Cover to the Virago 2004 edition
Illustration by Jamie Keenan
For many people 'The Birds' (1952) is Daphne du Maurier's greatest short story.
Whilst I'm not sure I'd agree with this critical assessment, it would be foolish to deny its genius, or its appeal for those of us who like the idea of humanity's vulnerability in the face of a malevolent natural world in which - if we did but realise it - even our feathered friends hate us and dream of revenge.
As Patrick McGrath rightly points out, whilst some suggestion is made that freak weather conditions are possibly to blame for the sudden violent behaviour of the birds, the real power of the story resides "in the reader's suspicion that there exist other, less narrowly scientific explanations, rooted perhaps in cosmic punishment for humanity's sins".
Whilst I'm not sure I'd agree with this critical assessment, it would be foolish to deny its genius, or its appeal for those of us who like the idea of humanity's vulnerability in the face of a malevolent natural world in which - if we did but realise it - even our feathered friends hate us and dream of revenge.
As Patrick McGrath rightly points out, whilst some suggestion is made that freak weather conditions are possibly to blame for the sudden violent behaviour of the birds, the real power of the story resides "in the reader's suspicion that there exist other, less narrowly scientific explanations, rooted perhaps in cosmic punishment for humanity's sins".
In other words, it's the ambiguity of the story - particularly concerning the avian aggression - that makes it so disturbing; the horror of people pecked to death by a thousand tiny beaks is never described in detail by du Maurier. (In fact, she tells us more of the little corpses of robins, finches, wrens, sparrows, and blue tits than she does of farmer Trigg and his wife, Jim the cowman, or the village postman, who all fall victim to the birds.)
This ambiguity is continued to the very end of the tale: Nat Hocken, sheltering with his wife and children in the kitchen of his little cottage, eating soup with bread and dripping, decides to smoke his last cigarette, like a condemned man who is reconciled to his fate: "He reached for it, switched on the silent wireless. He threw the empty packet on the fire, and watched it burn."
But as he listened to the sound of the birds relentlessly pecking at the windows and doors, he also, rather philosophically, wondered "how many million years of memory were stored in those little brains, behind the stabbing beaks, the piercing eyes, now giving them the instinct to destroy mankind with all the deft precision of machines".
That's a lovely way to end a tale; revealing yet again du Maurier's dark, inhuman brilliance. No wonder Hitchcock loved her so ...*
Notes
Daphne du Maurier, 'The Birds', in The Birds and Other Stories, (Virago Press, 2004).
Patrick McGrath, 'Mistress of menace', The Guardian (5 May 2007): click here to read online.
* Interestingly, du Maurier didn't like Hitchcock's 1963 adaptation of 'The Birds'. To be fair, the latter did abandon everything in the original story except the title and the central idea of birds inexplicably attacking human beings. But as he once said, his job was to create cinema, not remain faithful to every detail on the written page of a book.
* Interestingly, du Maurier didn't like Hitchcock's 1963 adaptation of 'The Birds'. To be fair, the latter did abandon everything in the original story except the title and the central idea of birds inexplicably attacking human beings. But as he once said, his job was to create cinema, not remain faithful to every detail on the written page of a book.
