It's 1982 and 21 year old Evie is struggling to find her place in the close knit, Jewish community in Leeds. Friends at synagogue say she's weird, her psychiatrist says she has Asperger's but Evie knows she is a witch. Laugh and cringe along with Evie as she navigates love, friendship and selfhood in this witchy coming of age romp. Both intelligent and silly, this novel is a fun exploration of self discovery as a neurodiverse young person.
Alex handed me a book with a pungent smell of disintegration emanating from it- the edges of the pages were curled and discoloured. "Here," he said, "you had better take this one, it looks just right for you."
I studied the blurb. It seemed that a respectable woman left her respectable life behind in order to move to the country and pursue her calling as a witch.
"It doesn't sound like me at all," I said, with a mirthless little laugh.
"Silly Evie. Why are you here really?"
"I'm...I'm finding myself, I suppose," I answered.
"How very American of you."
"I don't mean in an American way."
"Oh good. You had me worried for a second."
"Always so facetious."
"Now you sound like my mother."
"I practice witchcraft here," I said suddenly.
"Now you sound like a madwoman."
"Would you mind if I was mad?"
"I don't mind," Alex said. "You are mad in such a pleasant way. Quite harmless, really."
"You make me sound like a poodle." Madness, witchcraft, Asperger's- sometimes, in my daker moments, I wondered which label fit me best. Were they mutually exclusive, or the same thing? Did I choose one of the selection like a chocolate out of a box, or was the whole point that I couldn't choose?
