60MBC6: Recitatif, by Toni Morrison
This month we're reading Toni Morrison's only published short story. Join us!
Hi everyone,
I can’t believe that we are heading into June’s edition of the Sixty-Minute Book Club! That means we’re already halfway through the year AND our commitment to read one short story per month.
I started the Sixty-Minute Book Club for somewhat selfish reasons: as a way to make sure I read more fiction whilst trying to write my own. But it’s become so much more than that. I’ve reconnected with old friends, and made new ones, all over timeless pieces of writing that have sparked joy, dread, or inspiration.
All this and we still have the second half of the year to go! That’s seven stories remaining including this month’s - a new one for me but already a firm favourite. I’m sure you’ll love it too.
Emma x
🪞‘Recitatif’, by Toni Morrison
First published in 1983, Toni Morrison’s ‘Recitatif’ is a brief but powerful story that is having a well-deserved renaissance. Having first been published in a now-out-of print anthology, in 2022 it was published again by Penguin.
It follows Twyla and Roberta, two girls who meet in a children’s home, across their lives. As they grow their circumstances and relationship to one another changes, as do their memories of their shared history, shaped by memory, race, class, and difference.
We know from the beginning that Twyla and Roberta are different races: one Black, one white. But Morrison never reveals which girl is which, forcing us to examine the way we read and interpret their characters throughout. What is reality? What is projection?
To my shame, I’d never come across this story before, and to my surprise, it was the only short story ever published by Morrison, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1993. But then Morrison famously said:
I only write when I have something to say. I'm not interested in filling up the world with more stories.
And perhaps when you write a masterpiece like this, you don’t need to write any more! I can’t wait 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
‘Recitatif’ by Toni Morrison.
Published: 1983
Average reading time: ~30 minutes
Themes: Race, class, memory, friendship, ambiguity, identity.
‘Recitatif’, Toni Morrison, Penguin (2022), with an introduction by Zadie Smith.
I found a couple of audio versions on YouTube and Spotify, I’m linking the ones I liked best. The one on Spotify is in two parts but I really enjoyed the reading. It also opens with a short intro about Toni Morrison.
What to consider while reading
This story is layered, political, and ambiguous: perfect for an in-depth discussion. Here are some things to think about as you read:
Race and ambiguity: Morrison never reveals which girl is Black and which is white. What assumptions did you make as you read? What clues (or red herrings) did you notice, and what stereotypes did you find yourself projecting onto each?
Memory and misremembering: How do Twyla and Roberta remember their shared past differently? What does that say about memory, truth, and narrative?
Power and class: How does class shape their relationship over time? Is one character more privileged than the other, and if so - how do you know?
Language and silence: What’s left unsaid in the story? How do silence, pauses, and omissions shape the narrative?
Friendship and discomfort: Is this a story about a deep friendship or a superficial one? Or both, somehow?
We’ll explore these and more together in the chat starting next week.
📆 Date for your diaries
We’ll meet virtually on Tuesday 24 June, at 6 PM CEST (9am PST / 12pm EST / 5pm BST) for a sixty minute discussion of ‘Recitatif’.
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 sixth short story of 2025. Halfway through!
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 ‘Recitatif’, please hit the heart so I know.
Thanks,
Emma x
In brief: May’s live discussion of ‘The Apple Tree’
[Spoilers ahead! If you’ve not yet read ‘The Apple Tree’, come back to this after you have]
Last week’s conversation was all about Daphne du Maurier’s haunting short story ‘The Apple Tree’ - thank you to everyone who made it such a rich and nuanced conversation. It opened my eyes to a lot of elements I hadn’t picked up on!
Below are just a few highlights from a conversation that ranged from post-war gender roles to fertility, supernatural ambiguity, and the enduring weight of unpaid labour - just a light sixty-minute chat then ha.
A feminist ghost story? While the story appears to have been marketed as “a ghost story for Christmas,” most of us felt it read more like a psychological portrait of guilt, repression, and loneliness. The apple tree’s eerie presence, blossoming out of season and giving off a “bad smell” that only the narrator notices, struck many as symbolic of the narrator’s rotting conscience rather than an actual haunting. We compared this to April’s read, ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’, noting the overlap in how both stories use physical objects (a tree, a wall) to externalise the internal descent of a repressed character.
Unpaid labour and emotional erosion. A central theme was the emotional and domestic labour performed by Midge, the narrator’s deceased wife. Several of us talked about how the story captured what we now call “the mental load”, from managing the household to constantly thanking staff to noticing when things need doing. Midge never explicitly demands help, and the narrator congratulates himself for pitching in “when asked.” We felt du Maurier deftly portrayed the slow grind of this imbalance and how it can hollow out a relationship.
The apple tree as a symbol of fertility, regret, and revenge. One of the most compelling readings came from the interpretation of the apple tree as a stand-in for fertility and female productivity. Midge and the narrator had no children, and the tree’s sudden flowering after her death was seen by some as a symbol of what she could have given or become if not worn down by life with him. There were also nods to the biblical apple, temptation, and the narrator’s misplaced desire for the much-younger May, whose rosy cheeks he compares to apples. The contrast between May’s youth and Midge’s perceived decay felt particularly pointed.
A post-war portrait of shifting gender roles. We discussed how the story reflects the societal shifts following WWII, particularly the changing roles of women. The character of the land girl, likely a reference to women who worked the land during the war, served as a contrast to Midge and perhaps symbolised a generation of more independent, capable women. Emma noted that du Maurier may be tapping into a broader male anxiety of the time: that women were no longer content to remain in the background. The narrator’s nostalgia, resentment, and emotional confusion could be read as a reaction to this cultural transformation.
Ambiguity, repression, and denial. Much of our discussion circled around how little the narrator understands himself. There was debate over whether his occasional flashes of sadness or guilt were genuine or performative. Ruth highlighted an early line - “I am like this because of you” - which the tree seems to communicate to the narrator. Whether that voice comes from the tree, from Midge, or from his own subconscious was a question we never fully settled, and that was part of the intrigue of the story.
A masterclass in atmosphere. We finished by marvelling at du Maurier’s ability to evoke mood with such precision: the cold silence of the house, the cloying smell of apples, the shifting perceptions of Midge from “battle-axe” to broken woman. As Ruth put it, “I can almost smell the polish on the floors.” There was consensus that while this was not the happiest of reads, it was one of the most finely crafted, with every detail contributing to its slow, suffocating power.
❤️ Thank you for reading Scrambled Eggs. Enjoyed this post? Hit the heart to let me know.
Powerful story. I had remembered some of it but certainly not most. 🥹🫶🏻
Love this summary and look forward to reading Recitatif again. 🫶🏻