Burn Her!

The always clever Andrew Stuttaford discusses modern witches. He’s okay, even if he does hate Dr. Pepper, the greatest drink created by man.

There are tales of devils and stories of ghosts, depictions of demons, and everywhere, orange, black, and nasty, the pumpkin’s evil grin. And don’t forget the witchcraft, except it’s “Wicca” now, and slicker. The wicked witches of old, warty, cackling, and vile, slinking out of deep, dark woods to cast spells over crops, tiny tots, and the unlucky peasants’ luckless livestock have vanished, only to be replaced by even creepier creatures. Heaped like kindling (unfortunate simile, I know), are books by and about those legions of women (and it is mainly women) who have taken to “magick,” chanting, drumming, howling at the moon, and delving into the supposed wisdom of a largely invented past.