Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier Review

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again…

Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca is so much more than a haunting story or gothic tale of a mysterious estate and a moody widower. It’s a harrowing exploration of identity, control, and the quiet, insidious ways toxic love can erode one’s sense of self.

I first read this classic gothic novel five years ago, and my recent re-read for the Classics Club has only cemented it’s place as one of my all time favourites. Almost everything goes on beneath the surface as we follow our narrator throughout her stint at Manderley.

Power, obsession, gender roles and guilt were a few themes that ran like an undercurrent throughout the entire book, but what hit home most for me were the themes of identity, memory and the past, and that devastatingly ambiguous ending.

Let’s get into it (we’re heading into spoiler territory here, so you’ve been warned!).

What is Rebecca about?

On a trip to the South of France, the shy heroine of Rebecca falls in love with Maxim de Winter, a handsome widower. Although his proposal comes as a surprise, she happily agrees to marry him. But as they arrive at her husband’s home, Manderley, a change comes over Maxim, and the young bride is filled with dread.

Friendless in the isolated mansion, she realises that she barely knows him. In every corner of every room is the phantom of his beautiful first wife, Rebecca, and the new Mrs de Winter walks in her shadow.

Theme of Identity and Belonging

One of the most prominent themes in Rebecca is the narrator’s struggle with her identity.

We never even learn her name. Now, whether that’s because the narrator chose not to tell us or because she just forgot to share such an important detail, the absence of her name speaks volumes about how she sees herself. From the very beginning, she was defined by her relationship to others. We hardly know anything about her past, other than that her parents died when she was younger.

When we first met her in Monte Carlo, she was Mrs Van Hopper’s lady companion, and then she was Maximilian de Winter’s wife, and even as readers we can only ever refer to her as the new Mrs de Winter. Her identity has been erased completely.

What makes this more heartbreaking is the story is told retrospectively, and we know that however much time has passed since the events of Rebecca told by the narrator, this is still how she sees herself.

Is this something she feels because of the events of the story? Or is this how she has always felt?

Maxim de Winter finally professes his love for the narrator toward the end of the novel, and admits he never loved Rebecca. In fact, he hated her. And our narrator was overjoyed, her identity shifting suddenly into “not Rebecca”. That, hand in hand with Maxim de Winter’s wife, seemed to be enough to satisfy our narrator.

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.

the first mrs de winter, rebecca

The Power of Memory and the Past

Rebecca’s memory haunts every corner of Manderley.

The new Mrs de Winter tries, and fails, to carve a place for herself in the house. When the newly weds received a wedding gift, art books from Maxim’s sister, Beatrice, the narrator tried to place them in the morning room. In Manderley, this is the room most associated with Rebecca. The books fell, smashing a priceless china cupid, and the narrator was horrified. She was even more so when she discovered it was a wedding gift to Maxim and the first Mrs de Winter, as though even the house is saying: you don’t belong here.

Every hallway, every object, every servant seems to reject her in favour of the memory of Rebecca. And the narrator, a young woman already lacking confidence and seemingly her sense of self, becomes consumed by that. Even us readers can more vividly imagine Rebecca than we can the narrator, despite being inside her head.

Even the staff at Manderley, who would’ve known Rebecca in her prime, keep her memory and the past alive in ways the narrator cannot escape. They don’t see our young heroine as the true Mrs de Winter, as though the echoes of Rebecca’s presence are still more alive to them than the real, living woman who now holds that title.

It’s the perfect metaphor for how memory and our past can shape our lives in ways we struggle to control. The past can linger long after it’s gone. It can’t be discarded, or erased, as much as we wish it could be.

We can never go back again, that much is certain. The past is still close to us. The things we have tried to forget and put behind us would stir again, and that sense of fear, of furtive unrest, struggling at length to blind unreasoning panic – now mercifully stilled, thank God – might in some manner unforeseen become a living companion as it had before.

The new mrs de winter, rebecca

The Ambiguous Ending

Daphne du Maurier’s final line, “And the ashes blew toward us with the salt wind from the sea,” is undeniably haunting.

While it could easily be dismissed as just another eerie touch to the novel or a lyrical way of wording that Manderley is burning and is too far gone to save, it carries far deeper significance.

The sea is heavily synonymous with Rebecca. She loved the sea, and spent much of her time down there doing… ahem… stuff… and it’s where Maxim left her body after he murdered her. Is it coincidence that wind from the very same sea carries the ashes of a burning Manderley to de Winter and his new wife? I think not.

The ashes symbolise the inescapable legacy of Rebecca and the consequences of her unresolved death. The salt wind is a signal that Rebecca’s memory and her influence will never truly fade from their lives. They cannot outrun her even in death.

The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

The new Mrs de Winter, Rebecca

Did Mrs. Danvers know that the lovely old house would set aflame? She fled the mansion shortly beforehand, and Mrs. Danvers adoration of Rebecca is no secret. She practically worships her. In her eyes, Rebecca was perfect, and anything that tarnishes that perfection—such as the belief her beloved committed suicide—is a personal affront to her.

From the chilling scenes in Rebecca’s bedroom, to her overt manipulation of the second Mrs. de Winter, Mrs Danvers ensures that Maxim’s first wife will not be forgotten. So, it’s not a stretch to believe that old Danny happily packed her bags and fled.

After all, if Rebecca can’t have Manderley, no one can.