Bedtime stories: Witches Abroad

Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchett

Corgi Books

Pp.286

This, the twelfth novel in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series, is the second that revolves specifically around the three witches: Granny Weatherwax; Nanny Ogg and Magrat. In Wyrd Sisters, readers were introduced to these characters, and it is a delight to welcome them back like old friends. Magrat inherits a wand from Desiderata so she must become a fairy godmother and interfere in stories: she can’t help but turn things into pumpkins and she tries to stop Embers from going to the ball and marrying a prince, who is, in fact, a frog. Stories have power because they inform belief, and those who control the narrative have the greatest power of all.

It transpires that Granny Weatherwax has a sister, Lily – now calling herself Lilith – who wants to force people into enacting the stereotypes of the fairytales, living in a land where everyone must be happy whether they like it or not. Lily lets several stories happen simultaneously; like the evil queen who appears in the mirror, she uses mirror magic as a form of control. She has her own form of power (is she the good or the bad witch, and which one does that make Granny Weatherwax?). “She had buried three husbands, and at least two of them had been already dead.” Pratchett touches upon myths and legends as well as fairytales, so Circe, Bluebeard, Casanova, vampires and the Wizard of Oz intermingle with Cinderella, Rumpelstiltskin, the Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, the Three Bears, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty – “There’ll be a spinning wheel at the bottom of all this, you mark my words.”

As the witches set off to right the wrongs of the world, they learn about the structure of stories: “Three was an important number for stories. Three wishes, three princes, three billy goats, three guesses… three witches. The maiden, the mother and the… other one. That was one of the oldest stories of all.” Naturally, not all these conventions are true, for example, “The natural size of a coven is one. Witches only get together when they can’t avoid it.” Meanwhile, Nanny Ogg sends postcards home to our Jason, about what it’s like to be abroad or in foreign parts (where they do odd things like ‘drink fizzy wine out of ladies’ boots’) and obviously the structure and convention of writing postcards is its own artform – sadly, practically lost in 2023.

Granny Weatherwax dislikes stories because she thinks they are unnatural, and they try to make people conform. “You get too involved with stories, you get confused. You don’t know what’s really real and what isn’t. And they get you in the end. They send you weird in the head. I don’t like stories. They’re not real. I don’t like things that ain’t real.” She explains the laissez-faire approach to life. “You can’t go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it’s just a cage.” One could contend that she (and by association Pratchett) is arguing against interventional socialism. “No more stories. No more godmothers. Just people, deciding for themselves. For good or bad. Right or wrong.” Or one could just enjoy it as a right rollicking story of witches abroad.

Friday Five: Podcast Update

Goodness, it's been a year since I last wrote about the podcasts which accompany me on my walks, runs and drives (although never rides - it's unsafe). So it must be time for some more.

1. Desert Island Discs (BBC Radio 4) - This has been going since 1942 and is obviously a popular and simple format, which has lasted for more than 3,000. The host (currently Lauren Laverne) asks her guest (or 'castaway') what eight tracks, book and luxury item they would take with them if they were cast away on a desert island. There's one every week and I pick people who I think might have interesting stories to tell and suitably accompanying sounds (and I always cheer when someone picks You'll Never Walk Alone). Recent episodes to which I have listened include Cate Blanchett, Baz Luhrmann, Richard E Grant, Bono, Jon Ronson, Oti Mabuse, Deborah Levy, Richard Osman, Joanne Harris, Peter Schmeichel, Tracey Ullman, Baroness Hale of Richmond, Michael Holding, Alexei Sayle, Billie Piper, Professor Sir Simon Wessley, Dame Louise Casey, Mark Strong, Malala Yousaafzai, Tim Peake, and Simon Armitage.
2. Limelight (BBC Radio 4) - Audio drama at its most thrilling. It began with The System, a six-part thriller about a group of young radicals and the hunt for their leader. When Jake signs up to a personal training program that promises to turn the meekest man-boy into an alpha male, he hasn't got a clue what he's getting himself into. Two years later his sister Maya sets out to uncover the truth (there has been a second season that I have not yet heard). The next drama was The House that Vanished, a real-life mystery from the West Coast of Ireland that does exactly what it says on the tin, and then there was Harland, a Halloween special in which a town has been built on the site of a medieval plague village abandoned 900 years ago. These are great and there are many more in store for your listening pleasure.

3. Something Rhymes with Purple (A Somethin' Else and Sony Music Entertainment Production) - Gyles Brandreth and Susie Dent both have voices to which I could happily listen all day. They talk about words; their origins, development and meaning. Apparently it won the Gold Award for Best Entertainment Podcast at the British Podcast Awards 2020, so it appears plenty of other people enjoy these linguistic lessons about anything from clothing to food; travel to sport; professions to poetry and anything else that verbs your noun.
4. That Peter Crouch Podcast (BBC Radio 5Live/ Acast) - Lads talk about football. They have got knowledge; their humour is a bit blokey, but they also have clout, and have 'blockbuster guests' including premier league referees, international coaches, past and present players, and Prince William. Ostensibly a guide on how to be a professional footballer, the episodes include insight on everything from dressing-rooms, transfers, managers, training, kits, analysis, and other details of the modern game. Peter Crouch (former professional footballer - one of 33 to have scored over 100 Premier League goals), Tom Fordyce (sports journalist and author) and Chris Stark (radio personality, co-presenter and executive producer) are a good mix and present an hour-long chat full of insight and anecdote. In what is being described as a 'mass exodus of talent from the BBC', Peter Crouch has just moved to Acast for an undisclosed sum - probably quite a high one considering That Peter Crouch Podcast was the fourth most popular podcast on BBC Sounds last year and the largest sports podcast at the BBC with 60 million listeners.



5. The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling (The Free Press) - No one knew who she was; she wrote some books; everybody knew who she was; she championed the underdog; lots of people loved her views; lots of people hated her views; these two groups of people hated each other; she made some comments about sex and gender; lots more people hated her, including some of the ones who had previously loved her; she mentioned her privilege in that the hate mail and death threats she received didn't bother her as much as they would some younger, more vulnerable people; she was vilified. 'Witch' is a word used for a woman who doesn’t submit to patriarchal power; someone who dares to take up space and live their lives outside their socially prescribed roles. Personally, I am proud to be a witch, and I do not think that the sex/gender debate is 'binary'. Critical feminists and trans-right activists actually have a lot in common if they put the mental and physical safety of the individual first; and stridently conducting TERF wars is not helping anybody. I'm four episodes in to the seven-episode podcast series by Megan Phelps-Roper featuring extensive interviews with J.K Rowling and with several of her critics, supporters and readers. Billed as 'probably one of the most controversial podcasts of 2023 so far', it is undeniably well-made and hugely listenable, and will surely just fan those flames even higher.

International Women's Day: Reclaiming Hekate

At the end of last year I went to the National Museum of Australia to see the excellent exhibition, Feared and Revered: Feminine Power through the Ages. The collection of treasures from the British Museum is touring until 27 August 2023, and I would thoroughly recommend attending if you get the chance. A highlight for me was the marble statue of Hekate from Italy (161-200 AD).

In her book, Feminine Power: The Devine to the Demonic, which accompanies the exhibition, Belinda Crerar writes, "The goddess Hekate is one of the most enigmatic deities of the classical world. Her reputation as the infernal 'goddess of witchcraft' has become cemented in modern popular culture and stretched back to classical belief, but it is a narrow characterisation of a complex and multifaceted ancient divinity. To the Greeks and Romans, Hekate was associated with liminal times and places, and, importantly, stood between life and death at the entrance to the underworld; yet her powers encompassed protection and guidance." 

Hekate's famous triform image appears in Greek art from the fifth century BC onwards. The statue in this exhibition shows her with three bodies and three faces, each young, with flowing hair and crowned diadems. In her six hands she holds a roe and the handles of torches and daggers. Her flaming torches, common attributes in both sculpture and painting, situate her in darkness, but associate her with guiding light, and she is often also shown holding keys to illustrate her power to open or bar the way.

As a goddess of transition, Hekate is often represented in statues set up in entranceways to private and sacred spaces or at road junctions, where each of her three faces looks down a different path. 

Last year in Romania at the Brukenthal National Museum in Sibiu, I encountered a very similar statue in the courtyard of the Altemberger House. The attached plaque claims it is a Hekate Triformus Statue from the 2nd-3rd centuries, 'Probably Salinae (Ocna Mureș, Alba Country)'. 

Hekate's earliest and fullest description is found in Hesiod's epic poem, Theogony of the seventh century BC, which contains an extended hymn in praise of Hekate just before the birth of the Olympian gods. In Hesiod's account, she is not an underworld deity but is said to hold dominion over the earth, sea and sky. She appears to stand apart and distinct from the gods who follow, as if she is more ancient and more honoured than they are, and Hesiod is keen to stress that even Zeus, king of the Olympians, pays Hekate special respect above all others.

The reason for this reverence is made clear when Hesiod explains that success or failure is determined by Hekate's will: she can stand protectively in harm's way or step aside as she chooses. A primordial but ambivalent force, Hekate was given the epithet kourootrophos, the 'nurse of the young' by Hesiod, and the contemporary but unknown author of the Hymn to Demeter describes her as 'tender-hearted'. 

In some later Greek, but particularly Roman literature, Hekate's underworld associations become more pronounced, and she is portrayed as a more sinister force. Her approach was said to be heralded by howling dogs and she is no longer honoured by Zeus but now by Circe, Medea and Erichtho, the sorceresses and witches of classical literature who make sacrifices to her and vows before her altar for aid in their magic. 

The shift in the conception of Hekate in literature may have been influenced by actual magical rituals of the Hellenistic and Roman periods. A Greek prayer found in a handbook of incantations and magical formulas from Egypt (dated c. 275-375 AD) describes her in demonic terms as bull-faced, having snakes coiled across her brow, stalking graveyards and consuming the dead. 

As is often the case, female power is subverted by those who fear it and made to seem evil. Some male observers cannot cope with women being multi-faceted, so they cast them as two-faced as though that is a bad thing. To modern audiences, Hekate is largely known through being the 'leader' of the three witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth. She is presented as a sadistic, controlling and merciless commander of the coven, angry to have been excluded from previous plots and determined to control the prophecies and apparitions in order to maximize their manipulative affect and contribute to Macbeth's downfall. Naturally this has particular relevance for me as I played Hecate in a 2016 production of Macbeth by Canberra Repertory Society. 

"I am for the air; this night I'll spend

Unto a dismal and fatal end:

Great business must be wrought ere noon:

Upon the corner of the moon 

There hangs a vaporous drop profound;

I'll catch it ere it come to ground

And that distill'd by magic sleights

Shall raise such artificial sprites

As by the strength of their illusion

Shall draw him on to his confusion; 

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear

He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:

And you all know, security

Is mortals' chiefest enemy." - Macbeth (Act III, scene v), William Shakespeare

As Hecate in Macbeth (2016)

In keeping with reclaiming mythical and magical female figures from history to embody more empathetic, inclusive and complex interpretations, it is worth noting that since the late 19th century AD, Hekate's relevance has been revived and her spiritual importance has been incorporated into religions such as Wicca and Modern Paganism. 

As a lady in Macbeth (2016)

Ordering Chaos: The Mercies

The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

Picador

Pp. 336

With echoes of The Crucible, The Handmaid’s Tale and My Antonia, this is a fascinating tale of how the women in a remote society cope after a natural disaster wipes out most of the male population. The novel begins with the (real life) sudden storm on December 24, 1617 just off the coast of the island of Vardø, Norway’s north-easternmost point, which caused forty fishermen to drown in minutes. The women are left to mourn and bury their dead, and to try to work together to survive, until ‘a stranger comes to town’ and changes everything, resulting in accusations of witchcraft and a (again, real life) ‘trial’ held on 29 March 1620.

At the outset, there are stories of the women working together at domestic chores, after their men have been lost at sea; they undertake soothing rituals of the home (bread making and sewing), but they must also put to sea to fish, and butcher the meat – things the menfolk did but they are no longer here. The action of rowing becomes a metaphor for cooperation which, despite personal differences, is essential for survival. “They pull together as men rowing a boat. It is a closeness born of necessity: they need each other more than ever, especially as food begins to scarcen.” Maren observes that there is a rhythm and a natural order to their society, which we know will be overturned, because that is the chaos that makes drama.

Women are expected to fit a mould, and they cause discomfort to others when they break out of it. Men from the mainland come to bury the bodies when the earth has thawed enough to dig. They wish to wish to control women; they dislike seeing women doing manual labour such as fishing and butchering, and they disapprove of them wearing practical clothing (trousers) to do so.

Absalom Cornet is appointed by Lensmann Cunningham to visit the island, with his new wife, Ursa, and hunt out any instances of witchcraft. The sense of unease throughout the novel is palpable, and the reader may be horrified at the ending but not surprised. Hargrave is portentous in her foreshadowing from Maren’s dreams of dead whales to more explicit warnings that the arrival of men, and Absalom Cornet in particular, will have dire consequences. “They imagine he will be like their minister, have as little impact as snow falling into the sea. They imagine that their lives will go on, and that the worst is behind them. They imagine all sorts of silly, inconsequential things, and every bit of it is wrong.”

Some of the women have relied upon ritual to deal with grief and help them to feel safe; in some cases using runes and leaving food out for trolls. Maren is comforted by the Sámi ceremonies of Diina, her sister-in-law. “She had believed it, because in those months she was grasping for something, anything, to order the chaos that the storm had set among them.” Many of the women submit to soothing domestic routines, rather than praying in the church to a stern deity. Ursa has been brought up with housekeepers and no idea how to provide for herself; when Maren teaches her how to bake bread, the description is sacramental.

The men also need to find order in the chaos, so they choose to blame witchcraft. The clear rift between the meeting house and the kirke women is embodied between Kirsten and Toril. Kirsten is stronger, but Toril speaks the right words to the church men and there is nothing anyone can do against the charge of witchcraft. The things by which they accuse the women of witchcraft are very mundane. “It reads like a list of women’s gossip, from arguments over fish-drying racks to saying the Lord’s Prayer backwards.” The women collude with the practice and find that once accusations of witchcraft begin, they are as impossible to stop as the weather. “Oh, God have mercy on us. We have begun it, and cannot end it.”

The arrival of the witch finder destroys everything the women have built, but his wife also leads to conflict from the moment she alights from the boat in her vibrant yellow dress so dramatically different from the drab outfits of the island women. Ursa and Maren seek physical comfort in each other’s arms, but not until their emotions have threatened to overrun them and left them dumb. Kiran Millwood Hargrave has taken the bare facts of witchcraft trials in a Norwegian island, and woven them into a most intriguing tale full of contemporary themes. The lessons of how an isolated community is broken by those wanting power are ringing loud and clear. 

Steilneset Memorial in Vardo, Norway, commemorating the trial and execution in 1621 of 91 people (77 women and 14 men) for witchcraft

How Beauteous Mankind Is!: Circe

Circe by Madeline Miller

Bloomsbury

Pp. 333

The retelling of classical stories and myths from the female perspective is currently all the rage (The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood; The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker; A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes) and Madeline Miller is part of this welcome revolution. Here she tells the story of Circe, a semi-goddess often described as a witch, best known for her role in Homer’s Odyssey, where she detained Odysseus and his men, turning some of them into swine. Miller relates this tale in the first person, providing a back-story and reasons for Circe’s behaviour, like the unravelling of a fairy-tale.

Circe (1911) by Beatrice Offor

Circe is the daughter of Helios, Titan god of the sun and, from childhood, she is ridiculed for not shining brightly enough in his eyes. Her name means Hawk because of “my yellow eyes, and the strange, thin sound of my crying”. The gods think her voice is weedy and screechy, but it transpires it is simply like that of a mortal. She is fascinated by humans and shares an affinity for them with Prometheus, who shaped man out of mud. As a child, Circe asks Prometheus what a mortal was like and he tells her, “There is no single answer. They are each different. The only thing they share is death.” She questions how they bear the burden of this knowledge and he replies, “As best they can”.

Bored with the smooth symmetry of the gods, Circe loves the diversity of humans. She is fascinated by mortals, and her words are like those of Miranda in Shakespeare’s Tempest or reminiscent of Doctor Who, who admires mortals but is not one. She has no god-like powers, although she does have knowledge of herbs and potions; medicine to be used for healing and harm, the Greek word for which is pharmakis, ‘a preparer of drugs, a poisoner, a sorcerer’, from which we derive the word pharmacy, and which wisdom led her to be called ‘witch’.

The Wine of Circe (1900) by Edward Burne Jones

Just as she studies the mortals, she also philosophises about the gods. She knows that they are cruel and curious, and that they rule by fear through a hierarchical chain that recalls various political parties and governments.

The gods also “love their monsters” because it gives them something to threaten mortals with, and something for heroes to challenge. They look down upon mortals and heroes, and enjoy toying with them – the Trojan War and its consequences are all a result of their petty squabbles – and they like to see what the mortals will do next when put into impossible situations. “Gods love novelty… They are curious as cats.” These gods are equally childlike and cruel, with a unique morality. “They do not care if you are good. They barely care if you are wicked. The only thing that makes them listen is power… They take what they want and in return they give you only your own shackles.” They also punish those who help mortals; they want the mortals to be afraid because they give better offerings.

Circe (1889) by Wright Barker 

The most important thing to these gods is their reputation. They are similar to the Knights of King Arthur, who vied for quests to prove their honour, but these gods want only fame – they don’t care how they come by it. Most mortals also want fame above anything: when Odysseus travels to the underworld to consult Tiresias, the blind seer, Achilles tells him it is better to live a quiet life than die a hero’s death. He disagrees. When Telemachus turns down Athena’s offer of adventure, she is bewildered. “There will be no songs made of you. No stories. Do you understand? You will live a life of obscurity. You will be without a name in history. You will be no one.”

Miller uses the style of Homeric language and epithets about Helios, “My father’s chariot slipped into the sea and began to douse itself in the waves” but she also has an individual style as she reinterprets classic myth from a modern angle and damns the ostensible glory of the gods.

After displeasing her father, Circe is exiled to an island, Aiaia, which she cannot leave, but she can receive visitors (including Hermes, Jason and Medea, Daedalus, and, of course, Odysseus). She becomes a magnet for reckless and randy sailors (these are the ones she turns to swine as they try to rape her) and her island a place for disgruntled fathers to send their disobedient daughters, like some mythical convent. She casts her feminist viewpoint on her treatment. “Brides, nymphs were called, but that is not really how the world saw us. We were an endless feast laid out upon a table, beautiful and renewing. And so very bad at getting away.”

The Sorceress (1911) by John William Waterhouse 

Circe’s story is one that has only previously been told through the eyes of others and the tangential effects she has on their narrative. Miller presents us with another side to wily Odysseus, “The spiral shell. Always another curve out of sight.” She also shows us a fresh perspective on Penelope when Odysseus’ wife and son visit Circe on Aiaia, and the use of the word ‘weaving’ to describe spells and craft unites the women through something other than the lover and mother trope.

Circe is immortal, and she sees many changes, but she does not wish to see destruction. During her early experiments, Circe discovers the limits of her powers. “However potent the mixture, however well woven the spell, the toad kept trying to fly, and the mouse to sting. Transformation touched only bodies, not minds.” To her mind the greatest transformation is life into death. The idea that there is an undying spirit is comforting; it is the same as a story which can be endlessly retold. And this is a version I would be more than happy to hear again.

Circe and Her Swine (1896) by Briton Riviere

You'll do girl, you'll do: Finding Baba Yaga

Finding Baba Yaga by Jane Yolen

Tom Doherty Associates

Pp. 131

This contemporary retelling of an iconic myth is written entirely in blank verse. It is reminiscent of the artful design of a Russian Matryoshka nesting dolls, as elements of Slavic myth, Russian folklore and fairy tales cleverly fit among the contours of American realism. It also explores a number of themes including the nature and power of language, the journey from childhood to adulthood, the relationship between religion and language, ‘good’ and ‘bad’ words, the unique dynamic of female friendships and the mother/daughter relationship. Yolen begins her tale, “You think you know this story. / You do not.”

Teenaged Natasha lives with her parents, and knows she must get away from them and their constant fighting. Ever since her father has discovered religion, it has become worse as he monitors her language and behaviour. She runs away into the forest but, although the woods, stones and water are a recurring fairy tale image or reference, this is not the one familiar from storybooks and the settings are slightly skewed; “The forest opens like a yawn,/ as if it knew I was coming,/ has seen me before,/ can’t be bothered to resist.” We recognise the motifs of the lost child in the woods, but Yolen suggests there is more to the story if we look, listen, and abandon our preconceptions. At the end of Chapter Two, The Runaway, in This Is Not a Fairy Tale she writes, “Expect no princes./ Expect no magic rings./ Expect no glass slippers./ Expect no fairy godmothers. / Expect no singing dwarfs. / Expect no talking dragons. / Expect only/ seven deadlies delivered:/ exhaustion,/ boredom,/ regret,/ hunger,/ anger,/ danger,/ death./ All part of God’s taketh away.”

And then she encounters Baba Yaga, with all of her traditional traits. She lives in a house which turns about on its chicken legs: “It is like living on a house boat:/ the swell of the waves, the turn of the tides,/ a moment of emotion, with the ‘e’ removed.” She is a tough old woman with an iron nose, and the contemporary references to strong women are apparent; “She’s tougher than Clinton or Thatcher ever were.” This clash of realism and magical imagery continues as she explains how Baba Yaga flies through the sky in her mortar, guided by her pestle, but no one see her “unless you count bad dreams”. She flies “across tundra, taiga, major highways,/ avoiding traffic jams, roundabouts,/ only bothering the occasional helicopter/ or low-flying private planes.”

Natasha learns to tell her story, and that “A story is, not always means.” It may be grim – “I think I know now/ there are no happy evers./ Only happy moments.” – but she grows as a narrator, examining the meanings of words and exploring postmodernism through form and structure, drawing attention to the artifice of the narrative. “I am becoming a poet./ I am thinking in metaphors./ I am walking through a poem.”

As Natasha rewrites the myth with herself as the hero of her own story, she discovers that “Stories retold are stories remade.” After all, if we believe critical analysis, there are only seven stories anyway, so we need to refresh them every now and then. In searching for (and finding) Baba Yaga, Natasha is really on a quest to discover her own inner vice, strength and truth. By the end of the book she states, “So, this is a tale/ both old and new,/ borrowed, narrowed,/ broadened, deepened,/ rethreaded, rewoven,/ stitches uneven,/ re-plastered, re-harled, rehearsed, reworked/ until it’s my own.” It is familiar and unique. It is brilliant.