After reaching Manderley and settling in, the narrator begins to feel much like she did with Mrs. Van Hopper: solely a companion. Maxim continues on with his daily activities independent of his wife: taking care of the business affairs of Manderley, driving into London for luncheons, and handling his correspondence. The narrator also begins to experience the powerful presence of Rebecca in every part of the estate: in the morning room, in the Great Hall, by the sea, and in the Happy Valley. She slowly loses the hopefulness that she had as a newlywed; a name cannot bestow an identity, especially if it is shared with someone who was as loved as Rebecca. Though she fervently desired to be respected and recognized, the narrator still had not formed an identity for herself. This is proved in this passage:
I took the receiver off with trembling hands, and “Who is it?” I said, “Who do you want?” There was a strange buzzing at the end of the line, and then a voice came, low and rather harsh, whether that of a woman or man I could not tell, and “Mrs. de Winter?” it said, “Mrs. de Winter?”
“I’m afraid you made a mistake,” I said. “Mrs. de Winter has been dead for over a year.” (84)
The narrator had been so sure that her new name would be the answer to her prayers. In her fantasy, a name means everything; if you have a name, you have a place in the world. In marrying Maxim, the narrator had gained a name, yet in the back of her mind she knows it is not a true identity, as much as she wants to believe it is. Sadly, fantasies do not represent reality, and the narrator’s true feelings about her name are inadvertently revealed in the telephone conversation with Mrs. Danvers.
Before and after her marriage, Maxim occasionally referred to the narrator as a child. After all, compared to Maxim, the narrator is a child; Maxim is about forty-two, and the narrator twenty-one. References to the narrator as a child could be a substitute to her namelessness, as degrading as the name may be. It seems that the narrator takes some comfort in this identity, because it can justify her unsophisticated, “schoolgirl” behavior.
When Maxim goes on trial for murder, he desperately needs the narrator. Given a purpose and love, the narrator finds her identity. Suddenly, it seems, society’s male-female prejudice is reversed. The narrator is needed by, and becomes more powerful than Maxim, which contributes to the formation of her identity.
I felt better and stronger. It was I now who was taking care of him. (376)
I held out my arms to him and he came to me like a child. I put my arms round him and held him…. I held him and comforted him like he were Jasper. As though Jasper had hurt himself in some way and had come to me to take his pain away. (352)
For the narrator, having a name is no longer important, because she has learned that she has the power to define herself, and does not have to rely on society or men. The name “de Winter” is now just an accessory to her identity, not the main feature. In these quotes, Maxim is portrayed as having the needs of a child, which is a complete contrast to his characterization in the beginning of the novel, when the narrator was referred to as a child. These passages make it clear that life at the end of the novel is quite opposite to life in the beginning.
The name of Maxim’s late wife also has much meaning. “Rebecca,” as far as anyone except Maxim can tell, was the ultimate woman. As Maxim’s grandmother said, she had brains, breeding, and beauty. However, very few people knew of Rebecca’s menacing and controlling side. In the beginning of the novel, even the handwriting of Rebecca is intimidating to the narrator.
I picked up the book again, and this time it opened at the title-page, and I read the dedication. “Max –from Rebecca. May 17th,” written in a curious, slanting hand. A little blob of ink marred the white page opposite, as through the writer, in impatience, had shaken her pen to make the ink flow freely. And then, as it bubbled through the nib, it came a little thick, so that the name Rebecca stood out black and strong, the tall sloping R dwarfing the other letters. (33)
The sloping R dwarfing the other letters is a symbol of Rebecca’s presence overshadowing the narrator at Manderley. The handwriting is dark, thick, and bold. The bold writing leaps out from the stark white paper- there is so much ink that even the next page is marred. This suggests that Rebecca was a bold and confident woman; just as the ink made a great impact on the white paper, Rebecca left a lasting mark on everyone who had known her, seen her, or heard about her. As the black ink stood out from the white paper, Rebecca stood apart from other women of her time. She was just as good at sports as the men, planned and coordinated the magnificent balls at Manderley, and handled all the business affairs of the estate single-handedly. Finally, just as the ink left a mark on the next page of the book, Rebecca’s presence forever leaves a mark on Manderley, even after her death.
To the narrator, Rebecca is such an intimidating name that she feels the need to remove it from the book. Since her death, “Rebecca” has been a hushed topic, never to be spoken aloud in earshot of Maxim. It is the “breaking point,” as far as the narrator has been told. Just the mention of Rebecca could bring disastrous results, as if in this name there was a world of unseen meaning and significance. Even before her arrival at Manderley, the narrator feels threatened by this name, or at least by the consequences its utterance could bring. As she is cutting the page out, she feels like a criminal, as if Rebecca was going to leap out of the page and stop her:
I cut the page right out of the book. I left no jagged edges, and the book looked white and clean when the page was gone. A new book that had not been touched. I tore the page up in many little fragments and threw them into the wastepaper basket…Even now the ink stood up on the fragments thick and black, the writing was not destroyed. I took a box of matches and set fire to the fragments…the letter R was the last to go, it twisted in the flame, it curled outwards for a moment, becoming larger than ever. Then it crumpled too; the flame destroyed it. (57)
In this passage, the narrator burns the page with Rebecca’s name on it. The R was the last letter to go. The references to a new book, white and clean, that had never been touched symbolize the narrator’s fantasy of a new life, free from the presence of Rebecca. Just as the fire eventually destroyed the last fragment, the water eventually destroyed her body. The narrator hopes that her union with Maxim will banish the spirit of Rebecca once and for all. All of these fantasies and fears came from a single name: Rebecca. The reference to the fire foreshadows the novel’s climactic conclusion: the burning of Manderley. Just as the fire destroyed every last fragment of paper, the fire at Manderley destroyed the one last thing that was associated with Rebecca: Manderley. Everything that was once Rebecca’s was inside Manderley: her clothes, her morning room, and her paintings. Everything, including the spirit of a powerful woman and a wondrous estate, can ultimately be brought to ruin.
As we can see, many of the character traits of the narrator and Rebecca came from either the lack of a name or the name itself. In the end, the narrator learns that a name does not define the person. As William Shakespeare so eloquently said, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
