'Lolly Willowes' by Sylvia Townsend Warner

Each year I aim to include a spooky theme on Halloween week. This year I've decided to extend it throughout the entire month of October. I'll review four witch-themed books back-to-back, but not the popular, spine-tingling type of novel aimed to disturb and unsettle us. I'll focus on insightful vintage reads which encourage us to consider the topic through the lenses of tradition, history, and even Christian faith. Here is my first, second, and third. 

I'm finishing up with this wonderful social satire from the 1920s with its fantastical elements. 

MY THOUGHTS:

Wow, The Blue Castle meets Supernatural! This is the sort of refreshing novel where we needn't worry too much about spoilers, because the whole story is contained in several of the blurbs I've come across. As a general summary, a maiden aunt goes to live in the countryside and becomes a witch. I won't tiptoe too lightly as I discuss the plot, because doing so will restrict a lot of its whimsy and fun. But if you're concerned about such things, here is my disclaimer. There are mild spoilers but it probably doesn't even matter.  

Now here goes. 

In her early years, Laura Willowes is a daddy's girl. The apple of his eye, she keeps house for him to their mutual satisfaction. Her beloved father dies when she is 28 years old, and Laura is absorbed into the clockwork-running household of her older brother, Henry. She becomes a companion to Henry's orderly and pious wife, Caroline. The children call her 'Aunt Lolly' and before long, everyone else calls her Lolly too. Laura's persistent dream of living a simple, leisurely life in the country seems futile. Her identity has dissolved. 

Twenty years later, when the kids have all grown up, Laura decides enough is enough. Just because her relatives are set in their ways doesn't mean she needs to follow their example any longer. She buys a guidebook and map to the Chilterns in Buckinghamshire and announces her intention to move to the secluded hamlet of Great Mop, holding out against family resistance. 'No Henry, I love you all, but feel I have lived here long enough.' 

Staying put with her London family for twenty years was a suffocating trial, but her family never intended to be stick-in-the-muds. That's what makes it hard to stick to her guns. Caroline is a generous sister-in-law who willingly opens her heart and home to Laura. Even Henry is only taking on the head-of-the-family role which the world tells him is his by right. They aren't to know that the lifestyle they offer stifles Laura's soul.  

And little does Laura realize that she'll need to become a witch to guard her peace and quiet. Making a deal with the devil appears to be the only way she'll be able to protect the solitude of the new domain she's worked so hard to acquire. Laura doesn't know she's come to Great Mop to become a witch. She thinks she's come just to be in the country and escape being an aunt. 

I love the section when her nephew, Titus, crashes into her new stamping ground at Great Mop. He's delighted that his aunt has discovered such a peaceful, unspoiled place for him to settle down in and write his book. Of course letting Titus stay is out of the question. Laura knows she will sink into her familiar, acquiescent role as this overbearing young man's Aunt Lolly. 

Titus has already scared off her hard-earned peace with his BIG friendly presence. Even the woods have changed their character. Yet giving him his marching orders must surely fracture their relationship. It's a delicate matter that requires the subtle power of her newfound witchcraft. Titus will surely leave of his own accord when tiny trials keep piling up. 

Titus is one of my favorite characters, and the Great Mop villagers love him too. Once again, it isn't a case of driving out an enemy. Laura knows he'd be crushed if he guessed how annoying she finds him. But she can't possibly tell him that he's ruining everything for her.

Honestly, the introduction of the Satan character can be taken with a grain of salt. The author of all evil is written as a genial gent willing to lend a hand. It is a literary ruse aimed to show just how dire things are, when the only way Laura Willowes can attain the peace and autonomy she craves is to strike a deal with the devil and become a witch. It is a social critique laced with satire. 

'It had pleased Satan to come to her aid. She did not see who else would have done so. Custom, public opinion, law, church, and state - all would have shaken their massive heads against her plea and sent her back to bondage.' 

It becomes clear that Sylvia Townsend Warner has sneakily drawn from traditional witch stereotypes all along. When Laura realizes her vocation, she considers it more an illumination than a surprise. It explains everything; her fascination with 'rural pharmacopoeia', her brews and distillations, her affinity with deep, quiet, country places. When a tiny kitten appears out of nowhere, he's presumably been assigned as her familiar. Even Laura's looks fit the picture that's been built up. Before she even leaves home, Caroline quietly notices Laura's hook nose and sharp chin, reflecting that when she's ten years older, she'll be positively nut-crackerish. 

I'd hoped to find this a pleasant, quirky read, but it amazed me how affirming it is for my present season. Earlier this year, I'd made a stand and stopped doing something I'd done for decades. Laura's story comes as a quiet thumbs up. I have three top take-aways which are counter to some of the habits we're urged to practice in our western world. 

1) It's perfectly fine if your current ambition is neither lofty nor showy. If you merely want a quiet, curious, and hidden life, all power to you!

2) Some of us aren't born to be social people, no matter how willingly we try to fit in. Laura finds the witches and warlocks' sabbath she attends no more to her liking than any other ball or party she'd ever been to. She takes it as a sign to be careful not to start deferring to public opinion in her new life, just as she had in her old. Right here is permission not to stretch ourselves. (I doubt I would have liked the sabbath either. What a weird event.)  

3) It is more than okay to protect our boundaries. And we needn't feel guilty about thwarting the plans of family and loved-ones if they strike the roots of our own personhood. On the surface, it is easy to reason that Titus has a perfect right to come and live in Great Mop if he feels like it, and Laura should just deal with it. But sometimes selfishness is vital for our peace of mind.   

This novel begins in the early twentieth century Edwardian era but was first published in 1926, a restless time in history. It was the simmering interwar era when women, whose efforts had been invaluable in World War One, now chafed at the idea of being pushed back into their boxes and expected to resume their old subservient lives. Warner's protest is up among the most charming I've come across. It includes some stunning nature writing, as she urges us to stay true to our own essential natures. It's a far lovelier and more palatable offering than the outright bitterness some other author might have used to air her grievance.    

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'The White Witch' by Elizabeth Goudge

Each year I aim to include a spooky theme on Halloween week. This year I've decided to extend it throughout the entire month of October. I'll review four witch-themed books back-to-back, but not the popular, spine-tingling type of novel aimed to disturb and unsettle us. I'll focus on insightful vintage reads which encourage us to consider the topic through the lenses of tradition, history, and even Christian faith. 

Here was first and second. Third is this offering from the incomparable Elizabeth Goudge. 

MY THOUGHTS:

It is the year of grace, 1642. Shakespeare is slightly out of fashion, because he's been dead for 30 years, and people wonder if his work will ever revive. England has embarked on bloody Civil War. The Puritan Parliament, under Oliver Cromwell, is ready to fight it out with King Charles I and his loyal Royalist troops. Both sides are equally convinced that the Almighty is pulling for them. 

Parson Hawthyn is an admirable old clergyman who is dirt poor but considers himself wealthy in all that counts, including his meagre book collection. His hugest trial occurs when Robert Haslewood, his zealous young squire, commands him to burn all the holy treasures he's made for his church, and forsake music, bell-ringing, and the Book of Common Prayer. These have become desecration to the formerly easy-going Robert, yet remain spiritual sustenance for Parson Hawthyn. The same items are precious iconography for the elderly parson, but evil idolatry to the young Puritan. What a stalemate.  

Hawthyn has no intention to obey, but then Haslewood unexpectedly comes home for Christmas.  

The titular character is Froniga Haslewood, Robert's cousin, a gifted herbalist who has both gentry and gypsy blood flowing through her veins. Froniga considers herself to be a white witch as she dispenses her homemade tonics, ointments, and potions. She professes a blend of Christianity, fairy lore, Romany spells, and confidence in her own intuition and second sight. At the start, she is more devoted to her spells than to God, since 'good spirits permit their power to be drawn on with human will, while God demands the human will be drawn into his.'   

Not far away lives Mother Skipton, the local 'black witch', who grows 'love apples' later known as tomatoes. This lady has made a deal with the devil if ever anyone has. She has sold herself over to dark forces in exchange for the opportunity to wield some power, and has paid a high price. The heavy oppression surrounding her house and property seems almost palpable. 

Other characters take their turn on center stage. Francis Leland, a journeyman painter turned political spy; Will and Jenny, Robert's eight-year-old twins, as different as chalk and cheese, the stately and wise Madona, who is Froniga's Romany aunt, and Yoben, the mysterious wanderer with the secret past who happens to be the only man Froniga could ever love. 

I can sympathize with Froniga, who never regrets her love for animals, but sometimes regrets that her love for humans is so paltry in comparison. For that reason, some of the animal characters deserve a mention too, such as Baw, the white gypsy pony who tends to be mistaken for a unicorn in the dark, and who narrowly misses becoming a victim of blind superstition. Also Maria, the King Charles cavalier spaniel with the droopy ears, who is now an embarrassment to her Puritan master, and Pen the white cat, who weaves around her mistress's legs, purring and vibrating.    

Of course the story's outstanding character is Froniga herself, a single woman, living alone, who has reached the age of forty. Despite her mixed heritage, she never once feels displaced, but rather empowered with the force of life. She strikes me as a seventeenth century example of the sort of woman who men admire, and women resent. Froniga is independent and decisive. There is never anything wishy-washy or hesitant about her, but although she doesn't make a habit of second guessing herself, she's humble enough to take course correction on board.   

I won't reveal all the catalysts, but by the end, Froniga renounces her white magic and spells. She feels too much pride in her ability to summon benign spirits, and therefore realizes the inherent danger in doing so. 'One's heart must be pure indeed to summon to one only that which is good.' Yet inevitable pride disqualifies many a well-intentioned white witch. Who would want to slide down the same slippery slope as poor Mother Skipton (who once referred to herself and Froniga as 'sisters in the occult')?  

'Magicians, sooner or later, became worshippers of their own power, and the smoke of their idolatrous incense hid the face of God.' 

This is undoubtedly my favorite Goudge novel. Although I haven't read them all, I've read enough to predict that I won't change my mind. Goudge's own brand of Christian mysticism has never fascinated me more. I stopped counting the number of times I paused to sit pondering, 'Wow, what just happened?' There was so much to stretch my brain and tick my boxes. For example, what fine but decisive nuances there are between spells and prayers. This novel is exceptional. It is colorful, immersive, convincing, and dare I say bewitching.  

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Next week I'll finish up this witchy month with a very cool novel of manners from the 1920s that has touches of magical realism. 

'The Whispering Knights' by Penelope Lively

Each year I aim to include a spooky theme on Halloween week. This year I've decided to extend it throughout the entire month of October. I'll review four witch-themed books back-to-back, but not the popular, spine-tingling type of novel aimed to disturb and unnerve us. I'll focus on insightful vintage reads which encourage us to consider the topic through the lenses of tradition, history, and even Christian faith. 

Second is this novel I read during my Primary School years, and tracked down as a free read on Internet Archive. 

 MY THOUGHTS:

Three young friends, William, Susie, and Martha, concoct a witch's brew as a bit of a lark. They follow Shakespeare's recipe (Eye of newt and toe of frog...) but improvise heavily. The old Cotswold barn in which they hang out is rumored to have once been the home of a real witch. 

Old Miss Hepplewhite, the owner of the barn, totters over a moment too late. Still, she enlightens them about the identity of the witch who once claimed ownership. It was King Arthur's sister, Morgan le Fay, whose alter-egos include Duessa, Circe, the witch from Snow White, the Ice Queen, and many more. She is widely recognizable as a bad egg. 

 As Morgan thrives on credulity, she's disempowered when people don't believe in her. That's why she jumps on any opening afforded by children. But perhaps, Miss Hepplewhite suggests, since theirs was only a small belief, nothing will come of it. 

Nope, it is soon clear that the evil Morgan has snatched her opportunity to enter their era. She takes advantage of vulnerable Martha, who has nervous misgivings from the very start, and who is subject to nightmares of the most fantastical nature. Yet the other two are certainly not blameless. William always comes up with creative and original ideas (such as the brew) which pragmatic and capable Susie figures out how to implement. 

The question we readers may wonder is why Morgan would target these three specifically for harm, simply because they unintentionally summoned her? Is being evil all through enough of a motive? Hmm, I'm guessing she's discovered, throughout her personal history, that those humans who give her a leg in feel most responsible for getting her out again. Therefore she's pre-empting the young trio by already acting defensively as well as maliciously. 

It is the early 1970s. Black-and-white TV is state-of-the-art technology, and Morgan apparently assumes that those who watch it are worshipping some sort of deity, haha. 

Although the kids 'win' the first few rounds, they soon realize they're in over their heads. Morgan le Fay, in her renewed human form, marries a local business tycoon and begins machinations for a whopping great highway to run right through their beloved village. Why, we may ask? Miss Hepplewhite provides the answer. If Morgan controls the road, she may ensure that it becomes a place of mass fatality. William, Susie, and Martha are obligated to think of a way to stop her. 

What follows is a retro series of rescues and chases, involving hypnotism, public buses, and a menacing black Rolls Royce without a driver. The triage in the hospital casualty waiting room was impressively quick in 1971, but cancelled out when the nurse casually organizes a lift against the children's will. I'm impressed to see that Morgan, like Count Dracula, is susceptible to the power of the Cross, so a high stakes scene in a church becomes vital. And at last the Whispering Knights of the title come into play. 

As a nine or ten-year-old, I found this story riveting. It doesn't quite live up to my memory. The Whispering Knights' role has an anti-climactic, backstage feel about it, even though the children are present for the duration. Same with Mr Steel's apparent whirlwind courtship and marriage, although he has, of course, been 'magicked'. But descriptions of Morgan are suitably creepy, evoking visions of Narnia's White Witch and Harry Potter's Bellatrix Lestrange to join the litany of examples Miss Hepplewhite tells the young trio. 

Penelope Lively has really played on the longstanding legend of the wicked witch. This seems to draw from some more base type of evil, presenting true devilry with a feminine face. The question is how it started (presumably during the witch hunt era) and why it's stuck. 

I didn't find this novel as quaintly philosophical as Lively's haunting offering, The Ghost of Thomas Kempe, but it has some truly lovely nature descriptions. 

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I love this t-shirt featuring some of Disney's wicked witches with the caption 'Chillin' Like Villains.' I popped into a tiny secondhand shop in a rural town where we stopped to stretch our legs and came out with this. It fits the spirit of this book perfectly.  

Next week I'll feature a witch-centric book by the incomparable Elizabeth Goudge. For my witchy October, start with last week's review, The Witch of Blackbird Pond.

'The Witch of Blackbird Pond' by Elizabeth George Speare

Each year I aim to include a spooky theme on Halloween week. This year I've decided to extend it throughout the entire month of October. I'll review four witch-themed books back-to-back, but not the popular, spine-tingling type of novel aimed to disturb and unsettle us. I'll focus on insightful vintage reads which encourage us to consider the topic through the lenses of tradition, history, and even Christian faith. 

This Newbery Award winner is the first. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

This novel won the 1959 Newbery Award, but is set way back in 1687. Sixteen-year-old Kit (Katherine) Tyler is soon to disembark in Connecticut, New England, to gatecrash on relatives who aren't remotely expecting her. She was brought up in Barbados by her grandfather, an indulgent plantation owner who managed his affairs badly and lost everything before he died. Now Kit plans to throw herself on the mercy of her Aunt Rachel and Uncle Matthew who live way across the ocean and have two teenaged daughters of their own. 

Awkward incidents pile up before Kit even sets foot off The Dolphin. While on board, she keeps accidentally shocking or offending the two handsome young men she befriends; Nat Eaton, the captain's son, and John Holbrook, a divinity student bound, like herself, for the colony of Weathersfield.

 Some of Kit's behavior has the potential to get a little hazardous in the new land where she's bound. Kit rescues a child's beloved doll which has fallen overboard, but young women aren't usually proficient swimmers. (For witches float but the innocent sink.) And 'normal' girls generally can't read fluently either, as Kit can. There is no real impetus to learn, for the proper use of reading isn't for fun but to improve our sinful natures. 

It's when she reaches her new home and makes friends with the local oddity, Hannah Tupper, that Kit really begins to gain a suspicious reputation with some of the townsfolk, for Hannah lives isolated in a small rickety house at the edge of a swamp, and she is a Quaker, who folk regard as blasphemous. Throughout the novel, especially when several townspeople fall sick with fever, accusations of outright witchcraft come to a head, although why they believe Hannah Tupper would wish to kill them and their children is anyone's guess.  

But the story is really as much about culture shock as it is about witch hunts. Kit's Puritan relatives are not unsympathetic (which I appreciate) but their niece, with her seven trunks crammed with lavish clothes, is now expected to pull her weight and help out with work she'd only ever seen done by slaves, such as wool-carding, weaving, spinning, cooking, and vegetable garden maintenance.

Worst of all, she has to put up with all those pious, dour Puritans, who find it outrageous when Kit sets some young schoolchildren playacting Bible stories.

The story sometimes lacks depth though. When Aunt Rachel says, 'The Quakers don't take the holy sacraments,' Kit responds, 'So what?' She has evidently given no thought to the significance of what she chews and swallows each week in church. Surely a teenager can chafe under the heavy weight of Puritanical rules without glibly dismissing a major Christian mainstay. Puritans are tiresome at best and downright dangerous at worst, but since Kit is living among them, she might as well try to dig for some bedrock to their staunch faith. Yet there is no evidence that she ever does. 

In fact, I noticed a continuity glitch early on. At first Kit seems not to know what a Puritan even is. (You mean a Roundhead? One of those traitors who murdered King Charles?) Then not long after that, she explains to John how her Aunt Rachel married a Puritan and ran away to America. So she must have known something about them, and at least heard the word before.

There is a comical mix-up in the matter of potential marriage partners. It involves Kit, her cousins, and several young men. We keep reading to find out how these unfortunate liaisons might get untangled when they are in such a massive snarl. Girls and guys who are totally wrong for each other somehow end up engaged. I found the resolution a little too slick, considering what a scramble it was.  

But I grinned to discover that some of these characters were real historical figures. Based on their names, I would have sworn Speare had invented them, especially Mr Eleazar Kimberly, the schoolteacher, and Reverend Gersholm Bulkeley, John's esteemed mentor. If we're thinking in the most traditional, vitriolic sense of the word, the biggest 'witch' in the story is the hate-filled Goodwife Cruff. But no, perhaps she's more like a snake. ('Goodwife Cruff drew in her breath through her teeth in a venomous hiss.') 

I recently landed on a book recommendation forum where several commenters mentioned this as their favorite book ever. Meh, I consider that pretty generous. After the hype I came across, I was a little disappointed. I guess it is refreshing to see three young people actually want to visit an old woman, when in the 21st century young people often need coercing to visit elderly relatives. Perhaps the proverb about forbidden fruit is true.

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 Next week I'll examine a blast from my long-ago past which really utilizes the tradition of the wicked witch.  

'Shakespeare in the Orchard' by Danielle Binks

Summary: A coming-of-age story inspired by true events in Australia in World War I that explores the things that separate us and those that bring us together, from an award-winning author.

MY THOUGHTS:

Tales of World War One from the home front always interest me. This YA novel is an Aussie offering, and since my own forebears include a mixture of British and German settlers, the premise hooked me enough to reserve a copy from the library. 

The setting is Langwarrin on the Mornington Peninsula. The story begins late 1914. Having just turned 14, Jack Thorning is too young to enlist as a soldier like his brother, Matt. Still, he is a fine athlete, a deadly accurate rifleman, and the star of the junior cadets. The old school teacher, Mr Kempster, has inflamed Jack with a passion to defend their nation against the hated Huns. 

Jack and his mother, Ada, have a serious problem. With all able-bodied men away overseas, there are no pickers to help with their five acres of ripe apple trees. The crop will rot, and they'll go broke. But then they receive a repugnant offer they can't refuse. Prisoners from the local enemy alien camp have offered to help struggling farmers and orchardists to harvest their crops for minimum wage. The timing is too crucial, and the labor too cheap to deny. The Thornings are assured that the pickers will be under strict surveillance. 

Jack is in for the biggest attitude readjustment of his life. For of course the poor pickers sent to help are not hostile enemies at all, but a variety of men who have been majorly screwed over by the War Precaution Act of an ultra-sensitive nation. Some have never even set foot on Teutonic soil, others have lost positions in companies they helped found, and even more have been cruelly torn away from their loved ones. 

When the German prisoners decide, for the sake of staying human, to put together their own slapdash production of Hamlet as they pick apples, Jack cannot help but be interested. 

Walter Maberly, Jack's best buddy, is up to his neck in problems of his own. He befriends and champions Lotti, a girl of German descent, whose father is among the prisoners of war. And Walter's dad, the local postmaster, stirs the pot even more by offering Lotti's mother a job. Things get vitriolic, since Mr Maberly is already suspected of pacifist leanings. 

Jack's 19-year-old brother, Matt, is part of the AIF (Australian Imperial Force). His newsy letters home to his family are valuable fodder from a historical perspective, including all the censored words intended to identify place and plan. Ada and Jack know he's in sandy Cairo with his battalion, awaiting their next orders. And with the benefit of decades, we readers predict that will turn out to be Gallipoli Cove (gulp).

At one stage I thumped this book down in disgust over a questionable, spur-of-the-moment decision Jack makes. There are emotive triggers  aplenty. I definitely enjoyed the story but do wonder how well the Shakespearean content will go over with modern teens, the book's target audience. It rings true that a boy like Jack, in 1915, might find himself lured in by the Hamlet rehearsals. But how about his counterparts from the mid 2020s? 

Time will tell. 

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'Bright, Flickering Lights' by D. J. Blackmore

 

Note: I was offered an advanced copy of this brand new book by the author and jumped at the opportunity, to boost my quota of quality Aussie books for this year. 

MY THOUGHTS:

There is lots to love in this YA Australian novel as it is dense with provocative themes. Two unlikely romances, along with a couple of very cool twists tick my personal boxes. But essentially it is a novel about secrets, whether it's the uncanny discovery of a fully-furnished ghost-house, the possible roaming of a legendary Yowie, or things that characters choose to conceal for various reasons. 

The points of view swing throughout the book between three teenage protagonists. 

Young Darcy Calhoun has an indigenous family background which he doubts he'll ever fathom. He lives a somewhat stifled existence with his one-legged, diabetic grandmother and his Auntie Kim, who he regards more as an annoying big sister. Darcy has an inkling that some Stolen Generation trauma is all entwined with their history, but secrets aren't revealed for the asking. Meanwhile, a major crush on his schoolfriend, Margot, keeps him idealistic and optimistic.

Margot Radcliffe is a budding artist and environmental conservationist. She helps her single mother, Annie, nurse and rehabilitate injured wildlife. To this duo, speaking up on behalf of the voiceless is a human obligation. Now that a company sinking coal seam gas wells has invaded their little town, that description fits the vulnerable native species whose lives are at risk. And Margot guards a personal secret which would never fly in her small-town environment. 

Sarah Hardacre resents her stepdad, Tom, to the extent of praying for his demise. Her deep-seated bitterness and insecurity is her own resentful secret. Tom is second in command of the coal gas company. Sarah is convinced that dislike of her and her twin brother, Sam, keeps him at loggerheads with their mother. She despises anything to do with Tom, including his two bull terriers. (Ah, those bull terriers remind me of my brother's sweet boy, who was the same breed and sometimes similarly misunderstood 💓)  

It is a timely book shining light on a very real problem. Since white colonisation, over 100 precious species have become extinct in Australia. But through the voices of coal working characters, Blackmore fairly speaks up for the other side too. They are convinced that at our stage of technology, failure to utilise their resources will revert our nation to the dark ages. It is a volatile and emotional issue. 

This story is saturated with the spirit of Australia, from the flora and fauna whose essence is revealed by the tribal 'Uncles' to several other more general food icons featured. (Tim Tams, Vegemite, Weet-Bix, or Arnott's SAO biscuits, anyone? Or maybe just a girl's day in with sausage rolls and pavlova?) It also explores legends such as the Bunyip or Yowie and the equally mythical self-contained Aussie bloke. This novel makes me patriotic by highlighting what I'm missing from all the non-Australian books out there. 

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'A Power of Roses' by Ruth Park

Summary: Roses were rarely seen at the old Jerusalem hotel.

Life is hard, and for some of the tenants a luxury might be warm feet, cat's meat stew or a five-bob coat from a jumble sale.

In A Power of Roses, Ruth Park draws vivid portraits of Miriam, the tough adolescent heroine; her Uncle Puss, a canny old Irishman; and a colourful assortment of inhabitants who live in the hotel's damp, rat-infested rooms.

MY THOUGHTS:

This story begins so bleakly, I almost talked myself into abandoning it after the first few chapters. But I ended up loving it. So much so that on the strength of reading it, I've just ordered another batch of Ruth Park's vintage novels. 

It tells a story about the riff-raff residents of the dilapidated Jerusalem apartments in the heart of Sydney. These folk each do their best to stay dignified when just trying to stay adequately fed and clothed is incredibly difficult and demoralizing. It begins with young Miriam McKillop buying 'backbones for me cat,' because she and her uncle can't afford higher quality fish. However, the collection of tails, fins, and fish heads is destined to flavor their own stew.

These two are the heart of the story; Irish migrant Uncle Puss McKillop (whose real name is Percival or 'Perce') and canny young Miriam, the great niece he has brought up, who can love with great ferocity. 

Not only does Ruth Park weave us right into the picture with her world-building, but she does it in an intriguing metaphysical way. She entices us readers with the probability of a deeper, invisible plane of existence which infuses the more lovable characters with optimism and hope. For example, 'Miriam was aware of a fairy world, hanging heavenlike behind the accidents of this life', and hence so are we.  

To mention a few other colorful characters their story entwines with, there is young Dunkie, a handsome and opinionated boy who can't walk, and whose self-focus naturally reflects his narrow physical outlook. There is the desperately devout Mr Creepin' Christmas, who runs the fish n' chip shop, and Mr Holland, the shy young minister whose job feels way out of his depth. 

At one stage, the community is rocked by the healing ministry of the Reverend Doctor Maisley, who operates his outreach in a similar style to the Duke and the King from Huckleberry Finn. And I'll keep secret the identity of one of my favorite characters who ushers in change with great panache.

There is a lad named Porgy Ketchel whose fondest dream is to someday work on a garbage truck, which he fears is out of his league. The most menacing presence in the book is Porgy's father, Cheap Billy Ketchel, a vicious and resentful bully who keeps rehearsing his litany of injustices. I'd challenge any reader to come up with a single redeeming quality for this bloke. 

Looking back over the plot, it seems to me that Park uses some form of literary natural selection to weed out the more malevolent and negative influences from the Jerusalem, so that only the benign, loving, and harmless remain. And brace yourselves for a perfectly planned and executed revenge mission with a real Australian bite. It probably couldn't be done now, with our high-tech surveillance tools, but one character quietly does many others a colossal favor.  

The author blurb in this old edition reveals that Ruth Park, along with her husband, D'Arcy Niland, was forced to live in a Sydney slum tenement for a while, owing to the shortage of adequate housing following World War Two. Aha, no wonder her descriptions bear such a compassionate insider's touch. Park's writing is alchemical, spinning gold from straw. 

The ending brims with heartbreaking closures and exciting new beginnings. As for the title, we are rewarded by learning why 'a power of roses' is Uncle Puss's whole life philosophy all condensed into four words. 

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