So I suppose this blog is becoming a weekly occurrence, but only because my day job (of which I have only a week and a half left) is so tiring. Being outside in the sun all day gives me just enough energy to eat and crash in front of the TV for an hour or so before I become incoherent. I am, however, reading a lot during the job's down time, and I've made it to page 304. This book is insanely suspenseful in a strange way. It's not a whodunit, you just really want to know what's going to happen. Today I went to a few book stores and made a point to check out Du Maurier. I found "Jamaica Inn" for $2, and thought it was really quite ironic, because I've been listening to Tori Amos's "The Beekeeper" and a lot of the songs were reminding me of the book, specifically "Jamaica Inn" because the lyrics say: " ... between Rebeccas, beneath your firmaments, I have worshipped in the Jamaica Inn ... With the gales my little boat was tossed ..." Even unaware Du Maurier had a book by that name, I made the connection because Rebecca died supposedly when her small boat sank during a storm. Plus the mood of the CD is perfect for someone like the narrator, living in a big house with gardens near the ocean.
So I didn't exactly leave off where I thought I did last time. I forgot I had more notes in a different place. So I need to throw in the actual quote from when she wanted to bottle up her memories, which occurred before she and Maxim married: "If only there could be an invention ... that bottled up a 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" (36). She tells him this without thinking she needs to exhibit any particular etiquette around him; she is comfortable enough to let loose her innocence. She wants to bottle up her time spent driving around the countryside with a mysterious gentleman -- a time she felt special and free.
Unfortunately, I haven't been taking a lot of notes, though, so I have probably missed a lot of the symbolism. But I took note of a card game played between the narrator and Mrs. Van Hopper: "She flipped the Queen of Spades into the pool, and the dark face stared up at me like Jezebel" (35). She felt like Jezebel for sneaking around with Maxim, but she also later feels like Jezebel at Manderley -- she begins to feel like "the other woman" in a way because Rebecca's presence is so strong.
It takes a major event before the narrator loses that childlike awkwardness, feeling like a stranger in her own home. But she makes friends with Frank Crawley, who works as an agent of the estate. He is for a while her go-to man for questions about Rebecca, but she soon finds he acts a little funny about the subject. He tells her it is her mission to help everyone at Manderley forget about the past, to help them leave the painful memories behind. He tells her Rebecca was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and she begins to wonder if he was perhaps in love with Rebecca, as everyone seemed to be in some way.
At first she is eager to know of the former Mrs. de Winter, picking up tidbits of information on her visits to various friends of the estate. She is shy and dreads making small talk with strangers, but she feels like a teenager who has found the liquor cabinet. It's certainly forbidden, and for good reason. Soon the shadow of Rebecca is too much for her to bear. She is constantly compared and feels as though she's an inferior replacement. Who was the woman who wrote with this pen, wore this raincoat, spoke with these servants? She is wary of conversations that broach the sea or boats, fearing Maxim will smell the metaphorical brandy.
The climax occurs in two parts. First, the narrator's ball costume is sabotaged by Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper. This, I saw coming. She went on and on about picking out the dress so I knew it would somehow lead to disaster, and the way in with Mrs. Danvers suggested it was so obviously evil (not unlike Cinderella's stepmother) that I couldn't believe the narrator missed it. So the narrator appears looking like Rebecca's ghost, likely scaring Maxim half to death, and upsetting Beatrice, Giles and Frank. She gracefully assumes the role of adoring wife at the party while fearing she has irrevocably damaged her marriage.
The second part of the climax occurred in the opposite manner, and I missed the foreshadowing. Instead of building up to an obvious event, the author made a long-winded tale of a boat crashing near Manderley the day after the party. I almost got bored of it, but I was relieved when the divers discovered Rebecca's boat in the bottom of the bay. Even when the author revealed that a body was inside, I thought perhaps it was one of Rebecca's lovers. (Mrs. Danvers had revealed that she used the boathouse to rendezvous with men.) And even when it was revealed to be the body of Rebecca, I didn't think for a second that she was murdered until Maxim confessed it to his wife.
The narrator says that in that 24-hour period she became a woman. She grew up and out of her old ways and state of mind. Maxim tells her Rebecca has won, but she refuses to let that happen. She no longer fears Rebecca. She knows now that Maxim's first marriage was a sham. That he didn't love Rebecca. This is what is so important to her, and the reason she stands by him, knowing the heinous crime he committed without regret. She loved him before, but now she is truly in his heart, sharing his pain, his secrets. I have about 75 pages left, and I've just learned that the narrator has figured out that Frank knows about the murder, but Maxim does not know that Frank knows. I'm still in suspense, and I want to have this book finished before the weekend is up. I'm also really curious to find out how Ben, who first implied Rebecca was evil, will factor into the story's end.
- Inveterate = settled into a habit
- "sixth-form prefect" = equivalent enough to class president, but in UK educational terms
- Colonnade = series of trees planted in a long row
- Punctilious = strict in the observance of formalities
- Awkward pause in conversation = an angel passing overhead (192)
No comments:
Post a Comment