Tags
book review, cutthroat competition, dangerous moors, Daphne du Maurier, Devon, dramatic tension, Gothic fiction, historical fiction, male tyranny, melodrama, nineteenth century, physical detail, sexual attraction, sexual mores, smuggling, violence, women at risk
Review: Jamaica Inn, by Daphne du Maurier
Morrow, 2015. 347 pp. $15
Before Mary Yellan’s mother dies, she insists that after her funeral Mary will go live with Aunt Patience and Uncle Joss Merlyn in the northern part of Devon. Mother’s sister and brother-in-law run an establishment called the Jamaica Inn, and though Mary has never tended bar or taken money in return for hospitality, she resolves to do her best.
But Mary finds danger rather than hospitality at the Jamaica Inn. The coastal area where her aunt and uncle live is more dramatic than the farm country she knows, but walking among crags and moors can cost you your life unless you pay close attention to where the solid ground ends and the bogs begin.
It’s a terrific metaphor for Mary’s predicament, for the ground continually shifts under her feet. She can’t tell friend from foe, at least not by any definition she understands, and she must be forever watchful and strong, or she’ll be sucked under.
Dear reader, you will not be startled to hear that Mary’s journey by coach to this dreary spot happens during a dark and stormy night. Nor will it surprise you that her first view out the window of her room inspires dread and fear:
A noise came from the far end of the yard, a curious groaning sound like that of an animal in pain. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could make out a dark shape swinging gently to and fro. For one nightmare of a moment, her imagination on fire with the tales Joss Merlyn had told her, she thought it was a gibbet, and a dead man hanging. And then she realized it was the signboard of the inn, that somehow or other, through neglect, had become insecure upon its nails and now swung backwards, forwards, with the slightest breeze.
This is du Maurier at her Gothic, melodramatic finest, and Jamaica Inn doesn’t relent. Uncle Joss threatens both women at every turn; to Mary’s disgust, Aunt Patience can do nothing except wring her hands. Mary pushes back against her uncle as best she can, but his physical advantage terrifies her, despite her pretense. Her only respite comes when he’s too drunk to stand—but she knows he’ll sober up eventually and be all the meaner.
Nothing provokes his temper worse than the chance that Mary might see what she shouldn’t and talk about it. But strange sounds outside her window in the wee hours arouse her curiosity. Her watchfulness uncovers evidence of smuggling—and bloody violence dealt out to make sure nobody talks.
Jamaica Inn is the second du Maurier novel about coastal smuggling I’ve reviewed here, but Frenchmen’s Creek is a far cry from this one. In that story, the smuggler’s the hero; the rich, absentee landlords he preys on deserve to be robbed blind; and he treats a woman with love and tenderness. By contrast, when Mary’s uncle tells her that if it weren’t for him, his minions would have their way with her, he can’t understand why she’s not grateful.
Meanwhile, Uncle Joss has a brother, Jem, who professes to be cut from different cloth. Mary’s not so sure. Jem’s a horse thief, and though he doesn’t threaten her outwardly, it’s clear that charm and empathy have bypassed the Merlyn family. Against her will, however, Mary feels physically attracted to Jem and struggles with that, even as she hopes he’s a potential ally in a crowd of enemies.
Du Maurier’s mastery is on full display here. The narrative draws tension from what the smugglers do under Uncle Joss’s leadership, and what he does to keep the two women under his thumb. Mary, fighting to remain calm and restrained outwardly, feels passionately about the criminal activity and her uncle’s tyranny, so she’s a quiet cauldron.
Fittingly, though the language conveys intense feeling, the author relies on physical detail to do the heavy lifting rather than tearing a passion to tatters. I seldom read Gothic novels, but this one shows the same restraint as its heroine. Maybe that’s why it works.
I do question the sexual mores here. Du Maurier supplies few clues as to time period, but a couple references to the nineteenth century and a few more concerning “King George” put the action no later than the late 1820s. Therefore, I wonder how Mary has no qualms about being alone with a man, as though that were simply a matter of choice rather than cause for hesitation, given moral standards and the propensity for country gossip. I also wonder about the ending, which seems a little neat.
Still, I enjoyed Jamaica Inn, and maybe you will too.
Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.