Today, in things I can't get enough of: A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness. Listen, I know I have a thing for witches. I love the history of witchcraft, including the origins of the word ("wise woman") and its obvious and buried feminist connections. In college, a professor began delivering an annual lecture series every Halloween - excuse me, Samhain - about the history of witchcraft, and I was obsessed. I love Wicked (the book and the musical). If I had a dog, I'd name her Elphaba. And sometimes, just sometimes, I hold out my hands and consider carefully the amount of power, real or imagined, they hold, and hope to see shooting sparks of energy dance around my fingertips.
I started A Discovery of Witches last week and it's one of those books that has made me fall utterly in love with reading. (I mean, it's kind of like preaching to the choir, but still.) There are times where the language is perhaps a bit redundant or unfresh, but it's a classic example of a story where the plot and characters are so inventive and engaging that the book's flaws don't matter.
I don't care about vampires, but I care very much about witches, and together, they just work in this book. Why on earth I am sitting here blogging instead of going back to my Kindle is beyond me.