This is a fun classic novel. Alfred Hitchcock made it into a movie in 1940. I haven't seen it for a very long time, but I think it was his first American movie, or something like that. He probably played up the spookiness a lot, but the book is just spooky enough to be fun. (For me, I mean. I don't have much tolerance for scary stuff.)
I've read it before, possibly twice, but I really enjoyed it this time around. I knew what was going to happen, of course (Jon and I watched a long Masterpiece Theatre production of it fairly recently, which had reminded me of forgotten details). But the writing is delightfully descriptive, and this time I noticed how much of the story happens in the narrator's head, as she imagines different scenarios. In fact, her swings from euphoric happiness to deep despair reminded me of Bridget Jones's Diary--silly, uniquely female, somewhat immature, and totally believable. It's really fun to read.