There are two women controlling this book. I don’t mean the two female characters whose voices carry the narrative of the book, though perhaps they are an unwitting reflection of this phenomenon. I mean, the women who wrote this book. The first was the woman who opened the door to me, wearing perfectly fitted Lucky jeans and an enormous diamond ring, who ushered me quickly into her living room where the other members of the monthly book club awaited, and the second was a shy sister who I accidentally ran into in the kitchen trying to sneak some cookies without being seen before she ran back upstairs to curl up in baggy sweats and drink her tea.
I had absolutely no interest in the first woman, but unfortunately her voice controlled at least the first third of the novel. Our introduction to Eve, her romance with her brooding rich suitor, and her first encounters with her new house in France after they decide to run away together were rather pedestrian. Her fantasies seemed store-bought, like she’d just finished reading a Williams-Sonoma catalog, or just been released from those house porn-tastic Nancy Meyers movies from the last couple of years. She rushed through her exposition with shorthand borrowed from advertising, descriptions of men half-remembered from romance novels, and buzzwords out of ‘middlebrow’ domestic novels. That first chunk of pages felt like it rushed towards a goal- of you the reader identifying this book with Rebecca as quickly as possible (to the extent that if you don’t get it, Lawrenson tells you about it), and then consequently, safely identifying with Eve the same way you do with that unnamed narrator. Except that she didn’t properly do the work that du Maurier did. She mentioned her name and expected that to be enough for those of us excited by that connection.
For the rest who haven’t read it? She listed off as many identifiers as she could as fast as possible to get upper-middle class women from the US and the UK to see themselves, quickly- being overworked, feeling isolated and insecure, dreaming of escaping, specifically to the countryside of the ‘Old World’ where the likes of A Year in Provence and Under the Tuscan Sun has made ‘fixing up a cottage’ in a place where people Know How to Live a cure all for life’s problems, and of course marrying a sexy rich man who finally makes you happy and releases you from all your cares. This woman’s voice grated on me really quickly. I really don’t need to see Rebecca polished up so that Normal people can safely identify with it, because it now supports middle class values and reflects Your Life. The genre of the mysterious old house, the magical atmosphere of a place where it seems like every stone should be preserved because its earned it, the divine things that can be found in the everyday domestic is well trodden, and trodden by writers with far more gifts than Lawrenson, who don’t need a glossy magazine to tell them what magic looks like. Also, Lawrenson wants to explain the magic at the end- all of it. That is… not the point, and left me feeling like I do at the end of a Law and Order episode, not the way I do at the end of a good thriller. Also, just as a quick laundry list of other stuff I didn’t like: I felt like she forced in characters and elements from Rebecca that weren’t needed just to have them there, the Max character was nothing more than a cipher and their relationship therefore had none of the poignancy of the other book and none of the emotional impact at the end, the old woman narrator’s chapters were pretty inconsistent in quality, and the ‘modern’ translations of the plot from Rebecca felt a bit gimmicky- ‘Look! You know this is modern because I just made a topical reference!’. It also meant that she spent a lot of time talking about her avoidance of the modern for the majority of the book as well- because then she had to explain why she didn't do some things she could have with modern equipages. I’m not trying to solve your mystery! I want to experience the mystery! Stop trying to give me forensic evidence, and get back to the part where you tell me about the wind rustling through the trees in the courtyard, and haunting lights in the forest. Such a waste!
‘Cause that’s the thing. What saved this book for me was the shy other woman, who did talk about those things. She was very timid at the beginning, but found her voice in fits and starts throughout the course of the book. I liked this other woman quite a lot. I felt like Lawrenson was afraid to show her at the beginning, for fear of losing that mainstream audience she seemed to want to draw into the book. But she was really at her best when she forgot about her plot and just looked around her, describing the place she’s so in love with. She had a quiet power when writing about the names of the winds, the color of the lanterns on the stones in her courtyard, the sounds, sights, and smells of an overripe high summer in the country, or the seeming incongruity of her fantasy escape in the depths of winter. I kind of wish she had just written a lovely essay, or short travel book about walking through the French countryside, or one of those great first person inner exploration novels that the French are so good at. Her strength is clearly in her love for Place. I can totally see how this Dark Family Secrets plot would have occurred to her- living with the past sets one’s imagination on overdrive, and indeed that is part of the point the book makes. But it is hard not to see this book as at least a little bit of a waste of what seemed like her true passions. Still, there were enough of these breaths and pauses that she did eventually succeed in creating the atmosphere that I was looking for at the beginning- it just took a much longer time than I had hoped that it would. There was a chunk of the book towards the end where I finally got swept away… until the unnecessarily dry, unraveling ending, which, as I mentioned, took me out of the mood I should have had finishing this.
I should also mention that the sections with the old woman narrating were occasionally intriguing (when Lawrenson wasn’t focusing on just plot), and I thought she had a few moments that really did express true insight into why people do the things that they do. Her narrator’s Bluebeard moment and the motivations behind that were well done, and I absolutely loved the story of the blind girl and her world of smells and perfumes. The sense of smell is the foremost of the senses used and advocated in this book, and I think she was right to do it. It made her descriptions much more visceral and often easier to connect with. It was certainly a better examination of the power of smell than the weird use of it that has seemed to pop up everywhere since Edward’s weird smell thing with Bella in Twilight.
I think that ultimately if you’re already into this domestic Gothic novel business and eager to enjoy a Rebecca imitator, you’ll probably like this. Just give it some time to settle down, and a few pages for the shy other woman to come talk to you. When she stops being self-conscious for two seconds and relaxes enough to be honest about her passions, she has some lovely things to show you.