Last night I read Rebecca again and was struck by the similarities in the relationship between its three central characters and Michael and me.
I read Daphne du Maurier’s haunting 1938 classic first in my early twenties and was transfixed by this twisting tale of gauzy enchantment and creeping fear. Always a sucker for a gothic romance, I was mesmerized from the first paragraph.
I must’ve sensed that I was reading something well-written even before I knew what that was. These days, I’m not only in awe of du Maurier’s razor-sharp powers to describe but her uncanny ability to grasp what it is to be human. In the beginning, I just knew that I loved the story of the innocent young woman who falls hopelessly in love with the brooding master of Manderley, only to discover that its dark corridors are haunted by the presence of the dead wife he may have murdered. I loved the book so much that I returned to it again and again throughout my life.
Rebecca spoke to me somehow. I identified with its unnamed heroine. I, too, could be painfully shy when I was growing up and grateful for any show of kindness or attention. Always different because of my disability, I was also attracted to confidence and strength in others, thinking I recognized both in Michael when we first met.
But as with the mysterious and darkly moody Maxim de Winter, I was to learn that these traits were skin-deep—that underneath all of Michael’s cocksure opinions on just about everything lurked a sneaking insecurity that surfaced when I least expected it.
And like the impossibly beautiful Rebecca, Michael had a magnetism that drew people to him in life and, for me, in death. His memory sometimes crowds my thoughts with an overwhelming sadness simply because I miss his peculiar way of being.
Early in the novel’s plot, its heroine wishes that there was an invention that could “bottle up a memory, like scent” that “never faded” and “never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.”
She needn’t have bothered. I’ve discovered that I’ll always be “haunted” by Michael’s memory, but unlike the characters populating Rebecca, this isn’t a bad thing. I know the sadness that piggybacks on my memories will become less and less as time goes by, And as to preserving the times I spent with Mike, I don’t need to do anything at all because they’ll forever be captured in my heart; like an album full of black and white photos that will fade over time but will always be there to be thumbed through when I need them.