Jack London died before he finished writing The Assasination Bureau . He had scribbled notes that were interesting and horrifying about how he'd like Jack London died before he finished writing The Assasination Bureau . He had scribbled notes that were interesting and horrifying about how he'd like it to end... like birds breaking their wings against boats, dead sharks beating hearts in the hands of fishermen, and an Irish Terrier that jumps off into shark infested seas, all the while the protagonist lays dying.....
All these images seem fitting for a London ending, especially an end about a story of a group of assassins that think they are still morally straight, even as they attempt to take the life of one of their friends. It doesn't end like that though. Instead, a man by the name of Fish ends the story completely different. Not to give Robert L. Fish a hard time but the ending was not befitting of a London novel. Matter of fact, my guess is that it is the very ending London tried to avoid--the easy one.
I remember reading the ending to The Call of The Wild and my mind was completely blown by the raw intensity of the last paragraph written. The ending of Call of the Wild is the reason it remains one of the only books I've read more than once.
The Assassination Bureau is about sheer madness, yet it ends in the most mundane predictable way possible. I found it extremely disappointing. I can't help but feel that London would have been unhappy about it too....more
I've thought a lot about this book since reading it. Forgive me, this review will probably sound like philosophical mumbo jumbo and make no sense what I've thought a lot about this book since reading it. Forgive me, this review will probably sound like philosophical mumbo jumbo and make no sense whatsoever (I'm going to just carelessly throw all my thoughts out there), but I haven't shut my brain off since reading this.
It made me ask myself : What is the truth?
By reading I found my answer had developed into this thought: It seems every single person has their own truth. Are life events ever remembered by their witnesses and bearers as they really happened? Or does each of us have our own versions of our experiences, even when they are shared experiences and events. Is any memory the complete truth then?
Then it hit me. Life is the biggest game of telephone ever.
Is Antoinette even crazy?
I want to err on the side of no. She is not. I want to say that Rochester is just a passive aggressive arrogant punk.
After all, he left Jane sitting in chairs silently as he played with his cronies. He left a little boy weeping outside. Yet he tried not to scare anyone. He sometimes seems too reasonable to act maliciously, yet sometimes not. Oh how I love multi faceted characters.
Or maybe not and maybe he did not do any of those things. I have no idea.
I don't have much to say about Antoinette. She felt like a friend that just had some bad luck...I felt sorry for her and liked listening (I mean reading) to her describe her world.
The truth: I still don't know the truth about dear Rochester or even Antoinette. What is the true story? The one that Rochester tells, the one Antoinette tells, or the versions given by the third parties?
I am going to say we'll never know but I like that Rhys leaves it to her audience to think about. I enjoy a novel that does not spoon feed readers the story, but lets the story unfold so naturally it gives readers the sense that they bore witness to the same events as the fictional characters. I felt close to this place and all of the people.
Lovely writing of atmosphere and story development. A lot of beauty, pain, madness, and life found within its pages. But life is madness and nothing seems completely true most of the time--that is why I liked this book so much (that is my conclusion). In the end I am not surprised that this novel is considered a classic but that is only my humble opinion.
Ugh Rebecca, I really don’t like you. Everyone told me how wonderful, talented, and competent you were but I found you unfriendly and ordinary. Even yUgh Rebecca, I really don’t like you. Everyone told me how wonderful, talented, and competent you were but I found you unfriendly and ordinary. Even your psycho obsessive friend Mrs. Danvers could not rekindle my first golden impressions of you. I envisioned putting you on my favorites shelf along with another favorite ghostly tale, Wuthering Heights. I pictured you and Catherine sitting side by my side, my kindred spirits, my secret friends, that I could count on, on a rainy day, but you disappointed me. We have nothing in common. Don’t feel badly. What am I saying? You won’t. But just for truth's sake I feel the same way about your friends and enemies that I feel about you. All of you are a bloody mess! Even the kind, angel eyed girl that replaced you bugged me; the way Mr. de Winter and Mrs. Danvers could lead her around like a prized pet pony! Don't get me started on Mr. de Winter. I can't stand his rudeness. I could not relate to any of you, no matter how hard I tried. I finally had to say to hell with your beloved Manderley!
Some Side Notes:
A rant about the characters:
You can have an independent mind without being cruel, a weirdo, or a lame duck.
You can be naïve while still having some guts. It's called honesty.
To the readers:
Hitchcock did a movie of this classic. I bet the movie is exceptional. The pacing of Rebecca would seem to offer itself as a very suspenseful entertaining film. I’m sure I’ll like the film, even while disappointed with the book. ...more