Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier

jamaica-innYou might ask why I have not devoured all of du Maurier’s books, seeing as Rebecca is one of my favourite novels of all time. Well, with authors I love (and especially dead authors) I am very wary of running out of their books and having none to look forward to. Which is why I tend to shy away from books I am pretty sure I will love.

This story opens in 1820 with Mary Yellan on her way to live with her aunt at Jamaica Inn after her mother dies. Her aunt, who was a laughing, carefree woman when Mary was a child, is now cringing and meek and her uncle Joss Merlyn, the landlord, is a vicious bully. The Bodwin Moor seems a dark wasteland to her and there is something strange about the Inn. Why are there never any guests staying there? And why do mysterious carriages pull up in the dead of night?

Mary Yellen is a wonderful protagonist. The same theme I saw in Rebecca, the restlessness of being in a woman’s role, was shown here through Mary.

“I’ll not show fear before Joss Merlyn or any man,” she said, “and, to prove it, I will go down now, in the dark passage, and take a look at them in the bar, and if he kills me it will be my own fault.”

She pities and loves her aunt and yet feels exasperation at her devotion to a man who ruined her happiness. And all the while she is going down the same dark road with her uncle’s younger brother, Jem. His family has a long history of women sticking by the men who treat them worse than dirt and it’s never made clear that Jem won’t follow in this path too. He certainly doesn’t seem to see anything much out of the ordinary in it.

This novel  went a lot darker than I expected which thrilled me of course. It is not only beautifully written but extremely readable. The kind of book that keeps you up at night. There is nothing even remotely supernatural in this book rather du Maurier illustrates true darkness is in nature and the hearts of human beings. The landlord was a very brutish sort of fear to impress but du Maurier goes one step further and injects something even more horrifying in her book from an unexpected source.

I loved everything about this. It was much richer and thrilling than I thought it would be. Before I read this book, Cornwall just evoked twee images of clotted cream and pixies but du Maurier has shown me a place I didn’t know existed. Bogs, windswept moors, deadly marshes and a sign to Jamaica Inn, swinging like a gibbet, and a dead man hanging.”

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