Reading, for me, is entertainment and an escape from the real world. But it can also inform and stretch the boundaries of the life I live.
Why did I wait so long to read Rebecca? How stupid of me to have put it off, treating it like a chore, one of those famous classics that I ought to read as an educational exercise, in order to be well rounded and to say that I have read it. Knowing that it was a gothic romance of sorts, I expected this to be like one of those Bronte books, which I have almost universally found to be tiresome, frustrating, boring, and featuring an inexplicable romance with a horrible man. But this was a nearly perfect book. It still features a
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But Rebecca is so much more. The deliciously chilling atmosphere and building sense of dread. The creepy, creepy, characters. The immersive sense of place. I loved it.
None of the main characters were likable or admirable. But I loved how the author manipulated me, the reader, tricking me into
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Audiobook version, borrowed from my public library. Anna Massey’s performance is magnificent.
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