Chapter Four: The cliff top scene made my stomach do an unpleasant somersault.
"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:
Other Chapter 4-6 responses:
Reading with Becky
The Leaky Dinghy
There's Always Time For a Book
There's still time to jump in! You know you want to.
(Aaaaaaaaargh! The Katie Holmes thing! Aaaaaaaaargh! I was having such a NICE DAY!!!)
Sigh. I'm bummed I can't find a copy of this yet. Though I have read it before, it still would be a fun re-read - I'm still looking!
I do agree with you -- most of my struggle with the storyline was with the narrator of the then vs. now -- and definitely people who repeat how young and silly they are? Aren't.
Posted by: TadMack | 14 November 2007 at 08:05 AM
One of the things I'm interested in with this rereading is how this book shapes up as a YA read. Because that's how I first read the book, as a teenager. Certainly, the second Mrs. de Winter, who I'm thinking is maybe 21 (was that actually in the first few chapters or am I just hitting that number on my own) is someone an awkward, uncomfortable teenager can identify with. I do take her at her word about her social discomfort, possibly because I've read on.
I do wonder, though, if today's shy, uncomfortable teenagers can easily relate to a young, unemployable woman who does nothing to make herself employable. I think it was probably appropriate at the time the book was written, but I wonder if young people reading this today wouldn't think, "Why doesn't she get a job and take some art classes?"
I also wonder if the idea of falling in love with a much older man, no matter how good looking and well off, is as attractive to young women today as it was back when this was written. I liked the book when I was a teenager, so I must have at least accepted the situation. As an adult, of course, the age difference is at least uncomfortable. I get the feeling that the second Mrs. de Winter is only a few years removed from being jailbait.
Posted by: Gail | 14 November 2007 at 10:16 AM
Here's my link for chapters 4-6
http://readingwithbecky.blogspot.com/2007/11/reading-rebecca-pt-2.html
Posted by: Becky | 14 November 2007 at 10:25 AM
In her post at her site, Becky points out that it is Maxim who tells Mrs. Van Hopper of their marriage and that the second Mrs. de Winter will be leaving her. This is, of course, an indication of how much more powerful Maxim is then Mrs.deW2. The equality of relationships in books is important to me. In this first pre-Manderley section, Mrs. deW2 is weak and frail and powerless in her courtship. But does the Mrs. deW2 who is narrating the story from the vantage point of her future life sound all that unequal to her husband? Is she an unreliable narrator as Leila suspects? Or has something happened between the time _of_ the story she is telling and the time _when_ she is telling the story?
(Cue ominous music.)
Posted by: Gail | 14 November 2007 at 11:17 AM
I completely agree about the ick factor of the whole "despondency of a child whose treat is over" bit. I was even more disturbed by this on p.35: "I was like a little scrubby schoolboy with a passion for a sixth form prefect." Hmm. 'Kay.
Posted by: Elizabeth | 14 November 2007 at 03:12 PM
Oh, here's the link to my Chapters 4-6.
http://leakydinghy.blogspot.com/2007/11/great-read-chapters-4-6.html
Posted by: Elizabeth | 14 November 2007 at 03:16 PM
Like Gail I totally buy her as an awkward, horribly self-conscious kid (and this time around I noticed that not only does she *very obviously* not have a name, but her age is never revealed either--and in a moderately obtrusive way.
(By the way, I think her name must be Philippa--mainly because I always want to spell it with two ll's and one p--despite the Greek: phiLos? hiPPos? duh)
I think what I find most disturbing about her unwillingness to get up off her ass is that she seems to have no real understanding of the concept of time. I mean, even in 1938 or whatever, companions were a dying breed and they'd always been despised and put upon. Is she really going to go on being bullied for the rest of her life?
Posted by: cc | 14 November 2007 at 03:25 PM
Her behavior ranges from awkward to erratic to downright bizarre. At one point, she questions his sanity. ("and for a wild moment the idea came to me that perhaps he was not normal, not altogether sane.") But she never questions her own. (Do crazy people question their sanity? Do they recognize their lapses?) I don't think her behavior regarding the poetry book could ever be classified as normal no matter how broadly you define it. This is just one example, of how Maxim isn't the only one with mental instabilities. One thing that keeps coming to mind...is what Dr. Phil would have to say to this narrator. There are places where she needs a definite wake up call.
Posted by: Becky | 14 November 2007 at 03:52 PM
I've stuck up a few first thoughts at my blog.
I'm so with you on the Katie Holmes vibe, Leila. But I hadn't thought of the narrator as particularly untrustworthy until now. I can see what you're saying about her contradicting herself, but think that retrospective narration is probably the cause - maybe she wasn't so young and naive and awkward but chooses to remember herself that way so as to excuse the choices she made (such as, um, marrying Mr de Winter).
Gail, Mrs deW2 is a great name for the nameless narrator. I'd be interested to know about the YA appeal too. I bet I would have filled in more of the romantic details when I was a teenager, but still, it was all very sudden and I think I would have been noticing that.
Posted by: Emmaco | 14 November 2007 at 03:54 PM
Mrs. deW2 is incredibly hard on herself. And it can be hard for a reader to take after a while. Unfortunately, I can't recall what I thought about this when I first read the book. Knowing what I know now, _perhaps_ she is embittered and this bitterness colors her recollections. But that's not the kind of thing a new reader trying to get through her masochism can appreciate. Even assuming I'm right, and she is bitter.
Posted by: Gail | 14 November 2007 at 04:16 PM
Good call on her name, cc. That would fit perfectly.
Elizabeth: Yes! I almost included the schoolboy quote, too! Even with the hints from her future self about the reversal in the power dynamic between Maxim and herself, I've got myself all worked up about What Happens Next.
After reading these few chapters and responding to them as I read (I've been reading a chapter and writing up my thoughts before moving on to the next one) that I am a ridiculously suspicious person. Part of it may be due to the plethora of unreliable narrator YA novels that have come out in recent years, but I think it's also because I read so many mysteries and crime novels that I'm always looking for (or waiting for) a twist, or for some previously trustworthy person to unmask themself as Something Other Than What They've Appeared. Not sure if that makes too much sense, but yeah. What it boils down to is that as a reader (or a movie-goer*) I seem to tend towards super-suspicion.
That's probably a big part of the reason I've been having such a hard time taking her at her word. I don't dislike her, though -- I'm not even frustrated with her. I'm just... keeping it in mind that this is her version of the story, and (like I said at some point, I forget where) that the story is being filtered through her.
Now I want to re-watch Rashomon.
Gail, I've been feeling the bitterness, definitely -- I think it's coming from her, both past and present. I feel it from narrator/present when she talks about her life currently, but there's a LOT of bitterness and anger directed at Mrs. Van Hopper that I think could certainly have come from narrator/past. At least, that's how I'm reading it at the moment, with the v. little info I have so far.
*Which is probably why I had The Usual Suspects figured out in the first fifteen minutes, and The Sixth Sense figured out after reading the synopsis/advertisment in the paper. I am so lame.
Posted by: Leila | 15 November 2007 at 10:06 AM