Rebecca

As someone named Rebecca, people always asked me “like the book” all the time and all I knew about the book was (a) it is old, (b) Rebecca was dead from the beginning (c) the narrator was unnamed and (d) it was gothic

For a book pushing 100, it holds up decently well. The unnamed protagonist, the looming atmosphere of Rebecca both are deeply evocative literary choices. The pacing is decent, although the protagonist's flights of fancy (social anxiety?) got a little old. I liked having a narrator who was as unfamiliar with high society at the time as the modern reader was.

I am so torn about this book. It is exceptionally well-written, which is I'm sure what makes it a classic and keeps people reading it. But the narrator was such a frustrating character to me. As I read the book, I kept telling people, I'm really enjoying reading this book, but I don't like it! I don't know if I've ever read another book that I would say that about. There is no book without the main character's obsession with Rebecca and Rebecca's influence over her husband and all the people in their lives. And yet that obsession, self-doubt, and misinterpretation of everything going on was so frustrating to read. Ugh! I don't know what to think of this.

The first chapter was a toss-away, a dream whose purpose was simply to describe the house and grounds of Manderley. I always dislike dreams in books because they feel like lazy writing; the author is trying to wedge information into the story without actually figuring out how to work that info in naturally. So the first (brief) chapter was read in supreme irritation, and the second (brief) chapter hurried through since our story doesn't start there, either. The third chapter - that is when things get rolling. And holy cow do they roll, taking us on a journey between low-level dread and white-hot tension. A true thriller in the highest sense of the word, creating the exact right mood for the end of October.

Highly recommend.