Author: Erica Ezeifedi

Isma has been recently freed from the shackles of older-sister-itis— a moment of silence for her, because I honestly feel you, girl. Her role of caretaker to her younger siblings was brought on by the death of her mother years prior. She’s since accepted a mentor’s invitation to finally go after a dream she’s been delaying. She leaves her home in London to start earning her PhD in America, but can’t stop thinking about her younger siblings: the fiery and gorgeous Aneeka and Parvaiz, who wishes to realize his absentee father’s jihadist dreams. In America, Isma crosses paths with Eamonn Lone, whose powerful father wins favor back home with Islamophobic propaganda. As the two families become intertwined, romance, intolerance, and familial loyalty are explored in this retelling of Antigone.

I hesitated to add this one as it is already pretty popular. I decided to, anyway, as I really enjoyed it and I can’t resist mentioning a good witch protagonist.

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” 

So starts the novel, which follows the titular character who is neither powerful like her father Helios, nor breathtakingly beautiful like her mother Perse. Instead, she’s largely seen as unremarkable as she searches for acceptance and love in the world of the gods. When she is banished to the island of Aeaea, Circe realizes her innate magic and takes to learning about herbs and potions as she surrounds herself with lions. I love how Circe’s magic is treated here. It’s a natural, comfortable thing that works as if she were merely having a thought at times. As she continues to step into her own, she takes on several, powerful mythical figures, lovers, and motherhood. Her journey sees her gradually rising above the scorn directed at her by other immortals.

“I did not go easy to motherhood. I faced it as soldiers face their enemies, girded and braced, sword up against the coming blows. Yet all my preparations were not enough.”

As ancient as the character is, many of her concerns are modern.

Young poultry farmer Chinonso intervenes when he sees Ndali preparing to jump off a bridge. In a bid to demonstrate the finality of what she’s contemplating, he throws his two prized chickens off the bridge. The young woman is moved by his demonstration and goes on to have a relationship with him. Issues arise, however, in the form of Ndali’s educated family disapproving of Chinonso’s lowly farmer status. As a result, he decides to go to college, a decision that puts him on a life changing journey that will show how far he’s willing to go to change his lot in life. A lot of traditional Igbo spirituality is incorporated in this reimagining of the The Odyssey. Case in point, it’s narrated by Chinonso’s Chi— or life force— which has been summoned in front of the almighty creator to represent Chinonso in a hearing that will determine his guilt in a serious crime.

Ariadne and her sister Phaedra are princesses of Crete that grow up knowing the shame of their Minotaur brother’s existence. The product of their mother Pasiphaë’s obsession with a snow-white bull, the Minotaur stalks the labyrinth built beneath the palace, demanding human blood. When Ariadne falls in love with the prince of Athens, who came to Crete as a sacrifice to her half brother, she has to decide whether to help him or stay loyal to her family and country. This story follows Ariadne through her life, showing her position in a world of powerful gods and cruel men. It’s another great addition to the list of well-known myths being retold from their often silent female characters’ perspectives.

Learning about the story that inspired this made my blood boil. Grace Park’s family, despite the sheltered life her Korean immigrant parents have afforded her, is broken. Shawn Matthews deals with a disjointed family as well. One that suffered the murder of his teenage sister in 1991. When Grace’s mother is shot in a drive-by, Shawn must provide an alibi. Although he’s eventually cleared, he begins to wonder about his cousin Ray’s involvement, and Grace starts to realize why her sister Miriam hasn’t spoken to their mother in years.

Here, three brothers manage land in Queensland so vast there are hours between each of their houses. One of the brothers, Cam, never comes home one day and is later found on the stockman’s grave— an old landmark associated with local ghost stories— with his keys neatly placed in the front seat of his car. Cam is thought to have taken his own life, but the unsettling dynamic amongst those in his household as well as family secrets seem to suggest otherwise. Jane Harper always seems to write the Australian settings she uses as other characters, and this one helps to push themes of isolation, which serves to amplify the family drama.

This YA novel falls under what the kids call dark academia and secured its twenty one year old author a seven figure book deal. Gen Z just being built different is a reality I often discuss, and clearly, Àbíké-Íyímídé is no exception. It follows head girl Chiamaka and the talented Devon —the only two Black students at a prestigious and very white high school— as they contend with an anonymous texter known as Aces. Aces is hellbent on exposing everything Chiamaka and Devon want to keep secret and takes their torture of the two students quite far in this queer novel that explores systemic racism with echoes of Gossip Girl.

Katrell is a mess. Period. It’s not her fault, though. Her mother is even more of a mess and exploits her daughter’s ability that allows her to speak to the dead. The money Katrell gets from connecting people with their departed loved ones goes towards paying for said deadbeat mother and whoever her mother’s abusive loser-of-the-month boyfriend is. All while (barely) going to high school and working a low-wage job. Bless her heart, you know how much I would be charging with that power?! I would have what they call eff-you money. Katrell is young and doesn’t know any better, though, and it shows. She’s warned one day by her best friend’s dead grandmother during a session to stop communing with the dead, but she doesn’t listen. And, it gets bad bad.

Book Club Bonus: Talk about the type of family trauma that binds and why Katrell seemed to keep making the same mistake over and over. Why do you think some people hurtle towards self-destruction?

This is set in a small town in England in 1643. While I feel there’s a lot written about witches during this time, this felt a little different because Manningtree is a place where there is a dearth of men on account of the war. Women are left to their own devices. That is, until Matthew Hopkins arrives dressed in head-to-toe black, asking what the women in town are up to. To which I say: Sir, if you don’t mind your damn business. You can imagine what happens next. Whispers of suspicion, betrayal, covens, and pacts converge as the independence of the women of Manningtree starts to be realized.

Book Club Bonus: Female independence and sexuality are often viewed contentiously in witch stories set in Puritan settings. It’s obviously sexist, but why do you think that is? What do you think is it about these things that Puritans found so threatening?

This technically came out last year, but you’ll still want to bump it up on your TBR, especially since Atakora used interviews from formerly enslaved people collected by the Works Progress Administration in the 1930s to inform her writing. It’s set on an isolated former plantation in the south after the Civil War. Rue is the reluctant local midwife and occasional setter of curses (upon request), continuing on her beloved mother’s position in town. One day Rue helps to deliver a baby that’s got the whole town pressedT. He’s born with a caul and strange, black eyes. Then other children start dying. Whispers of Rue being a witch rather than a healer start to circulate, and people seek comfort in a preacher. Rue has to determine if this preacher is for her, or not, as she tries to keep her own secrets hidden.

Book Club Bonus: It’s interesting how a lot of witches throughout history have had a close tie to medical things. Many times a connection to witchcraft may be drawn to midwives, healing women, etc. Even the potions and tinctures of the craft may be likened to medicine (and were the only medicine available at times). Discuss: Would a man doing similar things as witches (mixing herbs, delivery babies, etc.) be considered a witch or something else?

Genre chameleon Machado uses magical realism, horror, comedy, and science fiction in this collection of stories to examine what it’s like to have a female body: the entitlement others have to it and the feeling of disembodiment the owners of such bodies feel at times. Among the eight stories are: a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit tale with ghosts, a horror story about a woman who refuses— against her husband’s pleas— to remove a green ribbon from her neck, and the unfortunately timely tale of a woman who remembers her sexual encounters as an epidemic rages. In addition to having writing that is inventive, queer, and beautiful while being furious, Machado is also apparently clairvoyant. Reading that plague story now might hit a little close to home.

The Ecuadorian matriarch of the Montoyas has been through it. Now, she summons her descendants to distribute amongst them their inheritance. They hope to finally get some answers concerning the secrets that surround her. Instead, she is transformed, leaving a bigger shroud of mystery than before. Years later, Orquidea’s blessings are visited upon her descendants, but then an unknown entity starts to make its way through the Montoyas in this book about generational curses with Marquez vibes.

Enríquez brings the dark parts of Argentina to life in this collection of stories that feature macabre and grotesque explorations of life in a place ripe with inequality and violence. A young woman walks into an abandoned house and never returns; a fanged and feral boy is kept chained; and women set themselves on fire to protest domestic violence. Fans of Shirley Jackson will appreciate Enríquez’s dive into the terrors of everyday life.

Before her best friend Riley died, she and Mila were the somewhat outcast spooky girls of their small town high school who dabbled in witchcraft out of boredom and curiosity. Once a string of high school girls die— including Riley— Mila decides against her better judgement to use a mysterious grimoire that showed up randomly to bring her friend back to life to. She accidentally brings back the high school mean girls as well. Now, she has to keep three undead teenage girls together as she tries to be on her Olivia Benson ish and figure out who killed them all before the spell wears in a week. This also has a little in common with the reveal in Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. If ya know, ya know.

A son writes a letter to a mother that can’t read. He writes of the details that make him different —a generational curse of abuse, life in Vietnam before immigrating, and an alienating otherness— building up the stories of himself until a great revelation. When You’re done with this novel, consider Vuong’s 2016 book much lauded book of poetry, Night Sky with Exit Wounds (or even read the poetry first).

At nineteen, as Tretheway set out to start her life, her mother’s was brutally ended. An abusive former stepfather first tried to kill her mother and was imprisoned. Once he was released, he tried again and succeeded. Tretheway examines all of her life leading up to that fateful moment, including recounting her happy childhood in the south as a child of a Black mother and white father, and traveling back to the place her mother was killed. With poetic precision, she reopens old wounds and wades through her grief. Tretheway won a Pulitzer for Native Guard and was appointed the United States Poet Laureate in 2012.

Smith takes the history of slavery and shows us where it exists in the physical. He does this by bridging the gap between historical fact and what some feel is present day relevance. He passes through Monticello, Angola Prison, and more, showing how each place tells of their involvement in slavery. In addition to being a poet, Smith is a staff writer for the Atlantic. His collection of poetry, Counting Descent, won a Black Caucus of the American Library Association Literary Award.

Book Club Bonus: Select a few poems of the authors’ to discuss alongside their novels.