“Yeah, Mom, everything’s great! I’m totally keeping up with my schoolwork.”
I’ll need to pull an all-nighter to finish a five-page essay and study for two exams.
“Laundry? I’m basically an expert.”
I haven’t done my laundry since two weeks ago, when I accidentally dyed all my socks pink.
“Of course I remembered Grandma’s birthday…”
…just now, when you reminded me. I’ll have to pick up a card this week.
My mom hangs up with renewed peace of mind that her darling child is doing well away from home; her excellent time-management skills are serving her well. I hang up and return to my life of last-minute studying, caffeine and sleep deprivation. Mom’s perception of the truth is entirely shaped by what she believes to be true — her mental picture of my collegiate experience is, shall we say, blurry around the edges.
It’s not only parents who form their beliefs based on mistaken perceptions. We absorb news from sources that first interpret it for us. Every major news outlet (think CNN, NPR, the New York Times) has people behind it making judgments and interpreting world events for its readers or viewers.
Daphne du Maurier’s novel “Rebecca” is much like modern news outlets. Okay, “much like” is probably a stretch; it’s a novel rather than news and was published in 1938, but it is based on the perception of a young woman whose view of events is questionable at times. “Rebecca” is a lesson in truth-telling. Through her narrator, du Maurier examines how we perceive truth and how events seen through the eyes of others are colored by others’ perceptions.
The perceptions of the novel’s narrator (whose name we never actually learn) are clouded by infatuation. Infatuation with whom, you ask? Why, with Maxim de Winter, the dashing, older and introverted widower who woos her at a whirlwind pace in Monte Carlo, France, and takes her back to his British estate as the new Mrs. de Winter.
Long before Maxim proposes, the narrator hears of the tragic death of his first wife, Rebecca (yes, the title comes from somewhere). She automatically assumes Maxim is withdrawn and somber because he misses Rebecca so much — rumors of Rebecca’s beauty, perfection and charm have traveled along with the whole “tragic death” story.
When they make it to their new home, the narrator clearly sees something is eating at Maxim. He’s moody, withdrawn and prone to bouts of anger. She assumes (_very_ mistakenly) that it’s enduring love for Rebecca getting him down. She’s prone to this erroneous viewpoint because she is entirely besotted.
The novel’s consuming psychological thrill also exists thanks to the narrator’s crippling case of puppy love. She grows paranoid, feeling Rebecca’s malicious presence in every corner of the vast house watching her, judging her, hating her for stealing Maxim away.
All said, the eerie “presence” of Maxim’s malevolent first wife might not have been so eerie through the eyes of a different protagonist. Not that eeriness doesn’t enhance the experience; a large portion of the novel’s attraction is its hurry-up-and-turn-the-page suspense. An expert writer of 20th century Gothic fiction, du Maurier knew how to pen a wonderful mystery.
Du Maurier is an expert at keeping the reader guessing. “Rebecca” ends with just the right note of uncanny uncertainty to make you think it was all layer upon layer of lies and deceit. Edginess pervades, primarily because we cannot rely completely on our narrator’s interpretation of events. Her infinite love for Maxim clouds her judgment, as does her fear of being compared to Rebecca and failing to measure up.
Du Maurier’s spin on the story is a way to consider how the perceptions of others color our own viewpoints. Ultimately the reader must either decide upon the truth independently or accept the fact that the story ends in a question mark.
The same applies to CNN and to mothers. We can absorb information all we want, but we should account for the source’s stance on the matter. I can tell false tales of enough sleep and laundry all I want, but my dear old mom will decide on her own version of the truth.
In the end we must muddle through multiple viewpoints to unearth our own versions of the truth — this is the only thing with which we can be satisfied.
