Fiction

Witch Book to Read

/ Susan O. / Leave a comment
What’s with him and Galadriel?

Twilight set off a whole graveyard of vampire romances, and then came werewolf romances. For a while paranormal romance was the genre of the day, with people falling in love with ghosts or people in past lives – no doubt fueled by time-travel stories like Outlander. When the person you love died 200 years previous, it makes that guy at the coffee shop seem rather dull in comparison. Monsters are a thing, especially in cozy fantasy – even dragons can be a thing (let’s not forget Donkey and his Dragon mate in Shrek!). Zombies picked up the slack, but are now fading away as a genre – you can only kill them twice. 

So what’s currently “trendy” in genre fiction? What have we circled back to? Cozy fantasy is all the rage, little stories with a slice of life that ends happily, whether you’re an ogre or gnome or pixie. Horror is making a comeback, including something called Fem-gore, which is written by women for women, and includes a lot of bloody-warrior revenge themes. LGBTQ stories and stories of people of color are on the rise, giving a long-overdue boost to underrepresented segments of the population. But the largest rising genre? Witches and wizards.

She made a child do her dirty work – good or evil?

No, we’re not talking Lord of the Rings or Dragonlance (though you can read Dragonlance for either the action sequences or the burning romance of Raistlin and Crysania), but the Earthly plane stories that encompass every facet of storytelling. Magic stories. And magic is the realm of witches and wizards. Witches aren’t usually evil, even if, thanks to Wicked, we’re not sure Glinda is completely a good witch. 

Technically, a male witch is called a … witch. Wizard is also acceptable, the difference being a wizard is usually academically oriented [think Gandalf] while a witch is more self-taught [Granny Weatherwax from the Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books]. Mage is also appropriate, but warlock is a slur. Witchy stories have been around forever – the Biblical Witch of Endor (10th century BCE), Circe of Homer’s Odyssey (8th century BCE), Hecate of the Greek pantheon (Hesiod’s Theogony, 7th century BCE), Merlin the Wizard and Morgan le Fay of Camelot (minimum, the 1100’s, possibly as early as the 400’s), and the witches of Macbeth (1606). Let’s not forget the witches of  The Wizard of Oz, or the terrifying Dust Witch of Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, the marvelous Eglantine Price of Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Samantha Stephens of Bewitched, the Halliwell sisters of the TV show Charmed, or The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. The image of witches was improved by the popularity of Harry Potter and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Children’s stories aside, the rise of New-age witchcraft has no doubt helped the rise of witch stories as well.

“Witch” or “wizard” is appropriate for men

How did witches come to have such a bad rap? Throughout history, and amplified through Dark Ages ignorance, learned men and intelligent women, women who could read, women who were opinionated, or women who had some sort of good or bad fortune that couldn’t be explained by simple means, were suspected of using dark magic to gain their knowledge, even when it benefited the community itself. Magic, voodoo, and good or bad spirits were all people had to explain what was to them unexplainable any other way. Maybe your sheep all had twin lambs, but neighbor Geoff, who took poor care of his sheep, had 5 die in birthing – surely you must have worked dark magic on his sheep! All your 15 children survived the plague? You must be a witch! While New-Age witches study nature in all its forms, in reality, no study anywhere has proven that magic – not the magician kind – has any basis in fact.

Modern stories of magic run the full gamut, from cozy mysteries (such as those by Bailey Cates), humorous fantasy (Terry Pratchett’s Color of Magic series), Courtly intrigue without the morbid gore of Game of Thrones (The Chronicles of Amber series by Roger Zelazny), to the wildly popular Discovery of Witches series by Deborah Harkness, and the book and TV series of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files. If you don’t like the idea of reading a fantasy book, try a more mainstream author like Alice Hoffman’s Practical Magic series, or The Year of Wonders, by Geraldine Brooks, or A Secret History of Witches, by Louisa Morgan. Harry Potter they are not. 

My favorite witches of literature? Gandalf, of course, from Lord of the Rings, along with Molly Weasley and Minerva McGonagall from Harry Potter, Ole Meg from Clifford D. Simak’s A Heritage of Stars, Raistlin Majere of Dragonlance, and perhaps Lady Jessica Atreides in Dune (yes, the Bene Gesserit are witches).

If you’re looking to put a little magic in your life, or just escape the pressures of our Earthly plane, check out some of these trending books!

Survival of the Fittest

/ Susan O. / Leave a comment

I finished reading my last book of the year on December 27 (Sugar, Salt, Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us, by Michael Moss, which was very good), and figured that was it for the year. I had too much going on to rush another book but I just couldn’t go without reading something, so I grabbed one off my To Be Read shelf – Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which has so many recommendations the cover should be 14-carat gold.

Every review was correct. I read the book in a day and a half – I probably could have finished it in five hours, if I’d had uninterrupted time. I just could not put this book down. It’s a sparse novel about a father and son in a post-apocalyptic world – you don’t even find out what happened – as they try to survive travel on foot an unknown distance to the south shore to get out of the freezing winter weather. I’m guessing by the fact they crossed over high mountains they were heading to California, but no clues are given (in the movie, the map shows Florida). This book was beyond compelling, certainly worthy of every accolade. But I didn’t feel like writing an entire blog post about it. Nothing is worse than a review that gives a play by play recap of a book.

So I went and looked up books like The Road, because I’ve read enough post-apocalyptic fiction to have covered all the basics. What is it compared to? For decades (and arguably still) my favorite novel of all time, by number of rereads, is Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank, a post-nuclear war novel from 1959. A little dated, but not much. In the chaos of 9/11, I sent my oldest friend a two-word text: Alas, Babylon, and he knew exactly what I meant.

But a couple of similar-to lists had the nerve to list Earth Abides, by George R. Stewart. My father was always after me to read this one, the Alas, Babylon of his youth, before the Cold War. Eventually I did, and honestly, it’s one of the worst apocalyptic books I’ve ever read. Okay, maybe they didn’t realize in 1949 that you should never dust pregnant women with DDT. The chemical world was still pretty much in denial that some things were deadly. But these “survivors,” instead of focusing on long-term survival, worry only about immediate needs and then go hungry when canned food runs out. They have no concept of gardening, let along farming and food storage. They think nothing about education, don’t teach their children even basic reading skills, and so that, although they have public libraries to learn survival skills from, in just one generation, no one can read the books. It’s difficult to root for their survival… After learning what to do and how to do it from Alas, Babylon, I truly hated this book. 

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other really good books (and movies!) out there. And post-apocalyptic doesn’t necessarily mean science-fiction. Stephen King’s The Stand can be drama, horror, alternative history, Christian fiction, speculative fiction, or loosely science fiction, depending on how you want to interpret it. Same with The Road: It’s a story about father-son relationships, survival during hardship, and climate destruction.

Post-apocalyptic fiction simply means that some calamity has befallen society, tearing apart what used to be normal. If a country – China, Turkey, Peru, Afghanistan, etc. – was utterly destroyed by earthquake and subsequent famine and plague, you could call their recovery post-apocalyptic, even though the rest of the world continued. How we formed trade networks and moved to online commerce during the Covid epidemic can be seen as apocalyptic in a way; we are in a post-apocalyptic society from Covid, as many of our bedrock companies folded, telehealth and working from home became a thing, and society as a whole changed. There are many, many excellent “post-apocalyptic” stories out there, some focusing on disease ( The Andromeda Strain), on climate (Day After Tomorrow), natural disasters (asteroids, etc.) (Solar), nuclear holocaust (Planet of the Apes), the death of oil (Road Warrior), electromagnetic pulse (One Second After), and more. How do people adapt? Can mankind survive? What determination does it take? How can you stay hopeful in the face of annihilation? What can we learn from these stories to avoid such scenarios, or how to survive them? Apocalyptic fiction can be quite imaginative (Hunger Games), and appeal to a wide range of readers (and viewers). Sometimes the book is meh, but the film is far better (Planet of the Apes, for one), sometimes the book is excellent but the movie is okay (Girl With All the Gifts), and sometimes there is more than one film version of the book, with differences between them (The Stand, Planet of the Apes, Day of the Triffids, War of the Worlds). All of them will question your morality and make you wonder about your ability to survive a serious disaster.

(Fun fact: the final battle in War of the Worlds was filmed at the old Uniroyal plant in Naugatuck, CT)

Here’s a wide array of post-apocalyptic novels and films sure to keep you engaged. Which do you like best?

Films (some from novels):

Books (some with accompanying films):

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Emerging Genre Highlight: Healing Fiction

/ Adam / 1 Comment

To call healing fiction an “emerging” genre is a bit of a misnomer. It’s emerging to us Americans, but it’s enjoyed decades long popularity in South Korea and Japan, where it has its roots. Only in the 2010s and (more so) the early 2020s has it made waves in the West. Many see the genre’s newfound success as a logical response to the heightened political, epidemiological, economic, societal, and (*checks notes*) general turmoil that many have been subjected to as of late. In times of strife, healing fiction offers solace. You see this in reviews:

“It’s like a cup of cocoa in front of the fireplace,” says one reader about Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-Reum.

“This book was all the hope you need and want to see in the world,” says another about The Second Chance Convenience Store by Ho-Yeon Kim.

These books are not propelled by conflict, narrative threads are not left dangling uncomfortably, and cynicism is verboten. In a world that (at times) seems designed to erode the soul, healing fiction offers escape.

These stories share a number of traits. Found family, cozy settings like coffee shops or book stores, a sprinkling of magical elements, depictions of physical and emotional sustenance, second chances, feline friends, and traumatized protagonist who ultimately, well, heal. But more important than any individual story element is the pervasive idea that change is possible, that there is hope no matter what.

Before sharing some great introductory examples of healing fiction, I want to add that it’s possible you’ve already come across a Western read-alike. One example is the immensely popular The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, where protagonist Nora is transported to a mystical library after attempting suicide, each book representing a life she could have led. Though lacking the warmth generally apparent in healing fiction, its optimism and magical atmosphere are in line with the genre. Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree and A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers are cozy fantasy/science fiction that borrow healing fiction’s slice-of-life narratives and hopeful, feel-good tone. If you enjoyed any of these books, or are merely curious about the genre, here are a handful of healing fiction books to get you started.

Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

In a small back alley of Tokyo, there is a café that has been serving carefully brewed coffee for more than one hundred years. Local legend says that this shop offers something else besides coffee—the chance to travel back in time. Over the course of one summer, four customers visit the café in the hopes of making that journey. But time travel isn’t so simple, and there are rules that must be followed. Most important, the trip can last only as long as it takes for the coffee to get cold.

What You Are Looking For Is in the Library by Michiko Aoyama

What are you looking for? So asks Tokyo’s most enigmatic librarian. For Sayuri Komachi is able to sense exactly what each visitor to her library is searching for and provide just the book recommendation to help them find it. A restless retail assistant looks to gain new skills, a mother tries to overcome demotion at work after maternity leave, a conscientious accountant yearns to open an antique store, a recently retired salaryman searches for newfound purpose. In Komachi’s unique book recommendations they will find just what they need to achieve their dreams.

The Cat Who Saved Books by Sosuke Natsukawa

Bookish high school student Rintaro Natsuki is about to close the secondhand bookstore he inherited from his beloved bookworm grandfather. Then, a talking cat appears with an unusual request. The feline asks for—or rather, demands—the teenager’s help in saving books with him. The world is full of lonely books left unread and unloved, and the cat and Rintaro must liberate them from their neglectful owners. 

The Kamogawa Food Detectives by Hisashi Kashiwai

Down a quiet backstreet in Kyoto exists a very special restaurant. Run by Koishi Kamogawa and her father Nagare, the Kamogawa Diner serves up deliciously extravagant meals. But that’s not the main reason customers stop by… The father-daughter duo are ‘food detectives’. Through ingenious investigations, they are able to recreate dishes from a person’s treasured memories – dishes that may well hold the keys to their forgotten past and future happiness. The restaurant of lost recipes provides a link to vanished moments, creating a present full of possibility.

We’ll Prescribe You a Cat by Syou Ishida

Tucked away in an old building at the end of a narrow alley in Kyoto, the Kokoro Clinic for the Soul can only be found by people who are struggling in their lives and genuinely need help. The mysterious clinic offers a unique treatment to those who find their way there: it prescribes cats as medication. Patients are often puzzled by this unconventional prescription, but when they “take” their cat for the recommended duration, they witness profound transformations in their lives, guided by the playful, empathetic, occasionally challenging yet endearing cats.

Not-So-Scary Halloween Reads for Kids

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Now that the temperatures have dropped, I’m kicking my horror obsession into high gear. I’m going through my Audible audiobook purchases and listening to anything remotely paranormal, and I’m watching as many delightfully flawed 1970s horror films as I can find on my streaming services. The rest of my household, though, isn’t quite on board with my level of horror. My four-year-old gets up and starts to leave the room during particularly tense moments of Sofia the First. My two-year-old cries when he wakes up at 6:30am and it’s still dark.

Even though they’re not ready for it, my kids are still drawn to the spooky stuff. They’re fascinated by ghosts and skeletons. We’re a long way off from listening to the Spooked podcast together, but they can handle the horror equivalent of a balance bike and a sturdy helmet. These are some of the not-so-scary titles we’ve been enjoying this fall, in no particular order.

Leo: A Ghost Story written by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Christian Robinson (2015)

Leo is a little ghost who finds himself unwanted and unappreciated by his house’s new (living) residents, so he decides to wander the city and discovers a lasting friendship. Mac Barnett is one of my favorite authors to read out loud, and Robinson’s signature cutout-style illustrations are adorable with just the barest hint of spookiness from the blue color palette.

The Skull: A Tyrolean Folktale by Jon Klassen (2023)

You’ll recognize Klassen’s signature monochromatic palette and impactfully sparse prose from picture books like I Want My Hat Back. The Skull is a more substantial chapter book about a girl who runs away from home and befriends – you guessed it – a skull. Both my kids adore this book, which has a creepy-not-scary vibe and takes 15 to 20 minutes to read out loud. Even my two-year-old will sit for the whole thing. As for me, I have been haunted by the story’s unanswered questions that don’t seem to cross the kids’ minds. (If you’ve read Sam and Dave Dig a Hole, you know what I mean.)

There’s a Ghost in This House by Oliver Jeffers (2021)

Here’s another picture book for kids obsessed with ghosts. This one follows a girl around her house as she looks for the ghosts that supposedly live in her house. She can’t seem to see them – but the reader can, with help from transparent pages that overlay the old-fashioned photographs of rooms. It’s a clever and entertaining book that we’ve been re-reading from cover to cover. (I mean it. You only get the full story if you look at the endpapers.)

In a Dark, Dark Room: And Other Scary Stories retold by Alvin Schwartz, illustrated by Dirk Zimmer (1984)’

You probably read this classic book yourself as a kid, or had somebody read it to you. Are the stories as satisfying as Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark? No, but this smaller tome won’t accidentally give your kids nightmares if you pick the wrong story. (Not that I know from experience or anything. Cough cough.) My two-year-old lights up with anticipation of the jump scare I insert at the end of the title story.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, illustrated by Brett Helquist (2009)

There’s a tradition in the UK of telling ghost stories at Christmas, and what better story to turn to than the GOAT of Christmas ghost stories? The illustrations are what make this book work. You’ll recognize the style of Brett Helquist from the gloomy covers of A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. The prose seems to go over my kids’ heads, but as an adult it’s loads of fun to read Scrooge’s dialogue aloud and give it the weight of King Lear mourning the dead Cordelia.

Gustavo, the Shy Ghost by Flavia Z. Drago (2020)

If you thought Leo was cute, then Gustavo might take the cake – or rather, pan de muerto. Gustavo is too shy to talk to the other monster kids, so he decides to put on a violin concert instead. It’s a relatable story in beautiful colors inspired by Mexico’s Day of the Dead celebration. Fans of the movie Coco will enjoy the color palette and musical theme, but this sweet picture book thankfully won’t require adults to grab a tissue. (Not that I know from experience or anything. Cough cough.) 

Scary Stories for Young Foxes by Christian McKay Heidicker (2019)

My four-year-old knows the creepy stuff is out there. To scratch the itch that the cute ghost stories can’t satisfy, we’ve been dabbling in some middle-grade books like Scary Stories for Young Foxes. It’s a series of interconnected stories about two juvenile foxes and the horrors they endure as they try to get back to their families. There’s a beloved teacher who turns rabid, a murderous father, and a terrifying take on a classic children’s author. Nothing is gratuitous, though, and it all builds to a satisfying ending. If you’ve been reading Hansel and Gretel with nary a nightmare, it might be worth a try.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman (2008)

We’re also giving a try to this middle-grade book authored by dark fantasy master Neil Gaiman. It’s the story of Bod, a boy who is raised from infancy by the inhabitants of a graveyard after his family is killed. Despite the gloomy premise, the fantasy elements outweigh the horror parts; readers of Gaiman’s adult works like Norse Mythology will be familiar with the tone. And each chapter is episodic like Scary Stories for Young Foxes, making it a good match for younger attention spans.

Able and Willing

/ Susan O. / 2 Comments

Disability is a loaded word. 

I won’t debate the semantics of the term, what the current politically correct term is, or how to make your workplace more variant friendly.

Let’s talk about something far more inflammatory. The rights of the disabled to carry out adult relationships. At best, a disabled person is able to find a partner despite their difficulties, marry (or not), and live a happy adult life together, with or without kids (popular example: the TV show Little People, Big World). Sometimes, it’s disabled people fighting in court for the right to marry or raise their own children (the movie I Am Sam). At the very worst, it’s vulnerable people being preyed upon, taken advantage of, or controlled to the point of involuntary sterilization.

I grabbed the book Hunchback, partly because it was short, and partly because I’ve been in the field of disabilities for 40 years. Hunchback, a novella by Saou Ichikawa, was not the book I’d expected, despite winning multiple awards. Ichikawa’s character, Shaka, suffers from congenital myopathy (same as the author—write what you know), which has left her with progressively weak muscles. Her back is so hunched over she can’t breathe when holding a book, and she spends half the day using a ventilator. She can walk short distances, but her body is twisted and one leg is far shorter than the other. She has a tracheostomy, which makes talking difficult, so she uses a lot of alternative communication devices. Shaka spends her time writing erotica online, the money from which she spends on food for poor people and women. 

Winner of several Japanese awards, Hunchback calls out ableism on many levels. Ichikawa considers it political: Disabled people are hidden away by society, never considered because they’re never seen. People in wheelchairs are rarely mentioned in literature at all, unless they’re being “cured,” like in Heidi or A Secret Garden. Disabled people are portrayed as a drain on society, dependent on charity, so by making a wealthy disabled character (who generates income through pornography), she pokes a hornet’s nest.

Another book that touches on the subject of sexual autonomy is James Cole’s Not a Whole Boy. Cole was born in the 60’s with a severe case of exstrophy – most of his organs were born outside his body, and his pelvis malformed. Most babies with this condition do not survive. Due to Cole’s mother’s determination and a great team of doctors, Cole managed to thrive despite severe obstacles. While he seemed more or less normal to other kids, Cole hid the fact that he had double ostomies – all his waste was collected in bags, as he didn’t have the needed parts and couldn’t use a toilet. As he got older and puberty kicked in, it became necessary to undergo multiple surgeries just to have a sense of comfort, normalcy, and proper biological function. Cole’s book documents his struggles with medieval children’s hospitals, lack of pain management, and his eventual success with a career in art and film – certainly not hidden away.

A book that took me by complete surprise was Riva Lehrer’s Golem Girl, a golem being a creature formed from dirt or clay. Riva was born with Spina Bifida in 1958, a time when most afflicted infants did not survive, and almost certainly didn’t walk. She suffers dozens of painful surgeries to keep her mobility, most of which do nothing to ease her issues – she’s just a guinea pig for the surgeons. Although she attends a grade school for the disabled (disability laws hadn’t been written yet), she attends a mainstream high school, then university, where she gets a degree in fine art, all while dealing with surgeries and intense feelings of revulsion toward herself. Amplifying it is her mother’s overprotective codependency, spitting out helpful comments such as “You don’t need a nose job. No one wants to marry a cripple,” and “You shouldn’t have children; pregnancy will just mess up your spine worse,” – culminating in an involuntary hysterectomy at 15 on the mother’s order. 

Riva goes on to have multiple affairs with both men and women. While some relationships work out, many times she’s still hit with prejudice – “I can’t love a cripple.” Riva remains unstoppable. She becomes more comfortable with herself through meeting up with other people – often activists – with disabilities. As an artist, she gains renown (and awards) through her paintings of disabled people (and others) she has met. 

This book was so hard to put down, and read like you were in the middle of a conversation with her. Lehrer doesn’t go into detail on her disability or surgeries; she talks about herself, not her medical issues. After doing time as an anatomical artist, she sees people not so much as disabled, but as human variants – no one is “normal,” there is no “normal,” just human variations. But everyone has a right to love and happiness.

At the heart of it, people with physical disabilities are still people. It doesn’t mean they don’t have the same dreams, desires, or feelings as people who aren’t. All of these books will give you deep new insights into the strength of humanity.