My Weekly Book

The more du Maurier I read, the more I am convinced she is an author of the stature of the Brontes, with who she has a lot in common. Now I have covered 'the famous five' (Rebecca, Frenchman's Creek, Jamaica Inn, House on the Strand and My Cousin Rachel) plus the best of the short stories (The Birds and other stories). I hope the publishing of those terribly attractive new Virago editions brings here the status and reputation she so evidently deserves, rather than leaving her consigned in perpetuity to the Catherine Cookson saga shelf.

My Cousin Rachel is a dark, gothic tale with more than a little of Jane Eyre about it, which also strongly reminded me of the kind of thing being parodied in Austen's Northanger Abbey. Young Philip Ashley reveres his older cousin Ambrose, who has brought him up more or less singlehandedly at the family pile - the nurse was chased off when Philip was three - which the boy will one day inherit. But Ambrose has a weak constitution and is ordered to the Continent for the summer.

There he meets Rachel, a woman of dubious reputation and combined Cornish and Italian descent. They marry, Ambrose dies. But not before the deranged man has had time to send a couple of highly ambiguous letters to his young heir and cousin. And, when Rachel comes to England, how will a naive boy of 24 resist the overtures of the worldly, 35-year-old, twice-married, impoverished Rachel?

The best thing about the book is its complexity and ambiguity. Du Maurier said, apparently, that she didn't actually know which of the two possible outcomes presented for the reader is true. Characterisation is superlative, as is the slow building of suspense and a story that delivers a kick on the final page. Another masterly novel.

Intriguingly, it is said to be based on a portrait of a young woman called Rachel Carew at Antony House near Saltash, who married one Ambrose Manaton of Kilworthy in 1690. And the family pile is yet another example of Menabilly being used in her work. As someone that finds themselves in Cornwall nearly every time I pick up a pen or put finger to keyboard, I find this identification with that place and the overall sense of place fascinating.

Oh, and it starts with the image of a murderer's corpse swinging from a gibbet. You can't get more gothic than that, can you?

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This entry was posted on Sunday, August 15th, 2004 at 1:25 am and is filed under 2004 - Books read. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.