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Title: A Secret History of Witches: A Novel by Louisa Morgan (NOTE: "Louisa Morgan" is a pen name of author Louise Marley)
Details: Copyright 2017, Redhook Books
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap): "A sweeping historical saga that traces five generations of fiercely powerful mothers and daughters — witches whose magical inheritance is both a dangerous threat and an extraordinary gift.
Brittany, 1821. When Grand-mere Ursule gives her life to save her family, their magic seems to die with her.
Even so, the Orchiéres fight to keep the old ways alive, practicing half-remembered spells and arcane rites in hopes of a revival. And when their youngest daughter comes of age, magic flows anew.
The lineage continues, though new generations struggle not only to master their power, but also to keep it hidden.
But when World War II looms on the horizon, magic is needed more urgently than ever — not for simple potions or visions, but to change the entire course of history."
Why I Wanted to Read It: It's been a big year for Witch books! Both books about real Witches but also the fantasy kind. Having now read more current (written in the past five years) Witch books than I have in a long time, I wondered what else written recently I might have missed. In that, I found quite a bit of fiction. Fiction can of course be hit or miss, but so can any book, and it was a book of fiction that helped send me "officially" down the Pagan path (In the Land of Winter by Richard Grant, a massively underrated book) many years ago.
With that in mind, I requested a bunch of books of "witch fiction" (is the witchcraft the fantasy or the real kind? We'll see!) so this is just one of many, all by different authors.
How I Liked It:
FIRST, A REMINDER! I use "Witchcraft" (with a capital W) to connote actual Witchcraft, or the spiritual/religious practice (to some a religion, to others it's more murky) of Paganism. I use "witchcraft" (lowercase w) to connote the fantasy kind like the Wizard of Oz. Not all authors (including Pagan ones) do that, but I do. Keep it in mind going in.
Why are you reading a book about witches? Are you a Witch yourself? Or are you fascinated by the literary figure of the witch? It can be two things (just look at me!) but some Witches (myself again included) are too annoyed by inaccuracy and misconceptions (which in the past fifty years have absolutely contributed to civil rights/religious freedom struggles) to tolerate them. I admit that can bother me, but I can also appreciate that the figure of the witch is has been so rooted in fantasy and folklore across multiple cultures, it's one worth keeping, or at least considering.
Because witchcraft and witches have frequently been used as a metaphor across various media. From the evils of a mindset like McCarthyism in The Crucible to sexual orientation (among other things) in Bewitched, witches and witchcraft are frequently a stand-in for many other things, generally forms of marginalization.
A book supposedly told matrilineally, of a witchcraft tradition passed down from mother to daughter for generations, and made to keep hidden at risk of persecution, suggests that this witchcraft might be a metaphor for feminism. Or is it? We'll get to that.
Firstly, it's 1821. Poor four-year-old Nanette is the youngest of six sisters, whose mother died in childbirth with her (no mention is made of a father). She and her much-older sisters (and their husbands) are standing watch over a camp in France as their grandmother conducts a ritual, and then, well, straight up dies. They are getting ready to flee from France to the UK to avoid "witch-burning" (HISTORICAL PARTY-POOPER NOTE: while individual persecution did exist, "witch burnings" were not a Thing in Europe in the 19th century).
From there, we jump in time to 1834 with a now teenage Nanette and her sisters (and their husbands) in Cornwall. Witch-hunters still roam the land, but as Nanette got her period when she was fourteen, she's now taking part in her sisters' witch rituals, and also keeping away priests. Turns out Nanette has a great talent for witchcraft, especially getting visions from the family stone where Grand-mere Ursule once scryed.
But Nanette is wanting more and a one-nighter is all it takes to produce a daughter of her own, who she names after her grandmother.
Smash-cut to 1847! Teenage daughter Ursule loves the farm life and is bored with and not feeling the whole witch thing her mother and aunts are into. When her now-elderly aunts and uncles start dying, Nanette begs her daughter to leave and start a family of her own so Ursule won't be alone. Ursule ends up with a more or less functional, but unhappy marriage to a local widower too old for her. They try for children, but nothing seems to work.
And then Ursule meets a hunky traveling musician who actually inspires passion in her and, well, oops. After he's on his way, she has to have sex with her actual husband to pass off the pregnancy as his. He's not interested until some magical help from her mother, which is horrifying for all concerned, particularly when he freaks out and sics the authorities on her and her mother for witchcraft (HISTORICAL PARTY-POOPER NOTE: Okay, this is supposed to be the countryside, but still, this was really not a Thing in the mid 1800s, I assure you). Fleeing their family farm with only her horse, the family grimoire, and the scrying stone, Ursule manages to escape.
Smash-cut to 1886! Ursule's teenage and inexplicably bratty daughter Iréne works with her mother in Wales for a moderately wealthy man and his spoiled daughter and Iréne hates it, delighting only in the occasional visit from her traveling musician father (who has rejoined the picture). Although Ursule has apparently embraced witchcraft now, Iréne pouts and wishes she was a lady, and snips about what good is the craft if they must toil. With some magic and despite her mother's objections, she ensnares a marriage to a Lord and secures her fate and escape from the farm/servant life. Or does she?
Smash-cut to 1910! You've probably figured this out by now. Irene (she changed it to be more palatable to the nobility)'s teenage daughter Morwen lives in a loveless but palatial home as the daughter of a lord. She finds joy in her horse and her loving horse trainer who acts like a father to her (and there's a reason for that). While out riding, she explores a castle and finds out pretty much what she'd already suspected, that her loveless, pretentious mother is full of shit, but hey, her grandmother might be cool. A life of being chattel to be trading for economic interests/social standing really doesn't appeal to Morwen, and when it looks like she's going to be married off to a stranger old enough to be her father, she escapes with the help of her horse trainer and her horse, but not before striking up a very loving friendship with the man's son, who's her age and with whom she has an instant rapport. She also steals the family scrying stone and later, her mother, now ruined, sends along the grimoire.
Smash-cut to 1937 and possibly the weirdest story of all! You should know how this goes by now. Morwen's daughter is Lady Veronica (Morwen married the son of the Lord) who is busy being presented to Queen Elizabeth (this would be the wife of the king, not the current Queen Elizabeth, who is this Queen Elizabeth's daughter and a princess at the time this story takes place, having not yet ascended to the throne) when she suddenly receives both visions of war and a knowing look from the queen.
War sure enough breaks out and takes its toll on England, including Veronica's family and friends. She meets a fascinating, charming French soldier, but she's already engaged to a childhood friend for whom she feels love (but not passion) and he's off at war.
Veronica feels a strange call thanks to her visions and whoops! Witchcraft! Fortunately for her, she discovers that Queen Elizabeth has a little coven she wants her to join (no, really) and they do their bit for the country and war effort.
An unfortunate coupling has Veronica deeply inconveniently pregnant with a baby not by her fiancé and she has to perform an abortion with both herbs and magic.
War and circumstances convene to make it that Veronica ends up with her Frenchman, but not the baby she saw in the crystal. It's suggested that things might be okay anyway, though, and the book abruptly ends.
Where to even start with this (a question the author probably didn't ask)? If you want to use witchcraft as a theme, why not pick an era of actual witch persecutions? Also, for a book purportedly about mothers and daughters, this really... isn't. The greatest love and bonds shown in the book is for witches and their familiars, and for fathers and daughters. There's far more frequent and positive and loving descriptions of father and daughter relationships than there are for mothers and daughters. Frankly, the mothers either don't bond or are absent. So how does this affect the metaphor?
I've mentioned before that in the past thirty years or so as Witchcraft has gotten more and more well-known, some fantasy authors feel they have to make the fantasy stuff look a lot more like the real thing. This is troublesome for a number of reasons (people assume the fantasy version must be a representation of the real thing) but understandable. Some authors, like Alice Hoffman, have managed to make their fantasy witches have a passing glance of Witchcraft, but still be very firmly rooted in fantasy. This is the best approach if you must make your witches look like Witches.
Unfortunately, this author isn't as careful. These witches have a lot of trappings of Witches:
Grand-mere Ursule, carrying a stone jar of salted water, walked a circle around the pit. She muttered to herself as she sprinkled the ground. (pg 1)
Mother Goddess, hear my plea;
Hide us so that none can see.
Let my beloved people be (pg 6)
To pass the time she recited the major and minor Sabbats. (pg 11)
"In another time, in another place, we could go sky-clad, but--"
"What's sky-clad?"
"Naked."
"Oh."
"Yes, that practice goes back a long way. To quote Leland:
And ye shall be freed from slavery,
And so ye shall be free in everything;
And as the sign that ye are truly free,
Ye shall be naked in your rites." (pg 407)
(That'd be Charles Godfrey Leland, Victorian folklorist and author of Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches. Ritual nudity generally isn't done today, but some traditional covens did embrace it and "skyclad" is a euphemism for "nude".
They also and repeatedly mention by name various Sabbats.
The author in her acknowledgements notes
the excellent writer Rosemary Edghill gave me advice on contemporary Paganism (pg 485)
(NOTE: Rosemary Edghill is responsible for the interesting but pretty badly aged Bell, Book, and Murder series written in the 1990s about a contemporary Witch who is a detective. It's an interesting look at Paganism, Witchcraft, and Wicca, pre-Internet communities.)
Okay, so are these characters supposed to be Witches then? Real ones?
Here's where I feel I have to note that it's a long told story in Paganism that a British coven did various spells during World War II to limit Hitler's control and empower the Allies, which the author could be at least nodding towards with the royal coven.
The magic described in the book is a far "heightened reality", but it's not that out there for fiction (it'd be roughly the equivalent of maybe a bright light coming down every time a devout Christian prays. Certainly it might feel like that to them, but it doesn't literally happen). I had to do some digging to find that out.
Turns out "Louisa Morgan" is a pseudonym (the back flap which usually would detail about the author trumpets that instead) for writer and former opera singer Louise Marley. I'm not sure exactly why she uses a different pseudonym for each genre of book, and I don't really care.
What bothers me a bit is her somewhat disrespectfully and carelessly dabbling and borrowing from real life religious traditions for a fantasy book. On her website, she claims her dog is "Louisa Morgan's familiar" and has this to say about whether or not these characters are actual Witches:
The craft the Orchiere witches practice, the one they refer to as the “old ways”, is invented, based on an ancient and inherited system, deeply rooted in a matrilineal tradition. I’ve borrowed from Wicca, the neo-pagan practice developed in the mid-twentieth century, but the Orchiere witches are not Wiccan, nor are the witches of the Glamis line [Queen Elizabeth's coven], who appear in the Book of Veronica.
The Wheel of the Year is so lovely, though, and so evocative, that with the license granted to me as a creator of fiction, I’ve allowed my witches to use it. It also emphasizes the ancient history of their craft, and its connection with nature, which Wicca also celebrates.The rites of the Orchieres also borrow from Wicca and from other neo-pagan traditions. The circle of salted water for protection is one such element, as is the use of a newly-poured candle and a consecrated altar. The herbs they use in their rites and potions and philters are based in real herbology. In fact, many so-called witches of medieval times were innocent herbalists, useful in times of illness, but all too easily blamed when their remedies were unsuccessful.
The witches of A SECRET HISTORY are neither the wicked hags of medieval times or the wacky suburbanites cooking up potions in their twentieth-century kitchens. They are women–grandmothers, mothers, granddaughters–with power. They are at risk because society has always feared women with power. Scripture provided an excuse to persecute them, and western culture has persisted in viewing them as dangerous, because they threaten the traditional balance of society. They endanger the fixed assignment of roles to women, and that frightens people.
Okay, so borrowing from real-life religious practices "with the license granted to me as a creator of fiction". Sigh.
I think I would have honestly preferred she not clarify with that little note on her website. I genuinely don't mind, as I said, if authors make fantasy witches occasionally look like Witches. But what's the point of doing a deep grab like this? Her little note about Wicca being "developed in the 20th century" could arguably be seen as a preventative "this is so new anyway no one's going to care if I just borrow a bit" against any complaints. Then again, it could be just the author displaying what she learned (and inadvertently what she absolutely did not).
Speaking of misappropriation and far, far more troublingly, the Romany people come up quite a bit in this.
During the witch hunt in the very first scene, there's a confusing passage:
The Romani had always been targets, and were always wary. (pg 3)
But Romany people and Witches, although often confused (and though they share similarities), were not and are not one and the same. Is this saying the family were Romany as well? Is it saying the Romany were persecuted along with them?
Much, much later, with the most-recent witch in the book, World War II's Veronica has her Frenchman making a note of an amulet she wears. Sensing her reluctance to tell him, he shares that he is Romany and it's suggested that's why his family was murdered in the War.
"Véronique," he murmured. "I am from Brittany, you know. My people were Romani. Gitans." (pg 463)
So... maybe we've got some conflation of the witch persecution with the Nazi genocide of the Romany people. I wouldn't compare the two, but suspending quite a few things, okay, maybe the ancestral fear of discovery and persecution? But his Romany heritage isn't exactly handled sensitively (as we'll see), nor is Romany heritage period. In earlier chapters, people long for the "g*psy lifestyle" stereotype (although they do not use those exact words), and Veronica has some troubling descriptors of her husband (QUICK WARNING! I'M NOT CENSORING THE WORD THAT IS NOW CONSIDERED A SLUR):
He turned his dark gypsy eyes to her, the eyelids heavy with worry. (pg 472)
Now, working outdoors as he so often did, Valéry's skin was gypsy-dark. (pg 477)
This may take place in the 1940s, but the book was written in 2017. This isn't dialog, it's third person narration, albeit from Veronica's view. "G*psy dark" borders on a really gross racial fetishization. On top of that, they're just super clumsy descriptors.
So what about the fact witchcraft is maybe a metaphor for mother and daughter bonds? What about witchcraft as feminism?
I sure hope that wasn't the author's intention, because the strongest bonds in this book as I said are fathers and daughters and witches and animals (their familiars). The mothers are either absent or estranged and possibly the best of the mother-daughter relationships in the book was one of bemusement and humoring their passion you clearly do not share. And that's the best, not the most common (which is absence).
As far as witchcraft-as-feminism metaphor, that's another non-starter. Witchcraft is seen as secret, shameful, and a crime that only leads to trouble, including imprisonment, torture, ruin, and even death. Bad things that happen to you are almost always because you did witchcraft. This is reinforced over and over and over again.
They had heard from one of the Grange's cooks, when she came for garden produce, that a witch had been caught near Aberystwyth. Iréne had seen her mother turn white beneath her sunburn, and clench her hands under her apron. The cook, Sally, told the story with relish, describing in awful detail how the witch had been stripped, examined by the deacons and the local priest, and denounced on the steps of the church. The witch-- if witch she was-- had been turned out of her village with nothing but the clothes on her back.
"At least she's alive," Ursule had said bitterly, when Sally had departed with her basket of greens.(pg 180)
Okay, I've complained about this already since it's a recurring theme in this book, but this is a highly specific example of something that it would be extremely rare to find even deep in the country in 1821, and this is supposed to be 1886, in Wales. I'm honestly starting to wonder if this is a world-building choice ("what if the witch persecutions had never stopped in Europe?"), that's how much this is trampling historical accuracy.
When Iréne challenges her mother, she protests that the murder of a witch to which her mother is referring happened sixteen years prior in Cornwall, her mother retorts that it never ends, that men are vain and frightened by women with knowledge, and a curious exchange occurs.
"You would think they'd be grateful for women with knowledge."
"It's rarely true. Men are vain."
"Even when they're wrong?" Iréne laughed. "That's stupid!"
"Don't laugh, Iréne. We have to be clever. We have to let men think they are stronger, smarter, wiser than women."
"Oh, Maman! Who cares what men think?"
Ursule stood up, ready to return to her work. As she picked up her gloves she said, "Men make decisions for women, Iréne, whether we like it or not. A kind mind, like Sebastien [her husband and Iréne's father], is a blessing. A cruel one-- or a thoughtless one-- is a curse. That's life."
"It's foolish. And not fair!"
"I have no argument for that. Nevertheless, it's the way it is. Men need to believe they're in control."
"Then I hope I have power, too, the way you do."
Her mother shrugged as she started for the door. "You may inherit it. You may not."
"And if I don't?"
"There would be no more Orchiére witches. We are all that's left."
"When will we know?" Irene demanded.
"Only the Goddess has the answer to that."
Iréne didn't care if there were any more Orchiére witches. She cared about the power, though. She wanted it as much as she wanted to be a lady.(pgs 180 and 181)
So Iréne's protest about sexism and quest for equal treatment is the same as her quest to become a witch, for which she's generally portrayed unfavorably, and without spoilers, I'll say it absolutely doesn't work out for her in the end. She'd have been much better off not aspiring to equality and power, and that's quite the lesson to communicate.
She had given it all [witchcraft] up when she married Dafydd. She had lived a conventional life. A safe one. (pg 373)
[The craft is passed down from] mother to daughter, if at all. Not everyone inherits the power, but enough do that the craft survives, if the practitioners aren't discovered. We take a terrible risk."(pg 396)
She had committed a sin, she supposed. Indeed, a great deal of what she had done in the past months might be considered a sin. Fornication. Deception. Witchcraft. Now abortion. (pg 426)
Dafydd Selwyn had been spared learning what his wife was, and his daughter [both witches]. That, Veronica thought, as she closed his bedroom door, was a mercy. (pg 446)
The way the author herself talks about Witchcraft (people who didn't practice were "innocent") is troubling as well and supports that despite her claims, her (troublesome) fanciful liking of using witchcraft as a literary device isn't as "innocent" as it seems, and her "feminist" take on it needs work, to put it mildly.
While we're on feminism, by the way, a book that is supposedly coming from a feminist angle features basically the culmination of women's lives when they have children. The one woman in the book who is forced to perform an abortion on herself (which given the circumstances, would've been a good idea in other cases in this book as well) sees it as a crime and a sin and is "punished" later when she and her husband have trouble conceiving a child. I could go into the fact that the women are initiated into the craft with their first period, but that's kind of an arbitrary puberty marker and this is supposed to be a historical novel.
But yes, for all the talk of mothers and daughters and female characters bonding, there's next to none of it on the actual page. Again, this book reserves its most loving moments for fathers and daughters and for witches and familiars. While there's a very brief loving relationship between grandmother and granddaughter, it's brief and faint, and actively thwarted by the girl's mother. Veronica (the last story) sees her female ancestors in the family scrying stone (and even talks at them), but they're part of an untouchable past and she has a far closer loving relationship with her still-living father and grandfather.
But okay to all of that! How is it as a story? Well, while there are certainly some authors capable of packing a compelling story of five generations into less than five hundred pages, this author is not one of them. Despite a supposed action-packed opening and some dramatic and horrible deaths along the way, the story doesn't really get compelling until maybe a third generation in. And by then, we know as soon as we get to know a character and care about them, we lose the whole story as it shifts to the next teenaged daughter's point of view.
An absurd (and too kind) blurb on the back cover compares this book to Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic, a comparison so ridiculous as to be laughable. While both stories detail generations of witches, Hoffman nails human emotion and connection (and character growth) far better, and with far greater vividness and detail. This author has innumerable opportunities to really explore a vast setting where she takes her characters, both in location and class (farms and cottages to rolling lush estates), and she never does. Flat and rote description simply urge on the most recent story. While I may have had my complaints about the disappointing first prequel to the Practical Magic series which I'd considered the weakest of the first three Practical Magic books (I haven't read the fourth yet!), it's still far and away a better written and more entertaining book than this, its direct competition for multi-generational witchcraft historical saga published in 2017.
To say nothing of the bizarre choice in history. Again, the author has chosen to portray 19th and 20th century Europe as a hotbed of witchhunting which it was not at that time. The vivid descriptions of torture and persecution and murder were horribly commonplace in earlier centuries, sure, but it's blatantly historically inaccurate in every way (including the rise of Romanticism in the 19th century which had a fondness for Pagan things). Why on earth put witches here in this way if you want to write a "witch novel"?
I suspect the answer lies in the last story, with Lady Veronica and Queen Elizabeth's witch coven, fighting Nazis magically in World War II. We all have our favorite historical periods, and I suspect given the differences in Veronica's story compared to the others that World War II is a favorite of the author's. It's the only one in which real world characters play a part (and the rather curious choice to make the wife of the king a witch and one with an esteemed coven that goes far back) and where the real life events of the time period really make an appearance. And if she had made Veronica's story a nearly five hundred page novel, fine. The rest is told in backstory or Veronica discovers it as we do! But it's not. It's one small part that's supposed to be the culmination of a whole family's struggle for more than a century, and it has an awkward, questionable, and abrupt ending (so abrupt I was sure there were pages after it).
I tried to think of some strengths of this book. With some work and retooling, it could be good, if not great. The compelling elements are there and the characters that last more than one story cycle are ones we care about. There's realistic reveals of secrets (although we generally see them coming) and that could be used more to the book's advantage. A character who is downright unlikable (and supposed to be) in every way is actually one of the most interesting and compelling and the story thread seems to take hold more when she's around. But the author discards her pretty quickly, and rather than fleshing out her motivations for why she did what she did (and continues to do it) and making her a more three-dimensional character, there are (early) Disney villains who have more depth and nuance.
If you're reading this book for Witches, you'll be disappointed (and kind of insulted, particularly if you read the author's little note on her website). If you're reading this book for witches, you'll be disappointed (and kind of annoyed). The literary witch, whether the author chooses to keep it grounded in fantasy, skirting close to actual Witchcraft, or somewhere between the two, is a fascinating figure that has proved fertile ground for fiction for centuries. It's a rich cultural legacy that still intrigues today, when knowledge of actual Witches (and their revival) is more open than ever. So it's all the more disappointing to see an author botch it this badly.
Witches are fortunate to have a rich literary heritage with literally thousands of works and more every year. Don't waste your time on books like this.
Notable: Historical inaccuracy round-up, GO!
"Oh!" Isabelle whispered. "The poor little tyke! Where was he?"(pg 28)
This is a scene that takes place in the 1830s. "Tyke" meaning a small child didn't really come into use until the 1890s at the earliest, perhaps. "Tyke" has existed since the late 1400s for "cur" or "mongrel" meaning a dog. A weak little baby kitten earns the moniker here, which feels anachronistic and seems like an easy enough fix.
She had washed and embroidered a serge skirt, and spent some of her empty hours embroidering a shirtwaist. Wearing them together, she could claim a sort of Gibson Girl effect[.](pg 211)
This is supposed to be the late 1880s at the absolute latest (the date is a bit blurred). The image of the Gibson Girl, that is the illustrations drawn by Charles Dana Gibson of the "New Woman" at the dawn of a new century, would not appear until the 1890s and was a distinctly American phenomenon (although certainly the popularity and fashion existed elsewhere). A young woman living in Wales even in the 1890s is unlikely to have heard about "Gibson Girls".
"It was my father's task to warn me."
"You haven't consented, then."
"Consented to marry you?" She glared at him. "I haven't been asked. This is hardly the way to--"
"Oh no, Miss Morgan!" Dafydd said. His face reddened. "Oh, damn! I'm so sorry. I--Oh, damn and blast. You see, it's not me."(pg 299)
A member of nobility (his father is a lord) like Dafydd would be pretty unlikely to swear in front of a lady (as Morgan is, being the daughter of a lord), let alone do it twice, in the 1910s.
Also, I'll forgive it for the exposition and 2017 reinforcement that Morgan is her own person, but given Morgan's position (the teenage daughter of a lord, raised in a house of aristocracy in the late Victorian and early Edwardian eras, respectively), she would not be shocked nor aggrieved to find out her father has married her off without her knowledge and/or consent. Given that her father is portrayed as distant, she'd be lucky to be notified at all. But like I said, okay, it's exposition, although it seems there are better ways to do that.
Much like omitting the "damns" at a time when that was considered a pretty serious swear.
Final Grade: C-
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