Re-reading Rebecca

I also got onto the bandwagon of re-reading Rebecca before the new adaptation by Netflix comes out on the 21st of this month (which is tomorrow!). I’m not very crazy about book to movie adaptations because they usually never do justice to the book. The first Rebecca movie by Alfred Hitchcock was quite good, even though the ending was a bit altered, considering it was made in 1940, just three years after the book was published.

Re-reading some books takes us on a personal journey. Whenever I pick up a book for a re-read I feel I don’t just re-visit the story but also the events in my life while I was reading that particular book or even how I came across the book in the first place. Rebecca has a little story also.

The year was 1997 and I was a student of pre-engineering in Federal College for Girls Rawalpindi (also known as CB college) who was trying to juggle reading with studies. I didn’t have much access to books because I was only able to buy them when we visited the old book stalls in Saddar on Sundays and that was only once in two months after a lot of pleading and begging. I had never heard of Daphne du Maurier, let alone of her most famous novel Rebecca, and it was a classmate who introduced me to her writings.

It’s odd how sometimes one can recreate an entire scene around a small thing. I still remember how we were all walking inside the classroom, a large hall type space with big windows and large wooden tables, and this class fellow asked me of my current read. I don’t remember what I told her but I do recall her asking me if I’d read Rebecca. When she found out I hadn’t, she kindly agreed to lend me her copy. I was a bit reluctant to take the book from her because a) I was always a bit wary about ‘lending’ and borrowing books and b) I was a bit of a book snob and didn’t think the book would be all that she was drumming it up to be.

I was proved wrong.

I read Rebecca in a state of wonder and awe. I was completely sucked into the story. The 17 year old me loved Rebecca and hated the protagonist. I was aghast when I discovered that Rebecca was a ‘fallen’ sort of woman and refused to believe it but then I was brought around by the turn of events in the final chapters and was heartbroken when Manderley was no more. But I definitely loved the writing and wanted to read more books by the author. It was many years later that I read her other famous novels and became a Du Maurier fan.

I had a vague idea of the story when I picked up the book last month. The ending I knew well but some of the other details of the story came as a surprise to me. I enjoyed the atmosphere of the book more this time around because I wasn’t in a hurry to finish it and ‘find out’ the ending. It was a treat to roam around Manderley during the pockets of time I managed to steal from the twins. 

My feelings towards the book, however, were totally different after this re-read. I didn’t feel a lot of sympathy for Max de Winter and his young bride as the events around Rebecca’s death unfolded. Rebecca’s debauchery and her wild manners were a tiny bit hard to believe. And the ending was dripping with sickeningly large quantities of melodrama. How come there isn’t a Lollywood or Bollywood version of Rebecca yet? Or have I missed it?

Is Rebecca worth reading? Hell, yes! It is a dark, dark book. If someone tells you that is essentially a love story, hit them with your copy of the book. It is not a love story by a WIDE margin. It has large doses of jealousy, envy and hate. It is also sprinkled with insecurities and mysteries. But so many people say there is a love story somewhere in it, you ask. I say yes you might find it - if you have crazy notions about romance or are 17. 

Post # 15 - When a book ends...

It is a universal truth that when a good book ends it leaves a reader distraught, lost, dazed, unhappy and unwilling, in some cases, to return to the real world. I, dear reader, often suffer from this malady. 

There are a few stages to enjoying a book. Whenever I pick up a new book I’m filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement (this mixture of emotions is not limited to reading only). Reading, unlike what most people think, is not just an act of picking up a book and going through it from beginning to end. At least, it isn’t for me. A lot of effort goes into reading a book. There is the physical effort - taking out time, making small notes in the margins, and holding the book or kindle (anything over 30 mins and I need two pillows under my arms now!). A good reader also invests himself/herself mentally and emotionally with the book. The first few chapters are the beginning of your relationship with the story, and if it’s a good one, by the middle of the book you’ll have a visual image of the setting and characters down to the very last detail. The characters become familiar and you find yourself taking sides. You’re afraid to turn the page when the going gets tough for a character you hold dear. You might scream with joy, exclaim with delight or pump your fists when the hero/heroine comes out successfully from the peril that loomed and lurked in their life. In short, if you’re a reader like me, you start living in another world which runs parallel to yours. And there are times, rare though they might be, when the book’s world tempts you to step into it. 

Alas! That cannot be. All good things have to come to an end and so is the case with a good book. When I turn the last page of a book I’ve enjoyed and with whose characters I’ve developed a love and hate relationship, a strange sort of sadness comes over me. I feel lost for a few days and unable to pick up another book. 

This might sound strange to a non-reader. When we are getting news 24/7 about all kinds of catastrophes and tragedies, how can a work of fiction make one feel complex emotions? My answer is simple. It can. Humans crave stories. We spin stories about tragedies and joy and hardships and success and tell them to each other. News is also a grotesque form of story and is something we watch and hear but don’t engage with. Images flash in front of our eyes of people and happenings but we don’t absorb their stories. Read a book by a black author and you’ll be able to understand the pain and urgency behind the Black Lives Matter movement. Read a dystopian novel and maybe you might not support dictators and fascist leaders. Read a collection of short stories by a local author and you’ll be able to identify with the scenarios in many of them. Read a fantasy or sci-fi novel for the sheer joy of being transported into fantastical worlds and if you read closely, you might spot many similarities with and ugly truths about the reality around you. Read a popular book; its themes and story might surprise you. Read a work of non-fiction without judgement and preconceived notions and your views on that particular topic might take a 180 degree shift. 

Books can make you feel heavy duty emotions. The end of a book, like a relationship, leaves you in a bit of a limbo. I am still in the suffering mode as I finished two amazing books four days back. The next pile of books is stacked, not quite neatly, on my side table and I think it’s about time I take another leap of faith and immerse myself in a new world. 

“Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important it finds homes for us everywhere.”  (Jean Rhys)

                                                                                                                                         

Post # 14 - What drives a person over the edge?

I’m not a fan of Sushant Singh Rajput. In fact, I’ve not even seen any of his movies. And yet, the news of his death rattled me completely. What demons was he battling on his own? Demons so big and strong that they didn’t let him reach out to others? Didn’t he have anyone to talk to? A friend who could hold his hand and hear him out without passing judgement? Someone who could talk him into going for therapy? Wasn’t there anyone? In the endless contacts on his phone and friends on social media, was there no one to talk to? 

Mental illness is one of the most taboo subject in our society. What will your reaction be if your mother, father, sister, brother, spouse, child, friend, colleague told you that they’re suffering from depression? Will you listen or will you judge? Ask yourself this question. It is people like us, you and me, who fail to accept the symptoms of depression in our loved ones because how can any one we know be unhappy or heaven forbid, be ‘depressed’. 

Depression can be treated. It can be fixed. It doesn’t have to lead to suicide. The most important thing a person suffering from it needs, above all else, is for somebody to hear him out without judgement, prejudice or fear. And if you are that ‘somebody’ then I beg you to pay attention, show empathy and keep track. Maybe your follow-up might save the life of the person. 

I will turn to books for solace. Books on mental illness with happy endings and maybe some with not-so-happy ones. I’ll sign off with this inspirational quote from Matt Haig. 

“Depression is also smaller than you. Always, it is smaller than you, even when it feels vast. It operates within you, you do not operate within it. It may be a dark cloud passing across the sky but - if that is the metaphor - you are the sky.”

Image: Google

Post # 13 - The Lockdown Life

One of the things I've realized, among many others during this lockdown, is that we think very low of our everyday tasks. We don’t give them much importance. Most of us consider them a burden and hate them. In our part of the world we have domestic help who do these everyday chores for us so we are spared. Now, confined in our homes, we don’t have a choice but to do these everyday tasks. A lot of us don’t have live-in help so we find ourselves cooking, cleaning, ironing, washing clothes and doing grocery these days. What adds more spice to the entire situation is the presence of kids and husbands in the mix minus socialising or eating out. The Conjuring series does not even come close to the horror we are all living through at the moment. 

In all fairness, a lot of us have it easy. We don’t have to worry about finances and putting food on our table which, sadly, many people are struggling with. If your biggest worry is washing and ironing your clothes, you’re super lucky. Even though it might seem like a mundane, back breaking, hand wrecking job (which it is), it is also one which can bring a sense of calm and provide you with some brain space. Mostly to think about how to get the rest of the chores done and still find time to read or write or call a friend or watch television or just take a power nap. 

I’ve come back to my writing. I’ve dug out my old notebooks and am going through the various ideas I’ve been jotting down over the years one by one. I’m on idea number one these days. It's about a girl's obsession with beauty and self-image. And that's all I have to say on it for the time being. 

Post # 12 - 'The Girl Who Saved Christmas' filled me with hope to bursting point

Hope. It’s an emotion we all experience everyday. Or almost everyday. A simple Google search of this four letter word brought up many definitions/meanings.

“…a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.”

“ Hope is an optimistic state of mind that is based on an expectation of positive outcomes with respect to events and circumstances in one's life or the world at large.”

Never has the world collectively hoped for the same things. Hope that people suffering from the virus will recover. Hope that this virus will spare us, our loved ones, our country. Hope that the old ways of life and living will return soon. Hope is a powerful emotion. It is uplifting and maybe, who knows, magical too. 

Even though hope is a powerful feeling that carries a lot of positive connotations, it is a little hard to come by in this crazy time. Locked in our homes, away from our loved ones, living a life which we had only ever come across in books or movies - it is tough to feel hopeful. When ever I’ve found myself spiralling down into the ‘rabbit hole’, I have turned to books. No matter what my state of mind may be at a given time, I always believe that there is a right book which will help me, alleviate me, motivate me or fill me with gratitude and hope. 

I did find myself going a bit over the edge a few days back. There were the usual signs - agitation, a sinking feeling in the stomach, spurts of anger and a longing for things to be different. I knew I had to find my next read quickly and that, too, something which was buoyant and uplifting. While searching through my book shelves for the ‘right’ read, I picked up and put down many books - a collection of essays by Zadie Smith, Slaughterhouse 5 and even, The Hobbit. Just as I thought I’ll have to fall back on my usual book saviour, P.G. Wodehouse, I came across this lovely book which my niece had gifted me last year around Christmas and I instantly knew that this book was going to save me. 

This is the second book in the Christmas titles by Matt Haig. My very first book by Matt Haig was The Humans which I read only because it was a selection for our Karachi DWL Readers’ Club. Haig is not an ordinary writer though his writing might come across as simple. He is one of those writers who keep you glued to the story so that you just can’t help but finish his book. Also, I feel, there is an element of crazy in his work which has made me read other novels by him. Most of his books, even the ones based on vampires (The Radleys), are oozing with hope and good cheer. Writing, I think, is an outlet for Haig to deal with his own depression and anxiety. I’ve read his books in times of mild distress (A Boy called Christmas  - when I was trying to conceive. The Radleys - during my pregnancy and The Girl who saved Christmas - now) and they’ve always brought a smile to my face. It sounds a bit cheesy but trust me, his writing has the power to improve one’s mood unless you’re a total snob about books. 

Happy, or something close to it, is what we need to be at the moment as the world stands at the brink of collapse and everyone hopes for a miracle. A miracle is what the ten year old Amelia Wishart, the protagonist, wished and hoped for too. Her mother died on Christmas eve and she was taken, by force, to a workhouse. Alone, orphaned and friendless, her only hope was Father Christmas. Unfortunately, Elfhelm, where Father Christmas lived amongst the elves, was facing a crisis too. Trolls attacked the elf town on Christmas eve, even though they had agreed on a peace treaty (sound familiar?) and Christmas had to be cancelled. Though Father Christmas got Amelia’s letter and that of many other children, he didn’t possess magic, toys and the sleigh to carry out his job. With Father Christmas thus restrained, Amelia’s wish remained unfulfilled and she stopped believing in magic, in goodness and even in Father Christmas.

“She realised that this world, and everything in it, belonged to men. Except Queen Victoria. The only way to be female in this world, Amelia thought angrily, was to have a crown on your head. Because really the world was run by men. Cruel, unthinking men who didn’t and would never care about the wishes and hopes of a ten-year-old girl like her. Men like Officer Pry. Men like Mr. Creeper. Men who thought they were doing good but who were really doing harm. And yes, even Father Christmas. Yes, especially him. Father Christmas had made children believe in magic when actually a lot of life was very unmagical.”

Hope has a strange, resilient power. Even if a smidgen of it exists in the world, it can make a difference. Don’t lose hope is a phrase oft repeated. Sometimes it might sound hollow and superficial but it is anything but that. Things do work out for the better even if they take some time. In Amelia’s case, it took an entire year for her life to turn around. For it was only after a year that Father Christmas was able to deliver toys to the children around the world on Christmas Eve and Amelia was first on his list. However, he didn’t know the change in her circumstances and address (since there wasn’t any Google in London during Victorian Times) and thus had to conduct an almost door-to-door search for Amelia. He had quite an adventure of it too as he met the young Queen Victoria (owing to his sleigh crashing through the window of her room in Buckingham Palace) and a young Charles Dickens. In fact, it was Father Christmas who suggested that Dickens write a book on Christmas. Fancy that!

Charles Dickens and Father Christmas

‘I have been sitting upstairs at my desk every day for five weeks trying to think of a new story, but my mind is barren and empty. I’ve been getting the mobs. People liked my last story a lot and now I worry I will never be able to write another. Presently, my mind is as foggy as the River Thames in March. I have no idea what to write about next. 

Father Christmas smiled. ‘Christmas! You should write about Christmas!’

‘But it takes me months to write a book. How could I write about Christmas in, say, March?’

‘Christmas isn’t a date, Mr.Dickens. It’s a feeling.’

Father Christmas saw the writer’s eyes light up like windows at night. ‘A Christmas story? That’s not such a bad idea!’

What follows after these two encounters is some hard core action which I’ll leave the reader to discover himself/herself.

This book has everything to uplift one’s mood. Christmas and all the joy it brings is, indeed, a feeling because even though it’s April, I felt all warm and fuzzy with hope and joy. Another uplifting feature of the book are the strong female characters. Amelia, who never gave up hope that she will escape from the workhouse, with or without outside help. Mary, the kind woman at the workhouse who added sugar into the food or ‘slop’ to make it a bit better for the young kids who worked there. The young Queen Victoria who extended all her help to Father Christmas although he crashed into her room with reindeers in the middle of the night. But humans aren’t the only impressive characters in the story. There is the elf Noosh who is a doting mother, a journalist and a conscientious citizen. Also the Truth Pixie who always tells the truth no matter what the consequences and helps Noosh uncover some interesting facts about the Troll attack on Elfhelm. 

Books have power. Some more than others. This isn’t a book that will change your beliefs or cause a revolution or make you start believing in magic. What it might do, like it did for me, is uplift your mood. It might also make you realise that even though sometimes all hell breaks loose, things do get back to normal (in some cases, even better than normal). It just takes some time. The important thing is not to lose hope and remember that there is no impossible. 

Post # 11 - Missing Routine Life? You're not alone.

How many of us have not complained, over the years, about our boring routine lives? Almost all of us. We’ve lamented over how our lives are like clockwork - that we’re just slaves to the clock and hardly ever get time to ourselves. Almost all of us have wished, at some point or the other to press the pause button on our busy schedule. Be careful what you wish for, I’ll say, for someone has been listening and has pressed the pause button for us. 

I stepped out of the house some days back to buy groceries and the sight was unnerving and disturbing, to say the least. Shops closed, roads deserted, and hardly anyone around. Those who were out and about were shielded behind a mask and maintaining a distance of 3-4 feet. In a city where finding parking is next to impossible there is, now, ample parking space but no cars. We have accepted this new mode of lifestyle, albeit reluctantly, as our current reality and are adapting ourselves accordingly. Where once thermometers were used to check for fever only in the hospitals, they are now being used everywhere, including outside Agha's supermarket. 

Will things ever be the same again? 

This is the one question which is, I’m sure, haunting all humanity. Will things ever be the same again? How will we all emerge from this epidemic? Bruised, yes, but bitter? Or grateful, humble and more tolerant? Only time will tell. And at the moment, we have a lot of time on our hands.

So it goes. 

Reflect. Be kind. Read. Laugh. Smile. Express gratitude. Pray. Whatever you do, don't lose hope. 

Post # 10 - How The Water Dancer reinforced my belief in the power of stories

Stories are powerful. I have not believed in their powers so strongly than in this current crisis. Social media has become, even more than before, a platform for sharing stories. Not a day goes by when my WhatsApp, Instagram or Facebook feed does not have a video which tells me a story of a total stranger. Stories of hope, of failure, of disappointment, of simple joys, of fear, and of death. These stories have connected me and others with people in Italy, Spain, Iran and other parts of the world which are facing the worst of this epidemic at the moment. 

Never has a book reinforced my belief in the power of stories as this one. The protagonist, Hiram Walker, has a special power of conduction through which he can transport people from one place to a completely different place through the medium of water. But it is not just a magical power like Apparition (Harry Potter readers would know) - a select few have the power of conduction and the protagonist was only able to harness it when he reached down into the deepest parts of his past and relived the story of his separation from his mother. Like Hiram, another character, Harriet, can also perform conduction and she, too, reaches out to the stories within her, of her kin and family, to make this miracle happen. In fact, it is she who helps Hiram understand this supernatural ability: "The jump is done by the power of the story. It pulls from our particular histories, from all of our loves and all of our losses." 

Yes, this book is about slavery. About that dark time in America before the civil war when plantation owners had dozens of black men and women working for them; in the fields, in the house, in the factories. When a plantation owner’s standing in society was measured by the number of slaves he owned. In the backdrop of slavery is the story of Hiram - his personal losses, his love, his struggles as a slave and then as a part of the Underground Railroad and above all, his acceptance of his special powers. There is an element of magical realism in this story but then, don’t all stories have magic? Aren’t all stories a doorway into an escape from society and reality? And no matter what device the author decides to use in his story, all stories are important because they transport us to a time and place which we might never have experienced or even known. 

I feel we don’t give importance to stories anymore. Maybe now we will, when the entire world has come to a standstill and all we have to share with each other, as we sit behind closed doors, are stories. We are shaped by the stories of our ancestors because these stories connect us to our roots. To walk away from our stories is to cut off our roots and denounce our identities. No matter where we live or what profession we choose or what car we drive or what phone we carry - our stories make us who we are. For us, the people of the subcontinent, the stories of partition are significant. They make us realise what we were, what we fought against, why we took the step of breaking away, and what we have done with the freedom gifted to us. 

Reading this book left me with a lot of sadness. The world has changed but there are still oppressors and the oppressed. Somewhere, even close to home, are people who are in similar bondage as were the black slaves of America. Distinctions are made, even now, on the basis of skin colour. Atrocities are still being committed by humans on other humans in the name of religion, sect, race, social status and class difference. Children are still separated from their mothers and families are still torn apart. 

The book, though steeped in tragedy, was not all bleak. Where there is darkness, there is also light. There are good people in this world also. People who take up causes and start movements even though they might not be directly affected by them (although if there is one thing this current epidemic has taught, it’s that none of us can remain unaffected by the condition of others who share our planet with us). But humans are resilient creatures. No matter what we are born into and who we become, we have the power to change our lives. What is important, I believe, after reading this book and being forced to sit at home due to a virus, is that our real strength lies in the bonds of love and family. It lies in the stories passed down from one generation to the next and most importantly, in how we take elements from the stories of our ancestors and create our own tale. 

Note: The image in this post is by the author.