The main obvious advantage that books have over movies is that your imagination does all the work. Even the most dubious concept can, therefore, be made terrifying by a feverish mind. Not exactly a groundbreaking observation, true, but imagination certainly comes in handy when you want to review a novelette like The Birds. Take a wild guess what this one's about. That's right: it's Richie from Bottom's autobiography.
Daphne du Maurier's story concerns itself with the inexplicable uprising of our feathered friends; apparently all the birds in the world just one day decide they've had enough seed and want to feast on man flesh instead. Our protagonist, rugged farm labourer/wounded war veteran/know-it-all Nat Hocken, is forced to protect himself and his family from the ever increasing threat of the wing'd death. Fortunately he's resourceful, intelligent, has his wits about him, and whilst everyone else becomes the cracker Polly really wants, Nat survives because he's the only one who knows what's going on.
Read the above paragraph and you'll probably have two thoughts. Firstly: "is this the same posho who wrote the likes of Jamaica Inn and Rebecca?" And secondly: "wasn't that an Alfred Hitchcock film?" The answer to both questions, Dear Reader, is yes. Now get out of my head before I get the shotgun.
The 1963 film is loosely based on du Maurier's book, of course. For me, however, that film just emphasises how schlocky the premise actually is. Sure, birds could do a fair bit of damage if they wanted. And the shots of scores of ravens covering every surface and doing nothing but wait ominously, is certainly creepy. But they're fucking birds. Just clean your windows like a bastard and they'll fly into them and break their necks. And where does the scenario end? Sure crows, ravens, owls, vultures, eagles, and just about any variety of kite, are scary but does this curse effect budgies too?
In the book, the birds are seagulls which I'd say is pushing it in terms of outright horror. That being said, I have nearly lost a finger attempting to eat chips at the seaside.
In my opinion the book handles the premise more effectively. The set-up is similar to Night of the Living Dead, in that it's a rural horror (set near a Cornish seaside town) and largely takes the form of a siege. Du Maurier is also less interested in birds themselves; shes more focused on cynical depictions of how people act in disasters, as well as social commentary on the environment. As with most old school horror, its principal monsters are simply conduits for the author's views. You could replace the birds with bananas and it'd make little difference overall.
The scenes of Nat stumbling upon hundreds of dead birds in the fields and along the beachfront, paints a bleak picture which should surely resonate with our environmentally conscious generation. A sympathy that is surely negated by the birds later on becoming evil bastards. More evil than normal for creatures who fly at your head during your lunch break, at any rate.
It's a very British apocalypse. The protagonist even makes a cup of tea for himself once the Bird-Armageddon begins. And the story deals with life and death matters in that quaint stiff-upper lip manner. Take a look at this thrilling scene: "Nat did not want to scare her. He thought it possible that she might not go into town tomorrow. He looked in the larder for himself and in the cupboard where she kept her tins. They would do for a couple of days. Bread was low...He saw she had flour. If the baker did not call she had enough to bake one loaf."
Apparently, their lack of food is his wife's fault for not staying in the kitchen 24/7. Nat actually thinks this.
With all due respect to Daphne du Maurier, I enjoyed this book far more than I was expecting. Partly, because it's more grounded and inwardly focused than the movie. But also because the writing is rather terse and utterly matter-of-fact. The version I had was only 30 pages long so the blunt style forced the story along at a steady pace. Du Marier doesn't mess around: "They [The Birds] were gorged with food. They had eaten their fill during the night...He thought of the children who had fled across the fields the night before."
And of course, with this sort of story it all revolves around the protagonist. Nat doesn't disappoint. He's one of those sort of dads who keep every bit of junk in his spare drawer 'just in case'. A sceptic who gives up on the notion of an army rescue immediately and readily settles into this new Hobbesian world. When the birds begin to break into the family's home at the end, for the obligatory bleak ending, do you know what Nat does? He smokes his last cigarette and his only regret is that he left his spare pack in the shed. Nat's the Snake Plissken of Fifties rural England.
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