60MBC5: The Apple Tree, by Daphne Du Maurier
Your garden variety short story: just less Granny Smith, more Black Oxford...
Hello and happy long weekend to many of us the world over!
Whether you enjoyed a day off yesterday, today or have it to look forward this coming Monday, I have just the thing for you to do with it… Because it’s time to release May’s short story for the Sixty-Minute Book Club!
But first, a recap of last month, when it was the turn of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’, by Charlotte Perkins Gilman: a chilling, claustrophobic little tale about women’s autonomy, mental health, and the ways in which our homes can both soothe and suffocate. If you couldn’t make the chat - don’t worry: I’ve included a short recap of the key themes after this post.
Our story this month comes from a writer I know many of you are already familiar with. Not only is she one of my personal favourites, she’s renowned as a true master of atmospheric suspense, gothic undertones, and psychological twists.
🍎 ‘The Apple Tree’, by Daphne du Maurier
Yes, this month we’re cracking into one of the best suspense writers of the twentieth century, Daphne du Maurier - specifically, her short story ‘The Apple Tree’.
Lauded for her novels including Rebecca (IMO, her masterpiece), du Maurier was also a prolific writer of short stories, and the creator of some of pop culture’s most memorable works. Many are unaware that two iconic horror movies (Hitchcock’s The Birds and Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now) are both based on tales written by her (both are exquisite, and - if you can believe it - even creepier than the films).
I was introduced to two of her short story collections on a warm beach holiday many years ago when I lived in Singapore. I can still recall the specificities of her stories and the distinct chill in the atmosphere of her tales: enough to make me shiver even on the tropical sands of South East Asia.
First published in 1952, ‘The Apple Tree’ is one of du Maurier’s best, if not best-known. She takes a simple setting: a widower, a house, a garden, and gradually layers it with dread and disquiet, drawing the reader into an unsettling tale of guilt, resentment, and the after-effects of long (perhaps too-long) relationships.
This story is a masterclass in slow-building psychological tension and offers a darkly funny, faintly gothic take on marriage, memory, and self-deception. I’m excited to read it with you!
Psst! Don’t forget that for the weekly prompts, chat discussions and access to the live discussion link you’ll need to be a subscriber (whether free or paid).
💡 The need-to-knows
‘The Apple Tree’ by Daphne Du Maurier
Published: 1952
Average reading time: ~45 minutes
Themes: Guilt, marriage, repression, grief, the uncanny
You can find this story in several short story collections by du Maurier, including The Birds and Other Stories. If you get chance this month, I’d really recommend making time to read others in the collection, especially ‘The Birds’.
For audiobook fans, there is also an audiobook edition of the above title.
I did find this 1974 reading but it appears to be a dramatised adapted script rather than a pure reading, so I’d recommend reading the story first.
What to consider while reading
Here are some guiding threads to think about as you read this month’s story:
Personification of nature: How does the apple tree take on human qualities? What role does nature play in shaping the widower’s thoughts?
Guilt and repression: How much of what unfolds do you think is real, and how much is a projection of the narrator’s guilt or imagination?
Marriage and memory: How does the story explore the lingering power of a long relationship, even after one partner is gone?
Atmosphere and setting: What techniques does du Maurier use to build tension? How does the ordinary setting (a garden, a house) become something menacing?
We’ll discuss some of these, and others, from next week in the chat.
📆 Date for your diaries
Given the way calendars fall this time around we have almost an entire month to enjoy the fruits of this month’s story (yup, sorry, I cannot resist a pun).
We’ll meet virtually on Tuesday 27 May, at 6 PM CEST (10am PST / 1pm EST / 5pm BST) for a one-hour discussion of ‘The Apple Tree’.
As always, the meeting link is available only to subscribers, so make sure you’re signed up to get access.
Starting next week, I’ll post prompts and tidbits via the subscriber chat. This is only available to subscribers, so make sure you sign up to access!
📚 Happy reading!
That should be all the info you need to get started on our fifth short story of 2025. Not long until we’re already half way through - eek!
If you have any questions or anything needs clarification, drop me a message here in comments, in the chat, or via DM.
And if you’re excited to get started with ‘The Apple Tree’, please hit the heart so I know.
Thanks,
Emma x
In brief: April’s live discussion of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’
[Spoilers ahead! If you’ve not yet read ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’, come back to this after you have].
I must not have been the only one who had a hectic April as this was the first ever book club where sadly no one was able to make it 🥹
That said, the story clearly connected with you all as I received so many tidbits, questions and ideas from each person who sent their apologies, as well as a few conversations in the subscriber chat. I include some of the themes here:
Ambiguity. So much so that quite a few of you admitted they weren’t entirely sure what happened by the end of the story. I felt the same *and* I had read it before - I forgot how much the tale resists a neat resolution. Does the narrator take her life? Does she go mad? Was she always mad, or did the room turn her this way? The rope imagery, the torn wallpaper, chewed bedstead, and the narrator’s creeping around the room all leave things deliberately ambiguous, including the timeline.
The room: nursery or cell? Was the room was ever really a nursery at all? Several of us noted details like the barred windows, the scratches, the bolted-down bed, the rings on the walls, which made it feel less like a child’s room and more like a cell or a space designed for confinement. Was the room a part of her own house that she was too unwell to recognise? A hospital room? Or truly a separate space rented by a family who love her.
The husband and the ‘rest cure’. There were questions around whether the narrator’s husband was well-meaning but misguided, or actively contributing to her suffering. The 19th-century ‘rest cure’ which forced women to slow down, stop work and socialising of any kind in favour of ‘confining’ themselves was a common treatment for what we’d now call postnatal depression, but we questioned whether it exacerbated the narrator’s decline. Was she fundamentally unwell from the start (nature), or did the enforced passivity and repression (nurture) end up harming her more? I also felt that the fact the men in her life were both doctors (her husband and her brother) spoke to the oppressive and patriarchal nature of such a ‘medicine’.
Writing and mental health. I was particularly interested in the role of writing in supporting the narrator’s mental state. She repeatedly describes how writing provides her with relief, an outlet, and a sense of mental stimulation… yet it also exhausts her, and she’s scolded for doing it. I wondered whether Gilman was weaving her own experiences and beliefs as a writer into this character and whether she considered writing critical to her own mental health.
If you also read along or have thoughts you want to share, drop them in the chat or comments, we’d love to hear them.
❤️ Thank you for reading Scrambled Eggs. Enjoyed this post? Hit the heart to let me know.