands. He held my hands very tightly like a child who would gain confidence.
They share a bit more. Then she tells him that the reason she never talked so personally, so intimately with him before was that she thought he must still be in love with Rebecca, still grieving Rebecca.
You thought I loved Rebecca?" he said. "You thought I killed her, loving her? I hated her, I tell you, our marriage was a farce from the very first. She was vicious, damnable, rotten through and through. We never loved each other, never had one moment of happiness together. Rebecca was incapable of love, of tenderness, of decency. She was not even normal."
Rebecca has secrets--all of them tied up with her sexuality--her sexual partners, her sexual preferences perhaps??? or her sexual orientation???--her wanton ways.
"I found her out at once," he was saying, "five days after we were married. You remember that time I drove you in the car, to the hills above Monte Carlo? I wanted to stand there again, to remember. She sat there, laughing, her black hair blowing in the wind, she told me about herself, told me things that I shall never repeat to a living soul. I knew then what I had done, what I had married. Beauty, brains, and breeding. Oh, my God."
Maxim's next little gem, "It doesn't make for sanity, does it, living with the devil?"
There on their honeymoon, they agree that it is a marriage in name only. That he will not be sharing her bed or her heart. They agree to put on a show.
She knew I would sacrifice pride, honour, personal feeling, every damned quality on earth, rather than stand before our little world after a week of marriage and have them know the things about her that she had told me then. She knew I would never stand in divorce court and give her away, having fingers pointing at us, mud flung at us in the newspapers, all the people who belong down here whispering when my name was mentioned...
I did not say anything. I held his hands against my heart. I did not care about his shame. None of those other 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.
Whatever wild sex romps she had occurred in London according to Maxim.
What she did in London did not touch me--because it did not hurt Manderley. And she was careful those first years, there was never a murmur about her, never a whisper. Then little by little she began to grow careless. . .She began to ask her friends down here. She would have one or two of them and mix them up at a weekend party so that at first I was not quite sure, not quite certain. She would have picnics down at her cottage in the cove. I came back once, having been away shooting in Scotland, and found her there, with half-a-dozen of them, people I had never seen before.
Her affair with her supposed cousin Favell also comes to light. I say "supposed" because he acts much more like a pimp than he does a family relation. But regardless of how related these cousins are (first, second, once removed, whatever) it is still weird.
Maxim then tells in all the details about their last conversation, their confrontation, the murder.
Chapter 21
My favorite thing about this chapter is the narrator's assertiveness with the staff or the servants. She's learned to boss people around. It took her a while. But she's starting to get good at it. I love her conversation with Mrs. Danvers. Her rejection of the cold leftovers. Her assertiveness about doing things her way. She's not taking any crap from Danvers anymore!
Maxim notices his new grown-up wife as well. A woman who has lost her "innocence" or "naivete" when she found out the truth about him and his first marriage.
Chapter 19 -- In which a ship runs aground and Maxim reveals a Big Secret.
Now that there's an outside crisis, it's as if Mrs. Danvers never tried to convince Mrs.deW2 to commit suicide:
"We had better go down," she said, "Frith will be looking for me to make arrangements. Mr. de Winter may bring the men back to the house as he said. Be careful of your hands, I'm going to shut the window."
Temporary insanity on both their parts? After the events of Chapter 18, seeing Mrs. Danvers act at all concerned about the narrator's welfare was rather jarring. And she seems to have no fear whatsoever that there will be any repercussions, either. Does she have a hold over Maxim, or does she just trust in Mrs.deW2's apparent inability to stand up for herself?
Maxim is down at the cove, smoking up a storm (I'm surprised the man still has lungs) and dealing with a ship that's run aground. He still hasn't spoken to Mrs.deW2 since before the dance.
Is it just me, or is Frith acting nicer? After being such a big jerk previously, it seemed odd to me that he's all chatty now. Maybe he's different when in crisis mode?
Ah, this makes it more understandable:
I thought how alike people were in a moment of common interest. Frank was Frith all over again, giving his version of the story, as though it mattered, as though we cared. I knew that he had gone down to the beach to look for Maxim. I knew that he had been frightened, as I had been. And now all this was forgotten and put aside, our conversation down the telephone, our mutual anxiety, his insistence that he must see me. All because a ship had gone ashore in the fog.
The paragraph beginning: "I wished I could lose my identity and join them" made me wonder how cross-class connections are treated in du Maurier's other books. They certainly haven't turned out very well in this one. So far, anyway.
Another run-in with Idiot Ben:
"She's run aground," I repeated. "I expect she's got a hole in her bottom."
His face went blank and foolish. "Aye," he said, "she's down there all right. She'll not come back again."
I rather suspect that Ben isn't talking about the ship. And is the narrator being deliberately obtuse? I hope so. Because if she's not, I've lost all hope.
The next page makes me think that she was willfully misunderstanding him -- for the first time, looking at Manderley gives her "a funny feeling of bewilderment and pride that it was my home". She feels as if she belongs. Maybe because talking with Ben really drove it home for her: Rebecca is dead.
Re: Captain Seale's visit: !!!!
It's amazing that incidents that are so completely devastating to Mrs.deW2 hardly even register with Maxim. He's so wrapped up in himself and oblivious.
Re: Maxim's secret: !!!!!! And even more !!!!!
Is it totally sick that now I actually like him a little bit? Probably. But I do. Because at least he's been all tormented about THAT, and not about Rebecca herself.
I'd guess that Ben saw it happen. But does Frank know? And does Mrs. Danvers suspect?
Chapter 20 -- In which we hear about The Other Side of Rebecca.
"I love you so much," he whispered. "So much."
What? WHAT?? Now he tells her?
"You were so aloof," he said, "always wandering into the garden with Jasper, going off on your own. You never came to me like this."
What? WHAT?? Now I hate him again. Jackassery unchained, man. Un. Chained.
"You remember the precipice. I frightened you, didn't I? You thought I was mad. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I am. It doesn't make for sanity, does it, living with the devil?"
Yeah, I'd agree with him. I think it's pretty clear that he snapped somewhere along the way.
If I don't find out what Rebecca said on that hilltop, I'm going to freak out. I mean, I've got plenty of guesses, but I want to know. Too bad there's not another version of the book from Maxim's perspective.
Are we talking orgies? Orgies? Yikes. And, in all probability, knocked up by her cousin? Awesome.
I did not say anything. I held his hands against my heart. I did not care about his shame. 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 not known one moment's happiness together. Maxim was talking, and I listened to him, but his words meant nothing to me. I did not really care.
Yow. Don't let her anywhere near a cult leader.
Chapter 21 -- In which our narrator finally asserts herself.
I think that the narrator is a little bit crazy, too:
My heart, for all its anxiety and doubt, was light and free. I knew then that I was no longer afraid of Rebecca. I did not hate her any more. Now that I knew her to be evil and vicious and rotten I did not hate her any more. She could not hurt me.
I'm not saying that I don't understand what she's saying -- I do. But she still sounds crazed.
It occurred to me that she's the one with the power in their relationship. She might not have realized it yet. Heck, maybe she won't realize it at all.
Ah. Now that she's not worried about Rebecca, she's not having any trouble giving orders to the servants. Even to Mrs. Danvers:
"I'm not used to having messages sent to me by Robert," she said. "If Mrs. de Winter wanted anything changed she would ring me personally on the house telephone."
"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 sent a message by Robert I shall do so."
Oooooo, SNAP. An "Oh, and by the way, you're fired" would have been good, too, but I'm okay if we start small.
"It's gone forever, that funny, young, lost look that I loved. It won't come back again."
So, yeah. I was right about his reasons for marrying her -- or why he found her attractive in the first place -- she's Rebecca's opposite. I wonder if her new-found confidence will turn him off.
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Chapters 13-15
Chapters 16-18
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Other reader/bloggers:
This is shorter than usual, as I'm still recovering from my Food Coma.
Chapter 16 -- In which Mrs. Danvers isn't just scary, but downright evil.
Ugh. I wouldn't be happy about semi-random people just dropping in on me unannounced (just in time for tea, of course), either.
Frank Crawley was invaluable at a moment like this. He took the cups from me and handed them to people, and when my answers seemed more than usually vague owing to my concentration on the silver tea-pot he quietly and unobtrusively put in his small wedge to the conversation, relieving me of responsibility.
Frank is quite protective of Mrs.deW2, isn't he? She recognizes that. She also feels on firm enough footing with him to tease him a bit, and even flirt with him -- there was a moment when she struck me as not-very-modest, actually, and it seemed to me that it may have struck him the same way. But then, just a bit later, he and Maxim decide that he (Frank) and Mrs. Danvers will make all of the arrangements for the ball, cutting Mrs.deW2 out of the process:
I was glad, of course, to be relieved of responsibility, but it rather added to my sense of humility to feel that I was not even capable of licking stamps. I thought of the writing-desk in the morning-room, the docketed pigeon-holes all marked in ink by that slanting pointed hand.
AUUUUUUUUUUGH. Those damn labels.
Maxim is the least romantic romantic lead ever. Less romantic than stupid Heathcliff, even.
I wished he would not always treat me as a child, rather spoilt, rather irresponsible, someone to be petted from time to time when the mood came upon him, but more often forgotten, more often patted on the shoulder and told to run away and play. I wished something would happen to make me look wiser, more mature. Was it always going to be like this? He away ahead of me, with his own moods that I did not share, his secret troubles that I did not know? Would we never be together, he a man and I a woman, standing shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, with no gulf between us? I did not want to be a child. I wanted to be his wife, his mother. I wanted to be old.
Again, mixed feelings on my part. I wished something would happen to make me look wiser, more mature. Lady, "something" isn't just going to happen. You have to actually take action. Not on the Maxim front -- I think I've finally reached the point where I see him as a Lost Cause -- but just for herself. She could still live there with Mr. Broodypants, but begin to create her own life. Get a train set, for Pete's sake. At the same time, though, I feel bad for her. She doesn't want to be the child, she wants Maxim to be the child. She wants him to need her. It's all just so depressing.
Ah, her sketching becomes a Plot Point. Oh, God, is Mrs. Danvers going to trick Mrs.deW2 into wearing something that Causes a Scene? I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. She's so horrible.
Quite the dinner conversation:
"If I told you I was thinking about Surrey and Middlesex I was thinking about Surrey and Middlesex. Men are simpler than you imagine, my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone. Did you know, you did not look a bit like yourself just now? You had quite a different expression on your face."
"I did? What sort of expression?"
"I don't know that I can explain. You looked older suddenly, deceitful. It was rather unpleasant."
So. Did Maxim marry our narrator because he saw her as honest and innocent? And are those qualities that Rebecca didn't have? I don't doubt that he's plenty tortured about Rebecca, but I'm starting to wonder if his reasons for being tortured about her are actually as obvious as they appear to be.
"A husband is not so very different from a father after all. There is a certain type of knowledge I prefer you not to have. It's better kept under lock and key. So that's that. And now eat up your peaches, and don't ask me any more questions, or I shall put you in the corner."
Yecch. I'll put him in the corner.
The day of the dance:
I felt very much the same as I did the morning I was married. The same stifled feeling that I had gone too far now to turn back.
The chapter has been rough, and I haven't even found out why Mrs. Danvers suggested that dress (though I certainly have my suspicions).
I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. The dress scene made me nauseous. It was all the more crushing because she'd been so happy getting ready, and I can't remember the last time she'd been happy. And did you notice how she went from happy to somewhat frenzied to almost delirious? The tension mounted up and up and up, way before she even came down the stairs.
Why? Why why why why why would she trust Mrs. Danvers? She knows -- KNOWS -- that Mrs. Danvers hates her.
Whew.
Chapter 17 -- The Ball.
You know, I was impressed with her for refusing to go down to the party, but then I also gave her points when she finally did go down. I don't think I'd have been able to do it.
Chapter 18 -- In which we get a heaping helping of Danvers Crazy.
Mrs.deW2 comes to terms with her situation:
That was why I had come down last night in my blue dress and had not stayed hidden in my room. There was nothing brave or fine about it, it was a wretched tribute to convention. I had not come down for Maxim's sake, for Beatrice's, for the sake of Manderley. I had come down because I did not want the people at the ball to think I had quarrelled with Maxim. I didn't want them to go home and say, "Of course you know they don't get on. I hear he's not at all happy." I had come for my own sake, my own poor personal pride. As I sipped my cold tea I thought with a tired bitter feeling of despair that I should be content to live in one corner of Manderley and Maxim in the other as long as the outside world should never know.
Like I said, train set.
Frank's on his way over, but I have no idea what he's planning on telling Mrs.deW2, or if he's worried that Maxim might be planning to off himself.
I hadn't realized that Mrs. Danvers raised Rebecca. Her description of Rebecca made her sound extremely unattractive -- so selfish and self-absorbed. Up until she started trying to convince the narrator to commit suicide, I was actually feeling kind of bad for her. If the rockets hadn't gone off, distracting Mrs. Danvers and Mrs.deW2, what would have happened? Would she have jumped?
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Chapters 13-15
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
This is shorter than usual, as I'm still recovering from my Food Coma.
Chapter 16 -- In which Mrs. Danvers isn't just scary, but downright evil.
Ugh. I wouldn't be happy about semi-random people just dropping in on me unannounced (just in time for tea, of course), either.
Frank Crawley was invaluable at a moment like this. He took the cups from me and handed them to people, and when my answers seemed more than usually vague owing to my concentration on the silver tea-pot he quietly and unobtrusively put in his small wedge to the conversation, relieving me of responsibility.
Frank is quite protective of Mrs.deW2, isn't he? She recognizes that. She also feels on firm enough footing with him to tease him a bit, and even flirt with him -- there was a moment when she struck me as not-very-modest, actually, and it seemed to me that it may have struck him the same way. But then, just a bit later, he and Maxim decide that he (Frank) and Mrs. Danvers will make all of the arrangements for the ball, cutting Mrs.deW2 out of the process:
I was glad, of course, to be relieved of responsibility, but it rather added to my sense of humility to feel that I was not even capable of licking stamps. I thought of the writing-desk in the morning-room, the docketed pigeon-holes all marked in ink by that slanting pointed hand.
AUUUUUUUUUUGH. Those damn labels.
Maxim is the least romantic romantic lead ever. Less romantic than stupid Heathcliff, even.
I wished he would not always treat me as a child, rather spoilt, rather irresponsible, someone to be petted from time to time when the mood came upon him, but more often forgotten, more often patted on the shoulder and told to run away and play. I wished something would happen to make me look wiser, more mature. Was it always going to be like this? He away ahead of me, with his own moods that I did not share, his secret troubles that I did not know? Would we never be together, he a man and I a woman, standing shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, with no gulf between us? I did not want to be a child. I wanted to be his wife, his mother. I wanted to be old.
Again, mixed feelings on my part. I wished something would happen to make me look wiser, more mature. Lady, "something" isn't just going to happen. You have to actually take action. Not on the Maxim front -- I think I've finally reached the point where I see him as a Lost Cause -- but just for herself. She could still live there with Mr. Broodypants, but begin to create her own life. Get a train set, for Pete's sake. At the same time, though, I feel bad for her. She doesn't want to be the child, she wants Maxim to be the child. She wants him to need her. It's all just so depressing.
Ah, her sketching becomes a Plot Point. Oh, God, is Mrs. Danvers going to trick Mrs.deW2 into wearing something that Causes a Scene? I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. She's so horrible.
Quite the dinner conversation:
"If I told you I was thinking about Surrey and Middlesex I was thinking about Surrey and Middlesex. Men are simpler than you imagine, my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone. Did you know, you did not look a bit like yourself just now? You had quite a different expression on your face."
"I did? What sort of expression?"
"I don't know that I can explain. You looked older suddenly, deceitful. It was rather unpleasant."
So. Did Maxim marry our narrator because he saw her as honest and innocent? And are those qualities that Rebecca didn't have? I don't doubt that he's plenty tortured about Rebecca, but I'm starting to wonder if his reasons for being tortured about her are actually as obvious as they appear to be.
"A husband is not so very different from a father after all. There is a certain type of knowledge I prefer you not to have. It's better kept under lock and key. So that's that. And now eat up your peaches, and don't ask me any more questions, or I shall put you in the corner."
Yecch. I'll put him in the corner.
The day of the dance:
I felt very much the same as I did the morning I was married. The same stifled feeling that I had gone too far now to turn back.
The chapter has been rough, and I haven't even found out why Mrs. Danvers suggested that dress (though I certainly have my suspicions).
I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. The dress scene made me nauseous. It was all the more crushing because she'd been so happy getting ready, and I can't remember the last time she'd been happy. And did you notice how she went from happy to somewhat frenzied to almost delirious? The tension mounted up and up and up, way before she even came down the stairs.
Why? Why why why why why would she trust Mrs. Danvers? She knows -- KNOWS -- that Mrs. Danvers hates her.
Whew.
Chapter 17 -- The Ball.
You know, I was impressed with her for refusing to go down to the party, but then I also gave her points when she finally did go down. I don't think I'd have been able to do it.
Chapter 18 -- In which we get a heaping helping of Danvers Crazy.
Mrs.deW2 comes to terms with her situation:
That was why I had come down last night in my blue dress and had not stayed hidden in my room. There was nothing brave or fine about it, it was a wretched tribute to convention. I had not come down for Maxim's sake, for Beatrice's, for the sake of Manderley. I had come down because I did not want the people at the ball to think I had quarrelled with Maxim. I didn't want them to go home and say, "Of course you know they don't get on. I hear he's not at all happy." I had come for my own sake, my own poor personal pride. As I sipped my cold tea I thought with a tired bitter feeling of despair that I should be content to live in one corner of Manderley and Maxim in the other as long as the outside world should never know.
Like I said, train set.
Frank's on his way over, but I have no idea what he's planning on telling Mrs.deW2, or if he's worried that Maxim might be planning to off himself.
I hadn't realized that Mrs. Danvers raised Rebecca. Her description of Rebecca made her sound extremely unattractive -- so selfish and self-absorbed. Up until she started trying to convince the narrator to commit suicide, I was actually feeling kind of bad for her. If the rockets hadn't gone off, distracting Mrs. Danvers and Mrs.deW2, what would have happened? Would she have jumped?
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Chapters 13-15
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Chapter 13 -- In which Mrs. Danvers has a super-sketchy visitor.
"You must be very brave," he would say, "I am afraid you must be prepared for a great shock."
AS IF. As if Frith would break anything to her gently. Rather, he'd dump it on her, and then when she freaked out, he's say, "Ah. Yes. Well, the first Mrs. de Winter was always so stalwart at times like this."
Also, was that just one of those random, uncontrollable thoughts, or was that a semi-attractive daydream?
Now she's sneaking cookies, and she's afraid the servants will see:
I went and ate them in the woods, in case one of the servants should see me on the lawn from the windows, and then go and tell the cook that they did not think Mrs. de Winter cared for the food prepared in the kitchen, as they had just seen her filling herself with fruit and biscuits. The cook would be offended, and perhaps go to Mrs. Danvers.
I can't imagine living in such fear. And the fear is so much of her own making. I realize that much of it originally stems from her personality and the class issues, but if she wants it to change, she's got to stand up. I also feel like her fears are snowballing.
One of the odd things I'm discovering about reading this so slowly is that each time I pick the book up, a good amount of time has gone by for me, so I keep expecting the narrator to have had a revelation in the meantime. I know that makes absolutely zero sense, but I feel a little jolt every time I start again and discover that she's still stuck in the same place I left her. (Makes me think of the story "Red wolf, red wolf" by W. P. Kinsella.)
Rather telling that she's so happy with Maxim away from Manderley. And that she realizes it. There's something off about the way she describes it, though -- as if Maxim is a schoolteacher. Again, yick.
She totally brought Jasper on her walk so he'd run off to The Beach of Death. (And, yes, for companionship, since he's one of the few at Manderley she's comfortable with...)
"I done nothing," he repeated, "I never told no one. I don't want to be put to the asylum." A tear rolled down his dirty face.
AH HA! What has Ben never told, and who threatened him with the asylum? ?? ???
Oh. That's who threatened him. Yikes. But what hasn't he told?
The scene with Mr. Favell STRESSED. ME. OUT. Why would Mrs. Danvers have anything to do with him? He doesn't seem like the sort she'd spend time with. He sounded so... fleshy. Is he a blackmailer? Why did he keep trying to get Mrs.deW2 to go for a ride with him? Was it so that other people would see them together, as a way to start gossip about her? Am I the most paranoid person on the planet?
On to the west wing...
Chapter 14 -- In which Mrs. Danvers gives our narrator the Grand Tour of Rebecca's room.
Why are there fresh flowers in Rebecca's room? Is it because Maxim can't let go, or is it because Mrs. Danvers can't? Or is Mrs. Danvers using the room as a Secret Love Nest? (Okay, that last one was just ridiculous.)
Then I heard a step behind me and turning round I saw Mrs. Danvers. I shall never forget the expression on her face. Triumphant, gloating, excited in a strange unhealthy way. I felt very frightened.
No kidding. I'm terrified, and I'm just reading it. It's funny that I question the narrator's reliability when it comes to almost everything else, but when Mrs. Danvers does stuff like this, I take her at her word.
I couldn't take notes at all during that scene. Yow. Mrs. Danvers wins, man. She's way scarier than Hannibal Lecter.
"Sometimes I wonder," she whispered. "Sometimes I wonder if she comes back here to Manderley and watches you and Mr. de Winter together."
A ghostly Rebecca would be less frightening than what is suggested by this whole scene, which is that Mrs. Danvers is doing the watching for her dead mistress.
Chapter 15 -- In which our narrator meets Maxim's grandmother and overhears a blowout in the library.
Beatrice drives like Agatha Raisin.
This is the first time she's made me laugh in ages and ages, and it was probably inadvertent. (On the narrator's part, I mean, not du Maurier's):
I had an uneasy feeling we might be asked to spend the approaching Christmas with Beatrice. Perhaps I could have influenza.
Ooooooooh. Mr. Favell was Rebecca's cousin. So what was her background? He had money, what with that car and all, but he sure didn't strike me as Maxim's type, class-wise. Or are we talking New Money vs. Old Money? There's clearly something going on there -- Beatrice didn't want to talk about him (which seems odd in itself) and:
"I did not take to him much," I said.
"No," said Beatrice. "I don't blame you."
And she mentions that she was very seldom at Manderley when Rebecca was alive. What's THAT all about? Holy cow, these three chapters were HUGE.
The only thing that mattered to me was that Maxim should never come to hear of it. One day I might tell Frank Crawley, but not yet, not for quite a while.
Again, she doesn't feel that she can talk with her own husband. (Not that I can really blame her -- it isn't as if he's reacted very well in the past when she's tried to talk to him.)
Whoa. What do you want to bet that Mrs. Danvers'll blame Mrs.deW2 for the scene with Maxim?
Nice to see that Maxim was so happy to be reunited with his new wife. Yeesh.
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Chapter 13 -- In which Mrs. Danvers has a super-sketchy visitor.
"You must be very brave," he would say, "I am afraid you must be prepared for a great shock."
AS IF. As if Frith would break anything to her gently. Rather, he'd dump it on her, and then when she freaked out, he's say, "Ah. Yes. Well, the first Mrs. de Winter was always so stalwart at times like this."
Also, was that just one of those random, uncontrollable thoughts, or was that a semi-attractive daydream?
Now she's sneaking cookies, and she's afraid the servants will see:
I went and ate them in the woods, in case one of the servants should see me on the lawn from the windows, and then go and tell the cook that they did not think Mrs. de Winter cared for the food prepared in the kitchen, as they had just seen her filling herself with fruit and biscuits. The cook would be offended, and perhaps go to Mrs. Danvers.
I can't imagine living in such fear. And the fear is so much of her own making. I realize that much of it originally stems from her personality and the class issues, but if she wants it to change, she's got to stand up. I also feel like her fears are snowballing.
One of the odd things I'm discovering about reading this so slowly is that each time I pick the book up, a good amount of time has gone by for me, so I keep expecting the narrator to have had a revelation in the meantime. I know that makes absolutely zero sense, but I feel a little jolt every time I start again and discover that she's still stuck in the same place I left her. (Makes me think of the story "Red wolf, red wolf" by W. P. Kinsella.)
Rather telling that she's so happy with Maxim away from Manderley. And that she realizes it. There's something off about the way she describes it, though -- as if Maxim is a schoolteacher. Again, yick.
She totally brought Jasper on her walk so he'd run off to The Beach of Death. (And, yes, for companionship, since he's one of the few at Manderley she's comfortable with...)
"I done nothing," he repeated, "I never told no one. I don't want to be put to the asylum." A tear rolled down his dirty face.
AH HA! What has Ben never told, and who threatened him with the asylum? ?? ???
Oh. That's who threatened him. Yikes. But what hasn't he told?
The scene with Mr. Favell STRESSED. ME. OUT. Why would Mrs. Danvers have anything to do with him? He doesn't seem like the sort she'd spend time with. He sounded so... fleshy. Is he a blackmailer? Why did he keep trying to get Mrs.deW2 to go for a ride with him? Was it so that other people would see them together, as a way to start gossip about her? Am I the most paranoid person on the planet?
On to the west wing...
Chapter 14 -- In which Mrs. Danvers gives our narrator the Grand Tour of Rebecca's room.
Why are there fresh flowers in Rebecca's room? Is it because Maxim can't let go, or is it because Mrs. Danvers can't? Or is Mrs. Danvers using the room as a Secret Love Nest? (Okay, that last one was just ridiculous.)
Then I heard a step behind me and turning round I saw Mrs. Danvers. I shall never forget the expression on her face. Triumphant, gloating, excited in a strange unhealthy way. I felt very frightened.
No kidding. I'm terrified, and I'm just reading it. It's funny that I question the narrator's reliability when it comes to almost everything else, but when Mrs. Danvers does stuff like this, I take her at her word.
I couldn't take notes at all during that scene. Yow. Mrs. Danvers wins, man. She's way scarier than Hannibal Lecter.
"Sometimes I wonder," she whispered. "Sometimes I wonder if she comes back here to Manderley and watches you and Mr. de Winter together."
A ghostly Rebecca would be less frightening than what is suggested by this whole scene, which is that Mrs. Danvers is doing the watching for her dead mistress.
Chapter 15 -- In which our narrator meets Maxim's grandmother and overhears a blowout in the library.
Beatrice drives like Agatha Raisin.
This is the first time she's made me laugh in ages and ages, and it was probably inadvertent. (On the narrator's part, I mean, not du Maurier's):
I had an uneasy feeling we might be asked to spend the approaching Christmas with Beatrice. Perhaps I could have influenza.
Ooooooooh. Mr. Favell was Rebecca's cousin. So what was her background? He had money, what with that car and all, but he sure didn't strike me as Maxim's type, class-wise. Or are we talking New Money vs. Old Money? There's clearly something going on there -- Beatrice didn't want to talk about him (which seems odd in itself) and:
"I did not take to him much," I said.
"No," said Beatrice. "I don't blame you."
And she mentions that she was very seldom at Manderley when Rebecca was alive. What's THAT all about? Holy cow, these three chapters were HUGE.
The only thing that mattered to me was that Maxim should never come to hear of it. One day I might tell Frank Crawley, but not yet, not for quite a while.
Again, she doesn't feel that she can talk with her own husband. (Not that I can really blame her -- it isn't as if he's reacted very well in the past when she's tried to talk to him.)
Whoa. What do you want to bet that Mrs. Danvers'll blame Mrs.deW2 for the scene with Maxim?
Nice to see that Maxim was so happy to be reunited with his new wife. Yeesh.
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Chapters 10-12
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Chapter 10 -- In which a visit to the beach makes it abundantly clear that Maxim de Winter was in no way ready to marry again.
Re: The raincoat. I doubt that Maxim would have even attempted to boss Rebecca the way he bosses Mrs.deW2. (Of course, if he had made the attempt, she probably would have laughed at him. And he would have loved her for it.)
Was he actually angry with Beatrice for something she said, or was he just angry in general because her visit reminded him of The Past?
The items Mrs.deW2 omitted when she told Maxim what she and Beatrice talked about: Mrs. Danvers, Maxim's personality and temper, that coming to Manderley would be a strain on Mrs.deW2, Mrs.deW2's appearance.
His look of astonishment after she asks his opinion of her hair made me wonder if he'd ever even noticed her hair.
If Ben the Idiot Fisherman isn't a Classic Gothic Character, I don't know what is.
This was good:
There was another door at the end of the room, and I went to it, and opened it, a little fearful now, a little afraid, for I had the odd, uneasy feeling that I might come across something unawares, that I had no wish to see. Something that might harm me, that might be horrible.
All of the pauses in that first sentence worked for me, made it a billion times creepier. I kept waiting for Maxim to storm in the other door and start yelling at her for trespassing. The situation gave off a real Bluebeard vibe.
The power walk back: It was nice to see Mrs.deW2 stick up for herself, for once -- shades of an actual personality (I continue to suspect that she has more strength than she's been letting on) -- even though she backed down pretty quickly.
I still don't loathe Maxim the way that some do. He's totally self-absorbed, at least a little bit crazy, and he certainly (as I said above) shouldn't have remarried, but it's not like he presented a different face to Mrs.deW2 during their courtship period. Heck, on the first drive he took her on, he acted like he might throw himself off a cliff! She didn't have to marry him. I found this interesting:
"Yes," I said. "I've made you unhappy. It's the same as making you angry. You're all wounded and hurt and torn inside. I can't bear to see you like this. I love you so much."
"Do you?" he said. "Do you?" He held me very tight, and his eyes questioned me, dark and uncertain, the eyes of a child in pain, a child in fear.
Okay, her crazy logic aside, this made me think that he's desperate to be loved (and/or worshipped) and made me wonder if he had doubts about Rebecca's feeling for him. Or something. But I might be being overly suspicious again, and/or employing my own crazy logic.
Chapter 11 -- In which our narrator has a heart-to-heart with Frank Crawley.
This made me want to slap her: "It was all my fault, because I had gone down into the bay."
"...we lived our lives together, sleeping, eating, walking, writing letters, driving to the village, working hour by hour through our day..."
But not, you notice, enjoying it. Man, free time is so wasted on some people.
"...not the normal happy self I knew myself to be."
HA! I say again, HA!
"You have qualities that are just as important, far more so, in fact. It's perhaps cheek of me to say so, I don't know you very well. I'm a bachelor, I don't know very much about women, I lead a quiet sort of life down here at Manderley as you know, but I should say that kindliness, and sincerity, and if I may say so--modesty--are worth far more to a man, to a husband, than all the wit and beauty in the world."
AHA! My suspicions continue.
This got a guffaw:
I was not sure what he meant about modesty. It was a word I had never understood. I always imagined it had something to do with minding meeting people in a passage on the way to a bathroom...
Chapter 12 -- In which our narrator moans about Rebecca a bit more and might even realize that this is shaping up to be one of the Worst Marriages Ever.
Frith is a jerk.
"Writing letters is a waste of time," said Maxim.
Interesting that he would say that, as Rebecca had apparently spent a good part of her life writing letters.
The China Cupid Incident:
She did not seem to be surprised that I was the culprit. She looked at me with her white skull's face and her dark eyes. I felt she had known it was me all along and had accused Robert to see if I would have the courage to confess.
While I'm aware of Mrs.deW2's seriously high paranoia level, I'm inclined to agree with her on this one. Even more so after this:
"It's very unfortunate," said Mrs. Danvers, "I don't think we have ever had any breakages in the morning-room before. We were always so particular. I've done the dusting in there myself since--last year. There was no one I could trust. When Mrs. de Winter was alive we used to do the valuables together."
Wow. What a BEAST. Note that she didn't even say "the first Mrs. de Winter".
"Little idiot", "sweet child". Slappable, he is.
I think she pegged it here:
"What a slap in the eye I must be to them," I repeated. And then "I suppose that's why you married me," I said, "you knew I was dull and quiet and inexperienced, so that there would never be any gossip about me."
And, going back to the last chapter -- I think this makes it perfectly clear that she knows exactly what Frank meant by modesty. See?? She's tricky.
Maxim has noticed that she's lost weight. That's something, I guess. He's realized and admitted that he may have married her for selfish reasons. Aaaaand he's still treating her like a pet:
He patted my cheek in his terrible absent way...
Still don't hate him, though. Wouldn't want to be married to him, but I don't hate him. I just think he's a disaster.
"We are happy, aren't we? Terribly happy?"
Oh, Mrs.deW2, if you have to ask...
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 7-9
Full Schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Bookshelves of Doom, Chapters 10-12
It might seem that I was a little too harsh on our narrator, Mrs. deWinter the second in my last posting. I don't want anyone to think that Maxim is anywhere close to perfect. In case you had any doubts whatsoever about his jerkiness (and that is keeping it polite), these next chapters will prove that he hasn't a clue on how a woman wants to be treated--needs to be treated.
In Chapter 10, Maxim turns into a crankmeister. He's angry from having had to entertain guests--Beatrice, etc.--and he's grown snappy and impatient. He wants to go for a walk in the rain. And he wants his wife to go with him. He doesn't want to wait for her to get her own coat. He wants to parade her about in a raincoat that's much too big for her while he goes on and on and on about how awful it is to have to see one's family.
I took Maxim's arm.
"Do you like my hair?" I said.
He stared down at me in astonishment. "Your hair?" he said, "why on earth do you ask? Of course I like it. What's the matter with it?"
"Oh, nothing," I said, "I just wondered."
"How funny you are," he said.
Maxim clearly doesn't understand women. But that doesn't really come as a surprise. I think the compliments must be few and far between in this marriage. His wife who definitely has security issues and confidence issues and a whole lot of other issues...is just looking for reassurance, love, and a nice word now and then. She wants to be treated as more than a pet. She doesn't want to be a Jasper all her life.
During her walk, she thinks about what Beatrice has said about her brother--how he gets angry and moody, etc. But how she essentially makes up her mind to ignore and excuse that knowledge, that conversation. I could see him moody, difficult, irritable perhaps, but not angry as she had inferred, not passionate. Perhaps she had exaggerated, people very often were wrong about their relatives.
Has she forgotten the cliff top drive? How about when he inexplicably goes off on her when she brings up Manderley or his wife during a drive one day? She seems to be ignoring a LOT of warning signs when it comes to her husband's character and temperament. Or else she's extremely naive and foolish to convince herself of this generalization: people very often were wrong about their relatives.
Then there are a whole lot of descriptions about flowers, birds, scents, and singing. I don't really like this kind of stuff.
Then comes the action where Jasper wonders off to go on one of his old haunts. Max turns angry and vicious. Our narrator goes after the dog. And she finds a few things that are strange: a crazy but harmless man named Ben, and a beach house/cottage (boat house) where Rebecca spent some of her days and nights.
Once the dog is retrieved, the two proceed to bicker and bicker until she accepts the blame for everything and she is kissing his feet again.
Back in the library:
Don't be angry with me anymore, I whispered.
He took my face in his hands and looked down at me with his tired and strained eyes. I'm not angry with you he said.
Yes, I said. I've made you unhappy. It's the same as making you angry. You're all wounded and hurt and torn inside. I can't bear to see you like this. I love you so much.
Do you? he said. Do you? He held me very tight, and his eyes questioned me, dark and uncertain, the eyes of a child in pain, a child in fear.
There are so many things that are wrong with this conversation. Of course he has no reason to be angry with her. He was the one that acted irrationally brutish. And it must have felt like a slap in the face for him to ask her twice if she loved him. As if he doubted how she felt. After all, she is the one who is always impulsively sharing with him. He hasn't once said that he loved her. That he was in love with her. That he wanted her.
He does eventually grunt out a small apology for being a 'bear' to her.
It was over then. The episode was finished. We must not speak of it again.
Sad, sad, lonely woman. To think of all the stuff she's repressing...all the stuff she's denying...it's just not healthy.
Chapter 11
Though she's promised herself not to speak of it again, she can't stop thinking about it.
I could not forget the white, lost look in Maxim's eyes when we came up the path through the woods, and I could not forget his words, "Oh God, what a fool I was to come back." It was all my fault, because I had gone down into the bay. I had opened up a road into the past again. And although Maxim had recovered, and was himself again, and we lived our lives together, sleeping, eating, walking, writing letters, driving to the village, working hour by hour through our day, I knew there was a barrier betwee us because of it. He walked alone, on the other side, and I must not come to him. And I became nervous and fearful that some heedless word, some turn in a careless conversation should bring that expression back to his eyes again.
How awful to spend all that time blaming yourself and making yourself responsible for someone else's emotional and mental well-being. How exhausting. It would be a full-time job for her to walk on eggshells and try to prevent another one of Maxim's moody episodes. It's impossible and foolish to think she can do it.
In this chapter, we see the narrator hating and dreading her social calls, or rounds. It also features her having a personal conversation with Frank Crawley. It is the first time she's openly able to ask about Rebecca. It is also the FIRST time that she's been honest and forthcoming about her feelings, her thoughts, her emotions.
Chapter 12
In this chapter our narrator tries to get accustomed to being rich and having servants. There is some discussion of undergarments and lace. And she also breaks a china cupid and foolishly hides the evidence. So there is another social "blunder" that her husband essentially blames her for. When she finally admits that Mrs. Danvers is intimidating and a bit weird/spooky and just downright unfriendly...he blames her for not handling her correctly...for not acting like the mistress of the house.
I really saw much to hate in Maxim's behavior when he is picking on her for not knowing how to act as his wife. Her clothes. Her shyness. Her manners. When she keeps insisting that he knew all that before he married her. That he knew she was shy, awkward, from a different class, nervous, anxious, etc. That he shouldn't expect her to be different now that she's his wife. She can't flip a switch and transform into the 'proper' wife. What follows is another episode in which Max acts like a brutish bear and is genuinely unlikable.
Are you happy here? he said looking away from me, out of the window. I wonder sometimes. You've got thinner. Lost your colour.
Of course I'm happy I said. I love Manderley. I love the garden. I love everything. I don't mind calling on people. I said that just to be tiresome. I'll call on people every day, if you want me to. I don't mind what I do. I've never for one moment regretted marrying you, surely you must know that?
He patted my cheek in his terribly absent way, and bent down and kissed the top of my head. Poor lamb, you don't have much fun do you? I'm afraid I'm difficult to live with.
You're not difficult I said eagerly. You are easy, very easy. Much easier than I thought you would be. I used to think it would be dreadful to be married, that one's husband would drink, or use awful language, or grumble if the toast was soft at breakfast, and be rather unattractive altogether, smell possibly. You don't do any of those things.
I'm honestly surprised she wasn't struck with lightning. How can she not know she's lying. And if she does know...why the eager pretense? The begging and pleading to embrace the lie together.
His response later on that "If you say we are happy, let's leave it at that. It's something I know nothing about. I take your word for it. We are happy. All right then, that's agreed."
How strange, how very strange. Of course he knows if he is happy in the marriage, if he's satisfied with it. If he's regretting his decision. How could you NOT know.
Chapter 7: In which our narrator arrives at Manderley, is shown her new living area and informed that Rebecca's room was much bigger.
Even though I have my concerns about Mrs.deW2's (thanks, Gail!) reliability as a narrator, it's not like I think she's on the verge of taking a butter knife to Maxim or anything (Emma!). And I do feel for her:
And now I belonged here, this was my home, I would write letters to people saying, "We shall be down at Manderley all the summer, you must come and see us," and I would walk along this drive, strange and unfamiliar to me now, with perfect knowledge, conscious of every twist and turn...
This just hurt. She imagines the future again and again throughout this chapter -- just trying, I think, to get through the day. And, when she fantasizes about writing letters to people, who will they be to? Maxim's friends and acquaintances. Because... she doesn't have any friends or family (as far as I know). It made me feel for her much, much more than I have so far.
Her description of coming up the driveway struck me as very ominous, so I flipped back to her dream sequence to compare: On the very first page she says that the woods were, "always a menace even in the past".
Upon arriving:
As we drove up to the wide stone steps and stopped before the open door, I saw through one of the mullioned windows that the hall was full of people, and I heard Maxim swear under his breath. "Damn that woman," he said, "she knows perfectly well I did not want this sort of thing," and he put on the brakes with a jerk.
Soooo... is there a power struggle between Maxim and Mrs. Danvers? Later, he says that "she doesn't dare bully" him, but there are ways of getting your own way (and of controlling people) without bullying.
Our first look at Mrs. Danvers:
Someone advanced from the sea of faces, someone tall and gaunt, dressed in deep black, whose prominent cheek-bones and great, hollow eyes gave her a skull's face, parchment-white, set on a skeleton's frame.
Yeah, that can't be good.
The library at Manderley is the first place she's described that feels somewhat comfortable and safe. (Though it's the first of many times she's with Maxim, yet alone. You can be in the same room with someone, quiet, doing different things and still together, but not these two. There's no connection.) The creeping ivy didn't sound all that bad, though of course it made me think of the ivy in her dream.
"Run along". Ugh. Who says that to his wife? Oh, wait. The same guy who tells her to straighten her "funny little fur". He's got the protective tendencies down, too -- there was a moment after the Danvers-Mrs.deW2 Bedroom Conversation where I thought he was a little scary. But his protective moment felt more like he was protecting a pet than a wife.
Maxim and the narrator seem bounce around so much, personality and emotion-wise, that I feel like they're affecting me. I think this book might make me bi-polar.
Chapter 8: In which our narrator experiences the daily routine at Manderley.
Rebecca is always there:
I put it back in the box again, and shut the drawer, feeling guilty suddenly, and deceitful, as though I were staying in somebody else's house and my hostess had said to me, "Yes, of course, write letters at my desk," and I had unforgivably, in a stealthy manner, peeped at her correspondence.
And then, when she answers the phone:
There was a strange buzzing at the end of the line, and then a voice came, low and rather harsh, whether that of a woman or a man I could not tell, and "Mrs. de Winter?" is said, "Mrs. de Winter?"
"I'm afraid you have made a mistake," I said, "Mrs. de Winter has been dead for over a year."
Oh, that was the WORST. I groaned (out loud) because it hurt so much. I can't believe how differently I feel about her now that she's come to Manderley. She's surrounded by people who know the routine and the house and each other and who aren't really going out of their way to help her be comfortable and fit in. (That isn't to say that I don't think she's being spineless. I do. Especially because those first few chapters made me think that there was more to her. But we'll see what happens.)
Who was it that commented on Rebecca as a YA read? I am seeing it in these chapters -- the fish-out-of-water feeling, the Catch-22 of refusing to ask questions due to fear of appearing ignorant, but then appearing ignorant anyway because of never getting the answers to the questions that weren't asked, imagining that everything anyone else says out of earshot is about you, etc. But I do think I have less sympathy for the narrator than I do for, say, Naylor's Alice McKinley, because A) she's older (or one would hope) and B) she's been on her own for some time now.
Oh, and more pain -- writing to Mrs. Van Hopper because she has no one else to write to -- this poor girl needs a hobby.
Chapter 9: In which our narrator runs away from her guests, gets caught by Mrs. Danvers in the west wing and irritates Maxim by not ending lunch soon enough.
So she does know:
I listened to them both, leaning against Maxim's arm, rubbing my chin on his sleeve. He stroked my hand absently, not thinking, talking to Beatrice.
"That's what I do to Jasper," I thought. "I'm being like Jasper now, leaning against him. He pats me now and again, when he remembers, and I'm pleased, I get closer to him for a moment. He likes me in the way I like Jasper."
Beatrice is fantastic -- the sort of woman Bertie Wooster would find terrifying, but comforting in this setting, probably because she seems to be the only one what actually voices her thoughts.
I do want to go back to the scene with Mrs. Danvers in the west wing, but I have to go in to work. Hopefully later today.
Past entries:
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 1-3
Full schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
Chapter 7: In which our narrator arrives at Manderley, is shown her new living area and informed that Rebecca's room was much bigger.
Even though I have my concerns about Mrs.deW2's (thanks, Gail!) reliability as a narrator, it's not like I think she's on the verge of taking a butter knife to Maxim or anything (Emma!). And I do feel for her:
And now I belonged here, this was my home, I would write letters to people saying, "We shall be down at Manderley all the summer, you must come and see us," and I would walk along this drive, strange and unfamiliar to me now, with perfect knowledge, conscious of every twist and turn...
This just hurt. She imagines the future again and again throughout this chapter -- just trying, I think, to get through the day. And, when she fantasizes about writing letters to people, who will they be to? Maxim's friends and acquaintances. Because... she doesn't have any friends or family (as far as I know). It made me feel for her much, much more than I have so far.
Her description of coming up the driveway struck me as very ominous, so I flipped back to her dream sequence to compare: On the very first page she says that the woods were, "always a menace even in the past".
Upon arriving:
As we drove up to the wide stone steps and stopped before the open door, I saw through one of the mullioned windows that the hall was full of people, and I heard Maxim swear under his breath. "Damn that woman," he said, "she knows perfectly well I did not want this sort of thing," and he put on the brakes with a jerk.
Soooo... is there a power struggle between Maxim and Mrs. Danvers? Later, he says that "she doesn't dare bully" him, but there are ways of getting your own way (and of controlling people) without bullying.
Our first look at Mrs. Danvers:
Someone advanced from the sea of faces, someone tall and gaunt, dressed in deep black, whose prominent cheek-bones and great, hollow eyes gave her a skull's face, parchment-white, set on a skeleton's frame.
Yeah, that can't be good.
The library at Manderley is the first place she's described that feels somewhat comfortable and safe. (Though it's the first of many times she's with Maxim, yet alone. You can be in the same room with someone, quiet, doing different things and still together, but not these two. There's no connection.) The creeping ivy didn't sound all that bad, though of course it made me think of the ivy in her dream.
"Run along". Ugh. Who says that to his wife? Oh, wait. The same guy who tells her to straighten her "funny little fur". He's got the protective tendencies down, too -- there was a moment after the Danvers-Mrs.deW2 Bedroom Conversation where I thought he was a little scary. But his protective moment felt more like he was protecting a pet than a wife.
Maxim and the narrator seem bounce around so much, personality and emotion-wise, that I feel like they're affecting me. I think this book might make me bipolar.
Chapter 8: In which our narrator experiences the daily routine at Manderley.
Rebecca is always there:
I put it back in the box again, and shut the drawer, feeling guilty suddenly, and deceitful, as though I were staying in somebody else's house and my hostess had said to me, "Yes, of course, write letters at my desk," and I had unforgivably, in a stealthy manner, peeped at her correspondence.
And then, when she answers the phone:
There was a strange buzzing at the end of the line, and then a voice came, low and rather harsh, whether that of a woman or a man I could not tell, and "Mrs. de Winter?" is said, "Mrs. de Winter?"
"I'm afraid you have made a mistake," I said, "Mrs. de Winter has been dead for over a year."
Oh, that was the WORST. I groaned (out loud) because it hurt so much. I can't believe how differently I feel about her now that she's come to Manderley. She's surrounded by people who know the routine and the house and each other and who aren't really going out of their way to help her be comfortable and fit in. (That isn't to say that I don't think she's being spineless. I do. Especially because those first few chapters made me think that there was more to her. But we'll see what happens.)
Who was it that commented on Rebecca as a YA read? I am seeing it in these chapters -- the fish-out-of-water feeling, the Catch-22 of refusing to ask questions due to fear of appearing ignorant, but then appearing ignorant anyway because of never getting the answers to the questions that weren't asked, imagining that everything anyone else says out of earshot is about you, etc. But I do think I have less sympathy for the narrator than I do for, say, Naylor's Alice McKinley, because A) she's older (or one would hope) and B) she's been on her own for some time now.
Oh, and more pain -- writing to Mrs. Van Hopper because she has no one else to write to -- this poor girl needs a hobby.
Chapter 9: In which our narrator runs away from her guests, gets caught by Mrs. Danvers in the west wing and irritates Maxim by not ending lunch soon enough.
So she does know:
I listened to them both, leaning against Maxim's arm, rubbing my chin on his sleeve. He stroked my hand absently, not thinking, talking to Beatrice.
"That's what I do to Jasper," I thought. "I'm being like Jasper now, leaning against him. He pats me now and again, when he remembers, and I'm pleased, I get closer to him for a moment. He likes me in the way I like Jasper."
Beatrice is fantastic -- the sort of woman Bertie Wooster would find terrifying, but comforting in this setting, probably because she seems to be the only one what actually voices her thoughts.
I do want to go back to the scene with Mrs. Danvers in the west wing, but I have to go in to work. Hopefully later today.
Past entries:
Chapters 4-6
Chapters 1-3
Full schedule
Other reader/bloggers:
The Leaky Dinghy
Reading with Becky
There's always time for a book
Here's the link to Bookshelves of Doom.
In these three chapters, our narrator goes on an emotional roller coaster. She has incredible highs and a few plummeting lows as she begins her uncertain relationship with Max de Winter.
Uncertainty is the theme of these chapters. Uncertainties with a dash of hope and desire and fear and jealousy.
Chapter 4
No doubt he was lunching early because he hoped to avoid us at one o'clock. I was already half-way across the room and could not go back. I had not seen him since we disappeared in the lift the day before, for wisely he had avoided dinner in the restaurant, possibly for the same reason that he lunched early now.
Our narrator here is shy and clumsy and anxious. (Oh, how I can relate.) She sees him sitting at the table. It's too late for her to turn around and run without causing a scene. Yet you can almost her her inner voice saying that a catastrophe is on the way. I bet her inner voice is saying: do not fall, do not fall, do not fall. With maybe a few stand up straights thrown in. And maybe a don't make direct eye contact or two. Yet as soon as she reaches the table, probably in her relief of having arrived at last, she spills her glass of water. She's embarrassed. She's wet. She's wishing she's a million miles a way. Her awkwardness. Her anxiety. It's why I loved her as a teen. [Nothing is scarier in junior high and high school than the lunchroom. Walking across the room, whether you've got a tray of food or not, added to the hierarchy of it all...the social scene. Not wanting to be noticed. Wanting to blend in.]
So Max de Winter, our dashing, mysterious stranger saves her by inviting her to join him for lunch adding that 'we needn't talk to each other unless we feel like it.'
His quality of detachment was peculiar to himself, and I knew that we might continue thus, without speaking, throughout the meal and it would not matter. There would be no sense of strain.
Yet in spite of the fact that she's sure a silence would not be awkward, the two begin what turns out to be a slightly awkward conversation. It begins as you can imagine by him inquiring about Mrs. Van Hopper's health. But when a sentence or two later, she brings up his home, Manderley, the mood shifts.
I was aware again of that feeling of discomfort, as though I had trespassed on forbidden ground. I wondered why it was that this home of his, known to so many people by hearsay, even to me, should so inevitably silence him, making as it were a barrier between him and others. We ate for a while without talking...
He is the one to break the silence. He begins yet again by asking her about her connection with Mrs. Van Hopper. I think she is the only 'safe' topic of discussion at the moment.
And then the conversation turns personal. She begins telling her life story. Showing that she is willing to make herself vulnerable, but he is impenetrable. (I'm jumping ahead to the next chapter. But still, he's not sharing much of anything. He's not being honest or vulnerable.) One thing that I noticed is that she's really giving him a lot of herself. She feels a connection. She feels like he is listening to her, understanding her. She feels that she can trust him. But this is only the second day they've known each other. The first real one-on-one conversation they've had. She knows nothing about him but his name and the fact that his wife is dead.
She does have moments where she realizes that this is silly and almost unreal.
I tumbled down into reality, hot-handed and self-conscious, with my face aflame, and began to stammer my apologies.
It doesn't seem surprising that she reverts to apologizing. She's anxious. Self-conscious. Feeling like she's way beneath him. That her very existence is imposing on him. That it is 'wrong' for someone like her to be conversing with someone like him. So far almost all we've seen the narrator do is degrade herself and put Mr. de Winter on a pedestal.
She slips up again and mentions Manderley.
The moment I spoke I regretted my words, for the secret, inscrutable look came back in his eyes again, and once again I suffered the intolerable discomfort that floods one after lack of tact.
The silence isn't as deafening this time. And the awkwardness passes yet again as he offers to drive her around in his car that afternoon.
With that lunch, with that 'first' date (though it's never called a date), there comes a change in our narrator:
I was a person of importance, I was grown up at last. That girl, who, tortured by shyness, would stand outside the sitting-room door twisting a handkerchief in her hands, while from within came that babble of confused chatter so unnerving to the intruder--she had gone with the wind that afternoon. She was a poor creature, and I thought of her with scorn if I considered her at all.
What a strange way to divide yourself in two. Could an hour really make you feel divorced from your old self? Really? I think this moment of confidence is fleeting. And that we haven't seen the last of this shy, anxious, awkward woman.
The drive has its ups and downs. There were definite indications that he was unstable. And there were clues she was still unsure and anxious as ever. But I think in this case, her anxiety was legitimately trying to tell her something. But I suppose she'd been so used to hearing those anxious thoughts that she was able to brush these off along as nonsense.
He looked down at me with without recognition, and I realized with a little stab of anxiety that he must have forgotten all about me, perhaps for some considerable time, and that he himself was so lost in the labyrinth of his own unquiet thoughts that I did not exist. He had the face of one who walks in his sleep, and for a wild moment the idea came to me that perhaps he was not normal, not altogether sane.
But when he eventually comes out of his 'own little world' she feels bad for having misjudged him. And she even apologizes for having doubts that she hadn't voiced. That must have been weird.
Her anxiety isn't gone altogether though, for she ponders once more...
What gulf of years stretched between him and that other time, what deed of thought and action, what difference in temperament? I did not want to know. I wished I had not come.
The chapter ends with her borrowing a book of poetry which she had found in his car. The book has a strong impact on her--but not because of the poetry--it's the dedication that begins to unnerve her. It was a present to Max from Rebecca. Her signature stands out and almost taunts her. Though at this point, I don't know what she is so jealous of.
Chapter 5
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. They are not brave, the days when we are twenty-one. They are full of little cowardices, little fears without foundation, and one is so easily bruised, so swiftly wounded, one falls to the first barbed word. Today, wrapped in the complacent armor of approaching middle age, the infinitesimal pricks of day by day brush one but lightly and are soon forgotten, but then--how a careless word would linger, becoming a fiery stigma, and how a look, a glance over a shoulder, branded themselves as things eternal.
Part of me is wondering how much of this is coming from her personal experience, the narrator's experience that is, and how much is the narrator making a generalized statement about life, time, love, and youth. Is she trying to give a 'pretty' speech? Or is she a bitter, bitter woman who's regretting the folly of her youth?
I think for the most part what she is saying is that the more self-conscious you are, the lower your self-esteem, the more you doubt yourself and your worth...the more you're hurt by the world. You have to know yourself, you have to love yourself, and then maybe you won't be hurt so much. You won't be so hyper-sensitive to the world around you. You won't be bothered so much by what people think of you. You won't define your worth by how others define you.
The part that hits home for me is where she says that "a careless word" would linger and become "fiery." I think some people think too much. They internalize too much. Something small, something tiny, something even nonexistent or imagined, can become this great, big, huge thing--call it "issue" or "problem" or "concern."
Essentially she's saying that people grow up and realize that the world doesn't revolve around them.
The above is a long-winded way the narrator lets the reader know that she has begun a game of deception with Mrs. Van Hopper. She has begun lying habitually. She has begun to keep secrets. She is enjoying this secret life.
Time is a big theme in this chapter as well.
Whether he talked or not made little difference to my mood. My only enemy was the clock on the dash-board, whose hands would move relentlessly to one o'clock.
She talks about how she's making a point to treasure, to savor, each and every moment that she's with him. Every secret moment she's with him. Because their relationship is a secret, I think it has that much more appeal or excitement.
"If only there could be an invention," I said impulsively, "that bottled up my memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."
Her resulting confession merits a great laugh from him. (I suppose a laugh is better than anger.) But she feels like there is a 'great gulf' between them. Trying to bridge this gulf, she asks to know more about him. She mentions Manderley. She mentions his wife. But that gets him into a troubled mood...and makes her feel even worse.
The word lingered in the air once I had uttered it, dancing before me, and because he received it silently, making no comment, the word magnified itself into something heinous and appalling, a forbidden word, unnatural to the tongue. And I could not call it back, it could never be unsaid. Once again I saw the inscription on the fly-leaf of that book of poems, and the curious slanting R. I felt sick at heart and cold. He would never forgive me, and this would be the end of our friendship.
But he does eventually break the silence. And he opens up to her with his raw emotion. His honesty, his vulnerability, his moodiness, frightens her. She wants to cry. She wants to go home. This is where she breaks into her ugly cry.
I thought of all those heroines of fiction who looked pretty when they cried, and what a contrast I must make with blotched and swollen face, and red rims to my eyes. It was a dismal finish to my morning, and the day that stretched ahead of me was long.
He saves her from this awkward situation. He comforts her and lets her know that it will be okay. That he wants to be her friend. That he will let her into his life. He tells her to call him Maxim.
It means so much to her to be able to call him by name. I was cocksure, jubilant, at that moment I almost had the courage to claim equality. She goes on, The morning, for all its shadowed moments, had promoted me to a new level of friendship, I did not lag so far behind as I had thought. He had kissed me too, a natural business, comforting and quiet. Not dramatic as in books. Not embarrassing. It seemed to bring about an ease in our relationship, it made everything more simple. The gulf between us had been bridged after all. I was to call him Maxim.
Yet her jubilant attitude turns to jealousy when she remembers that Rebecca called him Max. That Maxim while intimate, is not as intimate as Max. That there is still a gulf separating her from the level of intimacy he had shared with his first wife.
How many times she must have written to him thus, in how many varied moods. Little notes, scrawled on half-sheets of paper, and letters, when he was away, page after page, intimate, their news. Her voice echoing through the house, and down the garden, careless and familiar like the writing in the book. And I had to call him Maxim.
I find it interesting that even when she's supposedly happy, she's always unhappy and unsettled too.
Chapter 6
This is the chapter where it all happens. Mrs. Van Hopper has recovered. She wants to start traveling again. She is going to unknowingly rip her 'companion' (friend of the bosom) away from her dashing, dreamy, ever-mysterious gentleman. So she does the first courageous thing of her life. She seeks him out. She goes to his hotel room. She tells--or should I say sobs--him of her nearing departure and of her breaking heart. He does something she never expected. He proposes.
So Mrs. Van Hopper has had enough of Monte Carlo, he said, and now she wants to go home. So do I. She to New York and I to Manderley. Which would you prefer? You can take your choice
This matter-of-fact proposal continues,
Either you go to America with Mrs. Van Hopper or you come home to Manderley with me . . . I'm asking you to marry me, you little fool.
She hesitates for awhile. But soon his offer of marriage is too tempting to resist. After all, he is the man of her dreams that has swept her off her feet. She bursts out with enthusiasm, I do love you...I love you dreadfully. You've made me very unhappy and I've been crying all night because I thought I should never see you again.
But she's quick to note, our narrator is, that when I said this I remember he laughed, and stretched his hand to me across the breakfast table. Bless you for that, he said, one day when you reach that exalted age of thirty-five which you told me was your ambition, I'll remind you of this moment. And you won't believe me. It's a pity you have to grow up. I was ashamed already, and angry with him for laughing. So women did not make those confessions to men. I had a lot to learn.
With that decision made, he volunteers to break the news to Mrs. Van Hopper. She's a bit surprised, and warns her that she doesn't know what she's getting into it. But would you listen to her if you were the narrator? I didn't think so.
Chapter Four: The cliff top scene made my stomach do an unpleasant somersault.
More on the narrator's name:
"You have a very lovely and unusual name."
"My father was a lovely and unusual person."
"Tell me about him," he said.
I looked at him over my glass of citronade. It was not easy to explain my father, and usually I never talked about him. He was my secret property. Preserved for me alone, much as Manderley was preserved for my neighbour. I had no wish to introduce him casually over a table in a Monte Carlo restaurant.
We, of course, don't hear about her father. (Maybe later. Somehow I doubt it.) It's interesting that she says, a few paragraphs later, that her "shyness fell away" in talking about her childhood, but I didn't get the impression that she didn't want to talk about her father because she was shy -- I got the impression that she didn't want to talk about her father because her was hers, her "secret property". Another secret.
For that matter, I don't know how much I buy her claim to shyness -- she's not striking me as the most reliable of narrators to begin with, and her story is being filtered by time, by perspective and, of course, by her. She's tricky. She keeps making statements and then contradicting them, sometimes through her actions and sometimes through her words.
At the same time, her relationship with Mr. de Winter is freaking me out. This:
It seemed natural for him to question me, nor did I mind. It was as though we had known one another for a long time, and had met again after a lapse of years.
But, of course, she wouldn't dream of questioning him. I mean, he's older, more experienced, has money, belongs to a higher class, is probably more educated, etc., etc., etc. The woman bought a picture of Manderley when she was a child! (Is that not a bit like Katie Holmes hanging a poster of Tom Cruise in her bedroom as a teenager?? I cannot believe I just typed that. Leaving it in and moving on...) And this:
I went up the hotel steps alone, with all the despondency of a child whose treat is over.
Yikes.
The chapter ends nicely, with a swing back to the end of Chapter Two, and we get a little more of Mrs. Van Hopper's ravioli monologue.
Chapter Five: In which the narrator finally asks (well, sort of) Mr. de Winter about his past and it Doesn't Go Well.
Ooo. Now she's not just not telling Mrs. Van Hopper about the time she's spending with Maxim de Winter -- she's outright lying. And though she's certainly paranoid about getting caught, the lying itself doesn't seem too hard on her. I don't know why I'm feeling so distrustful of the narrator -- maybe because anyone who puts so much stress on their own youth and inexperience just seems... well, untrustworthy. It might also be due to the filter effect that I mentioned before.
This, I think, has a whole lot more to do with the narrator (now) than it did with the narrator (past):
She leant, perhaps, over his shoulder, while he read. Max. She called him Max. It was familiar, gay, and easy on the tongue. The family could call him Maxim if they liked. Grandmothers and aunts. And people like myself, quiet and dull and youthful, who did not matter. Max was her choice, the word was her possession, she had written it with so great a confidence on the fly-leaf of that book. That bold, slanting hand, stabbing the white paper, the symbol of herself, so certain, so assured.
I know that she's been sleeping with the book under her pillow (which is a bit rough, as it was a gift to Maxim from Rebecca... not the most romantic of keepsakes), and so she clearly has feelings for him, but the anger in this passage would make much more sense to me coming from her in the present.
Chapter Six: In which there is a proposal with no mention of love on one side, a bitter tangerine, and our narrator goes psycho on Maxim's book of poetry.
More on her current situation:
Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. Lost keys, unwritten labels, tissue paper lying on the floor. I hate it all. Even now, when I have done so much of it, when I live, as the saying goes, in my boxes.
But, you know. She's very happy and content.
Have you noticed that Mrs. Van Hopper has a habit of squashing her cigarettes out in the most vile places? In the last chapter, it was in a container of cold cream. This time, in the butter. GR-oss.
My favorite line:
Nothing until the final degradation of the Christmas card.
See, this is why I can't buy her as the shy, retiring type:
"She's taking you to New York?"
"Yes, and I don't want to go. I shall hate it; I shall be miserable."
"Why in heaven's name go with her then?"
"I have to, you know that. I work for a salary. I can't afford to leave her."
Without directly asking him to do something about it... she's asking him to do something about it. The proposal scene was pretty wonderful -- I mean, as entertainment. As a proposal itself, not so much. It felt more like a business proposal. I wish I could hear HIS thoughts.
While I don't think that their relationship even approaches the healthy mark, I really do enjoy reading about him. I can certainly see why someone would find him attractive, what with his wit and the brooding and his sardonic delivery. (Not to mention Manderley.) Every scene with him is fantastically entertaining. I want to like him, and I do, kind of, despite logic. But:
"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 that you were getting your money's worth."
While I actually loved this bit, if a guy says something like this after he's just proposed -- and hasn't said a word about actually loving you -- AND wants to get married, you know, in a couple of days and forgo the big wedding because HE'S already had one, well, run. I hate to find myself in agreement with Mrs. Van Hopper, but I am. Seems like this marriage is a bad, bad idea.
This... this is not the kind of interior monologue you want to be having after a proposal:
Romantic, that was the word I had tried to remember coming up in the lift. Yes, of course. Romantic. That was what people would say. It was all very sudden and romantic. They suddenly decided to get married and there it was. Such an adventure.
As for my doubt about the (past) narrator's anger/jealousy towards Rebecca in Chapter Five, well, there was a turn-around in this chapter. Hoo-ey. She got a little scary, didn't she?
Past entries:
Chapters 1-3
There's still time to jump in! You know you want to.
When Bookshelves of Doom posted that she and other bloggers were going to spend the month of November reading and discussing Rebecca, I was very excited. I first read this novel when I was young--very young it seems like now--I think I was thirteen, or maybe fourteen. I remember loving it. I just don't remember why I loved it. I knew it was a delicious read that I couldn't get enough of then. But time had erased the details.
Chapter One:
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.
I know this is a famous first sentence. But I wasn't expecting it to feel so familiar. After all, I haven't been thirteen in quite some time.
Other thoughts...let's see...the tone is set from the very beginning. That simple, seemingly understated, but never-the-less manipulative style (voice? tone?) where you begin to get a real feel or sense for the characters and setting.
Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, not the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand.
I have a feeling, that time is going to be a big theme in this one. And this is just one example of the kind of imagery in play in the novel. It's beautiful to me. I know it's meant to be hauntingly beautiful. But to me it works.
We would not talk of Manderley, I would not tell my dream. For Manderley was ours no longer. Manderley was no more.
Again I feel this is a manipulative tone-setter that works so well. You know that it is melodramatic. You know that it is foreshadowing. You know that it is supposed to be foreboding and haunting. But it just draws you in just the same.
Chapter Two
We have both known fear, and loneliness, and very great distress. 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.
The devil does not ride us any more. We have come through our crisis, not unscathed of course. His premonition of disaster was correct from the beginning; and like a ranting actress in an indifferent play, I might say that we have paid for freedom. But I have had enough melodrama in this life, and would willingly give my five senses if they could ensure us our present peace and security.
I just love the style. No wonder the thirteen year old me fell in love with this book.
We have no secrets now from one another.
Note though how this married couple with no secrets from one another 'anymore' has the wife saying a few pages later that she would keep the things that hurt her to herself. But I don't particularly find this too unusual. I think it is sometimes easier to keep hurt and pain from one another. Especially if you feel you have to protect your partner. There are certain things the narrator is just NOT going to talk about with her husband no matter what. And if she's fine with that, I guess the reader will have to go along with that excuse too.
Poor whims of fancy, tender and un-harsh. They are the enemy to bitterness and regret, and sweeten this exile we have brought upon ourselves.
I just realized how tired, how exhausted, how emotionally drained the narrator of Rebecca really is. The novel is told in a framework. She is sharing the past with the readers. And sharing a glimpse of her present. And the difference between the two is vast as far as emotions, vitality, energy, spirit, etc.
I remember well that plate of ham and tongue. It was dry, unappetizing, cut in a wedge from the outside, but I had not the courage to refuse it. We ate in silence, for Mrs. Van Hopper liked to concentrate on food, and I could tel by the way the sauce ran down her chin that her dish of ravioli pleased her. It was not a sight that engendered in me great appetite for my own cold choice...
When I was reading the past few paragraphs where we meet our narrator when she is young, fresh, and naive...I was struck with the images, the descriptions. You can really picture everything that is going on...everything that is being felt. That's not easy to pull off.
Chapter Three
I wonder what my life would be today, if Mrs. Van Hopper had not been a snob.
This is perhaps the best line I've come across in Rebecca. It is just so perfect. It goes on...
Funny to think that the course of my existence hung like a thread upon that quality of hers. Her curiosity was a disease, almost a mania.
I love how the narrator's story begins. How we meet a shy, embarrassed, awkward, gawky girl. So naive. But so hopeful in a way. She's so vulnerable. But that is why she's so likable. Who couldn't relate to a girl that feels out of place at times and embarrassed by the people around her?
Actually, now that I think about it, this scene reminds me of so many in Pride and Prejudice where one of the good Bennet sisters is embarrassed at the behavior of one of her parents or sisters.
The conversation between the three--Mrs. Van Hopper, Mr. Max de Winter, and our narrator--is just fun through and through. Witty, full of humor. I love it when clueless characters just don't get it when they're being insulted and teased. Especially when they deserve it.
And my favorite part--one of the turning points in the narrator's life--is when she receives the apology note but doesn't share its arrival with her employer. This is the first of many secrets she'll start to have.
When he [the lift-boy] had gone I put the note away in my pocket, and turned once more to my pencil drawing, but for no known reason it did not please me any more, the face was stiff and lifeless, and the lace collar and the beard were like props in a charade.
Props in a charade. This is when the narrator begins to feel that maybe just maybe she hasn't really begun living yet. That there might be something more out there, something to hope for, something to want, something to need. This is her first taste of desire. Her first wish for something still unnamed.
Chapter One: In which I discover that the narrator hates weeds and that Daphne du Maurier loves foreshadowing.
Somehow I suspect that she's not really talking about plants here:
A lilac had mated with a copper beech, and to bind them yet more closely to one another the malevolent ivy, always an enemy to grace, had thrown her tendrils about the pair and made them prisoners. Ivy held prior place in this lost garden, the long strands crept across the lawns, and soon would encroach upon the house itself. There was another plant too, some half-breed from the woods, whose seed had been scattered long ago beneath the trees and then forgotten, and now, marching in unison with the ivy, thrust its ugly form like a giant rhubarb towards the soft grass where the daffodils had blown.
I found the last three sentences of this chapter quite foreboding:
We would not talk of Manderley, I would not tell my dream. For Manderley was ours no longer. Manderley was no more.
The first more than the other two -- if the narrator is hiding things from her companion, avoiding the subject of Manderley, then it seems clear that she's still not in a Good Place (at least emotionally), no?
Chapter Two: In which the narrator tells us more about her current situation as well as explaining how a lack of poise and confidence can engender impatience and disrespect in servants.
My concern about the last bit in the previous chapter seems to be justified here:
We were saved a retreat into the past, and I had learnt my lesson. Read English news, yes, and English sport, politics and pomposity, but in future keep the things that hurt to myself alone. They can be my secret indulgence.
This is the first glimpse of the famous Mrs. Danvers (as well as the first mention of Rebecca) -- I do wish I hadn't watched those clips from the movie so recently, because I find myself picturing Judith Anderson even though there hasn't been a physical description yet:
She would have looked at me in scorn, smiling that freezing, superior smile of hers, and I can imagine her saying: "There were never any complaints when Mrs. de Winter was alive." Mrs. Danvers. I wonder what she is doing now. She and Favell. I think it was the expression on her face that gave me my first feeling of unrest. Instinctively I thought, "She is comparing me to Rebecca"; and sharp as a sword the shadow came between us....
Chapter Three: In which the narrator tells us about Mrs. Van Hopper and about speaking with Max de Winter for the first time.
I've seen the first line of Rebecca ("Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.") pop up on numerous Favorite First Lines lists, but, me being me, (immaturity unchained, that is), it shouldn't be surprising that the first line of Chapter Three got more of a reaction out of me:
I wonder what my life would be like to-day, if Mrs. Van Hopper had not been a snob.
Mrs. Van Hopper is one of those characters who is wonderful (wonderfully awful) on the page, but who, in person, you would avoid at all costs. Though she has money and she runs in the "right" circles, she's the epitome of Not Classy. The woman makes David Brent and Michael Scott look subtle. Of course, though, she thinks she's tops. She's hilariously cringe-inducing -- hilarious to me, but cringe-inducing to both the narrator and to Max de Winter.
As this is my first read, and as I have never seen the movie all the way through, I don't know how everything turns out -- but Max de Winter was pretty darned dreamy in that first scene, and then later, when he sent the narrator an apology note. I really hope he doesn't turn out to be a jerk.*
DON'T TELL ME, THOUGH. EVEN IF I BEG.
By the end of this chapter, I was well and truly hooked -- I groaned (aloud, not inwardly) when I turned the page and realized that today's installment was over.
Next up, Chapters 4-6 on Wednesday. Be sure to let me know if you're reading and posting so that I can link to you.
*Remember, CC, the first time that I read Brat Farrar? It's like that. If we were still roommates, I'd totally be stomping in and out of your room, demanding to know if it ended well and then changing my mind, yelling, "No! Wait! Don't tell me!" and running away again, only to restart the cycle two chapters later. Ah, good times.
I have my copy and I'm itching to begin.
I can't believe I've held off for over a week! My will power is INCREDIBLE.
You have spoken: Rebecca it is.
Let's get in the mood, shall we?
This is the schedule I'm going to try and keep to:
Nov. 12 -- Chapters 1-3
Nov. 14 -- Chapters 4-6
Nov. 16 -- Chapters 7-9
Nov. 19 -- Chapters 10-12
Nov. 21 -- Chapters 13-15
Nov. 23 -- Chapters 16-18
Nov. 26 -- Chapters 19-21
Nov. 28 -- Chapters 22-24
Nov. 30 -- Chapters 25-27
It'll be somewhat of an exercise in self-restraint for me -- I know I'm going to want to zoom ahead. We'll see what happens. As for anyone else who's planning on reading along, obviously read (and post, if you're planning to) at whatever pace you want to! If you want to read it all in one go, if you want to read a page a day for the next year, if you want to make videos of yourself acting out scenes or doing dramatic readings and post them on YouTube, have a blast. (Quick prayer: Oh please, let someone do that!) If you are planning on posting about it, definitely let me know so that I can compile a list.
Wheee! Go! You have a little over a week to find a copy!
As for those of you who are completely and irrevocably anti-Rebecca, there's absolutely nothing stopping us from doing this again.
(Again, credit for this whole idea goes to Matthew Baldwin at defective yeti.)
Maxim sure proved himself to be the King of Manipulation in Chapter 20. I still haven't figured out if he does it deliberately or unconsciously.
(I'm actually still leaning towards unconsciously -- granted, I haven't finished the book yet, but I still don't think he's eeeevil. I just think he's an idiot and a crappy husband.)