Alison Jacques Is Dreaming of Manderley

Ask 100 people in a room if they’ve read Daphne du Maurier’s enchanting 1938 novel Rebecca and you’ll most likely find the collective answer forms one emphatic yes. Probe further as to why the book is so well cherished, (copies so well-thumbed that torn spines and coffee-stained pages speak of love rather than neglect) and you’re promised a whole host of responses wildly varying from one person to the next. ‘Rebeca’s a victim, not the villain’, will scream some in defiance. ‘Rebecca deserved her fate’, will coo others. ‘It’s my favourite 20th-century romance’ they'll say.

Romance? I, like most, have read Rebecca time and time again to know that the novel is loaded with so much suspense, horror and dark fantasy that there’s barely any room for romance. If I had it my way, I would tell you not to be fooled by Manderley (the house the story takes place in), with its illustrious Rhododendrons and almost, (almost) enviable grandeur - for there is no place for romance here. Just as there’s no room for knights, magic or mermaids; each, we can all agree, is a key ingredient in forging the perfect fairytale. Alas, for all Rebecca lacks, it makes up for in terror, a feeling so palpable, it's imbued in every word, on every page you turn.

Just as Rebbecca the novel and Rebecca the person both exist in the liminal space where ‘good and evil blur and the conscious mind flipflops between dream and reality', so does all the story inspires - and Alison Jacques’ recently opened exhibition Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley (zero points for guessing where that title comes from) is no exception.

On a quest to change Rebecca’s reputation from classic gothic horror novel to ultimate fairytale fantasy is curator Daniel Malarkey, who’s every bit as familiar with that sloping R gracing every copy’s front cover as the next person thanks to the gothic thriller being his 'favourite book since adolescence'. So naturally, when Alison Jacques (of Alison Jacques gallery on Cork Street) came knocking last year, asking him to curate an exhibition, no questions were asked, nor thoughts pondered. ‘I knew I wanted to revisit the history of fairytales and retell them in a new way’, Malarkey told me over email - it was just a matter of which fairytale would blossom above all (little did Malarkey know, his mind was already at work). ‘As I prepared the final curation and designed the architectural build of the show, I wrote down a list of potential titles and out of my pen came ‘Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley’, he told me. The rest, as they say, is history.

Bold, evocative and hypnotic, Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley ingeniously pulls together a rich tapestry of paintings and sculptures old and new by artists past and present to rebuild Rebecca’s gothic narrative from the ground up. Wanting to reframe how the story has been remembered across generations, (Malarkey is adamant in proclaiming Rebecca as a fairytale rather than reducing it to a 'simply gothic novel'), the exhibition seeks to reflect on notions familiar to the book's fanbase - memory, darkness and transformation - as much as it also looks to rethink the stereotypical fairytale usually revolving around romance and princesses; scrap the happy ending, this is hardcore. Yes, monsters and magic are prevalent in the works on show, but they're in good company alongside defiance and betrayal as the complexities of love and the battle between good and evil is also imperative to Malarkey's narrative. Regardless of the interpretations, Malarkey’s intentions are clear: 'No one speaks about Rebecca being a fairytale, [they think it] simply a gothic novel, I am changing that'. He went on to state that, 'There is magic in almost every fairytale and du Maurier’s writing is no exception. She somehow achieves this unique blend of the obvious tropes of a gothic fairytale with the malaise of the 20th-century person that translates so perfectly to today'.

Building a home in the transformative power of storytelling, another key component of the show is Malarkey's fine curation thanks to a literal 'underworld' splitting the gallery in two. This section houses works by the incredible British artist Maggi Hambling CBE and Polish native Aleksandra Waliszewska, (who also happens to be the great-granddaughter of fairytale writer, Kazimiera Dębska). This is 'where death is starring you in the face', Malarkey tells me, but it's not the only decision Malarkey's made that defies the conventional norms of white-wall gallery curatorial habits (mirroring du Maurier's own disregard for the traditional rules of fairytale lore). There's also a carefully considered mash-up of fairytale-inspired references upstairs, including Pre-Raphaelite-inspired wallpaper amongst other painted interiors and various 'architectural interventions', yes, that's code for a Juliette balcony - who'd have thought it possible? Speaking of this architectural feat, Malarkey referenced how he 'infused visual motifs of fairytales into [the] exhibition with a narrative structure as you move through the galleries from naivety to the underworld, and when you climb back up the stairs, you are like the hero in a fairytale fighting their way out of hell.'

If the invisible line drawn between good and evil, the archetypal paradise and the underworld isn't enough of a pull for you, just wait until you see the other artists Malarkey has chosen to involve in addition to Hambling and Waliszewska; Dorothea Tanning, Richard Slee, Sheila Hicks, Patrizio di Massimo and Nicola. L (amongst a plethora of others) all have works included. ‘All in all, it is a mix of the conscious and subconscious’, Malarkey reveals, whose reasoning for including such names is as varied as the very themes reflected in Rebecca. ‘There are artists who are friends of mine, and in [other] group exhibitions I curate (Jean-Marie Appriou, Anna Calleja), and there are artists I have admired from afar’, Malarkey notes. ‘There are artist estates who I feel should be shown more in the UK as the context gives new readings of their work (Ernie Barnes, Roger Brown), and there are also specific works I requested that spoke so perfectly to the exhibition like Richard Slee’s Tent and Maggi Hambling’s portrait of Sebastian Horsley.’

As for the breadth of work on display, each piece has its rightful place in the exhibition, whether it speaks to Rebecca’s relevance in the contemporary world as a social media star or to the idea of her being nothing but a ghostly apparition in our lives. As for Anna Calleja, it's both - her painting Mirror Mirror (featuring the reflection of a young girl whose appearance is cast back in the screen of her locked iPhone) miraculously weaves contrasting perspectives all because of the artist's contemporary choice of painting a phone - a device that helps people reach online stardom as much as it helps contribute to past memories haunting us.

'Like with social media, where people from our past reappear, so too does Rebecca again and again', notes Malarkey. 'We will never be rid of Rebecca [the character], the narrator believes. That said, we are all obsessed with Rebecca, with how she does things so perfectly, and we are obsessed with Manderley, a place that represents both heaven and hell; we overcome its isolation with its addictive grandeur'. Winding back to his belief in professing Rebecca to be a fairytale above all else, Malarkey ends by staunchly clarifying: 'Ultimately though - whereas in Beauty and the Beast, the beast has a noble character hidden inside - there is no true inner goodness in the book Rebecca. The book is about the transformation from naivety to adulthood without the moral fibre of a traditional tale'.

Daniel Malarkey's Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley at Alison Jacques is open to the public until 8 March, 2025.