Daphne du Maurier – The Doll: Short Stories

I've oft' made a generic sweeping statement on here about how I am not a big fan of short stories. There have been collections that I've enjoyed, and there have been collections that I've struggled through. Daphne Du Maurier's The Doll: Short Stories falls somewhere in-between. All the stories in this collection, but one, were written in between 1926 and 1936, and are amidst Du Maurier's earliest works. The last story, The Limpet, was written in 1959. There is a common theme that binds all the stories together; whilst the first two stories would nudge one to think the theme is macabre, it is more about unproportionate(?) love. One character inevitably loves the partner more than the partner loves them. It's not quite unrequited, because at the very inception of their relationships, the characters are optimistic about the longevity of their propinquity. However, through twists and turns, it turns out that happy endings are just not meant to be.

Du Maurier's talent lies in creating an atmosphere so real and captivating that the reader is unable to turn away. On that front, this anthology does not disappoint. However, with the opening two stories, East Wind and The Doll, I found the climax leaving much to be desired. I don't believe that I am worthy of criticising Du Maurier's work, but simultaneously, this blog is just the idle naïve reflections of me walking in a literary wonderland, and I fully acknowledge that.

In East Wind, Du Maurier narrates the story of a idyll-like island with a population of merely seventy, which some nomadic sailors visit one day, and make merry with the islanders. However, all is not well when one of the inhabitants stumbles into infidelity with one of the newcomers, resulting in a horrific yet inevitable ending. My main gripe with short stories has always been that the ending is not natural, but forced upon the reader, and this story was no exception.

The Doll, on the other hand, had an air of wistfulness to it. The protagonist was called Rebecca, and for half a second, I did wonder if this was a pre-Manderley foray into the world of Rebecca. It wasn't. I loved how the story was told - just a verbatim recount from pages of a pocket notebook washed ashore. Yes, it is a device used by short-story tellers again and again, and yet, each time, there is a charm to it. The story, itself though, had me baffled, for it was about a man who falls hopelessly in love with a Hungarian girl, Rebecca. However, she is unable to reciprocate the love, and I was unable to make out whether she was holding back, or just did not reciprocate. Yet, it turned out that she had a life-size doll, who she would rather love. Baffling, as I said. I couldn't quite make out if it was a pathetic fallacy, or well, I'm not quite sure what. 

AndNow To God The Fatherand The Limpetboth had protagonists that were holier-than-thou, and manipulated people around them so easily, yet with such little self-awareness or guilt. In the former, the much-loved vicar turned out to be selfish beyond reason, whereas in the latter, the protagonist thought she was helping the people she was manipulating, in a manner so hypocritical that I did wonder whether I should be giving her the benefit of the doubt. I think And Now To God The Father remains my favourite story in the book, simply because it goes to show that redemption is a myth, and people only care about themselves. Such is reality.

A Difference In Temperament, Nothing Hurts For Long, And His Letters Grew Colder, andWeek-End are all stories tracing disproportionate love. Or rather, the characters unable to express themselves, resulting in them drifting away. The initial sanguineness descends to separation, and at least in the first of the three stories, it is simply because none of the two protagonists are able to express themselves to one another. These stories didn't really speak to me, and I was left feeling quite indifferent towards the characters and whatever fate had in store for them. If things didn't quite work out for them, I almost felt as though it's because they deserved nothing better. Or maybe, well, the characters did actually deserve one another.

Frustration reminded me of O Henry's The Gift of the Magi. A boy, a girl, in love, and trying to make it on their own with no money, but still content as they have one another, and that helps them make the best of a bad situation. Yet, I wonder if it's the title of this story that reduced its impact significantly. The Gift of the Magi is such a wonderful story, in that the ending is not surprising in the least, but the sweetness that lingers at the end makes it a classic. Yet, one simply cannot say the same thing about Du Maurier's short story.

Piccadillyand Mazie both follow the same character, Mazie. Now, Alice Munro works wonders providing glimpses into characters at different points in their lives through her short stories, but with these two stories, Du Maurier weaves a magical tale as well. Piccadillyis the story of Mazie before she turns to prostitution as a profession, whereas Mazie is a peephole into her life as a prostitute, and both are incredibly well-written. The last line of Piccadilly had me absolutely dumbstruck, for it was so powerful yet so simple. I'd quote it here, but I wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone who wants to read this collection. It's marvellous though, it really is, and just for the subtlety yet impact of that last line, I remain in awe.

Tame Cat had me feel quite queasy, for the character being referred to as the tame cat wasn't really tame, and... It's a coming-of-age story of a young girl, who goes back home for Christmas break, to spend the holidays with her mother and "Uncle John" (i.e. Tame Cat). She goes back home, with high aspirations, looking all grown-up, quite sure that her mother would be proud of her, but her mother is not happy with the girl she sees get off the train. Yet, "Uncle John" is. You can tell how this story goes, and well - the naiveté of the girl coupled with the wickedness of "Tame Cat" just... Words do fail me.

And finally, you have The Happy Valley, which again sets a fantastic scene. The valley, the search for a dream home, a confused young protagonist with a history of illness, and just some surreal visions. Again, there was something Manderlay-esque about this story, but I cannot quite pinpoint what.

The stories were written very early in Du Maurier's writing career, and they don't hold a candle to her later works. They are the setting stones for something far more spectacular, but they don't blow one's mind as they stand. Perhaps there is a reason why some of these stories were only recently discovered, some seventy years after Du Maurier had written them. I would like to read her later short stories, and compare, but for now, I must finish all her novels. That is essential.

Daphne du Maurier - The House On The Strand

What better way of spending a Sunday evening than curled up in bed, with a box of the world's best chocolates, and a Daphne du Maurier? Well, possibly if the book wasn't The House On The Strand...

Yes, I know that's harsh, but if you compare this book to the likes of Rebecca or My Cousin Rachel, it falls well short. Possibly, that's where I, as a reader, fell short - setting high expectations on a relatively obscure book by a fairly renowned author. Blame the gist on the back of the book for that though - after all, a story about time-travel always has potential.

So, when Dick Young, takes a break from reality in his friend's (Magnus) Cornwall house, things get interesting as he agrees to be the guinea-pig for a drug developed by Magnus that results in him walking the streets of Cornwall in the thirteenth century, things are bound to get interesting. Dick's looking for an escape, as he tries to figure out the next steps in his marriage and career, and Magnus is curious to see what happens with this magnificent drug that he's created, and how different people react to it.

The first couple of "trips" introduce him to a myriad of characters who were alive in the High Middle Ages; co-incidentally, Magnus' first trip with this drug introduced him to the same people, so there definitely is something about the drug - but what is it? It's not LSD or any other hallucinogen - or, if it is, why do both friends encounter the same people with every trip?And what's the relevance of this era? Why is the drug always transporting them back to the same period, and showing them the lives of characters who have no real historical importance?

Initially, I read each page eagerly, trying to figure out the hows and the whys. But instead, I was introduced to way too many characters of the past, who I cared little about. The fact that Dick came across as a fairly flat protagonist didn't help - his character didn't really evolve, and his interactions with his wife, kids and Magnus left a lot to  be desired. In fact, Magnus was the only character that was remotely interesting, but I don't think he featured enough.

As Dick swings between the present and the past, spending any free time he has in the past - even after his wife and children arrive - one marvels at both, the addiction caused by the drug and the commitment to the past that Dick has. Dick can't interact with the people he meets, nor can he make any difference. He's invisible; just a bystander, a viewer, someone who sits by and watches from the sidelines. Perhaps that's why he enjoys the past - there's no decision to make, everything just happens, in spite of him.

The ending, unfortunately, is predictable as well, which is a pity. I've come to associate Du Maurier with incredible twists and turns in her plots (yes, it only took two books to do that!), and when after a story that I found slightly tedious to read didn't even give me that, it added to the disappointment.

Don't get me wrong - I'm glad I read the book, and I will try reading Du Maurier's entire backlist in good time. I just do wish though, that the magic it weaved completely pulled me in, and left me awed for weeks after. It was not meant to be.

Daphne Du Maurier - My Cousin Rachel

For twenty four years, Daphne Du Maurier has eluded me, and I'm still trying to figure out how! I read Rebecca earlier this year, and loved it, which led me to pick up My Cousin Rachel. Surprise, surprise! I loved it as well. My Cousin Rachel is narrated by Philip Ashley, who was orphaned at a young age, and brought up by his older affluent cousin, Ambrose. Philip is totally devoted to Ambrose, and in turn, Ambrose to his naive younger cousin.

Health problems force Ambrose to spend the winter months in Italy, and one year, he sends a letter home saying he is married to Rachel. Philip, consumed by jealousy, isn't able to share the happiness and excitement that the friends and family seem to revel in.

My cousin Rachel had a dozen personalities or more and each one more hateful than the last. I saw her forcing Ambrose to his knees to play at bears, the children astride his back, and Ambrose consenting with a humble grace, having lost all dignity.

When Ambrose's letters home mention sickness, and further ill-health, Philip makes plans to visit his cousin. The last letter received before his departure has an almost illegible scroll: For God's sake, come to me quickly. She has done for me at last, Rachel my torment. If you delay, it may be too late. Ambrose.

By the time Philip reaches Florence, Ambrose has passed on - a result of a brain tumour, the doctors day. Philip refuses to believe that, and insists that Rachel has had something to do with his cousin's unfortunate and untimely demise. Rachel has disappeared, and left the handling of her affairs (and villa) to a untrustworthy-looking man, Rainaldi.

Philip, the heir of Ambrose's estate, returns home and attempts continuing running things as he has been taught, silently glad that Rachel wasn't left anything in Ambrose's will. However, when Rachel comes to England, she seems to be the diametric opposite of what Philip thought, and he quickly discards his many theories associating her with Ambrose's death.

Not having a relationship with any woman previously, Philip is drawn to Rachel like a moth to a flame, and acts naively and impulsively - much reminiscent of the narrator in Rebecca. Yet, Rachel plays the part of the mourning widow to perfection, instead of acting like the black widow... yet, the questions are always there: was Rachel responsible for the events in Italy? Will history repeat itself?

The beauty of this book is in Du Maurier's immense skill of weaving a dramatic plot, that leaves the reader on the edge of their seat. Hints are scattered around artistically, and the various clues that make up the story keeps the reader guessing right till the very end - and beyond. If you had questions while reading the book, the number of questions that flood your mind once the book is completed increases tenfold.

Rating: A

Daphne du Maurier - Rebecca

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me.

So opens Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, and it's an opening line that piques the reader's curiosity. Also, it seems to be a retrospective metaphor for the narrator's, a young girl who remains nameless, life at Manderley.

The late Mrs. Rebecca de Winter, the lady of Manderley, the wife of Maxim de Winter, the attractive tall dark-haired woman, who was politically correct and loved by one and all for her social graces, and her "breeding", inspired the title of this classic. But, she's not the narrator. In fact, the narrator is the "other woman", the new Mrs. de Winter, the new lady of Manderley, a young girl of low social standing, who is also socially awkward and shy.

Maxim de Winter meets the narrator in a hotel at Monte Carlo, while she's a companion to a rich and pretentious woman. While the woman tries her level best to charm Maxim, he is quite taken by the young narrator, and when the old lady falls ill and hires a nurse, Maxim spends a lot of time with the "companion", and they both find that they enjoy each other's company, despite the massive age difference. He never talks of Rebecca, and she never asks. She's heard the gossip about the lady of Manderley, a Manor house in Cornwall, drowning in a sailing accident, and Maxim's immediate breakdown.

When her employer decides to cut short the holiday, she runs to Maxim, who proposes marriage: she can be a companion to Mrs. Van Hopper, or she can marry him and be the lady of Manderley! She happily agrees to the latter, ignoring the fact that Maxim has never said anything about love. In fact, Mrs. Van Hopper, who the narrator has nothing but contempt for, offers the young girl a final piece of advice:

"Of course," she said, "you know why he is marrying you, don't you? You haven't flattered yourself he's in love with you?

But, the couple get married, honeymoon in Italy, and then head to the wonder that is Manderley.

Yes, there it was, the Manderley I had expected, the Manderley of my picture post-card long ago. A thing of grace and beauty, exquisite and faultless, lovelier even than I had ever dreamed, built in its hollow of smooth grassland, and mossy lawns, the terraces sloping to the gardens, and the gardens to the sea.

However, the happiness and wonder of the honeymoon ends right there, as the narrator meets the staff, who expect someone from a high social class - someone similar to Rebecca. The scornful Mrs. Danvers, who runs the household, treats the narrator with utter contempt, for, how can someone like her replace the Rebecca that Mrs. Danvers was devoted to? Her social awkwardness, her insecurities, and her mannerisms brings out the worst in Mrs. Danvers, who is excessively hostile, seemingly focusing on making the narrator's life uneasy...

How much more uneasy can you make someone who is haunted by her husband's dead wife's ghost, that she can almost see Rebecca, hear the conversations Rebecca has with the staff, with Maxim? How can she escape the past, and try out a hand at being the Lady of Manderley, when everything that she wants to do has already been done - be it cutting the flowers, or placing them neatly in a vase, for decorative purposes; be it sitting at the desk in the morning room, or going for walks with the cocker spaniel, Jasper? And, how can she compare to the beauty that was Rebecca when Maxim's own sister told her that she was nothing like Rebecca?! And, is Maxim still in love with his wife who hasn't even been dead a year?

Just as the reader comes to grip with the story line, the plot twists, and the reader (or me, at least) can't help but continuously flip the pages, and beg for more - to find out more about Rebecca; to find out more about Mrs. Danvers; and most importantly, to find out more about Maxim. The twists keeps the book interesting and gripping, and one can't help be amazed by how things pan out.

I loved the book to bits. I really did. In fact, I was due an early night yesterday, but I was up 'til the wee hours of the morning finishing this classic. The prose is descriptive and beautiful, and the story incredible. Manderley sounds heavenly, and I've spent most of my day trying to imagine what Manderley would look like, based on du Maurier's vivid descriptions. Wild flowers, gardens, the sea, the library, the "west wing", the "east wing", the works, really!

However, I did find that the narrator's character one-dimensional, and I don't think I really understood her. Maybe it's the times (the book was written in the 1930s), but, I can't help but wonder what can prompt a young girl to marry someone her father's age? Is it just the thought that there's someone out there who loves her, for she did delude herself into thinking Maxim had asked her to marry him because of love? And how can someone be so forgiving, and turn a blind eye to all their lover's flaws?

Have you read Rebecca? Or, any other DDM? What did you think of it? Would you love to live in a place like Manderley? Or, is it just not for you?

Rating: 4.5

PS: Thanks to Sandy from You've Gotta Read This for hosting the read-along. I'm running way ahead of schedule (it was meant to be 16 chapters by the 8th, and the rest of the book by the 15th), but I just couldn't stop reading! Blame du Maurier and Rebecca, not me!