1. First, for Tricia, Daphne Kalotay revisits Rebecca.

Though I was in my early teens, already I could tell from the big, swirly letters on cover that this was “popular” fiction, not “literature.”  Indeed, I couldn’t stop turning the pages.  And yet the prose was attentive and measured.  Not only was the physical setting (a mansion by the sea) lushly depicted, but the psychological landscape, too, was achingly precise; I still recall the young protagonist’s yearning for her husband’s love—her longing for intimacy and affirmation, and her acute attention to what his every word or action might indicate about his feelings.  As much as the story is a gothic mystery, it is also realistic portrayal of the way that relationships sag under the weight of unspoken truths.  And this is just one of the reasons du Maurier deserves to be viewed—as she herself long desired—as a “serious” writer of talent and depth.

I never considered Rebecca “popular” fiction. I didn’t even think there were people who thought that. I didn’t know to think there were people who thought that.

I lumped Rebecca in with Jane Eyre (which I love) and Wuthering Heights (which I hate.) They are Gothic romances that became popular because of the violence and romance but stayed popular because of their quality.

Kalotay’s thoughts are a nice addendum to Picoult and Weiner’s opinions on popular versus literary fiction, and our own dual review of Rebecca.

2. Apparently, Google Books has hit some snags. Who knew that compiling a database of every book ever produced could be so complicated?

3. John Forgetta, the creator of The Meaning of Lila, gave us a nice shout-out after we mentioned him in a previous post.

It makes me sad that Forgetta’s comic strip, which is based in Cleveland, doesn’t get more local love. I guess newspapers only have one slot for local talent and it goes to Tom Batiuk. (Not that we have anything against Batiuk. We don’t.)

4. Finally, McSweeney’s presents As I Sat Writing, the autobiography of William Faulkner.

-Jason Lea, JLea@News-Herald.com

I was readying a post about Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, but Tricia blew it up with the idea of character soundtracks.

Like it, love it, want to play.

For the characters in Rebecca:

Rebecca — "Poison" by Bell Biv Devoe. "Cold Hard Bitch" by Jet would be fun theme music, also.

Maxim — "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails (or Johnny Cash, if you prefer); "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones.

Mrs. deWinter — "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. Kidding, kidding... then again... eh, never mind. Let’s say "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison.

Mrs. Danvers — I appreciate Tricia’s suggestion of "Evil Woman," but I’ll take a more sympathetic tact and suggest Billie Holiday’s "Left Alone."

All right, Tricia, what would be the soundtracks for Anna Fitzgerald, Lucie Manette and Edward Rochester?

Bonus points if you can make an unnecessary Wu-Tang Clan reference.

By the way, Tricia, we now have another preferred author in common. I been loved me some Stewart O’Nan.

In my review of Snow Angels, I wrote, “O’Nan is Monet with a pen. He has the eye. He sees (and writes) little details that make every scene real. Nerdy girls do not become beauty queens when they take off their glasses. Children cry when they spill milk and cry harder when told to stop. People slowly destroy themselves and can’t change even when they realize what they are doing.”

(Yes, I know it’s overwrought. I wrote it in 2008. It was a different time.)

-Jason Lea, JLea@News-Herald.com

I confess: I am a hoarder.

It's not to the point where you can't move around most rooms in my house or anything. But I watch those TV programs and I hear the people talk about how they can't throw out a broken lamp because their grandmother gave it to them or that it would be wasteful to toss items they no longer use, and I understand.

I like stuff. Old, broken stuff. Stuff I'll never use. Stuff I used to use. You get the drift.

But, my husband is not a hoarder.

So it was that we were clearing out our attic.

In a long-forgotten trunk I found essays I had written in high school. (I know, sad, but true.)

One of those musty papers, dated Oct. 3, 1983, was titled, "What is a good book?"

Here it is, in all its over-written glory!

Upon turning that final page of a book and snapping it shut, the reader will either breathe a sigh of satisfaction and smile or emit a groan of disgust and grimace. What makes a book leave its reader fulfilled in some small way? Disregarding personal tastes, because not everyone will like even a book considered to be a masterpiece, nearly all agree that a good book should have a universal theme, an interesting plot and believable characters.

A universal theme should speak to all, no matter the time or place. "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte is a book with one such theme. The story of the life of a young girl on the moors of England speaks the same message of the effects on childhood on later life to a 60-year-old woman living in the United States in 1983 as it would have to a 20-year-old man living in Italy in 1920.

Another timeless theme is embodied in Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter." The danger of beholding and criticizing sin in others but not in one's self is as great now as it was in Puritan New England. The author of a good book locates man in his universe and illustrates a basic belief common to all.

The ability to create a believable world is rare, but it is an essential part of a good book. The theme will never be passed on to the reader if there is nothing in the plot to hold his interest until the end of the book. Author Daphne DuMaurier has mastered the art of suspense as is evidenced in her novel "Rebecca." No one having read more than the first chapter would have the strength of mind to discontinue reading and not find out what will befall Mr. and Mrs. DeWinter, the novel's star-crossed lovers. Suspense is not the only element of plot that will grasp a reader's interest. The storyline of "The Bridge of San Luis Rey" by Thornton Wilder contains virtually no suspense since the outcome is known at the beginning. What holds the reader's attention is a kind of reverse suspense. One wants to discover the events which led to the result, instead of vice versa.

A possible definition for a good book is one in which the reader becomes totally and completely absorbed in empathy for the characters. This must be the most difficult thing for an author to accomplish - to create characters which seem to live and breathe, characters which think and speak as complexly as people, and characters which retain the ability to surprise and astound. Charles Dickens was a master of characterization. "A Tale of Two Cities" contains a vast gallery of characters, all distinct and complex entities. From the split personality of Doctor Manette to the avenging wickedness of Madame Defarge to the selfless love of Sydney Carton, Dickens' characters spring to life on the pages of his book. Margaret Mitchell's characters also seem to have a life of their own. The selfish and impetuous Scarlett O'Hara and the adoring, masculine Rhett Butler have been made immortal in the novel, "Gone with the Wind."

What is a good book, then? It is one which has credible characters, an interesting plot, and a universal theme, as has been aforementioned. But there is something more. There is that essential artistic quality which enables an author to depict the characters, themes, and plots that are products of his imagination in such a manner that they exist as real people, ideas, and situations for the reader. It is this undefinable characteristic which earmarks a truly good book and evokes the sigh of satisfaction at its completion.

- Tricia Ambrose

Post Script from Jason: One final treat for the weekend. The News-Herald Book Club explains how it can make your reading experience more enjoyable in video.

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It’s been a long time...

I apologize for the unscheduled hiatus, but an uncommon cold and heavy workload conspired against posting anything last week.

However, we are back and back with a bang!

Tricia and I proudly present the inaugural book blog discussion. As promised two weeks earlier, this post will be about Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca.”

We are trying to turn this blog into a proper book club. Of course, that depends on participation from the viewing audience.

Consider yourself warned. If you haven’t finished “Rebecca,” do not continue unless you want to read a major spoiler. I mean it.

So, without further ado, I give you “Rebecca.”

Tricia
We can debate “great” works of literature all day long.

I’ll admit, I don’t understand the fascination with some of them. Whatever happened to enjoyment? Isn’t literature supposed to be entertaining? Back in the day (waaaaay before my time) reading was the only game in town. No movies. No TV. No www.anything.com. People did this for fun.

And so what makes “Rebecca” a great work of literature for me is that I find it entertaining. I was in grade school the first time I read it, and after re-reading for the who-knows-how-many-times time this weekend, I still enjoyed it.

I’ll just focus on a few of the reasons why.

It’s that first sentence. It draws me in every time. From the get-go, I am at Manderley. Daphne du Maurier sets that scene so well that sentence by sentence as you wind up the drive, she pulls you in even more. How did it get that way? What tragedy befell its inhabitants? I can’t turn the pages fast enough.

It’s the main character. du Maurier cleverly does not name her main character. How much easier that makes it to identify with her. Her feelings of inadequacy, first as the paid companion to Mrs. Van Hopper, then as the second wife to wealthy, attractive, widowed Maxim de Winter, are my own. Her plainness, her desire to please, her averageness is so much more universal when not burdened by her name.
And yet, despite those feelings, when the chips are down, it is she who has the real strength. It is not the incomparable Rebecca or the dashing Maxim or the, I’ll say it, creepy Mrs. Danvers. It is the woman who quietly tried to do the right thing, even as those around her do not. How can you not love that??!

It’s in the pacing. Each event reveals just a little bit more about the goings-on at Manderley and its inhabitants. At first the older Maxim de Winter seems so strong, so sure of himself and in control. But events reveal that to be a facade. It is the women around him, his sister, his wives, even his housekeeper, who have the power. And at first you almost feel sorry for the narrator. How can she compete? But as the costume ball proves, she shouldn’t even try. At first, Manderley seems perfect, it’s gorgeous, it’s massive and it comes with a staff. But it’s also cold and unforgiving.

It’s the plot. Yeah, at first glance, it might seem a bit Harlequin Romance. Poor young girl meets wealthy older man. There’s an obstacle. They overcome it and wed. But, this is so much more.

There is a depth here not found in those novels.

So what did you think?

Jason
Hold up, wait.

Maxim de Winter admits that he shot and killed his first wife, Rebecca. And instead of being horrified, his new wife, Mrs. de Winter II: The Sequel, only thinks, “Good, he loves me more.”

Before, I get into the language, characterization or setting of “Rebecca,” we need to address the moral. And that moral is, “It’s OK to shoot your wife as long as she cheated on you and was otherwise a jerk.”

Moreover, if someone accuses you of murdering your wife — just because you shot her and sunk her body in the sea to hide it — they’re a stupid drunk.

I understand that Daphne du Maurier wrote “Rebecca” pre-woman’s lib, but I’m pretty sure divorce would have been the better option.

OK, I’ve got that out of my system. Let’s talk characters.

For me, any book lives or hangs by its characters. If the characters are interesting, I’ll tolerate predictable plotting. The contrary is rarely true. I can split de Maurier’s characters down the gender line. Her female characters are brilliant. The men? Sometimes likable, always forgettable.

(It’s OK. A lot of good authors can’t write across the gender line. Name the great Ernest Hemingway heroine.)

Mrs. de Winter II (henceforth, known as MDW II) is an interesting choice for narrator. She’s deliberately plain. (She’s supposed to contrast with the vivacious Rebecca.) MDW II is a bundle of neuroses — too poor, too plain and too podunk to keep pace in her husband’s social circle, she feels. Even the servants tease her.

Her growth from housegirl to lady occurs in gradual steps and never feels forced or unnatural. She’s the best developed character, which is only natural because we spend the entire book in her head.

Maxim de Winter, however, is not a real character. He is a prop the other characters act around. He lacks the depth of his dead wife, who never makes a true appearance in this book. His emotions seem arbitrary, at best, and manipulative, at worst. He only tells MDW II that he loves her after he confesses to murder.

No satisfactory reason is given for his mood swings or aloofness, except plot convenience. If Maxim de Winter is taken at face value, then he is an impulsive man who fails to learn from his mistakes. du Maurier tries to convince us that he’s the victim because he was in an unhappy marriage and too proud to get divorced.

It doesn’t work. I spent the final third of this book wondering why I was supposed to root for the dork.

Rebecca, however, is six flavors of awesome with sprinkles of spectacular. Du Maurier makes Rebecca the most interesting character in the book, and she’s dead before it starts. Every anecdote adds to her mythical stature, whether it be flattering, horrible or salacious. Consequently, MDW II’s inferiority complex is understandable.

Du Maurier deliberately shifts our perception of Rebecca without cheating. In books with “surprises,” authors tend to telegraph the twist too obviously or cheat by pulling an unhinted surprise out of their crevice. du Maurier layers Rebecca. When she wants to reveal a new facet to the audience, she removes another layer.

Du Maurier’s plot is a trifle. “Rebecca” is a romance with a murder thrown in for spice. This would be a Lifetime movie if du Maurier were a worse author. But it is well-written, if unnecessarily verbose. (MDW II repeats herself, sometimes within the same paragraph. I understand that it is supposed to demonstrate her obsessive nature, but I prefer concise writing. Must be a newswriting tic.)

Like many older writers, du Maurier’s language feels unnatural at first, because it’s different from daily dialect. But you acclimate to it eventually.

Du Maurier reserves her best work for when she sets a scene. Manderley is as much a character as MDW II (and more so than Maxim de Winter.) Du Maurier creates locations carefully. Her details will tell more about the characters than the dialogue. The obscene rhododendrons, the crashing waves, the smell of azaleas — they all mean more in context.

So let’s cut to the chase. Did I like “Rebecca?” It’s treacle, a romance, a postcard for the English coastline — that’s it. Don’t let Tricia tell you, otherwise.

But, yeah, I did enjoy it — in the same way I can enjoy a Gwyneth Paltrow movie. It’s a simple story, but it has depth if you feel like looking for it.

Still though, he killed her... Are we supposed to be OK with that?

Tricia and I are making that leap. After two months of dancing around it, we’ve decided to take the next obvious step for us.

We’re turning this blog into a proper book club. At least, that’s what we want to do.

The Monday after next (March 16), Tricia and I will both post our reviews of Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca.” We encourage both of our readers to participate. Read the book. Discuss with us. Let Tricia know why she’s wrong.

If it’s a success (read: if people comment), we’ll set up a biweekly book club.

We selected “Rebecca” as our inaugural book for one reason. Tricia loves it, craves it, and can’t be without it. When people bother her with boring stories, she subtitles them with passages from the book.

Don’t be flattered if you see a smile flutter across her lips as you tell her about your latest boating trip in the Carolinas. She’s in Manderley.

I have not read it yet; and I’m trying to avoid a predisposition even though Tricia and I have never agreed about anything, ever. I had to switch my opinion on puppies just to maintain our constant bickering. (Now, I like them.)

“Rebecca” is a love story between the Maxim de Winter and his shy, young second wife. However, the former mistress of the home, Rebecca de Winter, still posthumously overshadows their home. Rebecca’s satanic curse paralyzes the Maxim de Winter’s love and something must be done to shatter her spell. (Or so I have gleaned from the back cover.)

Copies of “Rebecca” (ISBN 671-75387-8) should be readily available at any area library. (We wouldn’t ask you guys to spend money. It’s a recession.)

-Jason Lea, JLea@News-Herald.com

P.S. “Biweekly” means once every two weeks, right? Not twice a week. Because that’s what we mean. If it’s a success, we’re setting up a once-every-two-weeks-ly book club.