'Ahhhh, those Greek myths. How sthuddenly they descthend upon the moorsth of Sthparta.'
No, not Jeanette Winterson, but me, in my first novella. I've always loved myths and legends and stories that don't quite add up any more because they've been told so many times by so many people for so many agendas.
Of course, Greek myths tend to be pretty big on fruit, so it came as no surprise to find apples in this retelling of the myth of Atlas.
In his garden, Atlas went to pick the three golden apples.
As his hand went towards the first, he felt a rumbling under his feet, and he had to steady himself against the tree. The tree bark was cool as silver, though the apple dropped into his hand like molten gold. It was as if somebody else had picked the apple and given it to him. Uneasily he looked around. There was no one there. There was only the cool night.
By the way, have you noticed how there seem to be a lot more fruit and veg in books nowadays? Or is it just because I'm looking for them? I hate to say this, but I have noticed a correlation - lots of veg, good book. That's all I'm saying.