Somehow I had never read this book nor watched the many screen and stage adaptations, and perhaps that’s just as well since I doubt I would have loved it when I was in high school or college. But today I really appreciate the writing, the characterization, and use of detail: we see the rhododendrons so prolific in the morning room, they feel like human eyes; we hear the stammering and stumbling of the young narrator faltering at every turn; and we feel the void of Rebecca that seeps into Manderley like oppressive summer heat. 

I loved these physical details and the flawed characters and the feeling of doom that hangs over the story. Described as Gothic romance or psychological mystery/thriller, this is not my typical genre. It’s both of those but also a painful coming of age story of a young woman cast into a drama armed with nothing more than innocence and good will. Our narrator is meek, shy, inexperienced, and ill-equipped to become Rebecca’s replacement as the new Mrs de Winter, especially with the powerful Mrs. Danvers, the house manager, as her enemy. 

There’s so much creepiness in this story, from Rebecca’s ghostly omnipresence to Maxim treating his new wife like a child to an entire wing of the house sitting dormant and dusty but also housing a shrine to the dead. 

Of the main characters–a dead woman, an unnamed narrator, the husband, and the house–the house seems to hold the most power. Which is why the ending of the book works well, tying back to the opening scene of Mr and Mrs de Winter living in a very plain hotel a long way from Manderley and the Cornish coast. 

I enjoyed this page-turning, well-written, macabre book from 1938. 4.5⭐️