The Supernatural and the Functions of the Gothic
in Daphne du Maurier’s ‘The Birds’ and ‘Don’t Look Now’
Nil Korkut-Naykı
Abstract
Although the supernatural is usually an essential component of the gothic, there is significant
variety in the way gothic texts employ supernatural elements. While some gothic narratives
treat the supernatural as an unquestionable part of their fictional worlds, some others evoke
scepticism concerning the reality status of the uncanny events introduced. In such texts, the
scepticism experienced by the characters and/or the readers is either resolved at some point in
the narrative or played out until the very end, in which case the gothic text attains the status of
“the fantastic” as formulated by Tzvetan Todorov. Informed by the argument that such
varying treatments of the supernatural create significantly different effects, this paper explores
the role of the supernatural in two well-known gothic short stories by Daphne du Maurier:
“The Birds” (1952) and “Don’t Look Now” (1971), which have enjoyed popularity especially
as film adaptations by Alfred Hitchcock and Nicolas Roeg respectively. The paper aims to
demonstrate that there is an essential difference between the way the two narratives approach
the preternatural, the former involving an unquestioning acceptance and the latter a persistent
scepticism concerning the existence of the unusual events. It also aims to demonstrate how
this difference allows these two gothic texts to function in entirely different ways. While the
unquestioning tone of “The Birds” evokes a sense of doom or apocalypse, the endless
scepticism in “Don’t Look Now” creates a much different effect, emphasizing struggle in the
face of the unknown and raising questions concerning the nature of reality. It is hoped that
this comparative analysis will shed further light on the relationship between the gothic and the
supernatural, emphasizing the widely varying functions gothic texts may attain through the
way they approach the supernatural.
Key Words: Gothic, supernatural, fantastic, hesitation, Daphne du Maurier.
*****
The gothic and the supernatural are closely interrelated. A gothic text that does not
touch upon the supernatural in one way or another is hard to conceive. This close relationship,
however, manifests itself in a wide variety of ways. Some gothic texts treat the supernatural
as an integral and unquestionable part of their plots. In such cases the text does not trigger
inquiries concerning the reality status of the narrated events. The supernatural is there to be
acknowledged, taken in and dealt with by characters and readers alike. Other gothic texts, on
the other hand, evoke the supernatural to question it at the same time. Here both the characters
and the readers may find themselves speculating about the strange events introduced, trying to
decide whether these can be explained through natural means or whether they really belong in
the realm of the supernatural. Most gothic texts terminate this sense of hesitation at a certain
1
point in the narrative, allowing the characters and the readers to opt for one resolution or the
other. There are also texts, however, that refuse to resolve this ambiguity. These are fewer in
number and come closest to the state of the pure ‘fantastic’ as formulated by Tzvetan
Todorov.1 In these texts the narrative ends, but the hesitation continues.
My approach in this paper is informed by these ideas concerning the relationship
between the gothic and the supernatural. I would like to argue that the way gothic texts
function is significantly shaped by the way they employ the supernatural. For this purpose I
would like to look at two short stories by Daphne du Maurier, whose gothic interests as a
writer are known primarily in relation to her famous best-selling novel Rebecca (1938). The
short stories I would like to look at, however, are also quite well-known, and perhaps more so
as film adaptations. The first of these, ‘The Birds’ (1952), which later on became famous as a
Hitchcock film, is about the sudden and inexplicable transformation ordinary birds at a
seaside town go through, violently attacking human beings and causing mass destruction. The
second, ‘Don’t Look Now’ (1971), which was adapted to film by Nicholas Roeg, is about a
couple on holiday in Venice. They have recently lost their daughter, and they hope the
holiday will serve as a distraction, lessening the effect of their sad memories and helping them
to return to normal life. Contrary to expectations, however, their days in Venice turn into a
gothic nightmare involving mystery, violence, and murder. Although both of these stories
involve the supernatural, they differ significantly in the way they treat it. In the rest of this
paper I would like to explore how this difference allows these two gothic stories to function in
strikingly different ways and to create strikingly different effects.
“The Birds” begins on an ordinary day for the farmer Nat and his family, but there is
also the foreboding of coming disaster. The weather has suddenly turned very cold, and the
birds seem restless. Nat is perhaps the first person in town to experience the violent behaviour
of the birds. The first incident happens when he hears tapping on the window panes halfway
through the night. Opening the window, he has a quick encounter with a bird which jabs at his
knuckles, causing his hand to bleed. Nat is somewhat frightened, but he is quick to explain
this strange incident to himself through natural means: ‘Frightened, he supposed, and
bewildered, the bird, seeking shelter, had stabbed at him in the darkness.’2 During the same
night, however, other intrusions also occur. There is a second tapping on the window, and this
time not one but half a dozen birds attack Nat, flying at his face. A while later other birds are
heard in the children’s bedroom, and Nat fights in the darkness against violent birds that have
flown in through the open window. Wounded and bleeding, he is eventually able to get rid of
them, but later in the morning light he is deeply disturbed when he sees what he has fought
against more clearly: ‘They were all small birds, none of any size; there must have been fifty
of them lying there upon the floor. There were robins, finches, sparrows, blue tits, larks, and
bramblings, birds that by nature’s law kept to their own flock and their own territory….’3 It is
now more obvious to Nat that he and his family have experienced a preternatural event. His
need to naturalize what looks inexplicable is still strong, however. He tries to reassure his
wife - and hence himself - that the weather is responsible for what has happened, that these
birds must have been ‘driven down from upcountry’ because of ‘the hard weather.’4 As for the
fierce struggle in the bedroom, he tells both himself and his children that ‘It must have been
fright that made them [the birds] act the way they did.’5
2
At this point in the narrative the reader also shares Nat’s discomfort, trying to make
sense of the strange events introduced. The reader, however, can also opt for another
explanation, arguing that the violent behavior of the birds, which has so far been presented
only from Nat’s perspective, is a product of Nat’s troubled imagination. This possibility,
which would be another natural explanation for the strange events, is corroborated through
Nat’s concern over having the other townspeople believe his story. He is, for instance, very
much disturbed when Mrs. Trigg at the farm stares at him ‘doubtfully’ when he tells her about
the events of the previous night.6 He receives a similar treatment from Jim, the cowman, and
he quickly dismisses thoughts of notifying the police, speculating that they ‘would think him
mad, or drunk ….’7
Early on in the story, then, a Todorovian sense of hesitation is experienced by both the
protagonist and the readers. While attempting to naturalize the strange behavior of the birds,
Nat also feels that this phenomenon might be beyond his grasp as a human being. Similarly,
the reader hesitates between possible natural and supernatural accounts. Is this event, as Nat
suggests, a natural outcome of changing weather and hungry and frightened birds, or is Nat
imagining things? Or again, are the narrated events beyond a natural explanation, in which
case the fictional world of the story would have to be acknowledged as partaking of the
supernatural?
‘The Birds’ does not sustain this state of hesitation for very long, however. The
Todorovian state of the purely fantastic is dissolved quite early in the narrative when the
violent behavior of the birds is recorded all over the country, and their massive attacks begin
to look very much like a planned alien invasion. From this point forward, the reader as well as
the characters have to accept that the supernatural truly occupies a place in the world of the
story. The story may now be categorized under what Todorov labels as ‘the genre of the
marvellous.’8 In her discussion of the marvellous in Gothic fiction, Margaret L. Carter argues
that here ‘the focus is often less on the invader, and its problematic status, than on ordinary
people’s reaction to the invasion.’9 This is exactly what happens in ‘The Birds.’ Once the
hesitation is resolved, the story’s focus shifts noticeably from the characters’ search for
meaning in the face of the unknown to a struggle for survival. In the rest of the story, Nat no
longer questions the reasons behind the strange behaviour of the birds, and neither does the
reader. The inexplicable is there to be accepted, and the story focuses primarily on Nat’s
efforts to preserve his family in the midst of large-scale death and destruction. Nat’s words to
his wife on how they should act in the coming days are very telling in this respect: ‘We’ve
just got to adapt ourselves, that’s all.’10 Just like Nat, the reader is also expected to adapt to
the way things are, putting aside his scepticism and settling for the helpless, apocalyptic
vision evoked at the end of the story.
The way ‘The Birds’ approaches the supernatural, then, may be regarded as an
important factor determining the story’s function of evoking a sense of doom and drawing the
reader’s attention to man’s highly fragile and insignificant position in the universe. I would
now like to move on to ‘Don’t Look Now’ and see how the different treatment of the
supernatural here leads this gothic story to function in an entirely different way.11
‘Don’t Look Now’ may be said to belong to that narrower category of works which
remain within the genre of the fantastic even at the very end. The story, in other words,
refuses to resolve the ambiguity concerning the reality status of the preternatural events
3
introduced. ‘Don’t Look Now’ actually begins with a tone of mystery, which is consistently
sustained throughout. John, the protagonist, is with his wife Laura at a restaurant in Venice
when he notices two odd-looking women at a nearby table glancing at them. In a light-hearted
way they begin to speculate about the real identity of these women, and in their short
exchange they remain totally undecided between a wide range of possibilities: are these
women two old girls, male twins in drag, criminals changing sex, murderers, jewel thieves, or
retired schoolmistresses? This undecidedness, which at first looks rather insignificant, later
takes on serious overtones and becomes symptomatic of the sense of unease and uncertainty
pervading the whole narrative. The events begin to unfold when Laura follows one of the
women to the toilet, and when she comes out, her light-hearted mood has changed. In the
toilet, the woman has told Laura that her twin sister has psychic powers and has just seen
Laura’s dead daughter sitting between them in the restaurant, laughing. Laura is quite ready to
believe such a supernatural account and is even relieved to hear that the spectre of her
daughter looked happy, but John seriously suspects that these two women are frauds and is
worried that their account will do nothing but bring back sad memories. It is in this way that
the preternatural emerges in the story and becomes more and more pervasive as the narrative
proceeds.
Other uncanny events follow. On the evening of the same day, John and Laura get lost
in the dark, labyrinthine streets of Venice, and it is here that John experiences an event which
Laura doesn’t notice. Following a cry that echoes through the street, John sees a small girl in
a pixie hood jumping from one boat to another, looking as though she is running from
somebody. Accidentally meeting the odd twin sisters one more time that night, the couple is
told that their dead daughter is trying to warn them of an impending danger, that they should
leave Venice as soon as possible, and that John has psychic powers, of which he is not yet
aware. Going back to the hotel, they receive news that their son, whom they have left back in
England, has been taken ill. Laura leaves for England immediately, and John, planning to
leave as soon as possible, takes a ferry towards the bus station. Travelling on the ferry, he sees
Laura and the twin sisters on another ferry going in the opposite direction, back towards
Venice. Terrified, John goes back to the hotel, looks for his wife in all possible places,
suspects the twin sisters of fraud and kidnapping and even notifies the police. Then, to his
surprise, he receives a phone call from England and speaks to his wife, who, it seems, has
been able to take the flight to England after all. John, then, has to apologize from the police
and the two sisters, who insist that his vision of his wife on the ferry was a psychic vision of
the future. Still unconvinced, John heads back towards the hotel and gets lost among the
streets once more. He again sees the girl in the pixie hood running and goes after her in the
hope of helping her. Coming face to face with the girl, he realizes that this is ‘not a child …
but a little thickset woman dwarf.’12 The dwarf takes out a knife and pierces his throat, and the
story ends as John, mortally wounded, thinks to himself: ‘Oh, God, … what a bloody silly
way to die ….’13
‘Don’t Look Now’ presents all these uncanny events in such a clever way that
questioning their reality becomes an essential issue for both the protagonist and the reader.
Throughout the narrative John is marked by an insistence to stick to natural explanations. He
refuses to believe in psychic phenomena, thinks the sisters are frauds and regards what they
say is a trance state as an epileptic attack. As for seeing his wife on the ferry, this is harder to
4
explain, but he eventually comes to believe that his eyes have deceived him. He does not
suspect himself much, except for one instance when he considers the possibility of his going
mad. The reader, however, remains less certain than John and has a hard time deciding
between equally strong evidence for opposing explanations. Either the supernatural truly
occupies a place in the world of the story, or John is in an obsessive and hallucinatory state
due to serious psychological problems. A careful reading reveals, for instance, that he is prone
to drinking too much and that he has not been able to overcome the death of his daughter
though he wants to convince himself of the contrary. The possibly unreliable presentation of
events with John as focalizer also corroborates such an account. The reader, then, reaches the
end of the story without a proper resolution, torn between two possible interpretations: (1)
John has met his death as the psychic sisters had warned him, and his psychic vision of his
wife on the ferry was that of the next day when his wife would come back to Venice because
of his death. (2) John’s obsessive and troubled mind is the reason for all the complication, and
his eventual death is accidental, something that could happen to anybody insistently following
a suspicious person through dark labyrinthine streets in the middle of the night.
It should now be clear how this story is very different from ‘The Birds’ in the way it
treats the supernatural. Unlike ‘The Birds,’ where the inexplicable and hence the supernatural
are accepted almost like an inevitable fate, here the text is marked by continual ‘deferrals,
questionings, denials, [and] misinterpretations.’14 Though both stories end with a tone of
pessimism, ‘Don’t Look Now’, through its particular approach to the supernatural,
emphasizes the human potential for resistance and struggle as opposed to helpless and
unquestioning acceptance. Although ‘The Birds’ evokes a sense of doom, it can still be
argued that ‘Don’t Look Now’ leaves the reader feeling even more uncomfortable,
challenging him to endless thinking and questioning. In this sense, ‘Don’t Look Now’ may be
said to exploit the transgressive possibilities of the gothic more fully, raising questions about
reality and representing the human potential to think beyond received notions. ‘Don’t Look
Now illustrates how a ‘fantastic’ treatment of the supernatural gives Gothic texts richer
functions, situating them closer to modern concerns about challenging boundaries and
undermining dominant and oppressive assumptions.
5
1
Notes
Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, trans. Richard Howard
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975).
2
Daphne du Maurier, ‘The Birds,’ in Kiss Me Again Stranger (New York: Dell Publishing, 1952), 33.
3
Ibid., 35.
4
Ibid., 36.
5
Ibid., 39.
6
Ibid., 38.
7
Ibid., 41.
8
Todorov, The Fantastic, 41.
9
Margaret L. Carter, Specter or Delusion? The Supernatural in Gothic Fiction (Ann Arbor: UMI
Research Press, 1987), 120.
10
Du Maurier, ‘The Birds,’ 58.
11
Daphne du Maurier, ‘Don’t Look Now,’ in Don’t Look Now (New York: Doubleday & Company,
1971).
12
Ibid., 60.
13
Ibid., 61.
14
Gina Wisker, ‘Don’t Look Now! The Compulsions and Revelations of Daphne du Maurier’s Horror
Writing,’ Journal of Gender Studies 8, no.1 (1999): 26.
Bibliography
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Research Press, 1987.
Du Maurier, Daphne. ‘Don’t Look Now.’ In Don’t Look Now. New York: Doubleday & Company,
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____. ‘The Birds.’ In Kiss Me Again Stranger. New York: Dell Publishing, 1952.
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Howard. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975.
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