'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.