In The Book "Rebecca," Mrs de Winter #2 Was A Smart Cookie
Posted: Tuesday, January 31, 2012
by Octavia Hansen
Octavia Hansen
Rebecca, written by Daphne du Maurier in 1938, is a study in the lives of the affluent. The contrast of the young and poor to the idle rich is only the beginning theme, later developed into questionable morals and concern with public image.
This is a lovely rambling story, taking place over a year or two, narrated by a nameless woman, speaking of her past, her marriage and a psychological demon that her husband eventually overcomes. It's a fluid tale, starts out brightly and then quietly descends into human behavior. There is nothing crashing, there are rolling highlights that draw the reader along until a sunrise ending that signals a new day and a better future. This isn't a book report, it's a study in human relations.
There is a sweetness to the movie, the original with Joan Fontaine, directed by Alfred (Mr "Psycho" himself) Hitchcock. The book is darker. There are a few details left out from the movie but nothing that changes the tale. Rebecca knew she was beautiful and this gave her power over men, which she used in abundance.
Her background is not explained . . . Maxim was lonely, she was hypnotizingly beautiful, so they were married. Four days after they were married, out came her true colors (isn't that just the way?) -- that she would continue her evidently sordid life while presenting a beautiful face to their marriage for the world. I find it difficult to image what her actual crime(s) must have been. This was when simply a long ride in a motor car with the opposite sex was considered a ruin for reputation. I suspect it was something along the lines of she was a party girl and not the required virgin most noblemen considered their due upon marriage. Geez, someone should have some sexual experience in the marriage -- evidently Maxim was too proud to find out for himself and a worldly wise wife simply made him look the amateur.
This was 1940 -- divorce being a dirty word and family disgrace, Mr de Winter evidently went along with this sham marriage. It's hard to work up any sympathy here -- Maxim didn't strike me as a stupid but beautiful women have an effect that I have obviously missed. I have heard that women can't con other women, same as men can't con other men, but when opposite sexes meet, logic goes out the window.
I think that the young plain lady/paid companion was sharper than she is given credit for. She was a young woman with no family, no fortune, but she figured out there was not much skill required for her companion job. She could get around in style on someone else's dollar, and so ended up in the South of France to meet Mr de Winter. Being young, she had time to look around and eventually attach herself to some man, if not rich, then certainly better off than most young men she had known.
Was she taking a chance with Maxim de Winter? I don't think so. For his high moral standing, he was either going to be a good husband . . . or . . . if it didn't work out, she would be set for life to go her own way while he paid for everything, as long as they kept up their respectable facade. Maxim was prone to bouts of anxiety, perhaps depression, too. Even if he brooded in silence or at a different location, she had little to worry about -- roof over her head, she wasn't about to go hungry, and again, he picked up all the bills.
It was written in an era (1938) when public image mattered. It always kills me that people are so worried about what other people think. Even now I don't adhere to that idea. Unless they are paying my bills, in my immediate family or part of my circle of friends, it's not necessary to dwell on what other people think. Too many people are frozen with fear, kept from doing what they want because of someone else. I never understood how people can relinquish their personal power to someone else -- in business, in religion, in real life.
Being a mousy little gal, the second Mrs de Winter let Mrs Danvers rule her house . . . though why she would put up with a scary housekeeper at all is beyond me. Mrs Danvers probably worked on Maxim's psyche as a constant reminder, literally, of how he owed something to the now saintly dead Rebecca. Who needs that? And she was paid staff? Give her a good reference and let the door hit her on the way out! It was alluded to that she and Rebecca had something going, more than just friendship, but the hints were too vague -- either it was a lesbian relationship or they just hated men and laughed about it. There is imagery in classic books that is no longer recognized . . . like Joel Cairo, in Dashiell Hammett's "Maltese Falcon," was supposed to be gay. The only signals were that he was extremely well dressed and his business card smelled of Gardenias. (Sam Spade must have been a great detective -- the setting was San Francisco and those were his only clue? Of course, Liberace was in the closet all his life where it's obvious to everyone now.)
The second Mrs de Winter finally grows a backbone during the trial. After a fainting spell and a private confession from Maxim, she turns into a rock of support.
Rebecca was supposed to be so beautiful that even at the mention of her name, every man who ever met her was still under her spell. Strange there were no paintings or photos of her around, even her employee/companion Mrs Danvers did not carry her image or have it ready to drool over during her off hours. At least Scarlett O'Hara had a life-sized oil painting showing her best over the fireplace. Oh, there were plenty of other reminders of Rebecca, don't understand why those were left around to torture the Lord of the Manor, either.
The tale rambles on in a new direction, a few more sordid details about Rebecca and finally the destruction of Manderley. Much as Manderley was the fabled family home of the de Winters, it was probably the change of scenery that really cleared up Maxim's emotional problems. Too much of the EX hanging around is never any good for the next marriage. That shrine to a bad marriage, bad thoughts and bad memories should have been sacrificed sooner rather than later. But it does make for a great opening . . .
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me.”
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