Rebecca is one of my favorite novels. I reread it this summer and enjoyed every word, every mood, as much as the first summer I read it in 1977.
Don’t Look Now was one of my favorite selections for Carl’s RIP VI Challenge this October. I was thoroughly entranced with the mind game Daphne du Maurier played with me in the canals of Venice.
So, it was with great delight that I accepted The Doll
to review this month. Daphne du Maurier’s lost short stories? I was all over that!
Until I read the first one about a ship bringing a strange northeast wind which caused a certain village inhabitant to brutally murder his wife with an ax, only to find the ship gone the next day when he awoke to fully discover what he’d done. “Okay,” I thought. “We’re off to a rocky start. Surely the next one will be better.”
The next story in the collection was the title piece, The Doll
. This story upset me so much that I actually had a nightmare two evenings later, and I haven’t picked the book up since. I absolutely cannot subject myself to the darkness within, which is far more than a creepy story; it made me feel slimy with poisoned filth.
“Tell the publisher you can’t review it,” suggested both my husband and my mother who listened to me express my dismay.
“But,” I said, “I have to keep to my word.”
Yet, the truth is that I can’t review it. I can’t read any more, and subject myself to a side of Daphne that far surpasses the macabre. The stories I read are, to me, unspeakably evil.