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CONDUCTING
INTERDISCIPLINARY
ANALYSIS
OF
YOUTH
LITERATURE:
A
STUDY
OF
THE
WITCH
IN
RECENT
YOUNG
ADULT
NOVELS
Julia
R.
Sarié
A
thesis
submitted
in
conformity
with
the
requirements
for
the
degree
of
Doctor
of
Philosophy
Department
of
Curriculum,
Teaching
and
Learning
Ontario
Institute
for
Studies
in
Education
of
the
University
of
Toronto
©
Copyright
by
Julia
R.
Sarié
2006
ivi
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CONDUCTING
INTERDISCIPLINARY
ANALYSIS
OF
YOUTH
LITERATURE:
A
STUDY
OF
THE
WITCH
IN
RECENT
YOUNG
ADULT
NOVELS
Doctor
of
Philosophy
2006
Julia
Rosemarie
Sarié
Department
of
Curriculum, Teaching,
and
Learning
University
of
Toronto
Abstract
This
dissertation
considers
how
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
of
the
witch
figure
in
contemporary
young
adult
literature
can
facilitate
the
construction
of
analytical
frameworks
that
bridge
the
division
between
the
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
youth
literature,
exploring
the
nature
of
this
body
of
work
as
the
aesthetic
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
youth
development
and
education.
In
response
to
the
recent
calls
from
scholars
of
children’s
literature
for
increased
interdisciplinarity
in
a
field
that
has
traditionally
been
divided
among
“book
people”
and
“child
people,”
this
study
is
an
example
of
how
literary
critical
approaches
to
novels
written
for
young
people
can
be
complemented
by
the
concepts
and
models
borrowed
from
practical
or
non-literary
fields.
As
the
witch
is
a
figure
that
has
been
characterized
by
its
resistance
to
easy
definition
or
categorization,
the
dissertation
shows
how
the
witch’s
significant
and
complex
presence
in
adolescent
culture
can
be
organized
into
various
motifs
whose
literary
manifestations
reflect
larger
cultural
ideas
about
adolescence.
Taking
the
popular
“wicked
witch”
motif
as
a
starting
point,
the
study
shows
how
the
narrative
changes
that
the
archetypal
wicked
witch
figure
undergoes
in
her
movement
from
fairy
tales
to
the
young
adult
novel
reflect
adult
beliefs
about
the
adolescent
understanding
of
evil
as
something
that
must
be
‘known’
rather
than
conquered.
It
explores
how,
in
spite
of
their
magical
elements,
novels
about
teen
“blood
witches”
reveal
the
dominance
of
the
theme
of
identity
development
in
the
social
and
psychological
construction
of
adolescence.
The
dissertation
analyzes
the
treatment
of
“historical
witches”
in
novels
about
the
witch
trials
in
order
to
show
how
historical
fiction
is
itself
a
pedagogical
literary
form
that
carries
with
it
political
and
educational
implications
for
teaching
history
to
young
readers.
Finally,
it
examines
the
contradictory
relationship
between
instruction
and
delight
in
novels
about
“real
witches”
or
Wiccans,
where
the
popularity
of
witchcraft
in
youth
culture
has
a
paradoxical
impact
on
the
pedagogical
goals
of
authors
who
attempt
to
educate
readers
about
their
religion
while
trying
to
meet
commercial
demands
for
sensationalized
depictions
of
witchcraft.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There
are
many
people
who
helped
me
come
to
this
point.
|
would
like
to
thank
my
supervisor
Peter
Trifonas
for his
inspiration,
conversation,
and
.
indispensable
feedback.
|
would
also
like
to
thank
my
other
committee
members,
Joyce
Wilkinson
and
David
Booth,
for
their
years
of
guidance
and
support,
and
Carl
Leggo
for
the
time
he
took
to
review
this
project
and
provide
helpful
feedback.
|
would
also
like
to
thank
my
dear
friend
Dr.
Shelley
King,
who
helped
nurture
my
interest
in
children’s
literature
when
|
was
her
teaching
assistant
and
who
has
since
kept
the
“book
person”
side
of
me
active.
|
would
also
like
to
extend
a
heartfelt
thanks
to
the
friends
who
offered
listening
ears,
sympathy,
company,
and
commiseration
during
this
long
process.
There
have
been
many
people
to
come
in
and
out
of
my
life
these
last
few
years,
but
here
|
want
to
especially
mention
Margo
Gonzalez,
Sherwin
Gardiola,
Jessica
Gonzalez,
Meaghan
Marian,
Ava
Kwinter,
Sarah
Sweet,
and
Medrie
Purdham.
Ladies,
thank
you,
all
of
you.
To
my
best
friend,
my
godbrother
Allan—many
years
ago
you
and
|
had
an
important
talk
where
we
declared
that
the
only
way
we
could
fail
in
the
pursuit
of
our
respective
dreams
is
if
we
quit
before
we
achieved
them.
It
was
a
simple
concept,
but
the
only
reason
|
am
here
today
is
because
|
stuck
to
that
pact.
Earning
this
degree
would
not
have
been
possible
if
it
had
not
been
for
my
family’s
support,
both
emotional
and
at
times
material.
My
parents
Drago
Sarié
and
Nada
Sarié,
and
my
grandmother
Marija
Pozega,
through
their
own
fascinating,
groundbreaking,
and
successful
lives,
have
always
shown
me
that
absolutely
anything
is
possible.
My
sisters
Kristina
and
Nicole
have
supported
me
with
hugs
and
laughs,
and
they
with
the
rest
of
my
family
have
always
made
sure
|
know
that
this
achievement
means
something
to
all
of
them.
To
my
husband
Chris—you
came
into
my
life
in
the
middle
of
this
degree,
but
|
don’t
think
|
would
have
made
it
to
the
end
without
your
support.
For
all
the
.
encouragement,
all
the
listening,
all
the
editing—thank
you.
TABLE
OF
CONTENTS
Introduction
Which
Witch
Is
Which?
The
Diversity
of
the
Witch
in
Disciplinary
Contexts
2
The
Witch
in
Contemporary
Youth
Culture
Conceptual
Framework:
Interdisciplinary
Analysis
of
Youth
Literature
12
Method
and
Organization
of
the
Study
23
Chapter
1
Devillainizing
the
Wicked
Witch:
Describing
Narrative
Change
in
the
Incorporation
of
Traditional
Material
into
the
Young
Adult
Novel___—-35
Fairy
Tales
and
Children
38
‘Know
Thine
Enemy’:
Fairy
Tales
and
Young
Adults
40
The
Wicked
Witch
Motif
42
The
Witch
as Flat
Villain
44
Devillainizing
the
Wicked
Witch
48
The
Shadow:
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Power
50
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Power:
The
Shadow
in
The
Witch
in
the
Lake
and
Witch
Hill
54
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Subject:
The
Witch
Hero
of
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel__63
Conclusion
75
Chapter
2
The
Blood
Witch:
Identity
Development
as
the
Central
Theme
of
Adolescence
81
Girl
Power?
Expanding
the
Discussion
of
Teen
Witches
83
Psychology
and
Young
Adult
Literature
87
The
Social
Construction
of
Adolescence
92
Identity
Formation:
The
Work
of
Erik
Erikson
94
The
identity
Crisis
and
the
Personal
Fable
in
the
Blood
Witch
Motif
96
Balancing
Core
and
Context:
The
Socially
Responsible
Autonomous
Self___
101
Power
as
Potential
105
The
Influence
of
Close
Relationships
on
Identity
Formation
108
Conclusion
114
vi
Chapter
3
The
Historical
Witch:
Rethinking
History
through
Historical
Fiction
119
Historical
Fiction:
Using
Literature
to
Teach
History
121
Teaching
the
Witch
Trials:
The
Problematic
Use
of
History
as
Metaphor
___—_—
123
Traditional
Approaches
to
the
Witch
Trials
in
Young
Adult
Fiction
128
Reexamining
the
Role
of
Cosmology
in
the
Trials
132
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child
136
Conclusion
149
Chapter
4
The
Real
Witch:
Negotiating
the
Literary
and
Religious
Marketplaces
152
Religion
and
Youth
Literature:
Pedagogy
and
Profit
154
Publishing
for
the
Teen
Reader/Consumer
157
Religious
Books
Today
160
The
Sociology
of
Religion
and
the
Religious
Marketplace
163
Wicca
in
the
Marketplace
166
Instructing
through
Delight:
The
Pedagogical
Agenda
of
Wiccan
Authors___
169
Responding
to
Conflict:
Writing
Against
Intolerance
173
Instruction
vs.
Delight:
The
Problematic
Popularity
of
Witches
178
Conclusion
187
Conclusion
190
Appendix
201
Works
Cited 205
vii
For
my
parents.
Thank
you
for
believing
in
me.
Vili
Introduction
This
study
will
explore
how
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
of
the
various
witch
motifs
found
in
contemporary
young
adult
literature
can
facilitate
the
construction
of
analytical
frameworks
which
bridge
the
division
between
the
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
youth
development
and
education.
|
The
disciplinary
transience
of
the
witch
figure
and
the
wide
variety
of
witch
motifs
that
appear
in
young
adult
literature
also
provide
the
ideal
opportunity
for
challenging
the
disciplinary
divisions
that
have
traditionally
characterized
the
study
of
youth
literature.
As
the
form
that
interdisciplinary
work
will
take
is
in
many
ways
difficult
to
predict
and
define,
Julie
Thompson
Klein
suggests
that
two
strategies
for
defining
interdisciplinarity
are
“by
example”
and
“by
motivation”
(/nterdisciplinarity
55),
both
of
which have
influenced
the
shape
of
this
study.
|
have
chosen
to
conduct
this
study
of
the
witch
as
an
example
of
how
such
integrated
frameworks
can
be
employed
to
conduct
a
critical
reading
of
the
specific
figure
of
the
witch
that
has
recently
achieved
particular
importance
in
youth
literature
and
culture.
Witches
come
to
us
in
many
forms:
the
wicked
witches
of
fairy
tales;
the
men
and
women
accused
in
historical
witch
trials;
super-powered
teenagers
whose
magical
abilities
prove
to
be
both
a
blessing
and
a
curse;
and
most
recently,
the
Wiccans
who
identify
as
‘witches’
and
who
negotiate
all
of
these
connotations.
Following
Klein's
other
strategy,
the
motivation
for
this
study,
or
“why
it
takes
place”
(55),
is
to
bridge
the
conceptual
chasm
separating
the
“book
people”
from
the
“child
people”
by
constructing
integrated
frameworks
for
analyzing
the
aesthetic and
cultural
dimensions
of
youth
literature
that
utilize
models
and
concepts
drawn
from
a
variety
of
disciplines
concerned
with
the
education
and
development
of
young
people
as
well
as
the
literature
written
for
them.
An
interdisciplinary,
or
integrated,
approach
to
analyzing
young
adult
novels
draws
on
methods
and
concepts
taken
from
disciplines
concerned
with
both
the
literary
or
aesthetic
analysis
of
texts
as
well
as
the
pedagogical
or
developmental
views
that
reveal
beliefs
about
young
readers
and
youth
culture
that
are
reflected
in
the
depiction
of
witches
in
this
body
of
work.
Which
Witch
is
Which?
The
Diversity
of
the
Witch
in
Disciplinary
Contexts
There
are
several
factors
that
make
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
of
witches
in
young
adult
literature
a
timely
and
productive
project
for
the
field
of
youth
literature
and
culture.
To
begin
with,
while
the
witch
is
most
commonly
associated
with
the
iconic
“hag”
who
comes
to
us
from
fairy
tales,
the
witch
is
a
symbol
with
multiple
forms
existing
in
multiple
contexts,
many
of
which
surface
in
young
adult
literature.
Straddling
the
realms
of
fiction
and
fact,
the
protean
nature
of
the
witch
figure
has
placed
it
in
the
territory
of
no
one
single
discipline
but
has
made
it
the
subject
of
many.
In
fact,
the
witch
resists
a
narrow
definition
and
has
given
rise
to
a
wide
variety
of
analyses
in
various
contexts.
As
historian
Elliot
Rose
wrote
in
the
introduction
to
his
early
study
on
witches
and
witchcraft,
the
wide
variety
of
depictions
of
witches
leave
researchers
with
“not
even
a
steady
peg
to
hang
the
word
‘witch’
on”
(3).
Because
“the
word
[witch]
in
common
use
is
imprecise”
(3)
Rose
argues
that
it
is
“free
to
wander...among
a
bewildering
variety
of
mental
associations;
so
that
it
is
by
no
means
certain...that
any
two
studies
of
the
subject
that
stand
side
by
side
in
a
bibliography
are
really
about
the
same
subject
at
all”
(3).
Even
a
brief
overview
of
some
major
studies
on
witches
and
witchcraft
conducted
within
different
disciplinary
contexts
illustrates
Rose’s
point
about
the
plurality
of
scholarship
on
witches.
In
his
sociological/anthropological
study
of
the
witch
figure
in
cultures
around
the
world,
Andrew
Sanders
argues
that
'witch'
is
most
significantly
a
label
given
to
scapegoat
figures
who
exist
on
the
fringes
of
a
particular
society,
and
that
there
are
"no
real
witches
at
all"
(3).
While
Sanders
promotes
a
gender-neutral
sociological
reading
of
the
witch
as
a
general
scapegoat
figure,
feminist
historical
studies
such
as
Carol
F.
Karlsen’s
seminal
text
The
Devil
in
the
Shape
of
the
Woman
instead
focus
on
the
significance
of
gender
in
historical
depictions
of
the
witch,
particularly
regarding
the
persecution
of
women
accused
of
practicing
witchcraft
in
Early
Modern
Europe
and
North
America.
Although
Sanders
looks
at
the
witch
as
merely
a
symbol,
Karlsen’s
work
explores
the
relationship
between
the
witch
label
and
the
female
gender
in
order
“to
counter
the
trivialization
of
and
glossing
over
of
both
witchcraft
and
women’s
history”
(xiii).
Karlsen’s
objection
is
obviously
meant
to
challenge
what
she
identified
at
the
time
as
the
standard
misrecognition
of
the
importance
of
the
witch
label
in
women’s
history
in
particular,
once
again
expanding
both
the
definition
as
well
as
significance
of
the
term
‘witch.’
While
the
existence
of
historical
or
‘real-life’
witches
attracts
scholarship
in
history,
sociology,
and
gender
studies,
the
fictional
wicked
witch
of
folk
and
fairy
tales
has
fascinated
folklorists
and
psychoanalysts
alike.
Bruno
Bettelheim’s
The
Uses
of
Enchantment
and
Marie-Luise
von
Franz’s
Shadow
and
Evil
in
Fairy
Tales
are
considered
to
be
seminal
psychoanalytic
studies
of
fairy
tales.
Bettelheim’s
influential
Freudian
analysis
focuses
on
the
particular
relationship
between
fairy
tales
and
the
mind
of
the
child
reader,
but
von
Franz’s
Jungian
analysis
of
the
concept
of
evil
in
fairy
tales
offers
insight
into
the
particular
role
of
the
ubiquitous
witch
figure
in
traditional
literature.
She
argues
that
witches
and
‘evil’
characters
are
necessary
to
fairy
and
folk
tales,
which
in
her
terms
actually
embody
a
collective
unconscious,
as
they
fulfill
the
psychological
need
for
humans
to
create
oppositions
between
good
and
evil,
or
perhaps
more
simply,
conscious
and
unconscious
desires.
A
more
recent
psychological
study
of
fairy
tales,
Sheldon
Cashdan’s
The
Witch
Must
Die:
How
Fairy
Tales
Shape
Our
Lives,
connects
various
fairy
tale
plots
to
basic
stages
of
a
child’s
psychological
development,
where
the
death
of
the
wicked
witch
symbolically
represents
the
banishment
of
a
child’s
fears.
These
psychological
and
psychoanalytical
explorations
of
the
wicked
witch
explain
the
prevalence
of
this
figure
in
traditional
tales
through
her
function
as
a
symbol
of
human
beings’
darker
or
unacknowledged
thoughts
and
impulses.
As
with
historical,
sociological,
and
psychological
analyses
of
the
witch,
analyses
of
the
witch
in
folklore,
art,
and
even
popular
culture
likewise
reveal
further
efforts
to
identify
the
many
different
types
of
witches
while
acknowledging
the
futility
of
essentializing
this
figure.
The
Virago
Book
of
Witches
offers
a
cross-cultural
collection
of
stories
taken
from
the
oral
tradition,
with
editor
Shahrukh
Husain
organizing
them
according
to
themes
like
“Wise
Old
Women,”
“Guardians
of
Seasons
and
Elements,”
and
“Witches
in
Love.”
In
her
introduction
Husain argues
that
in
general
the
witches
are
commonly
depicted
as
transgressive
figures
who
defy
social
limits
of
propriety
and
social
moral
values,
particularly
with
regards
to
the
acceptable
behaviour
of
women.
In
her
closing,
however,
Husain
also
admits
that
the
collection
ultimately
demonstrates
how
“the
witch
constantly
challenges
definition,
remaining
baffling
and
enigmatic
to
the
end”
(xxi).
Diane
Purkiss,
in
her
eclectic
and
lengthy
historical,
feminist,
and
dramatic
study
of
The
Witch
in
History:
Early
Modern
and
Twentieth-century
Representations
,
offers
a
similar
synopsis
of
the
witch.
After
listing
in
the
introduction
the
approaches
and
topics
that
she has
chosen
not
to
explore,
Purkiss
explains
that
the
“absence
of
all
this
material...is
itself
strong
testimony
to
the
impossibility
of
defining
the
witch,
of
getting
to
the
bottom
of
her,
of
organizing
her
taxonomically,
by
name,
kind,
and
country”
(4).
Like
Husain,
Purkiss
forgoes
an
attempt
to
‘define’
the
witch,
satisfied
instead
to
offer
insight
into
the
complex
figure.
Candace
Savage's
Witch:
the
Wild
Ride from
Wicked
to
Wicca
also
attempts
to
present
the
many
facets
of
the
witch
figure
through
a
cross-
disciplinary
examination
of
the
witch
archetype
in
history,
art,
literature,
and
popular
culture.
While
this
elaborately
illustrated
volume
is
intended
to
be
more
accessible
to
a
general
audience
than
Purkiss'
work,
Savage
nonetheless
produces
a
study
that
is
comprehensive
in
its
breadth,
if
not
depth.
Offering
commentary
on
depictions
of
the
witch
that
range
from
the
art
and
writing
of
the
medieval
witch
hunts
to
contemporary
witch
characters
on
television
and
modern-day
Wiccans,
Savage
frames
her
study
by
addressing
the
impossibility
of
arriving
at
a
single
definition
of
the
witch.
In
a
passage
reminiscent
of
Husain
and
Purkiss'
closing
words,
Savage
ends
her
introduction
by
posing
several
questions
that
problematize
the
task
of
defining
the
witch:
Was
the
witch
fact
or
fiction?
A
superstitious
‘old
wife’
or
a
pagan
priestess?
A
manifestation
of
sex
hatred
or
a
mythic
figuration
of
women's
resistance
and
power?
Could
she
possibly
be
all
of
the
above?
And
if
so,
how
was
this
thinkable?
How
could
the
single
word
‘witch’
represent
such
an
array
of
incompatible
histories,
meanings,
and
emotions?
(xiv,
emphasis
added)
By
making
the
word
"witch"
the
central
criterion
of
her
study,
Savage
shifts
the
focus
from
searching
for
a
particular
type
of
witch
to
chronicling
and
categorizing
the
figures
and
depictions
that
have
been
associated
with
the
word
itself.
Savage's
acknowledgment
of
the
multiple
facets
of
the
witch,
and
the
ambiguities
and
difficulties
that
accompany
this
figure,
in
a
sense
brings
the
study
of
witches
full
circle,
back
to
the
conundrum
identified
by
Rose
in
1962.
Perhaps
what
characterizes
the
interdisciplinary
study
of
witches
is
Rose's
decision
to
"prove
nothing,
but
to
enquire
with
a
free
mind"
since
"the
meaning
the
word
'witch'
ought
to
have
(if
indeed
it
ought
to
have
one
meaning)
is
itself
open
to
enquiry"
(3).
In
light
of
Rose’s
advice
to
the
would-be
researcher
of
witches,
in
this
study
|
will
attempt
to
answer
Savage's
question
of
how
“the
single
word
‘witch’
[can]
represent
such
an
array
of
incompatible
histories,
meanings,
and
emotions”
in
the
specific
context
of
young
adult
novels.
Just
as
previous
studies
have
shown
how
the
witch
has
been
used
as
a
symbol
for
different
aspects
of
femininity,
transgression,
and
even
aspects
of
the
unconscious,
this
study
will
reveal
how
the
witch
has
come
to
inhabit
a
new
range
of
meanings
that
reflect
beliefs
and
values
about
the
development
and
education
of
adolescents
in
young
adult
literature
today.
Although
there
have
been
a
number
of
studies
conducted
on
depictions
of
the
witch
throughout
history
and
within
various
cultural
contexts,
research
on
the
figure
of
the
witch
in
youth
literature
has
been
limited.
The
in-depth
treatment
of
the
witch
in
fairy
tales
only
deals
with
traditional
literature,
which
(despite
often
being
grouped
in
with
the
fantasy
genre)
by
definition
does
not
include
original
works
by
contemporary
authors.
The
relatively
small
number
of
articles
written
about
witches
in
books
for
children
has
in
some
ways
been
supplemented
by
the
explosion
of
scholarly
interest
in
the
Harry
Potter
phenomenon.”
But
while
Rowling’s
series
has
arguably
been
marketed
as
literature
for
both
children
as
well
as
adults,
it
would
not
necessarily
be
classified
as
young
adult
literature.
Also,
while
Rowling’s
works
have
come
under
fire
for
allegedly
containing
references
to
witchcraft,
her
use
of
the
term
only
denotes
a
feminine
counterpart
to
male
wizards.
These
distinctions
may
seem
like
splitting
hairs,
but
as
this
study
will
show,
the
witch
has
a
significant
and
unique
place
in
contemporary
adolescent
culture
that
is
mirrored
in
the
novels
about
witches
written
for
an
adolescent
audience.
The
variety
of
depictions
of
witches
and
witchcraft
in
contemporary
novels
written
for
young
adults
provides
an
opportunity
to
examine
how
the
witch
has
become
a
symbol
for
the
cultural
and
pedagogical
construction
of
adolescence.
The
Witch
in
Contemporary
Youth
Culture
To
understand
why
a
separate
study
of
the
witch
in
young
adult
literature
is
necessary,
we
must
first
explore
how
witches
and
the
subject
of
witchcraft
have
become
immensely
popular
topics
of
interest
in
the
media
and
in
adolescent
culture
in
particular.
The
immense
popularity
of
Harry
Potter
has
produced
a
fascination
with
Hogwart’s
School
of
Wizardry
and
Witchcraft
in
young
children
and
adults
alike,
but
there
has
been
a
noticeably
different
if
parallel
interest
in
witches
and
witchcraft
that
has
arisen
in
adolescent
culture
in
the
last
decade.
Rowling’s
books
seem
to
be
at
the
centre
of
younger
children’s
cultural
interest
in
magic,
but
the
presence
of
witches
in
teen
culture
is
comprised
of
a
blend
of
a
wider
variety
of
historical,
traditional,
fantastic,
and
even
religious
sources
that
all
combine
to
produce
a
complex
picture
of
witchcraft
in
the
late
twentieth
and
early
twenty-first
centuries.
The
rise
in
popularity
of
witchcraft
in
teen
culture
is
commonly
attributed
to
the
large
number
of
movies
and
television
shows
that
depict
young
adult
characters
who
are
referred
to
as
witches.
The
film
that
is
commonly
credited
with
launching
the
“teen-witch
media
frenzy”
(Guly
CQ)
is
the
1996
movie
The
Craft,
which
depicts
a
group
of
high
school
outcast
girls
who
form
a
coven
and
use
magic
to
make
themselves
more
popular
and
beautiful
and
to
retaliate
against
the
legion
of
pretty
girls
and
jocks
who
torment
them.
The
depiction
of
witches
in
television
has
exploded
following
the
popularity
of
The
Craft,
including
such
shows
as
Sabrina,
the
Teenage
Witch,
Buffy
the
Vampire
Slayer,
and
Charmed.
The
witchcraft
practiced
by
young
adults
in
these
movies
and
television
shows
differs
greatly
from
the
wizardry
and
magic
popular
in
children’s
culture
through
its
connection
to
and
often
conflation
with
the
religion
Wicca.
While
the
magic
practiced
by
the
witch
in
television
and
movies
is
enhanced
by
special
visual
effects
(such
as
showing
lightning
coming
from
someone's
fingers)
and
therefore
resembles
something
out
of
Rowling’s
fictional
world,
they
nonetheless
often
refer
to
themselves
as
Wiccans
and
at
times
intersperse
references
to
the
Wiccan
religion
in
their
practices.*
Although
there
is
no
central
authoritative
definition
of
Wicca
or
its
practices,
Wiccans
frequently
describe
their
religion
as
a
blend
of
the
pre-Christian
religions
of
Europe
and
contemporary
New-Age
Spirituality
(James
123).
Followers
often
refer
to
themselves
as
witches,
although
they
are
quick
to
downplay
the
negative
connotations
of
the
term,
choosing
instead
to
‘reclaim’
the
word
by
investing
it
with
new
meaning.
Nonetheless,
it
is
not
surprising
that
the
popularity
of
the
witches
in
the
media
has
also
led
to
a
rise
in
interest
in
Wicca
among
teens,
leading
some
to
dub
followers
of
this
trend
“Generation
Hex.”
As
one
reporter
commenting
on
the
trend
in
this
country
observes,
“[e]very
time
a
new
enchantress
swoops
out
of
a
Los
Angeles
studio,
hordes
of
wannabe
pagans
across
Canada
start
flocking
to
occult
shops
for
spiritual
guidance
and
love
potions”
(Gill
G2).
While
there
have
been
a
number
of
studies
done
on
the
prominence
of
supernatural
themes
in
the
media
and
in
youth
culture
in
particular,‘
there
is
yet
to
be
an
extensive
study
specifically
on the
witch
figure
as
it
appears
in
young
adult
literature.
This
adolescent
interest
in
the
blended
witchcraft
portrayed
in
popular
television
shows
and
films
has
led
to
an
accompanying
explosion
of
interest
in
books,
both
reference
books
as
well
as
fiction,
about
witches
and
Wicca.
Whereas
New
Age
literature
used
to
be
marketed
primarily
towards
an
adult
audience,
publishers
have
begun
to
respond
to
the
teen
interest
in
Wicca
by
producing
a
growing
number
of
titles
geared
specifically
to
a
teen
audience
10
(Rosen,
Casting
38).
Silver
Ravenwolf,
who
authored
one
of
the
most
popular
reference
guides
on
Wicca
for
adolescents,
Teen
Witch:
Wicca
for
a
New
Generation,
has
also
produced
a
fictional
series
about
teen
Wiccans
called
Witches’
Chillers.
The
overlap
between
fact
and
fiction
that
characterizes
adolescent
interest
in
Wicca/witchcraft
is
apparent
in
Ravenwolfs
work.
The
author
admits
that
she
based
the
characters
in
her
fictional
series,
which
features
teen
Wiccans
using
their
both
natural
and
supernatural
magical
powers
to
solve
crimes,
on
the
teens
depicted
on
the
cover
of
her
‘non-fiction’
work
(Witches’
Night
Out
afterword),
and
some
observers
have
also
described
them
as
“bemused
15-year-old
girls
in
jeans
and
short
skirts
posed
like
a
movie
poster
for
‘The
Craft’”
(Carvajal
E1).
Wiccan
writer
!sobel
Bird’s
series,
Circle
of
Three,
likewise
reads
partly
like
a
reference
guide
for
young
Wiccans
that
also
incorporates
the
supernatural
elements
and
standard
teen
romance
and
friendship
plots
that
make
its
television
and
film
counterparts
so
popular
with
a
young
audience.
Other
series
such
as
Nancy
Holder
and
Debbie
Viguie’s
Spellbound
and
Cate
Tiernan’s
enormously
successful
Sweep
feature
witch
characters
that
are
not
explicitly
Wiccan,
and
as
the
title
of
Russell
Moon’s
Witch
Boy
series
indicates,
teen
witches
in
young
adult
novels
no
longer
even
comply
with
the
often
taken-for-granted
gendered
depiction
of
witches
as
female.
Recent
young
adult
novels
about
teen
witches
and
Wicca
add
a
new
dimension
to
depictions
of
witches
and
witchcraft
that
earlier
studies
have
not
yet
addressed.
11
More
traditional
representations
of
the
witch
figure,
such
as
the
wicked
witch
from
fairy
tales
and
the
‘witches’
accused
in
witch
trials,
also
continue
to
appear
in
young
adult
literature,
but
even
here
we
also
see
significant
changes
that
are
indicative
of
a
contemporary
adolescent
audience.
The
European
and
New
England
witch
trials
have been
a
popular
subject
for
adolescent
fiction
since
Elizabeth
Speare’s
1956
novel
The
Witch
at
Blackbird
Pond,
but
texts
such
as
Celia
Reese’s
popular
Witch
Child
present
unique
reinterpretations
of
these
events
that
reflect
the
growth
of
alternative
spirituality
that
has
recently
infused
youth
culture.
And
while
the
wicked
witch
is
arguably
one
of
the
most
recognizable
archetypes
in
the
literature
and
culture
of
young
children,
novels
such
as
Donna
Jo
Napoli’s
fairy tale
revisions
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel
revisit
these
depictions
of
the
witch
in
order
to
humanize
the
witch
characters
and
in
the
process
explore
the
idea
of
evil
as
it
applies
to
adolescent
psychology.
The
recent
popularity
of
witches
and
witchcraft
in
the
media
and
young
adult
novels,
and
the
wide
range
of
cultural
beliefs
about
adolescence
that
are
reflected
in
this
interest,
make
this
the
ideal
subject
through
which
to
construct
an
interdisciplinary
reading
of
youth
literature.
Conceptual
Framework:
Interdisciplinary
Analysis
of
Youth
Literature
Rather
than
utilizing
one
particular
theoretical
lens
through
which
to
analyze
young
adult
novels
about
witches,
this
study
will
track
the
changes
in
the
witch
motif
in
young
adult
novels
through
an
interdisciplinary
approach
to
12
studying
the
relationship
between
the
aesthetic
and
the
pedagogical
or
developmental
qualities
of
youth
literature.
This
approach
is
a
deliberate
strategy
to
accomplish
the
other
major
goal
of
this
study:
to
disrupt
the
division
between
practical
and
literary
approaches
to
studying
youth
literature
and
its
young
audience
that
has
characterized
studies
in
children’s
literature
since
its
earliest
dictum
to
provide
instruction
with
delight.°
Scholars
from
such
diverse
fields
as
English
literature,
library
science,
education,
psychology,
history,
folklore,
and
cultural
studies
(among
others)
have
all
explored
the
body
of
work
termed
children's
literature,
a
field
of
study
that
has
typically
been
defined
primarily
by
its
intended
audience.
Since
the
earliest
days
of
the
discipline,
this
academic
diversity
has
resulted
in
the
designation
of
what
John
Rowe
Townsend
in
the
late
sixties
first
called
“book
people”
and
“child
people,”
terms
that
were
meant
to
distinguish
the
seemingly
unavoidable
disciplinary
divisions
inherent
in
such
divergent
interests.
According
to
Townsend,
authors,
publishers,
and
critics
are
those
who
“are
professionally
involved
with
books
and
[who]
are
bound
to
look
first
at
the
book,
because
that
is
their
job”
(“The
Present
State”
70).
Teachers
and
parents,
on
the
other
hand,
are
concerned
with
the
role
that
books
play
in
the
total
development
of
the
child,
and
thus
child
people
judge
books
according
to
“nonliterary
standards,”
considering
instead
the
social,
moral,
psychological,
or
educational
impact
of
a
book
and
why
children
specifically
might
like
it
(“In
Literary
Terms”
70).
Over
time
others
have
refined
this
distinction
or
proposed
new
descriptions
for
these
terms,
but
for
the
13
most
part
those
interested
in
studying
children’s
literature
have
accepted
what
Nicholas
Tucker
(echoing
Townsend
three
decades
later)
has
called
a
“division
of
labor”
between
“literary
critic”
and
“expert
commentator,”
with
the
only
potential
source
of
conflict
arising
from
a
failure
to
recognize
these
divisions
(221).
Yet
this
“division
of
labor”
has
become
increasingly
problematic.
For
one
thing,
to
say
that
practitioners
do
not
concern
themselves
with
developments
in
critical
theory and
instead
only
care
about
being
told
what
is
‘good’
neglects
the
growing
body
of
work
that
explores
ways
that
practitioners
use
critical
theory
in
literature
instruction
at
the
elementary
and
secondary
school
levels.
The
work
of
Robert
Scholes
and
Jill
May,
among
many
others,
has
fostered
an
increasing
movement
to
incorporate
critical
theory
into
the
literature
classroom
at
all
levels.®
Just
as
developments
in
academic
critical
theory
have
begun
to
filter
into
the
field
of
literature
education,
the
conceptual
division
between
book
and
child
people
is
complicated
by
developments
in
theory
and
criticism
that
interrogates
the
relationship
between
the
text
and
the
world,
a
relationship
that
has
sparked
inquiry
into
such
areas
as
postcolonial
and
feminist
criticism,
among
others.
Such
critical
concerns
challenge
the
possibility
or
even
desirability
of
purely
aesthetic
readings.
In
his
influential
1988
article,
“Ideology
and
the
Children’s
Book,”
Peter
Hollindale
characterizes
(or
‘caricaturizes’)
Townsend's
terms
according
to
the
“somewhat
one-sided
emphasis
on
remarks
about
adult
judgments
and
their
importance
(book
14
people);
about
children’s
judgments
and
their
importance
(child
people);
about
differences
of
literary
merit
(book
people)
and
about
the
influence
of
a
book’s
social
and
political
values
(child
people)”
(20-21).
While
Hollindale
exaggerates
the
differences
between
these
two
groups,
he
nonetheless
draws
attention
to
Townsend’s
implicit
assumption
that
the
“adult
judgments’
of
literary
critics
have
little
to
do
with
the
“social
and
political
values”
that
would
seem
to
be
a
practitioner's
concern.
One
possible
reason
for
the
disciplinary
territorialization
of
literary
studies
regarding
critical
analysis
of
youth
literature
can
be
attributed
to
the
crisis
of
legitimacy
that
scholars
of
children’s
literature,
particularly
in
English
departments,
have
traditionally
faced
which
colleagues
working
on
‘adult’
literature
have
for
the
most
part
not
had
to
endure.
Thirty
years
ago
Townsend
was
commenting
on
the
state
of
children’s
literature
studies
at
a
time
when
“Ino
university
English
department
[would]
look
at
it”
(“Present
State”
417),
and
it
seems
that
the
scene
has
not
changed
much
today.
As
Beverly
Lyon
Clark
details
in
her
recent
study
Kiddie
Lit:
The
Cultural
Construction
of
Children’s
Literature
in
America,
all
those
who
study
and
teach
children’s
literature,
the
‘book
people’
as
well
as
the
‘child
people,’
still
share
the
common
burden
of
working
in
a
field
whose
position
“is
somewhat
precarious
in
the
academy”
(183).
The
result
of
this
need
for
legitimacy
has
resulted
in
disciplinary
isolation
by
both
literary
critics
and
educational
practitioners
concerning
their
use
of
literary
theory
and
critical
approaches
to
texts.
And
as
the
title
of
15
Clark’s
work
suggests,
critics
have
come
to
dominate
the
study
of
“literature,”
while
practitioners
and
those
working
in
the
social
sciences
are
left
to
concern
themselves
primarily
with
the
“kids.”
Scholarship
in
young
adult
literature
reflects
this
same
bias,
if
not
more
so.
Attempting
to
assess
why
“Young
Adult
Literature
Evades
the
Theorists,”
Caroline
Hunt
argues
that
“approaches
to
young
adult
books
are,
for
many
scholars,
conditioned
more
by
‘outside’
(non-academic)
conditions”
(6),
such
as
the
social
realism
of
a
text
and
the
particular
popularity
of
a
book.
Censorship—tiong
considered
the
concern
of
educationists
and
librarians—is
another
cause
that
Hunt
cites
for
why YA
scholars
“do
not
tend
to
concern
themselves
with
theoretical
approaches
to
books
whose
very
right
to
existence
they
are
defending”
(6).
While
English
professors
are
not
dismissing
the
importance
of
the
work
of
their
colleagues
in
the
social
sciences,
such
comments
reflect
Tucker's
“division
of
labor.”
Librarians,
educators,
and
psychologists
should
be
left
to
the
work
of
studying
how
these
texts
function
in
the
hands
of
‘real’
readers,
while
those
working
within
English
departments
should
work
separately
to-theorize
and
help
legitimate
the
field
of
youth
literature
alongside
its
‘grown-up’
counterpart.
Recently,
multidisciplinary
departments
examining
various
topics
regarding
children
and
childhood
have
been
proposed
or
established under
a
no
number
of
names,
including
“children’s
studies,”
“childhood
studies,”
and
“children’s
culture.”
Under
the
direction
of
Professor
Gertrud
Lenzer,
the
first
16
program
in
Children’s
Studies
was
launched
in
1991
at
Brooklyn
College
of
the
City
University
of
New
York.
Similar
interdisciplinary
initiatives
in
children’s
studies
have
since
been
established
at
a
number
of
universities,
including
the
Rutgers
Centre
for
Children
and
Childhood
Studies.
These
departments
consist
primarily
of
cross-appointed
faculty
from
such
diverse
disciplines
as
psychology,
history,
law,
health,
literature,
and
education,
who
all
share
a
common
interest
in
studying
the
lives
and
culture
of
children.
Within
these
departments
children’s
literature
has
a
more
secure
place
than
it
has
enjoyed
in
many
traditional
disciplines
(such
as
English
literature),
with
scholars
of
children’s
literature
calling
for
increased
participation
in
these
multidisciplinary
initiatives;
there
have
even
been
a
number
of
articles
and
special
issues
devoted
to
this
topic
in
such
influential
journals
of
children’s
literature
as
Children’s
Literature
Association
Quarterly
and
The
Lion
and
the
Unicorn.
Studies
in
children’s
culture
seek
to
expand
both
the
range
of
subject
matter
to
be
considered
as well as
the
theoretical
approaches
to
such
material.
Video
games,
music, and
media
have
all
become
subjects
of
study
under
the
heading
of
children’s
culture,
as
have
poststructuralist
readings
of
texts
which
focus
on
ideology
and
consumerism,
for
example.
Karen
Coats,
an
English
professor
who
holds
an
interdisciplinary
doctoral
degree,
urges scholars
in
children’s
literature
to
get
over
the
“disciplinary
bias
that
often
devolves
into
intellectual
snobbery”
regarding
the
value
of
“real”
children
versus
textual
representations
of
childhood
(141).
Coats
argues
that
this
bias
on the
part
of
17
scholars
working
in
the
humanities
and
the
social
sciences
respectively
“must
be
overcome
if
[scholars]
are
to
work
across
the
aisle
in
the
fields
of
education,
the
arts,
the
social
and
natural
sciences,
the
humanities,
law,
and
business”
(141).
Coats’s
strategic
choice
to
submit
her
article
to
Children’s
Literature
Association
Quarterly
arguably
even
directs
this
challenge
to
the
field
of
children’s
literature
and
young
adult
criticism.
Yet
while
these
calls
for
cross-disciplinary
collaboration
are
in
theory
meant
to
challenge
the
compartmentalization
of
studies
in
children's
literature,
this
has
not
necessarily
changed
views
on
how
texts
should
be
studied,
leaving
Tucker’s
“division
of
labor”
relatively
intact.
In
fact,
what
underlies
many
of
the
proposals
for
a
field
of
children’s
studies
is
the
same
tension
between
the
literary
critical
and
practical
approaches
to
texts
that
has
stopped
scholars
from
“work[ing]
across
the
aisle”
in
the
past.
For
example,
Coats’s
article
still
polarizes
the
potential
contributions
of
studies
of
children’s
literature
within
children’s
studies,
with
insights
into
the
actual
behavior
of
young
readers
falling
into
the
domain
of
social
sciences
and
more
theoretical
studies
of
children’s
texts
resting
with
literary
critics
in
the
humanities.
While
Coats
is
calling
for
increased
interdisciplinary
communication
and
for
scholars
to
share
their
research,
her
suggestions
still
for
the
most
part
maintain
methodological
and
disciplinary
boundaries.’
This
lack
of
integration
can
seem
unusual
given
that
literary
studies
has
traditionally
“been
a
major
locus
of
interdisciplinary
theorizing”
(Klein,
Humanities
18
83),
and
in
the
last
decade
especially
scholars
have
begun
to
focus
on
how
other
disciplines
have
in
the
past
influenced
and
can
today
contribute
to
literary
analysis.®
But
while
some
characterize
the
field
of
children’s
literature
as
“more
eclectic
and
interdisciplinary
than
other
academic
specialties,
perhaps
necessarily
so”
(Kidd,
147),
these
attempts
to
increase
disciplinary
cooperation
in
the
field
of
children’s
literature
are
more
accurately
described
as
multidisciplinary
or
cross-disciplinary.
The
distinction
of
terms
here
is
key
to
understanding
how
an
integrated
approach
to
studying
youth
literature
can
bridge
the
literary/practical
divide,
as
“these
differences
occur
because
labels
are
not
neutral”
(Klein,
Interdisciplinarity
55).
As
Klein
clarifies,
“multidisciplinary’”
signifies
a
juxtaposition
of
disciplines
and
is
“additive,
not
integrative”
(56,
emphasis
original).
Similarly,
she
writes
that
one
of
the
various
definitions
of
“cross-disciplinary’”
is
“to
view
one
discipline
from
the
perspective
of
another,”
again
implying
collaboration
on
a
topic
or
problem
undertaken
“with no
intention
of
generating
a
new
science
or
paradigm”
(55).
While
the
multidisciplinary
children’s
studies
departments
encourage
those
working
in
disciplines
that
deal
with
either
literature
or
young
readers
and
youth
culture
to
share
their
work
while
still
remaining
within
their
disciplines,
an
interdisciplinary
approach
would
integrate
the
concepts
of
various
fields
dealing
with
children
and
their
books.
|
am
not
advocating
an
‘antidisciplinary’
approach
that
would
question
the
validity
or
necessity
for
disciplines
altogether.
On
the
contrary,
by
proposing
an
interdisciplinary
study
of
youth
literature
|
am
in
fact
depending
on
the
traditional
19
disciplines
in
order
to
borrow
concepts
and
insights
that
can
help
illuminate
the
relationship
between
‘instruction’
and
‘delight’,
or
the
literary
and
the
practical,
that
has
always
characterized
the
creation
and
study
of
this
body
of
work.
What
this
study does,
however,
is
call
into
question
the
disciplinary
boundaries
that
have
encouraged
the
separation
of
the
work
done
by
“book
people”
and
“child
people,”
where
the
study
of
the
aesthetic
or
literary
aspects
of
youth
literature
falls
to
scholars
in
English,
with
the
pedagogical,
developmental,
and
wider
social
dimensions
belonging
to
those
whose
disciplines
concern
work
with
young
people.
As
Gunn
and
Greenblatt
write,
“[a]ny
study
of
literature...is
necessarily
bound
up
implicitly
or
explicitly
with
an
interrogation
of
imaginary
boundaries”
since
“[t]here
are
no
transcendent
or
absolute
rules
about
what
belongs
in
the
zone
of
the
literary
and
in
the
zone
of
the
nonliterary”
(5).
Just
as
Giles
Gunn
suggests
that
interdisciplinary
work
“can
remodel
our
understanding
of
the
nature
of
the
‘literary”
(Gunn,
Against
193),
an
interdisciplinary
approach
to
youth
literature
criticism
would
call
into
question
the
nature
of
youth
literature
itself
and
beckon
for
new
perspectives
or
understanding.
This
would
involve
finding
the
common
ground
between
the
differences
that
all
those
involved
in
the
production,
dissemination,
and
criticism
of
youth
literature
share.
To
this
end,
there
is
a
growing
movement
that
examines
how
the
book
people/child
people
divide
is
in
fact
a
false
separation
between
adults
who
all
share
in
common
that
they
work
with
a
body
of
literature
that
has
more
to
tell
us
about
adults
than
it
does
children.
20
Townsend
himself
acknowledged
that
“the
child
himself
hardly
enters
into
the
process
by
which
quality
children’s
books
are
assessed
and
distributed.
They
are
written
by
adults,
they
are
read
by
adults
for
adult
publishers,
they
are
reviewed
by
adults,
they
are
bought
by
adults”
(“Didacticism”
36).
The
peculiarity
of
the
absence
of
the
young
audience
is
also
noted
by
Beverly
Lyon
Clark,
who
asks:
“Where
else
would
one
find
a
body
of
literature
in
which
virtually
none
of
those
who
write
it,
none
of
those
who
edit
or
publish
or
market
it,
and
very
few
of
those
who
buy
it,
belong
to
its
ostensible
audience?”
(14)
Charles
Sarland
describes
this
characteristic
feature
of
children’s
literature
as
an
“imbalance
of
power
between
the
children
and
young
people
who
read
the
books,
and
the
adults
who
write,
publish
and
review
the
books,
or
who
are
otherwise
engaged
in
commentary
upon,
or
dissemination
of
the
books,
either
as
parents,
or
teachers,
or
librarians,
or
booksellers,
or
academics”
(38).
Sarland’s
inclusion
of
academics,
or
literary
critics,
makes
the
important
point
that
the
relative
absence
of
children
in
the
process
of
producing
or
commenting
upon
what
is
allegedly
‘their’
literature
creates
a
more
significant
connection
rather
than
division
between
the
so-called
book
and
child
people.
Jacqueline
Rose
and
Karin
Lesnik-Oberstein
have
even
gone
so
far
as
to
argue
that
critics,
practitioners,
and
authors
rely
on an
‘essentialized’
child
who
they
each
construct
in
service
of
their
particular
theoretical
or
imaginative needs.°
Perry
Nodelman
most
succinctly
describes
the
fundamental
quality
of
youth
literature
that
can
become
the
conceptual
foundation
for
an
integrated
21
approach
to
studying
youth
literature.
In
“Fear
of
Children’s
Literature:
What's
Left
(or
Right)
After
Theory?”
Nodelman
argues:
There
would
be no
children’s
books
if
we
didn’t
believe
children
were
different
enough
from
adults
to
need
their
own
special kinds
of
books;
and
of
course
it
is
adults—the
ones
with
the
ideas
about
just
how
it
is
that
children
differ—who
write
those
books.
All
children’s
books
always
represent
adult
ideas
of
childhood—and
inevitably,
therefore,
work
to
impose
adult
ideas
about
childhood
on
children...whatever
else
literary
texts
are,
and
whatever
pleasures
they
may
afford
us,
they
are
also
expressions
of
the
values
and
assumptions
of
a
culture
and
a
significant
way
of
embedding
readers
in
those
values
and
assumptions—
persuading
them
that
they
are
in
fact
the
readers
that
these
texts
imply.
(8-9;
emphasis
added)
Nodelman
is
contesting
the belief
that
children’s
books
can
exist
on
a
purely
aesthetic
level,
thus
moving
the
argument
away
from
the
division
between
so-
called
‘book’
and
‘child’
people
towards
the
division
between
adults
and
children
that
is
the
crux
of
all
aspects
of
the
production
and
distribution
of
children’s
literature.
The
key
idea
in
Nodelman’s
claims,
that
“all
children’s
books
always
represent
adult
ideas
of
childhood,”
can
become
a
new
point
of
entry
into
an
interdisciplinary
reading
of
youth
literature.
The
dissolution
of
the
“book
people/child
people”
binary
can
foster
the
development
of
an
approach
to
youth
22
literature
that
recognizes
both
its
aesthetic
as
well
as
educational
importance,
allowing
us
to
explore
how
these
texts
embody
adult
observations
about
the
beliefs
about
the
young
audience
for
whom
these
texts are
produced
and
the
values
that
we
wish
to
impart
to
them.
Method
and
Organization
of
the
Study
My
approach
to
this
topic
has
been motivated
by
the
ambiguity
of
the
term
“witch”
and
its
accompanying
dependence
on
disciplinary
and
cultural
contexts.
The
primary
criterion
for
my
analysis,
therefore,
is
that
the
characters
|
refer
to,
no
matter
how
diverse
in
depiction,
are
all
specifically
referred
to
as
“witches”
in
the
text.
Since
the
subject
of
my
research
is
contemporary
young
adult
literature,
|
have
sought
out
texts
that
have
been
published
for
a
primarily
adolescent
audience
(twelve
and
up)
since
1993,
approximately
ten
years
before
the
bulk
of
this
study
took
place.
My
own
wide
reading
of
young
adult
literature
allowed
me
to
initially
identify
numerous
texts
that
included
witch
characters.
|
then
added
to
my
list
of
possible
texts
by
exploring various
library
catalogues,
online
bookstore
catalogues,
and
most
significantly
the
Children’s
Literature
Comprehensive
Database
(CLCD).
The
CLCD
allowed
for
searches
of
titles,
subjects,
and
book
reviews,
each
of
which
proved
to
be
instrumental
in
uncovering
texts
in
which
references
to
witches
may
not
have
appeared
in
the
title
alone.
The
added
search
parameters
of
age-level
and
publication
year
also
helped
me
categorize
the
texts
as
‘young
adult’
and
‘contemporary’
for
my
23
purposes.
While
|
have
read
over
fifty
texts
as
part
of
my
search
for
witches
in
YA
literature
(see
Appendix),
|
have
been
selective
about
the
texts
|
include
in
this
study.
|
have
chosen
to
conduct
a
close
reading
of
selected
texts
rather
than
conduct
a
broader
but,
for
lack
of
a
better
word,
more
superficial
discussion
of
a
greater
number
of
texts.
This
latter
type
of
reading
is
more
appropriate
to
content
analysis,
where
the
goal
of
the
study
is
to
identify
selective
criteria
rather
than
discuss
larger
themes.'°
|
have
found
that
my
analysis
of
the
often
mutable
witch
figure
is
by
necessity
better
organized
into
themes
or
motifs
that
emerged
from
the
reading
of
selected
texts.
These
themes
act
as
categories
that
describe
the
construction
of
figures
referred
to
as
witches
in
the
adolescent
novels
|
have
chosen
to
examine.
These
motifs
include
the
“wicked
witch”
(or
the
traditionally
evil
witch);
the
“historical
witch”
(characters
accused
of
being
witches
in
historical
novels
about
the
witch
trials);
the
“blood
witch”
(adolescent
characters
who
are
identified
as
witches
by
birthright
rather
than
a
religious
choice
and
who
do
not
identify
as
Wiccans
or
pagans);
and
the
“real
witch”
(adolescent
characters
who
make
the
choice
to
follow
witchcraft
as
a
religion,
and
who
identify
with
the
title
“Wiccan”
or
“pagan”).
My
emphasis
in
each
chapter
is
to
discuss
how
different
depictions
of
the
archetypal
witch
figure
in
young
adult
novels
reflect
beliefs
about
the
development
and
education
of
the
intended
adolescent
audience.
As
the
intent
of
this
study
is
to
apply
interdisciplinary
frameworks
for
24
analyzing
the
witch
figure
in
youth
literature,
the
primary
method
|
have
chosen
for
conducting
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
of
these
motifs
is
through
what
Klein
identifies
as
“borrowing”,
where
“a
model
or
concept
either
supplements
or
supplants
the
models
or
concepts
of
other
disciplines”
(/nterdisciplinarity
64).
The
analysis
in
each
chapter
will
incorporate
various
theories,
concepts,
and
models—taken
from
such
fields
as
psychology,
psychoanalysis,
folklore
studies,
cultural
studies,
critical
pedagogy,
marketing,
publishing,
and
sociology—that
can
help
explore
the
connection
between
research
found
in
literary,
pedagogical,
and
developmental
disciplines
concerned
with
youth
literature
and
young
readers.
This
integrative
approach
is
also
intended
to
relax
the
methodological
constraints
and
the
exclusivity
of
inquiry
that
has
separated
the
“book
people”
from
the
“child
people,”
the
“literary
critics”
from
the
“expert
commentators,”
and
the
aesthetic
from
the
socio-political
discussions
of
children’s
literature
in
the
past.
|
begin
my
analysis
of
the
various
witch
motifs
by
examining
the
most
common
type
in
chapter
one,
“Devillainizing
the
Wicked
Witch:
Describing
Narrative
Change
in
the
Incorporation
of
Traditional
Material
in
the
Young
Adult
Novel.”
In
this
chapter
|
explore
how
concepts
taken
from
the
fields
of
narratology,
psychology,
and
psychoanalysis
can
help
trace
the
way
in
which
the
narrative
changes
that
the
archetypal
wicked
witch
figure
undergoes
in
her
movement
from
fairy
and
folk
tales
to
the
young
adult
novel
reflect
adult
beliefs
about
the
adolescent
understanding
of
evil.
|
examine
how
in
psychology
and
25
psychoanalysis
the
young
child’s
need
to
distance
oneself
from
evil
(killing
the
witch)
becomes
in
the
adolescent
the
need
to
understand
evil
and
to
acknowledge
one’s
own
capacity
for
evil
(knowing
the
witch).
|
then
show
how
looking
at
these
narrative
changes
through
the
structuralist
theories
of
folklorists
Vladimir
Propp
and
Max
LUthi
and
the
narratologist
Mieke
Bal
can
show
us
how
the
witch
is
‘devillainzed,’
or
moved
away
from
the
‘flat’
characterizations
of
fairy
tales
to
the
more
psychologically
complex
or
‘round’
depictions
that
typify
young
adult
novels.
Finally
|
conduct
a
narratological
reading
of
four
YA
novels
to
illustrate
how
form
and
precept
work
together
to
allow
the
adolescent
reader
to
begin
to
‘know’
evil.
The
novels
that
|
have
chosen
to
illustrate
the
‘devillainized’
wicked
witch
are
Marcus
Sedgwick’s
Witch
Hill
(2001),
Anna
Fienberg’s
The
Witch
in
the
Lake
(2002),
and
Donna
Jo
Napoli’s
The
Magic
Circle
(1993)
and
Zel
(1996).
Chapter
two,
“The
Blood
Witch:
Identity
Development
as
the
Central
Theme
of
Adolescence,”
charts
the
dissolution
of
the
witch
as
‘other’
by
looking
at
the
motif
of
the
blood
witch,
an
otherwise
ordinary
adolescent
who
discovers
that
she
or
he
is
a
witch
by
birth.
My
focus
in
this
chapter
is
to
explore
how
even
more
significant
than
the
magical
element
in
novels
about
teen
blood
witches
is
the
theme
of
identity
development,
which
in
literary
and
pedagogical
contexts
is
arguably
fhe
theme
of
adolescence.
|
examine
how
our
cultural
understanding
of
adolescence
as
a
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
resulting
in
the
achievement
of
a
balanced
identity
is
rooted
in
the
discipline
of
psychology
and
26
how
this
perception
of
adolescence
has
come
to
characterize
depictions
of
teenagers
in
both
literary
and
educational
discussions
since
the
emergence
of
this
view
in
the
early
twentieth
century.
|
also
argue
that
although
witchcraft
has
traditionally
been
read
as
a
metaphor
for
feminine
development
and
sexuality,
young
adult
novels
destabilize
and
redefine
this
gendered
depiction
of
witches
by
including
witch
characters
that
are
male.
This
redefinition
of
teen
witches
as
including
young
women
as
well
as
young
men
illustrates
the
dominance
of
the
theme
of
identity
development
in
adolescent
fiction.
Using
the
disciplinary
lens
of
the
psychology
of
identity
development,
|
then
analyze
three
different
series
about
teen
blood
witches
to
show
how
the
blood
witch
motif
becomes
a
metaphor
for
adolescence,
where
the
task
of
the
young
witch
is
to
learn
to
balance
their
core
selves
with
the
context
of
their
new-found
powers
in
order
to
become
socially
responsible
autonomous
adolescent
selves.
The
series
that
|
analyze
are
Cate
Tiernan’s
Sweep,
Nancy
Holder's
Wicked,
and
Russell
Moon’s
Witch
Boy.
Chapter
three,
“The
Historical
Witch:
Rewriting
History
in
Historical
Fiction,”
analyzes
the
significance
of
the
witch
as
a
historical,
rather
than
simply
fictional,
character.
Focusing
on
depictions
of
the
witch
as
a
scapegoat
figure
in
historical
novels
about
the
New
England
witch
trials,
|
discuss
the
cultural
significance
of
the
historical
novel
as
a
pedagogical
literary
form,
and
how
this
characteristic
also
carries
with
it
political
concerns
for
both
authors
as
well
as
educators
concerning
the
depiction
of
history
that
the
novel
puts
forth.
|
27
take
as
my
particular
example
how
the
dominant
trend
of
depicting
accused
“historical
witches”
as
scapegoats
who
were
targeted
in
general
for
anti-social
behaviour
needs
to
be
reassessed
in
light
of
current
arguments
in
critical
pedagogy
and
cultural
studies
that
question
the
practice
of
generalizing
and
allegorizing
historical
events
in
the
interest
of
using
them
as
lenses
through
which
to
interpret
other
events.
Through
this
socio-historical,
critical
methodological
lens,
|
explore
how
one
novel
in
particular,
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child,
forgoes
the
traditional
scapegoat
theory
and
instead
proposes
a
connection
between
the
charges
leveled
toward
the
practices
of
accused
witches
and
the
practices
of
Native
North
Americans.
Rees’s
novel
acts
as
an
example
of
how
a
renewed
discussion
of
the
New
England
witch
trials
can
contribute
to
the
wider
political
and
cultural
debates
about
the
role
of
cosmology
in
historical
cultural
encounters
as
well
current
debates
about
the
status
of
non-Christian
worldviews,
such
as
those
of
Native
North
Americans
and
Wiccans.
Continuing
the
examination
of
witches
as
non-fictional
figures,
the
final
chapter,
“The
Real
Witch:
Negotiating
the
Literary
and
Religious
Marketplaces,”
revisits
the
alleged
separation
of
instruction
and
delight
by
looking
at
the
relationship
between
the
rise
in
teen
spirituality
and
the
popularity
of
“real”
witches,
or
Wiccan
characters,
in
popular
novels
and
media.
Exploring
the
evolution
of
the
relationship
between
the
literary
marketplace
and
what
sociologists
call
the
religious
marketplace,
|
argue
that
the
current
popularity
of
28
teen
novels
about
Wicca
reflect
the
publishing
industry’s
attempt
to
capitalize
on
the
growing
interest
of
teens
in
alternative
religions
that
is
now
a
characteristic
of
youth
culture.
The
final
part
of
the
chapter
examines
two
popular
series
about
teen
Wiccans
written
by
Wiccan
authors,
Silver
Ravenwolfs
Witches’
Chillers
and
Isobel
Bird’s
Circle
of
Three,
for
their
problematic
overlap
with
the
supernatural
depictions
of
witchcraft
found
in
popular
media
and
novels
about
blood
witches.
In
examining
the
influence
of
the
literary
marketplace
on
young
adult
novels,
|
show
how
“real
witch”
characters
(or
those
who
identify
themselves
as
“Wiccan”)
can
be
used
to
discuss
potential
problems
of
negotiating
literary
and
generic
expectations
when
establishing
cultural
identity
through
texts.
The
witch
is
a
symbol
that
signifies
new
meanings
in
each
new
context
that
she
(or
he)
appears
in.
Today
the
witch
stands
as
a
powerful
literary
figure
that
embodies
a
range
of
meanings
that
are
both
traditional
as
well
as
reflective
of
contemporary
youth
culture.
Examining
the
various
witch
motifs
found
in
young
adult
literature
can
therefore
give
us
an
opportunity
to
explore
the
complex
and
undeniably
potent
presence
of
the
witch
and
witchcraft
in
adolescent
culture.
By
focusing
on
the
specific
depictions
of
witches
in
literature
written
for
an
adolescent
audience, we
can
also
come
to
better
understand
how
these
motifs
reflect
our
own
cultural
construction
of
adolescence
as
a
unique
phase
of
life
that,
like
the
witch
figure
itself,
is
grounded
in
a
number
of
disciplinary
contexts.
Constructing
interdisciplinary
29
analytical
frameworks
for
understanding
the
cultural
significance
of
witch
motifs
found
in
young
adult
literature
can
therefore
also
help
to
bridge
the
conceptual
division
between
the
literary
critical
and
pedagogical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
about
youth
development
and
education.
Notes
1
|
would
like
to
note
some
details
about
terminology.
This
study
is
primarily
concerned
with
young
adult
literature,
which
designates
literature
that
is
intended
for
an
adolescent
audience
and
usually
contains
an
adolescent
protagonist.
At
times,
however,
I
will
reference
young
adult
literature
in
the
context
of
children’s
literature
as
a
whole.
|
have
chosen
to
do
this
for
a
number
of
reasons.
Since
young
adult
literature
is
a
fairly
recent
body
of
work
in
the
history
of
children’s
literature,
much
research
done
on
it
has
been
conducted
in
publications
and
by
scholars
who
place
it
under
the
larger
umbrella
heading
of
“children's
literature.”
More
importantly,
while
there
are
important
differences
when
considering
an
adolescent
versus
a
child
audience,
young
adult
literature
shares
the
defining
trait
of
children’s
literature—not
being
written,
produced,
or
criticized
primarily
by
members
of
its
audience—and
consequently
involves
the
disciplinary
division
that
has
characterized
studies
in
both
areas.
When
|
am
addressing
points
or
issues
where
the
distinction
is
not
necessary,
|
often
use
the
more
collective
term
“youth
literature.”
Regarding
interdisciplinarity,
like
Julie
Thompson
Klein,
when
the
term
is
not
meant
to
indicate
a
particular
difference
from
other
similar
terms,
for
the
sake
of
variety
|
substitute
the
term
“integrated”
(/nterdisciplinarity
15).
2
Critical
work
on
the
Harry
Potter
phenomenon
has
appeared
in
numbers
too
great
to
keep
track
of
here,
but
it
is
worth
mentioning
a
few
journal
articles
that
appeared
before
Rowling’s
series
and
that
deal
with
the
witch
in
other
contexts.
Mary
Helen
Thuente
gives
a
30
Critical
review
of
Elizabeth
George
Speare’s
Newbery
Award-winning
novel,
The
Witch
of
Blackbird
Pond,
in
which
she
analyzes
Speare’s
blending
of
historical
fiction
and
the
folktale.
In
“Women
Behaving
Badly:
Dahl’s
Witches
Meet
the
Women
of
the
Eighties,”
Anne-Marie
Bird
compares
the
film
and
book
versions
of
Roald
Dahl’s
The
Witches,
arguing
that
the
film
is
more
misogynistic
than
the
text.
While
both
of
these
studies
offer
some
interesting
insights
into
two
important
texts,
neither
attempts
to
be
a
comprehensive
study
of
the
witch
figure.
John
Warren
Stewig
offers
a
literary
analysis
of
“The
Witch
Woman:
A
Recurring
Motif
in
Recent
Fantasy
Writing
for
Young
Readers,”
though
his
examination
is
limited
to
three
texts,
and
his
‘witch
woman’
theme
is
used
to
describe
wise
women
who
are
not
explicitly
called
witches
in
the
texts.
3
In
The
Craft,
for
example,
the
girls
incorporate
elements
of
Wicca
into
their
rituals,
such
as
Calling
the
four
elements
while
casting
a
sacred
circle,
and
using
an
athame,
or
ritualistic
dagger.
While
the
sisters
on
Charmed
use
even
more
supernatural,
sensationalized
magic,
they
nonetheless
refer
to
their
practice
alternately
as
“magic”,
“witchcraft”,
and
“Wicca”
and
use
a
Book
of
Shadows,
which
in
Wicca
is
a
collection
of
spells
other
teachings
that
is
passed
along
through
generations.
Likewise,
Willow
from
Buffy
the
Vampire
Slayer
joins
a
group
of
Wiccans
at
her
university
in
order
to
continue
her
experiments
with
magic,
only
to
leave
them
to
do
their
‘new-agey’
work
so
that
she can
pursue
a
more
supernatural
type
of
magic.
4
For
example,
see
Lynn
Schofield
Clark’s
From
Angels
to
Aliens:
Teenagers,
the
Media,
and
the
Supernatural
and
Julie
Dianne
O’Reilly’s
doctoral
dissertation
Power
vs.
Empowerment:
A
Textual
Analysis
of
Television’s
Superpowered
Women,
1996-2005.
Two
anthologies
that
deal
with
this
subject
are
the
collection
of
academic
essays
Fantasy
Girls:
Gender
in
the
New
Universe
of
Science
Fiction
and
Fantasy
Television,
edited
by
Elyce
Rae
Helford,
and
Girls
Who
Bite
Back:
Witches, Mutants,
Slayers,
Slayers
and
Freaks,
a
book
of
creative
and
critical
reflections
edited
by
Emily
Pohl-Weary.
31
5
This
is
a
characteristic
view
that
is
regularly
used
as
both
a
critical
and
pedagogical
framework
for
structuring
the
development
of
children’s
literature
in
English
from
its
Puritanical
origins
towards
the
present.
Early
children’s
literature
historian
F.
J.
Harvey
Darton
goes
so
far
as
to
say
that
if
one
were
to
define
children’s
books
(as
he
does)
as
works
“produced
ostensibly
to
give
children
spontaneous
pleasure, and
not
primarily
to
teach
them,”
then
children’s
literature
did
not
technically
exist
before
1744,
when
John
Newbery
published
A
Little
Pretty
Pocket-Book
(1).
While
the
elements
of
didacticism
and
pleasure
in
children’s
literature
exist
in
a
more
complicated
balance
than
such
a
strict
view
would
suggest,
the
concept
of
children’s
books
progressing
from
didactic
religious
origins
towards
imaginative
secular
works
is
a
common
approach
to
interpreting
the
history
of
children’s
literature.
See
Demers’
section
on
the
“Golden
Age’
of
children’s
literature
for
an
overview
of
this
topic
(From
Instruction
263-349).
©
Robert
Scholes
argues
for
the
relevance
of
literary
theory
in
the
high
school
curriculum
in
his
work
Textual
Power,
and
Jill
May’s
Children’s
Literature
and
Critical
Theory
in
many
respects
functions
as
a
pedagogical
guide
to
introducing
literary
theory
to
post-secondary
students
studying
children’s
literature,
many
of
whom
are
also
pre-service
teacher
candidates.
More
recently,
critical
theory
and
criticism
have
begun
to
inform
practice,
particularly
with
regards
to
the
use
of
literature
for
social
justice
and
multicultural
education.
As
Violet
J.
Harris
argues
when
asserting
the
need
for
practitioners
to
become
familiar
with
critical
theory,
responsible
practice
requires
“the
eventual
acceptance
of
criticism
that
emphasizes
racial
or
ethnic
identity,
gender
relations,
or
class
issues”
(154).
Texts
such
as
Deborah
Appleman’s
Critical
Encounters
in
High
School
English,
Alan
Carey-Webb's
Literature
and
Lives:
A
Response-based,
Cultural
Studies
Approach
to
Teaching
English,
and
Slevin
and
Young’s
collection
of
essays,
Critical
Theory
and
the
Teaching
of
Literature:
Politics,
Curriculum,
Pedagogy,
aim
to
familiarize
both
instructors
and
students
with
how
to
incorporate
critical
theory
into
literary
study.
7
Some
attempts
to
assess
the
possible
contribution
of
children’s
literature
scholars
to
an
interdisciplinary
field
even
degenerate
into
defenses
of
literary
criticism
that
betray
the
32
anxiety
for
legitimacy
that
has
characterized
studies
of
youth
literature
in
the
academy.
One
of
these
early
defenses
is
Richard
Flynn’s
discussion,
“The
Intersection
of
Children’s
Literature
and
Childhood
Studies,”
which
assesses
the
potential
contributions
of
literary
criticism
to
discussions
of
representations
of
childhood
and
children.
While
he
believes
that
childhood
studies
will
help
avoid
the
binaries
of
“book
people
and
child
people”
(143),
Fiynn’s
proposal
becomes
a
justification
of
literary
criticism
conducted
in
English
departments,
which
has
been
accused
of
becoming
too
“ivory-tower”
(145)
compared
to
the
work
done
by
those
in
the
social
sciences
who
study
children’s
interactions
with
texts.
Flynn's
defensive
tone
sharpens
as
he
makes
a
final
argument
for
the
relevance
of
criticism
by
attacking
the
legitimacy
of
educational
approaches,
claiming
that
“contemporary
theory
about
childhood
and
children’s
literature
has
offered
a
significant
and
powerful
corrective
to
the
dominant
educational
ideologies
that
threaten
our
children’s
literacy
and
ability
to
think.
If
being
a
book
person
means
promoting
meaningful
rather
than
merely
functional
literacy,
then
book
people
are
child
people
indeed”
(145).
Flynn’s
accusations
leave
little
of
the
‘separate
but
equal’
approach
that
Coats
later
assumes,
and
his
comments
reflect
the
traditional
disciplinary
tension
in
youth
literature
between
those
whose
work
is
alleged
to
deal
primarily
with
the
text
versus
those
whose
interest
rests
in
the
readers.
8
As
|
have
taken
the
question
of
the
adult
versus
child
audience
as
a
definitive
distinction
separating
the
field
of
youth
literature
from
work
done
on
literature
written
for
an
adult
audience,
my
discussion
of
interdisciplinarity
in
this
field
takes
into
account
the
disciplinary
relationships
that
characterize
the
study
of
children’s
literature,
which
are
quite
different
from
the
issues
raised
for
the
discipline
of
literary
studies
as
a
whole.
For
detailed
discussions
of
interdisciplinarity
in
English,
see
for
example
the
work
of
Giles
Gunn
(Against,
Interdisciplinary)
and
Stephen
Greenblatt
and
Gunn
(introduction).
Julie
Thompson
Klein
has
also
written
two
chapters
on
the
geneology
of
literary
studies
(Crossing
133-172,
Humanities
83-106)
which
provide
a
more
general
overview
on
the
scholarship
done
in
this
field.
33
9
Rose’s
seminal
text,
The
Case
of
Peter
Pan,
or
the
Impossibility
of
Children’s
Literature,
is
a
psychoanalytic
analysis
of
the
complex
relationship
between
the
adults
responsible
for
producing
children’s
literature
and
the
child
audience
it
is
in
theory
intended
for.
In
Children’s
Literature:
Criticism
and
the
Fictional
Child Karin
Lesnik-Oberstein
points
out
the
fallacy
of
the
“purist”
approach
of
“critics
who
preoccupy
themselves
with
the
literary,
and
do
not—ostensibly—discuss
child
readers”
by
making
the
argument
that
all
children’s
literature
criticism
is
grounded
in
assumed
knowledge
about
constructed
child
readers
(102).
10
In
an
attempt
to
present
itself
as
rigorous,
children’s
literature
research
in
education
predominantly
takes
the
form
of
content
analysis
(Ary
485).
While
some
content
analysis
studies
provide
interesting
insights
into
the
general
trends
or
diachronic
developments
in
literature,
as
Silverman
points
out,
this
method
“reiffies]
the
taken-for-granted
understanding
persons
bring
to
words,
terms,
or
experiences”
and
often
discourages
attempts
at
in-depth
analysis
of
individual
texts
(640).
In
contrast,
theme
analysis
is
“descriptive
research
that
analyzes
the
content
of
literature
in
order
to
investigate
certain
ideas,
attitudes,
and
patterns
in
these
books”
(Steinfirst
629).
Theme
analysis
is
less
restrictive
in
its
methods
than
content
analysis
and
more
suited
to
providing
critical
insight
into
texts
(Short
21).
34
Chapter
1
Devillainizing
the
Wicked
Witch:
Describing
Narrative
Change
in
the
Incorporation
of
Traditional
Material
into
the
Young
Adult
Novel
In
order
to
illustrate
how
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
that
bridges
the
practical
and
literary
critical
approaches
to
studies
in
youth
literature
can
illuminate
how
the
witch
in
young
adult
novels
has
become
a
symbol
for
the
cultural
construction
of
adolescence,
it
is
useful
to
begin
by
examining
the
changes
that
have
occurred
in
the
most
familiar
depiction
of
this
figure:
the
wicked
witch.
As
the
narratological
embodiment
of
the
most
iconic
version
of
the
witch—the
crone
who
rides
a
broomstick
and
mixes
evil
spells
in
a
cauldron—the
wicked
witch
figure
represents
for
most
people
the
primary
association
of
the
word
“witch.”
The
term
itself
is
almost
formulaic,
attesting
to
this
figure’s
popularity
in
traditional
literature.
Altmann
and
de
Vos
argue
that
“wicked
witch”
is
an
example
of
the
aggregative
character
of
the
oral
culture,
a
word
cluster
that
is
“kept
intact
so
that
the
ideas
they
hold
remain
available”
(New
Tales
5).
As
Maria
Tatar
notes
of
another
popular
villain,
the
wicked
stepmother,
the
regular
association
of
evil
with
the
witch
figure
arguably
makes
the
very
term
wicked
witch
pleonastic,
where
the
word
“wicked”
itself
is
redundant
(Hard
Facts
141).
Although
the
wicked
witch
is
arguably
the
most
familiar
of
all
the
types
of
witches
this
study
will
examine—and
she
is
by
far
the
most
popular
type
in
literature
for
younger
children—her
presence
in
the
young
adult
novel
is
rare.
indeed,
only
four
novels
of
my
sample
contain
the
referential
character
of
the
35
wicked
witch,
and
even
in
the
rare
instances
when
a
wicked
witch
figure
appears
in
a
young
adult
novel,
her
role
has
changed
significantly.
While
authors,
educators,
parents,
and
psychologists
have
long
noted
the
popularity
or
even
the
necessity
of
the
wicked
witch
of
traditional
literature
who
unanimously
garners
the
hatred
of
(primarily
child)
audiences,
the
wicked
witch
of
the
young
adult
novel
becomes
a
more
complex
figure
who
represents
an
opportunity
for
authors
to
engage
with
rather
than
to
simply
dispel
the
subject
of
evil.
No
longer
the
cannibalistic
old
woman
who
needs
no
motive
or
reason
to
relentlessly
torment
her
innocent
victims,
the
wicked
witch
of
the
contemporary
YA
novel
is
a
figure
who
at
times
becomes
a
representation
of
the
potential
for
evil
within
the
protagonist,
or
a
figure
whose
own
evil
is
explored
as
a
product
of
her
humanity
rather
than
of
her
monstrosity.
Using
the
case
of
the
wicked
witch
as
an
example,
this
chapter
will
explore
how
concepts
taken
from
the
fields
of
narratology,
psychoanalysis,
and
psychology
can
help
demonstrate
the
ways
in
which
the
narrative
changes
that
take
place
in
the
incorporation
of
traditional
characters
into
the
contemporary
young
adult
novel
reflect
adult
expectations
of
the
psychological
development
of
adolescent
readers.
|
will
first
examine
longstanding
beliefs
about
the
psychological
connection
between
younger
children
and
fairy
tales.
|
will
then
look
at
how
perceptions
about
the
changing
psychological
needs
of
adolescents,
especially
regarding
the
concept
of
evil,
may
help
explain
the
changes
that
traditional
figures
such
as
the
wicked
witch
must
undergo
in
their
movement
from
36
traditional
narratives
(such
as
folk
and
fairy
tales)
to
young
adult
novels.
By
examining
these
changes
through
the
structuralist
theories
of
folklorists
Vladimir
Propp
and
Max
Luthi
and
the
narratologist
Mieke
Bal,
|
will
show
how
the
witch
is
‘devillainized,’
or
displaced
from
the
function
of
villainy
that
the
wicked
witch
has
traditionally
occupied
in
fairy
tales
and
novels
for
younger
children.
This
movement
away
from
‘flat’
villainy
may
humanize
the
wicked
witch
(sometimes
thought
of
as
‘heroicizing’
the
villain)
or
conversely,
it
may
abstract
the
witch
even
further,
so
that
the
figure
functions
more
as
a
psychological
force
(here
described
as
the
Jungian
“shadow’)
rather
than
an
active
opponent.
To
demonstrate
the
abstraction
of
the
wicked
witch
into
a
psychological
force
(or
“power,”
to
use
Bal’s
term),
|
will
look
at
Marcus
Sedgwick’s
Witch
Hill
and
Anna
Fienberg’s
The
Witch
in
the
Lake.
|
will
then
explore
how
the
witch
is
heroicized
in
Donna
Jo
Napoli’s
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel,
novels
that
rework
the
fairy
tales
“Hansel
and
Gretel”
and
“Rapunzel”
respectively.
By
conducting
an
interdisciplinary
analysis
of
the
depiction
of
the
wicked
witch
figure
in
young
adult
novels,
|
will
show
that
the
subversion
of
the
witch’s
role
as
villain
reflects
the
psychologically
realistic
characterization
which
distinguishes
the
young
adult
novel
from
the
fairy
tale
or
children’s
novel.
This
analysis
of
the
changes
to
the
wicked
witch
in
adolescent
literature
will
bridge
the
literary
critical
and
practical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
youth
development
and
education.
37
Fairy
Tales
and
Children
In
The
Witch
Must
Die:
How
Fairy
Tales
Shape
Our
Lives,
Sheldon
Cashdan
argues
that
while
“the
initial
attraction
of
a
fairy
tale
may
lie
in
its
ability
to
enchant
and
entertain”
child
readers,
the
“lasting
value”
of
a
tale
“lies
in
its
power
to
help
children
deal
with
the
internal
conflicts
they face
in
the
course
of
growing
up”
(10).
As
Cashdan’s
title
suggests,
one
of
the
essential
ways
that
children
interact
with
fairy
tales
is
by
displacing
negative
thoughts
and
tendencies
onto
a
figure
who
is
symbolically
conquered
and
destroyed
in
the
course
of
the
tale—in
this
case,
the
wicked
witch.
Whether
found
in
traditional
literature
or
in
children’s
novels,
the
wicked
witch
acts
a
villain
who
symbolizes
the
very
concept
of evil,
and
as
such,
must
be
eliminated.
As
Cashdan
argues,
stories
“that
feature
conventional
witches
and
sequences
in
which
they
meet
their
end...continue
to
prevail
for
the
simple
reason
that
they...offer
young
audiences
an
important
way
of
dealing
with
troublesome
impulses”
(251).
In
the
world
of
younger
children,
“a
world
of
absolutes”
with
“no
in-betweens,”
the
death
of
the
witch
is
“a
powerful
tool
to
deal
with
tendencies
that
are
not
easily dealt
with
in
more
conventional
ways”
(251).
The
depiction
of
a
uniformly
wicked
witch
who
is
inevitably
killed
can
therefore
help
explain
some
of
the
appeal
of
fairy
tales
to
younger
children.
Cashdan’s
study
has
several
interesting
implications.
First
is
the
endurance
of
the
belief
that
there
is
a
psychological
significance
to
the
treatment
of
the
wicked
witch
in
literature.
Although
Cashdan
is
a
therapist
experienced
in
38
using
fairy
tales
in
his
work
with
children,
he
is
nonetheless
hardly
the
first
psychologist
to
attempt
to
find
such
“value”
in
fairy
tales.'.
Though
divergent
in
their
approaches,
psychologists
of
both
the
Freudian
and
Jungian
schools
share
the
assumption
that
fairy
tales
reflect
psychological
conflicts
in
a
symbolic
or
representative
way.
In
other
words,
the
characters
and
conflicts
within
fairy
tales
are
not
meant
to
reflect
the
“real”
world;
the
complexity
of
human
personality
and
experience
is
fragmented
and
embodied
in
the
different
figures
and
symbolic
narratives
contained
in
traditional
literature.”
What
Cashdan
and
many
critics
who
study
the
relationship
between
children
and
fairy
tales
also
take
for
granted
is
that
there
is
a
connection
between
fairy
tales
and
a
child
audience.
In
spite
of
the
fact
that
fairy
and
folk
tales
were
not
originally
composed
for
a
child
audience,’
there
is
little
reason
to
doubt
their
general
appeal
to
children.
Children’s
interest
in
fairy
tales
has
remained
strong
over
the
last
several
hundred
years,
often
to
the
chagrin
of
parents
and
educators.
One
could
almost
argue
that
the
continued
popularity
of
fairy
tales
tells
us
more
about
children’s
reading
interests
than
looking
at
original
works
written
to
accommodate
what
adults
thought
would
(or
should)
interest
children.
In
his
influential
1977
study
Child
and
Tale:
The
Origins
of
Interest,
F.
André
Favat
set
out
to
discover
why
fairy
tales
appeal
so
strongly
to
children
up
to
the
age
of
eight.
Echoing
the
assumptions
of
psychologists
who
argue
for
the
value
of
fairy
tales
to
children,
Favat
drew
primarily
on
Piaget’s
child
developmental
theory
to
discuss
how
fairy
tales,
in
their
very
predictability
(where
39
the
witch
always
dies,
for
example),
“embody
an
accurate
representation
of
the
child’s
conception
of
the
world”
(iii-iv).
Favat’s
work
foregrounds
the
importance
of
the
reading
interests
of
young
children,
and
how
they
respond
to
literature.
‘Know
Thine
Enemy’:
Fairy
Tales
and
Young
Adults
Yet
all
of
these
implicit
assumptions
regarding
the
connection
between
younger
children
and
fairy
tales
raise
questions
regarding
the
relationship
between
older
children,
or
young
adults,
and
the
traditional
literature
they
were
apparently
raised
on.
Favat’s
study
focuses
on
young
children
because
their
interest
in
fairy
tales
follows
what
he
calls
“a
curve
of
reading
interest,”
an
interest
that
seems
to
peak
approximately
at
the
age
of
eight
(5,
emphasis
original).
Coinciding
with
the
decline
of
interest
in
fairy
tales
around
the
age
of
ten
is
an
emergence
of
interest
in
“stories
of
reality”
(5).
This
decline
of
interest
in
traditional
literature
(or
fairy
tales
in
their
‘original’
form)
does
not
mean
that
all
evidence
of
fairy
tales
disappears
from
young
adult
literature,
however.
There
are
many
examples
of
how
structural
elements
of
folk
tales
have
survived
in
realistic
young
adult
fiction,
and
themes
such
as the
quest
remain
popular
in
this
type
of
literature,
whether
or
not
it
is
considered
fantasy.*
But
these
motifs
tend
to
be
vague
in
their
specific
references;
the
motif
of
the
abandoned
child,
for
example,
could
apply
to
Hansel
and
Gretel
or
else
to
a
teenager
put
into
a
foster
home.
The
wicked
witch,
not
the
“villain”
in
general,
is
more
specific.
While
the
particular
psychological
needs
of
the
young
child
may
necessitate
the
death
of
40
.
the
witch,
this
is
not
necessarily
the
case
with
older
children
and
young
adults.
Speculating
about
“fairy
tales
of
the
future,”
or
original
compositions
that
would
incorporate
popular
fairy
tale
motifs,
Cashdan
considers
the
possible
development
of
the
wicked
witch
figure
and
posits
an
interesting
alternative
to
his
book’s
title
and
central
argument:
[The
witch]
may
not
always
have
to
die...Older
children
[in
contrast
to
younger
children]
are
likely
to
respond
to
tales
that
allow
for
‘conversations’
with
the
evil
presence
in
the
story.
The
very
act
of
engaging
the
witch,
the
ability
to
experience
what
she
thinks
and
feels,
can
be
growth-enhancing.
As
children
mature,
‘kill
thine
enemy’
needs
to
evolve
into
‘know
thine
enemy.’
Whether
the
witch
does
or
does
not
die
may
not
be
as
important
as
the
opportunity
to
interact
with
her.
(252)
Both
the
psychological
and
the
generic
demands
of
young
adult
literature
and
its
audience,
then,
would
involve
engaging
with
and
“knowing” what
is
in
traditional
and
children’s
literature
an
evil
character
that
exists
only
to
be
killed.
What
does
it
mean
to
“know’"
the
wicked
witch?
To
extrapolate
from
Cashdan’s
speculation,
this
would
involve
personalizing
the
concept
of
evil.
Personalizing
the
wicked
witch
could
involve turning
a
“flat”
villain
into
a
“round”
character,
to
use
Forster’s
terms.
In
this
respect,
the
wicked
witch
would
become
more
human,
where
she
would
be
given
motivation,
a
history,
and
most
importantly,
moral
complexity,
or
the
capacity
to
do
both
good
and
evil.
At
The
movement
away
from
villainy,
however,
does
not
simply
mean
heroicizing
the
witch,
which
would
follow
the
trend
with
feminist
rewritings
of
fairy
tales
of
turning
stock
fairy
tale
characters
into
more
‘human’
beings.°
Given
the
powerful
association
of
the
wicked
witch
with
evil,
her
role
could
also
involve
becoming
the
representation
of
a
personal
evil
that
the
subject
must
contend
with.
Rather
than
becoming
more
“round,”
here
the
movement
is
in
the
opposite
direction,
where
the
witch
is
abstracted
even
further
into
becoming
a
force,
rather
than
a
complex
character.
As
a
representation
of
personal
evil,
this
force
could
be
described
as
the
Jungian
archetype
of
the
shadow.
In
this
case,
the
witch
as
shadow
is
used
to
represent
the
psychological
battle
that
the
protagonist
must
endure,
as
opposed
to
being
an
actual
physical
opponent
that
can
(or
should)
be
conquered.
In
both
cases,
“knowing”
the
witch,
or
knowing
evil,
involves
a
movement
away
from
the
wicked
witch’s
traditional
role
as
an
evil
that
must
be
overcome
by
a
“good”
protagonist.
The
Wicked
Witch
Motif
Fairy
tales
are
littered
with
wicked
witches
who
seem
to
exist
only
to
oppose
the
hero,
and
who
inevitably
meet
a
bad
end.
The
witch
in
“Hansel
and
Gretel”
lures
the
children
to
her
gingerbread
house,
and
is
only
prevented
from
eating
them
when
she
is
pushed
into
the
oven
by
Gretel.
The
evil
stepmother/witch
in
Snow
White
makes
several
attempts
to
kill
her
more
beautiful
stepdaughter
and
is
ultimately
punished
for
her
wickedness.
The
42
beautiful
Rapunzel
is
trapped
in
a
high
tower
by
her
adoptive
mother,
the
sorceress
who
originally
demanded
the
girl
as
payment
from
her
parents
in
exchange
for
the
tasty
lettuce
in
her
garden,
and
is
kept
away
from
the
prince
for
years
after
the
witch’s
deception
blinds
the
young
man.
The
popularity
of
the
wicked
witch
motif
in
fairy
tales
has
also
carried
over
into
children’s
literature.
The
longstanding
association
of
fairy
tales
with
the
child
audience
also
suggests
a
connection
between
traditional
literature
and
original
works
of
children’s
literature,
both
by
way
of
form
and
content.
As
Maria
Nikolajeva
states,
“[a]lthough
folktales
are
essentially
not
children’s
literature...
many
children’s
books
in
some
way
or
other
are
based
on
myth
and
folklore,
not
only
directly,
in
subject
matter
and
action,
but
also
with
respect
to
narrative,
characterization
and
the
use
of
symbols”
(Children’s
Literature
15).
The
relevance
of
the
wicked
witch
in
fairy
tales
to
the
needs
or
tastes
of
younger
children
can
also
explain
the
persistence
of
this
motif
in
original
children’s
literature.
Although
her
high
profile
today
is
undoubtedly
due
as
much
to
the
success
of
the
film
The
Wizard
of
Oz
as
it
is
to
L.
Frank
Baum’s
book,
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West
is
nonetheless
one
of
the
most
well-known
witches
in
children’s
literature.
As
Sheldon
Cashdan
observes,
“[i]t
is
a
rare
child
who
cannot
recite the
words
to
‘Ding
dong,
the
Witch
is
dead,’”
(218).°
C.S.
Lewis’s
White
Witch
of
Narnia,
the
main
adversary
in
several
of
the
early
volumes
and
“the
personification
of
evil”
(Hourihan
183),
is
another
popular
example
of
a
wicked
witch
figure,
as
are
the
title
characters
of
Roald
Dahl's
The
Witches.
43
Whether
ugly
like
Baum’s
witch,
beautiful
like
Lewis's,
or,
like
Dahl's,
a
combination
of
both
(ugly
witches
disguised
as
normal
women),
the
wicked
witch
is
more
identifiable
in
children’s
books
by
her
efforts
to
thwart
the
protagonists
than
she
is
by
her
appearance.
The
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West
is
determined
to
take
the
magic
slippers
that
are
Dorothy’s
only
way home,
and
defeating
the
witch
(or
at
least
taking
her
broom
by
force)
becomes
the
task
that
Dorothy
must
accomplish
in
order
to
get
the
Wizard's
help.
Jadice
the
White
Witch
is
“the
personification
of
evil”
(Hourihan
183):
she
is
personally
responsible
for
the
destruction
of
her
city,
Charn;
she
tempts
one
of
the
children,
Edmund,
into
joining
her
forces
and
turning
against
his
own
siblings
and
the
side
of
good;
and
in
her
most
well-known
act
in
the
series,
she
slays
the
Christ-like
Aslan.
And
in
her
adversarial
role,
Dahl's
witch
“hates
children
with
a
red-hot
sizzling
hatred”
and
“spends
ali
her
time
plotting
to
get
rid
of
the
children
in
her
particular
territory”
(Dahl
7).
In
fairy
tales
and
in
the
children’s
books
that
are
directly
influenced
by
them,
there
is
little
question
as
to
how
the
wicked
witch
will
behave
in
the
story,
and
what
her
ultimate
role
will
be.
As
the
villain
who
functions
to
oppose
the
hero,
the
witch’s
defeat
ultimately
removes
the
obstacles
to
the
hero’s
success
and
happiness.
The
Witch
as
Flat
Villain
Fairy
tales
and
books
for
younger
children
tend
to
incorporate
what
Max
LUthi
would
call
a
“depthless”
depiction
of
the
wicked
witch
(11).
In
his
work
on
44
The
European
Folktale:
Form
and
Nature,
Luthi
attempts
to
go
beyond
simply
identifying
types
of
folk
tales
and
motifs
(such
as
in
the
work
of
Stith
Thompson,
for
example)
and instead
offers
an
assessment
of
the
style
in
which
the
European
folktale
is
composed.’
Along
with
being
one-dimensional
(no
separation
between
the
real
and
the
wondrous
realms)
and
featuring
an
“abstract
style,”
LUthi
argues
that
the
folktale
also
“lacks
the
dimension
of
depth”
(11).
“Its
characters,”
he
writes,
“are
figures
without
substance,
without
inner
life,
without
an
environment;
they
lack
any
relation
to
past
and
future,
to
time
altogether”
(11).
These
“flat”
characters
also
lack
psychological
depth.
Feelings
and
personality
traits,
including
characters’
motivations,
are
only
mentioned
when
they
influence
the
plot,
and
emotions
or
sentiments
are
usually
expressed
through
actions
by
“transposing
the
internal
world
onto
the
level
of
external
events”
(13).
In
this
respect,
the
jealousy
of
the
stepmother/witch
in
Snow
White
is
illustrated
by
her
attempts
to
kill
her
younger
rival
(rather
than
through
a
series
of
interior
monologues,
for
example),
and
there
is
no
attempt
to
explain
the
reasons
why
the
witch
would
want
to
eat
Hansel
and
Gretel.
Likewise,
Baum
does
not
explain
to
the
reader
why
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West
and
her
sister
of
the
East
are
wicked
while
her
sisters
to
the
north
and south
are
good,
and
Dahl's
witches,
despite
looking
for
the
most
part
like
normal
women,
are
defined
by
their
efforts
to
“squelch”
children
(8).
This
‘depthless’
depiction
reinforces
the
wicked
witch’s
status
as
the
story’s
villain.
45
Within
the
structuralist
reading
of
folklore
and
narrative
form,
the
word
“villain”
possesses
a
more
specific
meaning
than
just
an
undesirable
character
in
a
story.
In
his
attempt
to
identify
the
essential
features
and
narrative
components
common
to
the
folktale,
Russian
formalist
Vladimir
Propp
established
that
it
is
essential
to
examine
the
“function”
that
a
specific
character
fulfills
within
a
folktale.
While
functions
rather
than
performers
are
the
focus
of
Morphology
of
the
Folktale,
Propp
nonetheless
identifies
a
list
of
main
types
of
characters,
collectively
known
as
the
“dramatis
personae,”
and
describes
their
main
“spheres
of
action.”
Along
with
such
types
as
the
donor,
the
helper,
and
the
hero,
Propp
lists
the
“villain,”
a
figure
whose
sphere
of
action
includes
“villainy”
(causing
harm
or
injury
to
a
member
of
a
family)
or
else
“a
fight
or
other
forms
of
struggle
with
the
hero”
(79).
Although
one
of
Propp’s
main
points
is
that
“functions
serve
as
stable
constant
elements
in
a
tale,
independent
of
how
and
by
whom
they
are
fulfilled”
(21),
thereby
not
confining
one
particular
figure
to
any
one
function,
the
witch
as
she
exists
in
fairy
tales
seems
“limited
to
the
sphere
known
as
villainy”
(Tatar,
Hard
Facts
142).
The
wicked
witch,
as
she
appears
in
fairy
tales
and
children’s
books,
can
therefore
be
described
as
a
“villain”
both
with
respect
to
her
role
in
the
story
as
well
as
for
how
she
is
characterized.
If
the
wicked
witch,
then,
seems
to
be
firmly
defined
by
her
flat
portrayal
as
an
“evil”
character
that
is
ascribed
to
the
active
role
of
villainy,
how
can
we
refer
to
a
character
that
no
longer
possesses
the
same
function,
or
who
now
possesses
depth,
and
still
call
her
a
“wicked
witch’?
It
is
precisely
because
of
46
the
uniformity
of
the
traditional
associations
with
the
wicked
witch
figure,
associations
that
characters
in
young
adult
novels
may
or
may
not
share,
that
we
can
identify
her.
The
wicked
witch
as
she
appears
in
the
young
adult
novel can
be
described
as
what
Mieke
Bal
calls
a
“referential
character,”
or
a
character
that
fits
into
a
“frame
of
reference”
of
communal,
or
extratextual,
knowledge
(119).
Bal
cites
legendary
figures
like
Santa
Claus
and
King
Arthur
as
examples
of
referential
characters.
The
wicked
witch,
with
her
iconographic
popularity
and
her
familiar
role
in
traditional
literature,
can
also
be
called
a
referential
character.
The
introduction
of
an
older
female
character
that
is
called
“witch,”
particularly
when
she
is
attached
to
a
familiar
narrative
such
as
a
specific
fairy
tale,
raises
certain
expectations
in
the
reader.
This
expectation,
however,
does
not
necessarily
mean
that
the
character's
behavior
will
be
as
predictable
in
the
novel
as
it
is
in
traditional
literature.
indeed,
as
Bal
notes,
referential
characters
are
defined
as
such
because
they
“act
according
to
the
pattern
that
we
are
familiar
with
from
other
sources.
Or
not”
(121).
The
inclusion
of
a
referential
character
creates
a
confrontation
between
“our
previous
knowledge
and
the
expectations
it
produces”
and
“the
realization
of
the
character
in
the
narrative”
(121),
where
the
discrepancy
becomes
crucial
in
assessing
the
character’s
significance.
In
Sedgwick’s
Witch
Hill,
Fienberg’s
The
Witch
in
the
Lake,
and
Napoli’s
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel,
the
presentation
of
the
witch
either
challenges
the
expectations
of
the
characters
(whose
frames
of
reference
also
include
the
wicked
witch
motif),
or
else,
as
in
the
case
of
Napoli’s
47
reworkings,
challenges
the
expectations
of
the
reader,
who
is
meant
to
put
the
witch
characters
into
“obvious
slots
in
a
frame
of
reference”
(121),
or
specific
fairy
tales.
These
confrontations
lead
other
characters
and
readers
to
question
the
idea
of
evil
and
force
them
to
“know”
the
wicked
witch.
As
we
will
see
in
the
next
section,
tracing
the
changing
depiction
of
the
wicked
witch
in
novels
for
young
adults
necessitates
the
construction
of
an
analytical
framework
that
addresses
the
adolescent
psyche
and
incorporates
a
more
subtle
model
for
interpreting
the
movement
of
the
traditional
archetypal
wicked
witch
into
the
contemporary
form
of
the
young
adult
novel.
Devillainizing
the
wicked
witch,
then,
provides
an
opportunity
for
interdisciplinary
analysis
that
integrates
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
expectations
of
the
development
of
young
adult
readers.
Devillainizing
the
Wicked
Witch
While
the
connection
between
children’s
novels
and
the
popularity
of
fairy
tales
with
younger
children
can
account
for
their
shared
consistent
“flat”
portrayal
of
the
wicked
witch
as
villain,
the
wicked
witch
in
young
adult
novels
fulfills
a
different
role,
and
therefore
must
be
reclassified.
Propp’s
model,.
however,
is
not
adequate
for
describing
the
changes
that the
wicked
witch
has
undergone
in
her
movement
to
the
young
adult
novel.
Designed
as
it
was
to
classify
the
flat
characters
of
folk
tales,
Propp’s
system
is
not
very
helpful
in
accounting
for
the
change
in
the
wicked
witch,
except
to
show
us
that
the
wicked
witch
of
the
young
48
adult
novel
can
no
longer
be
confined
to
the
sphere
of
villainy
that
she
has
traditionally
occupied.
Acknowledging
that
the
witch
is
displaced
from
her
traditional
function
as
villain,
or
that
she
is
“devillainized”
in
the
most
literal
sense,
then
leaves
us
open
to
consider
the
new
functions
that
the
wicked
witch
serves.
In
an
effort
to
accommodate
more
complex
narratives
than
the
folk
tale,
structuralists
working
in
the
field
known
as
narratology
have
revised
Propp’s
model
of
the
dramatis
personae.
Here
|
would
once
again
like
to
draw
on
Mieke
Bal,
looking
specifically
at
her
work
on
classes
of
actors.
Bal’s
model
is
based
on
the
work
of
structuralists,
especially
A.
J.
Greimas,
who
sought
to
identify
the
structural
elements
of
a
fabula,
or
the
most
basic
logical
sequence
of
events
that
can
become
a
story.
Working
from
the
assumption
“that
human
thinking
and
action
are
directed
towards
an
aim,”
these
models
attempt
to
classify
the
actors
of
a
fabula
(those
who
perform
actions)
into
classes
that
“represent
their
relation
to
this
aim”
(196).
These
models
are
related
to
Propp’s
system
by
their
attention
to
the
function,
or
action,
of
an
actor
with
relation
to
the
story
as
a
whole,
but
more
recent
models
are
more
readily
adapted
to
a
wider
range
of
narrative
forms
(such
as
the
novel),
and
Bal’s
model
in
particular
allows
for
a
complex
assessment
of
roles
and
functions.®
The
different
classes
of
actors
are
referred
to
as
“actants.”
According
to
Bal’s
model,
actants
include
subject,
object,
power,
receiver,
helper,
and
opponent.
A
category
such
as
“helper”
is
immediately
reminiscent
of
Propp,
but
49
what
is
useful
about
Bal’s
model
is
that
actants
are
not
necessarily
linked
to
any
one
type
of
character
(such
as
‘hero’
or
‘princess’);
indeed,
they
do
not
necessarily
have
to
be
human.
Propp’s
villain
would
most
likely
be
aligned
with
the
actantial
opponent,
which
offers
resistance
to
the
subject
in
attaining
its
aim
(in
contrast
to
the
helper,
which
would
aid
in
the
process)
(201).
The
wicked
witch
in
“Hansel
and
Gretel,”
for
example,
must
be
overcome
before
the
children
can
escape
and
return
home,
and
Dorothy’s
triumph
over
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West
in
the
immediate
sense
allows
her
to
escape
with
her
friends.
The
wicked
witches
as
actantial
opponents
in
fairy
tales
and
children’s
novels
must
be
overcome
if
the
subject
is
to
achieve
its
aim.
Because
the
role
of
the
witch
changes
in
young
adult
novels,
the
goal
shifts
to
“knowing”
evil,
rather
than
simply
removing
it.
This
requires
a
functional
shift,
whether
it
is
towards
humanizing
the
witch
or
else
abstracting
the
witch
into
a
symbol
of
personalized
evil.
In
devillainizing
the
wicked
witch,
then,
we
will
concern
ourselves
with
stories
in
which
the
witch
as
an
actor
comes
to
occupy
the
subject
and
power
actants.
The
Shadow:
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Power
One
basic
way
of
understanding
a
text
is
to
consider
how
all
other
actors
relate
to
the
subject,
whose
pursuit
of
an
aim
(actantial
object)
is
usually
the
focus
of
the
narrative.
While
the
“first
and
most
important
relation”
is
between
the
subject
and
the
object
(197),
the
“intention
of
the
subject
is
in
itself
not
50
sufficient
to
reach
the
object...there
are
always
powers
who
either
allow
it
to
reach
its
aim
or
prevent
it
from
doing
so”
(198).
Drawing
an
analogy
between
this
relationship
and
communication,
Bal
designates
a
class
of
actors
who
support
the
subject
in
achieving
its
aim
by
supplying
the
object
or
allowing
it
to
be
supplied.
The
actor
that
supplies
the
support
is
traditionally
referred
to
as
the
sender,
while
the
one
to
whom
the
object
is
given
is
called
the
receiver.
In
Propp’s
model
the
function
of
the
‘sender’
could
be
equated
to
the
sphere
of
action
of
“the
father”
of
a
princess,
who
has
the
power
to
grant
the
suitor
the
hand
of
his
daughter,
usually
after
setting
a
series
of
tasks
for
the
suitor
(or
subject)
to
complete
(80).
Here
Bal
makes
an
amendment
to
the
model
that
becomes
essential
to
understanding
the
role
of
the
wicked
witch
in
young
adult
novels.
As
the
w
example
of
the
princess’s
father
reveals,
“sender
suggests
an
active
intervention
or
an
active
participation,
and
this
does
not
always
apply”
(198).
Bal
changes
the
more
familiar
“sender”
to
her
own
term,
“power,”
since
the
power
is
often
not
a
person
but
an
abstraction.
Such
abstractions
could include
society,
time,
and
fate,
but
the
power
can
also
designate
a
psychological
force
(often
a
character
trait
of
the
subject)
which
either
supports
or
inhibits
the
subject
in
reaching
its
aim.
An
important
distinction
can
also
be
made,
then,
between
a
positive
or
negative
power.
The
difference
between
the
power
and
an
opponent
is
crucial
here.
While
Bal
acknowledges
that
there can
be
confusion
between
these
terms,
she
clarifies
51
the
distinction
on
several
points:
the
power
has
control
over
the
entire
enterprise,
while
the
opponent
offers
only
incidental
opposition;
the
power
is
abstract,
while
the
opponent
is
mostly
concrete;
the
power
often
remains
in
the
background,
while
the
opponent
comes
to
the
fore;
and
there
is
usually
only
one
power,
while
there
can
be
many
opponents
(201).°
The
wicked
witch
in
traditional
stories
usually
appears
as
an
opponent,
rather
than
a
power,
which
becomes
clearer
when
one
considers
the
aims
of
the
subjects.
For
example,
in
“Hansel
and
Gretel”
it
is
poverty
that
prevents
the
children
from
being
at
home
with
their
father,
the
witch
is
only
an
incidental
opponent
(who
actually
becomes
a
reluctant
helper
by
inadvertently
supplying
them
with
the
riches
to
get
themselves
home).
The
wicked
witch
of
the
young
adult
novel
is
not
so
easily
vanquished;
she
is
more
than
a
mere
physical
opponent
that
can
be
pushed
into
an
oven
or
melted
with
a
bucket
of
water.
The
wicked
witch
takes
on
a
representative
aspect,
where
her
evil
manifests
itself
towards
the
subject
psychologically
rather
than
physically,
and
it
is
usually
of
a
personal
nature.
Because
evil
is
here
something
that
is
relative
to
the
subject,
the
only
way
for
the
subject
to
conquer
it,
and
therefore
achieve
its
own
aim,
is
to
recognize
it
for
what
it
is.
It
is
for this
reason
that
|
refer
to
the
wicked
witch
as
actantial
power
using
the
Jungian
association
of
the
term
“shadow.”
The
concept
of
the
shadow
is
both
one
of
Jung’s
most
well-known
and
most
complicated
ideas.
When
related
to
psychoanalysis,
the
shadow
can
refer
52
more
ambivalently
to
“all
that
is
within
you
which
you
do
not
know
about’
(6),
or
all
that
is
in
the
unconscious,
but
the
term
itself
bears
a
negative
connotation.
The
shadow
takes
on
different
meanings
depending
on
its
application,
but
at
the
risk
of
over-simplifying,
|
will
use
Jung’s
most
basic
definition
of
the
shadow
as
“the
thing
a
person
has
no
wish
to
be”
(Collected
Works
16,
para.
470,
qtd.
in
Samuels
et
al.
138).
As
Samuels
and
colleagues
surmise
from
this
simple
definition
of
a
complex
subject,
the
shadow
is
“the
negative
side
of
the
personality,
the
sum
of
all
unpleasant
qualities
one
wants
to
hide,
the
inferior,
worthless
and
primitive
side
of
man’s
nature,
the
‘other
person’
in
one,
one’s
own
dark
side”
(138).
Since
it
consists
of
what
is
repressed
in
the
personality,
coming
to
terms
with
the
shadow
involves
analysis
and
recognition;
“to
admit
(to
analyse)
the
shadow
is
to
break
its
compulsive
hold”
(139).
While
Jung
believed
that
“[w]ith
a
little
self-criticism,
one
can
see
through
the
shadow,
so
far
as
its
nature
is
personal,”
when
projected
as
an
archetype,
the
shadow
becomes
“the
face
of
absolute
evil”
(CW
9
part
Il,
para.
19).
The
shadow
archetype
has
in
this
aspect
been
used
to
describe
evil
in
such
various
contexts
as
psychology,
religion,
and
literature.
In
her
essay
“The
Child
and
the
Shadow,”
author
Ursula
K.
Le
Guin
engages
Jung's
ideas
to
illustrate
how
the
shadow
has
been
used
to
describe
the
idea
of
evil
in
both
traditional
as
well
as
contemporary
fantasy
literature.
What
is
particularly
interesting
is
how
Le
Guin
describes
the
differences
in
how
the
shadow
is
incorporated
into
literature
for
children
versus
literature
for
adolescents.
For
a
child,
the
shadow
tends
to
be
53
projected
onto
things
outside
of
itself,
such
as
a
monster
“lurking
horribly
under
his
bed”
(65),
for
example.
Literature
for
children
consequently
tends
to
reflect
this
projection
in
characters
that
are
either
good
or
evil.
Adolescents,
however,
“realiz[e]
that
you
can’t
blame
everything
on
the
bad
guys”
(65).
The
shadow
in
literature
for
adolescents
is
often
embodied
as
a
figure
whose
‘evil’
is
a
personal
reflection
of
the
subject,
or
hero.
According
to
Le
Guin,
acknowledging
personal
responsibility
also
brings
guilt
for
adolescents,
and
they
are
consequently
apt
to
see
the
shadow
“as
much
blacker,
more
wholly
evil,
than
it
is”
(65).
The
only
way
to
get
past
this
“self-blame
and
self-disgust”
is
“to
really
look
at
the
shadow,
to
face
it
..to
accept
it
as
himself—as
part
of
himself.
The
ugliest
part,
but
not
the
weakest”
(65).
Literature
that
is
psychologically
suited
to
adolescents,
then,
shows
how
the
shadow
becomes
the
“guide
of
the
journey
to
self-knowledge,
to
adulthood,
to
the
light”
(65)."°
Asa
psychological
abstraction
of
personal
evil,
rather
than
an
active
opponent
who
can
be
physically
overcome,
the
wicked
witch
as
the
shadow
can
be
described
as
an
actantial
power
representing
the
negative
aspects
of
the
personality
that
must
be
recognized
and
understood
if
the
subject
is
to
reach
its
aim
of
self-
knowledge.
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Power:
The
Shadow
in
The
Witch
in
the
Lake
and
Witch
Hill
Marcus
Sedgwick’s
Witch
Hill
offers
an
example
of
the
shadow
witch
as
actantial
power,
here
representing
repressed
guilt
that
the
subject
must
confront
54
and
overcome
in
order
to
achieve
peace
and
stability.
The
story
is
narrated
by
Jamie,
a
teenage
boy
who
is
sent
by
his
parents
to
stay
with
his
aunt
and
cousin
in
northern
England
after
he
survives
a
fire
that
destroyed
his
home.
The
reader
is
lead
to
believe
throughout
most
of
the
work
that
Jamie’s
baby
sister,
Kizzie,
was
killed
in
the
fire
and
that
Jamie
blames
himself
for
not
having
rescued
her.
Even
though
we
eventually
learn
that
Kizzie
was
in
fact
saved
by
firefighters,
it
is
clear
that
Jamie’s
guilt
over
not
having
saved
her
is
what
he
must
overcome
in
order
to
rejoin
his
family
again.
Near
the
beginning
of
the
story
Jamie
explains
to
the
reader
that
his
parents
sent
him
away
so
that
he
could
“get
right
away
from
everything...[mJake
a
fresh
start”
(24).
The problem,
as
Jamie
explains,
is
that
“{i]t’s
not
that
easy...[y}ou
don't
wake
up
in
your
bed
with
your
house
on
fire
and
forget
it
in
a
week
or
two.
And
little
Kiz...”
(24).
The
vagueness
of
this
incomplete
statement
creates
suspense
(leading
the
reader
to
imagine
the
worst,
that
the
little
girl
is
dead),
but
more
importantly
the
narrator’s
inability
to
articulate
thoughts
specifically
about
his
sister
also
evokes
the
barrier
between
what
Jamie
can
and
cannot
accept
about
himself.
He
begins
to
have
dreams
about
an
old
woman,
“an
ancient,
foul,
evil
witch”
who
comes
to
represent
the
trauma
of
the
fire:
Witch.
That
was
what
|
had
found,
in
my
mind,
up
on
the
dark,
lonely
hill.
|
had
roamed
around,
rummaging
across
the
hillside,
and
|
had
peered
into
places
|
shouldn’t
have.
|
had
disturbed
an
old
woman,
55
an
old
woman
who
was
an
ancient,
foul,
evil
witch.
She
chased
me,
she
nearly
got
me.
But
only
in
my
dreams.
Dreams.
(31)
He
learns
from
his
cousin
that
in
the
past
other
villagers
had
had
the
dream
of
the
witch,
but
dreaming
of
the
witch
three
times
supposedly
causes
the
dreamers
to
die
in
their
sleep.
The
witch
is
a
symbol
of
Jamie’s
individual
and
the
community’s
collective
shadow,
and
the
various
plots
of
the
novel
develop
the
theme
of
recognizing
and
confronting
the
shadow
in
order
to
gain
power
over
it.
The
witch
of
the
book’s
title
is
a
malevolent
force
that
is
supposed
to
inhabit
the
hill
that
is
the
landmark
of
the
village
where
Jamie
has
joined
his
aunt
and
cousin.
As
a
symbol
of
the
community's
shadow,
the
witch
has
been
suppressed,
only
to
be
uncovered
in
multiple
ways
throughout
the
story.
The
town
of
Crownhill
is
supposedly
named
for
a
chalk
drawing
of
what
is
assumed
to
be
a
figure
of
a
crown
that
is
carved
into
the
hill
(17);
yet
the
figure
as
well
as
the
name
are
meant
to
obfuscate
the
truth
about
the
town.
Early
in
the
novel,
the
villagers,
organized
by
Jamie's
aunt,
decide
to
scour
the
chalk
figure,
which
has
become
obscured
by
weeds
and
growth;
yet
instead
of
revealing
a
crown,
the
villagers
unwittingly
reveal
“a
crude
picture
of
a
woman’
who
is
“crouching,
or
squatting”
and
is
“unbelievably
-
shocking
to
see”
(48).
56
We
finally
learn
through
the
archival
research
conducted
by
the
characters
that
five
hundred
years
before,
the
villagers
burned
a
girl
to
death
in
her
own
home
whom
they
had
accused
of
witchcraft,
an
act
that
is
the
result
of
“[mjob
rule”
and
“[m]Job
executions”
that
took
place
with
the
suspension
of
assizes
that
occurred
during
the
English
Civil
War
(86).
In
her
Jungian
analysis
of
Shadow
and
Evil
in
Fairy
Tales,
Marie-Louise
von
Franz
suggests
that
mob
violence,
or
actions
that
are
the
result
of
the
‘mob
mentality’,
are
the
result
of
a
number
of
individuals
being
caught
by
the
“collective
rather
than
personal
shadow”
(9).
Jung
suggests
that
the
witch
is
a
symbolic
projection
of
the
shadow
of
the
Great
Mother
archetype,
and
that
it
was
the
unwillingness
of
Christians
to
accept
the
shadow
of
the
Virgin
Mary
that
led
to
the
European
witch
trials,
with
the
condemned
witches
becoming
the
literal
rather
than
symbolic
representation
of
the
projected
shadow
(von
Franz
105).
The
repeated
reference
to
“the
Scouring”
of
the
figure
(14,
17,
27,
42),
which
Jamie’s
aunt
claims
used
to
be
done
every
seven
years,
suggests
a
ritual
cleansing,
with
the
witch
figure
acting
as
a
scapegoat
for
the
town’s
hostilities.
When
Jamie
later
discovers
that
the
town
was
originally
named
“Cronhill,”
(or
‘Crone
Hill’),
it
becomes
clear
that
both
the
figure
and
the
name
of
the
town have been
changed
in
order
to
“forget
about
the
witch”
(125)
who
is
both
a
literal
reminder
of
the
accused
witch
as
well
as
a
symbol
of
the
collective
shadow
that
led
to
the
girl’s
death.
In
spite
of
the
town’s
efforts
to
cover
the
traces
of
both
the
accused
witch
and
the
‘witch’
of
the
hill,
the
image
of
the
“ancient,
foul,
evil
witch”
(31)
still
haunts
the
dreams
of
the
5/7
inhabitants.
As
Jamie
clarifies,
the
town
can
only
“try
to
forget”
(125,
emphasis
added).
Jamie
saves
himself
from
dying
in
the
third
dream,
and
psychologically
enables
himself
to
return
to
his
family,
by
confronting
the
witch.
Within
this
third
dream,
which
overlaps
with
Jamie’s
immediate
reality
of
lying
in
his
bed
in
the
cottage,
the
witch
sits
on
Jamie's
chest
and
tries
to
suffocate
him.
It
is
significant
that
it
is
the
“weight”
of
the
witch
pressing
down
on
him,
suggesting
that
the
metaphorical
weight
of
Jamie’s
guilt
is
oppressing
him
(149).
In
a
sequence
where
it
seems
that
time
has
collapsed
and
Jamie
and
the
accused
witch
are
both
caught
in
his
aunt's
burning
cottage,
he
realizes
that
the
girl
was
just
a
“scapegoat”
for
the
villagers’
hostilities
during
the
Civil
War
and
that
“the
real
evil
[went]
unnoticed”
(150).
He
realizes
that
he
is
also
facing
the
witch
because
both
the
community’s
and
his
own
trauma
are
connected—‘{iJt
all
has
to
do
with
fire”
(151).
When
confronted
with
the
image
of
the
girl
burning
to
death,
an
image
that
makes
him
“think
about
Kizzie,”
Jamie’s
pain
turns
to
anger,
and
he
decides
to
“do
something
with
it”
(152).
Making
use
of
the
one
thing
that
“scares
[him]
even
more
than
the
witch
does,”
Jamie
wills
the
fire
that
is
burning
the
cottage
around
him
to
burn
the
witch
to
death,
thus
removing
the
weight
of
his
guilt
with the
source
of
his
fear
(153).
Waking
to
find
that
the
fire
is
actually
real
and
is
burning
the
cottage,
Jamie
is
able
to
use
his
experiences
in
the
previous
fire
and
this
time
save
himself
and
his
cousin.
When
his
family
comes
to
bring
him
home, Jamie
is
finally
able
to
physically
embrace
the
little
sister
that
he
58
previously
was
unable
to
even
acknowledge
in
his
own
mind;
hugging
the
little
girl,
he
assures
Kizzie
that
everything
“is
all
right.
It’s
all
okay now”
(161).
Although
its
multiple
plots
and
overlapping
time
periods
are
somewhat
convoluted,
Witch
Hill
exemplifies
the
significance
of
the
witch
as
a
symbol
of
negative
qualities
that
people,
either
individually
or
as
a
community,
attempt
but
fail
to
suppress.
Sedgwick’s
work
can
be
described
as
a
psychological
novel,
where
the
story
concerns
literally
and
metaphorically
uncovering
and
confronting
the
witch
as
the
shadow
of
both
the
protagonist
and
his
community.
Anna
Fienberg’s
The
Witch
in
the
Lake
also
incorporates
the
wicked
witch
shadow
as
actantial
power.
The
story
is
set
in
a
sixteenth-century
Italian
village
at
a
time
where
magic
and
the
‘old
ways’
coexist
uneasily
with
the
rise
of
science.
The
village
is
haunted
by
a
force
that
resides
in
the
lake,
a
“witch”
that
has
been
responsible
for
the
disappearances
of
numerous
children
who
ventured
too
near
the
lake.
Fourteen
year-old
Leo,
the
novel’s
protagonist
or
subject,
wants
two
things
in
life—to
be
with
his
childhood
sweetheart,
Merilee,
and
to
become
a
powerful
wizard
like
his
great-grandfather,
who
was
a
master
of
transfiguration.
While
the
witch
has
no
fixed
form
or
character,
she
is
nonetheless
the
power
preventing
Leo
from
achieving
his
aims.
Although
they
grew
up
together,
Leo
and
Merilee
are
being
kept
apart
by
a
family
conflict
that
stems
from
the
witch.
Merilee’s
matriarchal
Aunt
Beatrice
holds Leo's
father
responsible
for
the
disappearance
of
Merilee’s
older
sister,
Laura.
The
boy’s
father
was
attempting
59
to
use
transfigurative
magic
to
cure
a
fever
that
threatened
to
kill
the
girl,
but
ina
delirium
she
eluded
him
and
ran
to
the
lake,
where
she
was
presumably
captured
by
the
witch.
Laura’s
absence
also
leads
Aunt
Beatrice
to
take
Merilee
with
her
to
apprentice
as
a
wise
woman,
a
role
that
should
have
belonged
to
her
sister.
It
is
also
revealed
as
the
story
progresses
that
the
witch
is
actually
a
creation
of
Leo’s
great-grandfather,
Illuminato,
whose
dark
work
has
left
a
legacy
of
corrupt
magic
(that
made
it
impossible
for
Leo’s
father
to
cure
Laura)
and
dishonour
for
his
descendents.
It
becomes
Leo’s
responsibility
to
destroy
the
witch
and
thus
restore
his
family’s
reputation,
his
relationship
with
Merilee,
and
his
own
claim
to
the
art
of
transfiguration.
The
boy
tells
his
father,
“I
ama
wizard...I’ll
destroy
[the
witch]...And
just
think,
there
will
be no
more
disgrace
and
misery.
The
Pericolo
family
will
be
heroes
again,
and
we
will
all
be
set
free!”
(48).
Even
more
than
Sedgwick,
Fienberg
uses
the
wicked
witch
motif
to
represent
the
shadow.
The
language
used
to
describe
the
witch
does
not
evoke
the
image
of
a
frighteningly
hideous
old
woman—the
witch
is
darkness
itself.
When
Leo
first
goes
to
confront
the
witch
in
the
lake,
all
he
sees
is
what
is
described
as
“the
darkness,”
an
absence
of
light
that
nonetheless
threatens
to
draw
him
in
and
“drown”
him
(88).
In
the
final
confrontation
the
witch
is
called
“darkness
knitted
together,
a
thousand
nights
sewed
into
a
blackness
without
stars,”
a
darkness
that
is
“blinding”
and
“irresistible”
(194),
and
a
“dark
mass”
60
(201).
Rather
than
ascribing
human
characteristics
to
the
witch,
Fienberg
creates
in
the
witch
a
figure
that
is
defined
by
a
negation,
an
absence
of
light.
The
association
between
the
witch
and
darkness
strengthens
her
representation
as
a
personal
psychological
shadow.
The
witch
is
actually
a
transfiguration
of
Merilee’s
great-grandmother,
who
after
ending
her
affair
with
Leo’s
great-grandfather
was
transformed
by
him
into
“the
essence
of
[Leo’s]
ancestor's
evil”
(205).
Because
he
“kept
his
rage
locked
up...like
a
monster
in
a
cage”
(208),
Illuminato
“drowned
in
his
rage”
(208);
the
“power
of
his
hatred”
came
from
“the
enormity
of
his
love”
(203).
Even
the
name
“Illuminato,”
which
means
“light,”
suggests
the
relationship
between
the
man
and
the
shadow
that
is
his
own
creation,
which
is
at
one
point
tellingly
referred
to
as
“IIluminato’s
dark”
(205).
{tis
the
shadow
of
Leo’s
ancestor,
but
the
witch
is
as
much
Leo’s
inheritance
as
wizardry
is.
The
frustrated
relationship
between
Illuminato
and
Caterina
parallels
the
difficulties
faced
by
Leo
and
Merilee,
and
Leo
must
prove
that,
unlike
his
ancestor,
he
“can
use
[his]
powers
proudly,
and
fulfill
[his]
destiny”
(208).
As
Leo
tells
Merilee,
he
must
contend
with
“the
sins
of
[his]
forefathers”
(188).
Fienberg,
like
Sedgwick,
emphasizes
the
role
of
the
witch
as
a
psychological
power
rather
than
physical
opponent,
and
consequently
awareness
of
the
shadow
becomes
crucial
to
overcoming
it.
The
magic
of
transfiguration,
or
Metamorphosis,
is
used
as
a
trope
to
show
how
knowledge
becomes
a
potent
and
necessary
strength
when
attempting
to
change
61
something.
Leo’s
father
tells
him
that
“[i]n
order
to
transform
something,
you
have
to
see
it
first.
You
have
to
look
straight
at
the
heart
of
that
thing,
before
you
can
change
it”
(16,
emphasis
original).
“The
object’s
real
nature
has
to
be
understood,
all its
history,
its
deepest
soul,
even
the
making
of
it,
has
to
be
seen
and
held
in
your
grasp.
Once
you
do
that,
you
may
learn
to
change
its
deepest
nature”
(7).
These
instructions
become
crucial
when
Leo
confronts
the
witch,
who
cannot
be
destroyed
as
she
is,
and
who
must
therefore
be
understood
and
transformed.
In
order
to
defeat
the
witch
Leo
must
“become
the
thing
itself”
at
the
risk
of
becoming
“lost”
in
it
(202).
By
becoming
“one
with
his
ancestor,
as
if
he
had
lived
through
every
moment
of
Illuminato’s
life”
(203),
Leo
also
confronts
the
darkness
within
himself:
Rage
flooded
him,
filling
him
with
poison.
He
hated
Beatrice,
he
hated
every
living
thing.
He
hated
the
earth,
rain,
wind,
lightning,
all
things
that
were
part
of
a
world
that
dangled
love
before
him
and
snatched
it
away.
Most
of
all,
he
hated
himself.
In
that
moment,
he
knew,
kneeling
at
the
pit
of
darkness,
that
this
was
what
llluminato
had
felt
all
those
years
ago.
(202,
emphasis
original)
Since
it
is
impossible
for
Leo
to
“hold”
that
darkness
in
his
mind
(to
literally
contain
it),
“the
only
way
[is]
to
transform
it”
(204).
Once
he
understands
it,
Leo
is
able
to
turn
the
“the
essence
of
his
ancestor's
evil”
into
a
stone,
releasing
the
“light
of
[Caterina’s]
soul”
and
freeing
Laura,
who
was
trapped
inside
the
witch
(205-6).
Rather
than
burying
it,
Leo
becomes
“the
keeper
of
the
stone”
which
he
62
holds
onto
as
a
reminder
of
“the
path
he
didn’t
choose,
the
consequences
of
the
dark”
(209).
By
overcoming
the
negative
power
(the
witch
as
his
ancestor's
legacy)
through
self-awareness,
Leo
becomes
a
great
wizard
and
eventually
marries
Merilee
with
her
family’s
blessing.
The
Witch
as
Actantial
Subject:
The
Witch
Hero
of
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel
The
Witch
in
the
Lake
and
Witch
Hill
exemplify
Cashdan’s
claim
that
encountering
the
wicked
witch
gives
young
people
“opportunities
to
become
conversant
with
parts
of
themselves
that
they
are
going
to
have
to
deal
with
for
the
rest
of
their
lives”
(252),
but
‘knowing’
the
witch
can
also
take
a
different
form,
for
a
different
purpose.
In
the
interest
of
knowing
one’s
enemy,
Sheldon
Cashdan
postulates
a
text
that
would
allow
readers
to
have
“conversations”
with
the
witch,
to
engage
the
witch
and
have
the
opportunity
to
“experience
what
she
thinks
and
feels”
(252).
Cashdan
is
referring
to
making
the
witch
into
a
character
whose
actions
are
explained,
a
character
who
has
motives
and
complex
emotions—in
other
words,
turning
the
monstrous
villain
who
is
inexplicably
determined
to
harm,
kill,
or
even
eat
children,
into
a
human.
The
wicked
witch’s
traditional
flat
portrayal
within
the
sphere
of
villainy
inhibits
this
type
of
knowledge,
since
her
function
in
the
story
requires
that
the
reader's
sympathy
be
set
firmly
against
her.
A
conversation
with
the
witch,
then,
would
involve
a
story
where
the
wicked
witch
changes
from
being
the
opponent
(where
she
is
one
of
the
obstacles
that
the
villain
must
overcome)
to
the
actantial
subject.
The
63
actantial
subject
designates
the
actor
who
follows
an
aim
in
the
fabula;
the
aim
itself
is
the
actantial
object.
As
texts
which
change
the
position
of
the
witch
from
her
traditional
role
as
the
villain
to
the
actantial
subject,
Donna
Jo
Napoli’s
The
Magic
Circle
and
Zel
allow
readers
to
have
“conversations”
with
the
witch
and
to
consequently
understand
evil.
The
novels
are
based
on
the
fairy
tales
“Hansel
and
Gretel”
and
“Rapunzel”
respectively,
where
the
story
is
told
from
the
point
of
view
of
the
witch.
The
Magic
Circle
is
narrated
by
the
character
referentially
named
“The
Ugly
One,”
chronicling
her
development
from
a
healer
and
a
loving
mother
to
the
old
witch
living
in
the
candy
house
in
the
woods
who
must
fight
the
“devils”
in
her
head
that
tell
her
to
devour
children.
Zel
is
told
from
the
multiple
perspectives
of
Zel
(Rapunzel),
Konrad
(the
Prince),
and
the
sorceress,
with
the
chapters
entitled
“Mother”
giving
the
witch’s
version
of
the
familiar
fabula
of
the
girl
locked
in
the
tower.
Napoli’s
novels
can
be
classified
as
reworkings
of
the
original
tales,
or
more
specifically,
feminist
reworkings.
In
their
guides
to
folk
tales
as
literary
fictions
for
young
adults,
Altmann
and
de
Vos
define
reworkings
as
versions
of
folk
or
fairy
tales
“that
are
more
radically
changed
than
simple
retellings”
(Tales
then
and
Now
xvii).
They
argue
that
the
original
folk
tale
has
“a
spongelike
hospitality
and
resilience”
where
their
sparse
style
“allow[s]
writers
to
elaborate
their
particular
version
of
a
tale”
(New
Tales
15).
While
reworkings
can
make
use
of
source
material
in
a
number
of
ways
and
for
various
purposes
(such
as
64
humorous
parody),
their
“porousness”"'
creates
the
opportunity
for
interpretations
that
can
challenge
specific
ideological
concerns
associated
with
the
original
tales.
“Socially
conscious
revisions”
(15)
can
involve
many
different
types
of
ideological
reformation,
from
questions
of
class
to
the
treatment
of
animals,
but
the
most
popular
types
are
feminist
reworkings—tales
that
challenge
“conventional
views
of
gender,
socialization,
and
sex
roles”
(Zipes,
Don't
Bet
xi).
Although
most
feminist
reworkings
are
concerned
with
questioning
the
depiction
of
heroines
as
passive
females
or
victims,
Napoli’s
texts
attempt
to
rehabilitate
the
vilified
female,
who
in
folk
tales
habitually
appears
as
the
wicked
stepmother
or
the
wicked
witch.
While
|
agree
with
Hilary
S.
Crew
that
Napoli
uses
narrative
perspective
to
create
sympathy
for
the
wicked
witch
protagonists
and
to
give
“the
other
side
of
the
story”
(78),
|
would
argue
that
Napoli
employs
broader
narrative
strategies
to
subvert
the
villainous
portrayal
of
wicked
witches
as
they
appear
in
traditional
narratives.
In
the
move
from
fairy
tales
to
the
novel,
the
wicked
witch
is
no
longer
given
the
“depthless”
depiction
that
Max
Lithi
argues
is
characteristic
of
folk
tales.
As
mentioned
above,
LUthi
points
out
that
folk
tale
characters
“are
figures
without
substance,
without
inner
life,
without
an
environment”
who
lack
“any
relation
to
past
and
future,
to
time
altogether”
(11).
They
also
lack
psychological
depth,
where
feelings,
personality
traits,
and
motivations
are
only
mentioned when
they
influence
the
plot.
This
depthless
depiction,
upon
which
the
traditional
function
of
a
flat
villain
is
dependent,
is
65
precisely
what
Napoli
writes
against,
thereby
giving
her
readers
the
opportunity
to
‘know’
the
witch.
As
the
subject,
the
aims
of
the
witch
become
the
focus
of
the
plot,
but
as
Bal
notes,
the
subject
does
not
necessarily
gain
the
reader’s
sympathy, who
may
not
agree
with
these
aims
(202).
in
these
texts
then,
|
would
argue,
the
witch
becomes
what
Bal
describes
as
the
hero,
a
figure
that
is
more
characteristic
of
novels
than
fairy
tales.
As
Bal
notes,
the
term
“hero”
is
problematic
(131).
Its
traditional
(over)use
has
rendered
it
vague,
where
it
has
often
been
used
to
refer
simply
to
the
subject,
or
to
suggest
an
imprecise
notion
of
reader
identification.
Though
it
is
tempting
to
discard
its
use
entirely
(especially
with
the
risk
of
confusing
the
term
with
Propp’s
dramatis
persona),
the
term’s
connotation
of
“moral
approbation”
(131)
is
useful
when
considering
how
and
why
the
witch
is
decentered
from
her
traditional
role
of
villain.
Bal
proposes
a
set
of
criteria
that
offers
a
way
to
judge
how
“any
one
character
distinguishes
itself
from
the
other
characters”
(132).
In
terms
of
distribution,
relations,
and
independence,
the
hero
occurs
often
and
at
crucial
moments
in
the
fabula,
maintains
relations
with
the
largest
number
of
characters,
and
can
occur
alone
or
hold
monologues
(132).
As
the
actantial
subjects,
Napoli’s
witches
meet
these
criteria.
The
most
important
criteria
for
our
purposes,
however,
concerns
qualification.
The
hero,
according
to
Bal,
is
the
character
about
whom
is
given
“comprehensive
information
about
appearance,
psychology,
motivation,
[and]
past”
(132).
This
type
of
information
is
exactly
what
LUthi
argues
is
missing
from
66
the
depthless
depictions
of
folk
tale
characters,
but
it
is
what
is
required
in
order
to
“experience
what
[the
witch]
thinks
and
feels”
(Cashdan
252).
When
dealing
with
wicked
witches
as
referential
characters
from
specific
fairy
tales,
the
reader's
expectations
of
a
figure
traditionally
depicted
as
a
villain
must
be
challenged
by
providing
enough
information
so
that
the
witch
can
be
related
to
as
a
person.
Napoli
creates
sympathy
for
her
wicked
witches
by
creating
back
stories
for
them,
providing
background
information
that
gives
them
both
lives
and
histories
leading
to
the
point
where
they
would
have
been
introduced
as
villains
in
the
traditional
tales.
As
part
of
her
strategy
for
making
the
witch
more
of
a
human
character,
Napoli
conflates
the
traditional
depiction
of
the
wicked
witch
(one
very
much
grounded
in
fiction)
with
the
popular
perception
of
historical
accused
witches
as
women
who
were
marginalized
by
their
community
membership,
marital
status,
or
involvement
with
the
traditional
‘healing
arts’
of
herbal
lore
and
midwifery.
'
In
The
Magic
Circle
we
are
told
that
the
Ugly
One
embodies
all
these
aspects
of
the
historical
witch
prior
to
becoming
the
referential
wicked
witch
as
she
appears
in
“Hansel
and
Gretel.”
She
says
at
the
start
of
the
novel
that
she
was
raised
in
“the
north
country”
by
her
mother
(1),
who
taught
her
to
be
a
healer
and
a
midwife.
She
reveals
that
it
“has
taken
many
years
to
find [her]
place
in
the village“
and
though
she
“has
different
blood
in
[her]
veins”
from
the
other
villagers,
she
hopes
that
she
finally
“fit[s]
now”
(4).
And
while
she
has
a
67
daughter
by
a
man
she
was
never
married
to,
Ugly
One
takes
care
to
make
it
seem
as
though
the
girl's
father
is
dead,
so
that
“the
villagers
[will]
accept
this
answer
and
keep
[her]
in
their
fold”
(4).
In
spite
of
her
precarious
status
as
an
outsider
and
a
single
mother,
she
is
ultimately
accepted
by
the
villagers
because
of
her
healing
skills;
as
she
explains
matter-of-factly
to
the
reader,
“they
need
a
midwife”
(4).
A
similar
situation
occurs
in
Zel,
where
the
character
known
to
us
simply
as
“Mother”
lives
with
her
daughter
on the
fringes
of
their
community
in
sixteenth-century
Switzerland.
The
two
live
on
a
farm
that
is
so
remote
that,
feeling
“foreign
from
the
crowds”
and
“unused
to
the
press
and
smell
of
human
flesh”
(14),
they
only
make
the
long
trip
into
town
twice
a
year.
While
Ugly
One
works
to
make
herself
indispensable
to
the
community,
Mother
avoids having
to
explain
her
daughter’s
origins—and
having
to
risk
dealing
with
the
“church
police”
(16)—
by
isolating
herself
from
the
town.
Since
being
a
‘wicked
witch’
is
not
a
nascent
quality
for
either
woman,
Napoli
uses
each
woman’s
movement
into
witchcraft
to
illustrate
the
moral
fluidity
of
the
human
perception
of
good
and
evil.
Just
as
the
wicked
witch
as
a
‘power
represents
the
shadow
in
an
individual,
in
these
novels
becoming
a
(wicked)
witch
represents
giving
in
to
darker
impulses
that
are
nonetheless
very
human.
Napoli
illustrates
this
struggle
in
the
novels
using
religious
imagery,
where
each character
goes
from
serving
God
(goodness)
to
serving
“devils”
(evil).
Ugly
One
repeatedly
tells
herself
and
other
characters
that
she
has
the
ability
to
heal
because
she
is
“in
league
with
God”
(31).
Although
she
heals
68
illnesses
by
drawing
offending
“devils”
out
of
people’s
bodies,
the
fine
(and
in
many
ways
unclear)
line
between
working
for
good
or
evil
is
indicated
by
terminology
rather
than
by
process.
She
explains
to
a
young
boy
whom
she
has
healed
that
while
a
“witch
works
for
devils”
she
is
a
“sorceress—the
devils
work
for
me”
(31);
yet
the
uncertainty
of
this
premise
is
indicated
by
the
boy
when
he
asks
her
how
one
can
tell
“what
is
the
work
of
God
and
what
is
the
work
of
the
devils?”
(33).
Succumbing
to
an
unoriginal
but
common
character
flaw,
Ugly
One’s
fall
comes
from
pride.
The
devils
are
able
to
lure
her
out
of
her
protective
magic
circle
(the
metaphorical
boundary
for
her
acceptable
behavior)
by
tempting
her
with
a
beautiful
gold
ring—the
symbol
of
the
wealth,
beauty,
and
vanity
that
undermines
Ugly
One’s
purer
motives
as
being
an
instrument
of
God.
Where
Ugly
One’s
fall
into
witchcraft
comes
from
her
ultimate
failure
to
choose
God’s
motives
over
the
temptation
of
the
devils,
Napoli
depicts
the
movement
of
Zel’s
mother
into
witchcraft
as
the
triumph
of
human
reason
over
faith.
After
years
of
being
childless,
demons
(who
exist
as
voices
in
her
head)
offer
to
give
her
magical
powers
that
she
can use
to
acquire
a
child,
as
long
as
she
agrees
to
work
for
them
herself
and
to
eventually
try
and
recruit
her
daughter
to
their
service
as
well
(128).
In
spite
of
the
fact
that
she
feels
that
“[gjood
people
were
tormented
by
such
dilemmas”
(128),
the
woman
realizes
that
in
spite
of
her
Christian
upbringing
and
her
years
of
praying
for
a
solution
to
her
childlessness,
“the
side
of
good
wasn’t
ready
to
vie
for
her”
and
that
“{cJold,
still,
clear
reasonable
doubt
now
ruled
her”
(129).
Napoli
presents
Mother's
eventual
69
acceptance
of
the
devil’s
bargain—her
soul
for
a
daughter—as
the
result
of
a
logical
process
of
reasoning:
What,
indeed,
was
she
giving
up?
If
heaven
did
not
exist,
hell
did’
not
exist,
for
one
defined
the
other.
And
if
she
presented
it
all
to
her
daughter,
the
whole
matter
of
human
life,
and
her
daughter
was
free
to
make
her
own
decision,
what
harm
was
there
in
that?
She
wasn't
bargaining
away
her
daughter’s
soul,
only her
own.
Which
was
bargaining
away
nothing.
For
without
heaven,
what
is
a
soul?
Her
emotions
and
brain
were
of
one
voice.
(130)
By
depicting
Mother's
acceptance
of
the devil’s
bargain
as
the
result
of
reasoning
rather
than
the
arbitrary
malicious
intent
that
the
traditional
wicked
witch
displays,
Napoli
humanizes
this
character
for
her
young
adult
audience.
Adding
this
psychological
complexity
to
both
her
referential
wicked
witch
characters
allows
her
readers
to
know
evil
rather
than
simply
despise
it,
to
see
that
monstrous
acts
often
arise
from
very
human
emotions
and
dilemmas.
Napoli
uses
this
desire
for
a
child
to
further
increase
the
reader’s
sympathy
for
a
traditionally
flat
villain
by
making
the
source
of
the
witch's
behaviour
misguided
parental
affection—an
understandable
and
sympathetic
motive
that
in
both
novels
casts
the
witch
in
a
more
favourable
light.
Ugly
One
originally
steps
out
of
her
magic
circle
and
into
the
service
of
demons
when
one
of
them
tempts
her
with
a
ring
that
she
wants
to
give
to
her
daughter.
She
tells
70
herself
that
“This
ring
is
for
Asa...The
ring
will
adorn
her,
and,
in
turn,
her
glow
will
light
my
world”
(52).
As
soon
as
she
leaves
the
circle
and
takes
the
ring,
the
demons
claim
her,
changing
her
name
from
“the
Ugly
Sorceress”
to
“the
Ugly
Witch”
to
mark
her
transformation
from
a
sorceress
who
works
for
God
to
a
witch
who
is
controlled
by
demons
(53).
Ugly
One’s
transformation
into
the
wicked
witch
becomes
complete
when
she
agrees
to
live
and
struggle
with
the
witch’s
desire
to
eat
children’s
flesh,
a
bargain
she
makes
so
that
the
demons
will
save
Asa
from
being
burned
at
the
stake
along
with
her
(62).
Napoli
here
introduces
the
Hansel
and
Gretel fabula
by
having
Ugly
One
hide
herself
away
in
an
isolated
cottage
that
she
decorates
with the
beautiful
sweets
that
she
used
to
make
for
her
daughter.
By
introducing
a
daughter
into
the
back
story
of
this
referential
character,
Napoli
is
able
to
make
the
wicked
witch
of
“Hansel
and
Gretel”
into
a
more
sympathetic
character.
In
her
later
work,
Zel,
Napoli
more
fully
develops
this
theme
of
misdirected
maternal
desire
as
means
of
humanizing
the
wicked
witch
for
a
young
adult
audience.
As
we
have
seen
above,
Zel’s
mother
only
agrees
to
work
for
the
devils
because
she
is
desperate
to
have
a
child.
Napoli
depicts
this
desire
for
a
child
as
both
an
imperative
biological
as
well
as
social
need
that
cannot
be
ignored.
The
witch’s
former
husband
leaves
her
when
he
sees
that
she
is
infertile,
and
as
a
barren,
unmarried
woman
she
is
forced
to
live
alone
and
to
support
herself
as
a
seamstress,
making
her
one
of
the
types
of
women
historically
marginalized
and
therefore
vulnerable
to
being
called
a
witch.
Napoli
71
emphasizes
the
woman's
literal
need
to
define
herself
through
this
role
by
calling
her
simply
“Mother,”
describing
this
need
in
corporeal
terms:
“the
woman
needed,
oh,
how
she
needed
to
be
Mother.
She
needed
it
with
every
drop
of
blood,
every
bit
of
flesh,
every
hair,
every
breath
in
her
body”
(126-7).
The
witch’s
obsession
with
becoming
a
mother
also
helps
explain
why
she
jealously
keeps
her
daughter
secluded
in
a
tower
away
from
the
world.
Bettelheim
likewise
interprets
the
behaviour
of
Rapunzel’s
witch
as
representing
a
parent’s
reluctance
to
allow
their
children
to
grow
up.
As
he
explains:
“While
it
is
wrong
to
deprive
Rapunzel
of
the
liberty
to
move
about,
the
sorceress’s
desperate
wish
not
to
let
go
of
Rapunzel
does
not
seem
a
serious
crime
in
the
eyes
of
the
child,
who
wants
desperately
to
be
held
on
to
by
his
parents”
(148).
While
Bettelheim’s
psychoanalytic
reading
refers
specifically
to
children,
older
readers
can
also
recognize
that
the
witch’s
behaviour
stems
from
excessive
protective
love
rather
than
a
desire
to
harm.
Even
Zel
is
able
to
rationalize
her
mother’s
imprisoning
her
in
the
tower,
eventually
concluding
that
the
woman
“was
as
good
as
a
mother
could
be,
until
she
thought
Zel
would
leave
her”
(201).
As
in
The
Magic
Circle,
Napoli
creates
a
back
story
for
the
witch
that
explains
her
‘evil’
behaviour
in
the
original
fabula,
thereby
adding
the
psychological
complexity
that
the
young
adult
novel
requires.
Napoli’s
final,
and
strongest,
subversion
of
the
witch’s
traditional
role
as
villain
concerns
the
way
in
which
she
depicts
their
deaths.
If,
as
Sheldon
Cashdan
suggests,
in
tales
for
younger
children
‘the
witch
must
die,’
how
can
the
72
death
of
the
witch,
a
death
which
is
necessary
to
both
fabulas,
become
in
the
young
adult
novel
something
other
than
the
necessary
elimination
of
the
hero’s
opponent?
Napoli solves
this
dilemma
by
having
each
witch
willingly
sacrifice
herself
in
the
end,
thereby
maintaining
her
complex
and
sympathetic
construction
of
each
character
while
still
conforming
to
the
required
elements
of
the
original
fabulas.
Napoli
makes
Ugly
One’s
death
at
the
hands
of
Gretel
an
act
that
the
witch
herself
orchestrates
in
order
to
finally
end
her
life,
which
she
is
unable
to
do
on
her
own
because
of
her
bargain
with
the
devils.
When
Hansel
and
Gretel
(possessing
their
original
names)
come
to
stay
with
Ugly
One,
she
must
fight
the
constant
temptation
to
devour
them,
as the
devils
urge
her
to
do.
Although
she
has
hidden
herself
away
in
an
attempt
to
avoid
the
temptation
to
eat
children,
the
voices
of
the
demons
in
her
head
torment
her,
telling
her:
“Once
you
taste
Hansel’s
blood,
it
is
all
over.
The
Struggle
will
be
done...you
will
go
into
the
nearest
town...
You
will
eat
whatever
children
you
meet”
(109-10).
She
traps
Hansel
and
sets
up
the
situation
where
Gretel
can
push
her
into
the
fire
in
order
to
trick
the
devils,
since
she
realizes
that
“They
know
my
thoughts,
my
plans.
They
know
everything.
And
knowledge
gives
them
power”
(111).
When
Gretel
pushes
Ugly
One
into
the
oven
and
shuts
the
door,
the
witch
has
redeemed
herself
and
become
a
sorceress
again,
a
fact
that
is
evidenced
by
the
tears
she
is
able
to
cry,
since
an
inability
to
cry
tears
is
in
the
novel
the
mark
of
a
witch.
Her
final
thoughts
detail
her
redemption
through
self-sacrifice:
“I
can
cry.
And
73
now
|
am
crying
for
joy.
Hallowed
be
hope,
after
all.
|
am
crying
with
rapture.
|
am
dying.
Dying
into
the
waiting
hands
of
God....Free”
(118).
In
Zel,
Napoli
also
creates
sympathy
for
the
wicked
witch
by
making
her
death
the
means
of
her
redemption
for
the
harm
she
has
inflected
upon
Zel
and
her
lover.
In
the
original
story,
the
witch
cuts
off
Rapunzel’s
braids
and
uses
them
to
lure
the
young
man
into
the
tower
where
she
then
hurls
him
from
the
window
and
onto
the
brambles
below,
which
blind
him
and
leave
him
to
wander
in
search
of
Rapunzel
for
several
years.
In
Napoli’s
novel
the
witch
also
lures
the
prince
into
the
tower,
but
instead
of
wanting
to
kill
him,
she
realizes
that
Konrad
ts
in
a
sense
her
“soulmate”
in
that
he too
loves
Zel
(207).
In
spite
of
this
realization,
Mother
is
unable
to
prevent
Konrad
from
lunging
to
attack
her,
which
causes
him
to
fall
out
the
window
himself.
Mother
uses
all
of
her
strength
and
her
demonic
gift
with
plants
to
make
a
hedge
of
brambles
spring
up
that
can
break
the
young
man’s
fall,
an
act
that
drains
the
witch’s
life
force
and
causes
her
to
die.
Thus
the
part
of
the
fabula
where
the
witch
causes
the
prince’s
blindness
actually
becomes
a
saving
act
in
Napoli’s
story.
Napoli
stresses
the
literal
sacrifice
of
the
witch
when
she
ends
the
episode
with
Mother
explaining
in
her
final
thoughts:
“He
lives.
|
die”
(208).
While
Napoli
omits
the
religious
overtones
from
the
witch’s
redemption
here
that
appeared
in
The
Magic
Circle,
Mother
nonetheless
is
released
from
her
bondage
to
the
devils
and
becomes
a
type
of
disembodied
consciousness
who
is
able
to
observe
the
world
and
take
part
in
her
adopted
daughter's
eventual
reunion
with
her
partner
by
witnessing
it.
14
At
the
end
of
the
novel,
her
consciousness
declares:
“!
touch
the
world.
|
have
no
powers
anymore.
|
feel
as
though
with
a
lover’s
heart”
(227).
Witnessing
the
miracle
of
Zel’s
tears
restoring
Konrad’s
sight,
which
allows
him
to
see
their
twin
daughters
for
the
first
time,
Mother’s
voice
ecstatically
assures
the
reader
that
“yes,
oh,
yes,
we
are
happy”
(227).
By
presenting
the
wicked
witches
of
Hansel
and
Gretel
and
Rapunzel
as
complex
characters
whose
misdeeds
are
motivated
by
human
desires
and
failings,
but
who
nonetheless
are
able
to
redeem
themselves
through
their
deaths,
Napoli
is
able
to
devillainize
this
traditional
figure,
providing
her
adolescent
readers
with
the
opportunity
to
engage
with
and
‘know
evil.
Conclusion
Conducting
a
narratological
reading
of
young
adult
novels
that
contain
elements
from
traditional
literature
allows
us
to
see
how
our
expectations
of
readers
shift
from
childhood
to
adolescence.
While
the
depthless
archetypal
structure
of
the
fairy
tale
seems
to
suit
the
psychological
and
educational
needs
of
younger
children,
young
adult
novels
reflect
an
increasing
psychological
complexity,
a
complexity
that
we
come
to
expect
of
adolescents.
Where
the
villainous
wicked
witch
of
traditional
literature
is
purged
from
the
story,
the
transformation
of
the
traditional
wicked
witch
figure
in
young
adult
novels
specifically
requires
a
more
personal
understanding
of
evil.
By
devillainizing
the
5
wicked
witch,
authors
like
Sedgwick,
Fienberg,
and
Napoli
challenge
adolescent
readers
to
confront
the
potential
for
evil
that
exists
within
themselves.
Examining
the
figure
of
the
wicked
witch
in
young
adult
novels
through
psychological
and
narratological
lenses
has
also
served
as
an
example
of
how
analytical
frameworks
which
integrate
both
literary
as
well
as
practical
approaches
can
help
us
understand
how
authors
create
more
complex
and
transformative
reading
experiences
for
adolescent
readers.
The
next
chapter
will
continue
to
explore
how
adaptations
of
the
witch
figure
reflect
the
psychological
needs
of
adolescents
by
examining
the
blood
witch
motif:
adolescent
characters
who
discover
that
they
have
inherited
unrealized
magical
powers
as
part
of
their
previously
unknown
ancestral
lineage.
In
spite
of
their
supernatural
elements,
|
will
argue
that
when
viewed
through
the
lenses
of
developmental
psychology
about
adolescence,
stories
about
teen
witches
stand
as
strong
examples
of
what
is
in
fact
the
dominant
theme
of
ordinary
adolescence:
identity
development.
Notes
1
Marie-Louise
von
Franz
applied
Jung’s
work
on
archetypes
and
the
collective
unconscious
in
her
analysis
of
Problems
of
the
Feminine
in
Fairy
Tales
(1972)
and
Shadow
and
Evil
in
Fairy
Tales
(1974).
While
von
Franz’s
work
is
an
effort
to
assess
the
connection
between
fairy
tales
and
the
unconscious
that
her
mentor
alludes
to
throughout
his
work,
other
psychologists
have
focused
on
the
specific
relationship
between
fairy
tales
and
the
child
audience.
Charlotte
Buhler’s
The
Fairy
Tale
and
the
Imagination
of
the
Child
(1918)
is
one
of
the
16
first
studies
about
the
psychological
significance
of
fairy
tales,
focusing
on
the
connection
between
children’s
ways
of
fantasizing
and
the
symbols
contained
in
fairy
tales.
Julian
Heuscher’s
A
Psychiatric
Study
of
Myths
and
Fairy
Tales:
Their
Origin,
Meaning,
and
Usefulness
(1974)
sets
out
to
do
what
its
title
suggests,
namely
to
identify
how
fairy
tales
function
in
the
social
and
individual—often
sexual—development
of
children.
J.
C.
Cooper
seems
to
combine
the
approaches
of
von
Franz
and
Heuscher
in
Fairy
Tales:
Allegories
of
the
Inner
Life
(1983)
by
discussing
how
fairy
tales
can
be
read
as
allegorical
representations
of
a
person’s
development
from
childhood
to
adulthood,
making
mention
of
relevant
cross-cultural
practices,
such
as
rites
of
passage
and
initiation,
to
show
the
alleged
universality
of
the
tales’
themes.
And
perhaps
the
most
famous
psychological
reading
of
fairy
tales
is
Bruno
Bettelheim’s
The
Uses
of
Enchantment:
The
Meaning
and
Importance
of
Fairy
Tales
(1976),
in
which
he
argues
that
the
importance
of
fairy
tales
lies
in
their
reflection
of
the
various
psychosexual
conflicts
(such
as
penis
envy
and
hidden
incestuous
longings)
that
children
experience.
Although
Bettelheim’s
Freudian
reading
has
been
challenged
and
has
in
many
cases
fallen
out
of
favour
with
many
critics
(see,
for
example,
the
preface
to
Maria
Tatar’s
Off
With
Their
Heads!:
Fairy
Tales
and
the
Culture
of
Childhood)
his
hugely
successful
psychoanalytical
study
was
(and
some
would
argue
remains)
“the
authoritative
study
on
fairy
tales”
(Tatar,
Off
xvit).
2
Traditional
literature
refers
to
written
texts
that
are
intended
to
be
recordings
of
stories
belonging
to
the
oral,
or
preliterate,
tradition.
This
category
includes
fairy
tales
and
folk
tales
(which
will
be
used
interchangeably
in
this
study),
myths,
and
legends.
Although
the
work
of
sociocultural
historians
like
Jack
Zipes
shows
that
any
written
representation
of
traditional
literature
is
so
grounded
in
a
particular
society
and
historical
moment
that
it
is
arguably
removed
completely
from
the
oral
tradition,
|
will
nonetheless
make
a
distinction
between
stories
that
were
not
intended
to
be
the
original
work
of
any
particular
author
(such
as
the
fairy
tales
of
Charles
Perrault
and
the
Brothers
Grimm),
calling
this
traditional
literature,
and
those
that
are
conscious
v7
reworkings
of
traditional
material
(such
as
novels
that
incorporate
traditional
elements
or
that
retell
traditional
stories
with
significant
and
deliberate
changes).
3
Although
to
many
adults
fairy
and
folk
tales
are
synonymous
with
children’s
literature,
as
Maria
Nikolajeva
points
out,
“[flolktales
existed
and
were
told
long
before
childhood
was
apprehended
as
a
category”
(Children’s
Literature
15).
Even
the
collections
of
Charles
Perrault
and
the
Brothers
Grimm,
which
are
so
widely
read
by
children
that
they
have
become
“part
of
our
common
cultural
heritage
in
the
Anglo-American
and
European
worlds”
(Tatar,
Off
xxi),
were
only
appropriated
by
children
after
their
original
publication.
Jack
Zipes’s
work
on
the
origins
of
the
French
literary
fairy
tale
explains
how
it
developed
from
a
type
of
“parlor
game’
invented
by
aristocratic
women
in
the
middle
of
the
seventeenth
century
(Fairy
Tale
as
Myth
20).
Eventually
men
and
women
both
took
part
in
these
story-telling
games,
and
by
the
1690's
the
tales
began
to
be
published.
Perrault’s
edition,
which
has
served
as
the
popular
source
of
such
stories
as
Cinderella,
Sleeping
Beauty,
and
Little
Red
Riding
Hood,
was
published
among
a
number
of
other
collections
at
this
time
and
was
later
given
to
children.
Maria
Tatar’s
book,
The
Hard
Facts
of
the
Grimms’
Fairy
Tales
(1987),
describes
how
what
was
originally
created
to
be
“scholarly
resource
designed
to
preserve
the
‘poetry
of
the
people”
was
“appropriated
by
parents
as
bedtime
reading
for
children”
(xiii).
Tatars
work
details
the
“massive
editing
and
rewriting
it
took
to
turn
the
‘poetry’
of
the
people—their
banter,
gossip,
and
chat—1nto
literary
fare
suitable
for
children”
(xiv).
4
One
recent
study
on
the
structural
influence
of
the
oral
tradition
on
contemporary
youth
literature
is
Lucia
Huang’s
American
Young
Adult
Novels
and
Their
European
Fairy-Tale
Motifs
(1999).
Huang
looks
at
a
selection
of
notable
young
adult
novels
published
between
1980
and
1989
and
identifies
the
presence
of
a
range
of
motifs,
including
the
helper
motif,
the
motif
of
the
unpromising
hero/heroine,
the
motif
of
abandoned
children,
the
magic
motif,
and
the
deception
motif.
Although
it
mainly
addresses
books
written
for
a
child
audience,
Maria
Nikolajeva’s
article
“Stages
of
Transformation:
Folklore
Elements
in
Children’s
Novels’
ts
another
useful
example
of
18
how
elements
from
traditional
literature
influence
works
that
are
not
meant
to
be
a
retelling
of
traditional
stories
and
often
do
not
fall
into
the
genre
of
fantasy.
5
Although
the
focus
of
this
project
on
the
witch
in
particular
excluded
most
of
these
retellings
(apart
from
Donna
Jo
Napoli’s),
it
is
worth
mentioning
this
very
popular
trend
in
young
adult
fiction.
Francesca
Lia
Block's
short
story
collection
The Beast
and
the
Rose
contains
some
radical
reworkings
of
traditional
stories.
One
example
is
“Wolf,”
a
version
of
Little
Red
Riding
Hood
that
instead
features
a
young
girl
who
runs
away
to
her
grandmother's
house
to
escape
the
sexual
abuse
inflicted
upon
her
by
her
stepfather;
the
girl
shoots
and
kills
the
‘wolf
with
her
grandmother's
shotgun
when
he
pursues
her.
Robin
McKinley’s
The
Hero
and
the
Crown
and
Spindle’s
End
are
also
popular
examples
of
this
type
of
reworking.
See
Anna
Altmann’s
“Parody
and
Poesis
in
Feminist
Fairy
Tales”
for
a
discussion
of
the
development
of
the
genre
in
young
adult
fiction.
6
Commenting
on
the
widespread
familiarity
of
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West,
Cashdan
writes
that
“[mJedia
gurus
estimate
that
more
than
one
billion
people
have
either
seen
the
screen
version
of
The
Wizard
of
Oz
or
read
L.
Frank
Baum’s
famous
book,
and
the
number
continues
to
grow
every
day”
(218).
7
Since
LUthi
is
referring
to
the
folktale
as
it
has
developed
in
the
oral
tradition,
|
have
chosen
to
here
refer
to
how
a
folktale
is
“composed”
rather
than
“written.”
8
in
her
study
of
feminist
fairy
tales
(or
feminist
reworkings
in
novel
form),
Anna Altmann
uses
Bal’s
theories
to
prove
that
“at
its
basic
level,
the
level
of
fabula,
the
fairy tale
does
not
promulgate
or
enforce
gender
roles
of
any
type”
(“Parody
and
Poesis,”
29).
By
reducing
specific
characters
to
the
level
of
actants,
Altmann
is
able
to
show
that
their
roles
within
the
text
are
made
gender-specific
at
the
level
of
the
story,
even
though
their
functions
in
the
fabula
could
belong
to
either
gender.
19
9
Bal’s
original
comparison
is
between
the
positive
power
and
the
helper,
but
she
states
that
a
similar
comparison
can
be
made
between
negative
power
and
opponent,
which
I
have
extrapolated
here.
10
White
my
focus
on
discussing
the
wicked
witch
as
actantial
power
concerns
the
witch
as
a
symbol
of
the
shadow
archetype
itself,
the
witch
as
she
appears
in
traditional
literature
has
been
described
as
representing
the
dark
aspect
of
the
Mother
archetype.
Jung
calls
the
witch
an
“evil”
symbol
of
the
negative
side
of
the
Mother
archetype,
which
can
“connote
anything
secret,
hidden,
dark;
the
abyss,
the
world
of
the
dead,
anything
that
devours,
seduces,
and
poisons,
that
is
terrifying
and
inescapable
like
fate.
(CW
9,
Part!,
para.
82).
Von
Franz
likewise
views
the
witch
as
“an
archetypal
figure
of
the
Great
Mother.
She
is
the
neglected
mother
Goddess,
the
Goddess
of
the
earth,
the
mother
Goddess
in
her
destructive
aspect”
(104-5).
Bettelheim,
on
the
other
hand,
describes
the
fairy
tale
witch
as
embodying
the
dual
aspects
of
motherhood,
with
the
potential
to
nourish
and nurture
or
else
deprive and
bring
death.
Perhaps
conflating
the
characters
of
witch
and
more
benevoient
fairy,
Bettelheim
writes
that
the
witch
“in
her
opposite
aspects
is
a
reincarnation
of
the
all-good
mother
or
infancy
and
the
all-bad
mother
of
the
oedipal
crisis.
But
she
is
no
longer
seen
halfway
realistically,
as
a
mother
who
is
lovingly
all-giving
and
an
opposite
stepmother
who
is
rejectingly
demanding,
but
entirely
unrealistically,
as
either
superhumanly
rewarding
or
inhumanly
destructive”
(94).
11
De
Vos
and
Altmann
make
use
of
this
term,
which
they
borrow
from
Marina
Warner's
From
the
Beast
to
the
Blond:
On
Fairy
Tales
and
their
Tellers
(255).
12
The
prevalence
of
the
association
of
witches
with
women
involved
in
‘traditional
healing
practices
is
so
widespread
that
it
is
difficult
to
identify
any
one
source
for
such
beliefs;
however,
Diane
Purkiss
gives
a
good overview
of
the
rise
of
this
belief
in
chapter
one
of
The
Witch
in
History,
and
Annis
Pratt
discusses
the
archetype
of
the
witch
in
women’s
fiction
(122,
175).
80
Chapter
2
The
Blood
Witch:
Identity
Development
as
the
Central
Theme
of
Adolescence
By
exploring
the
adaptation
of
the
traditional
wicked
witch
archetype
for
an
adolescent
audience,
the
previous
chapter
illustrated
the
need
for
interdisciplinary
analytical
frameworks
that
combine
aesthetic
and
practical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
about
the
education
and
development
of
young
people.
In
this
chapter
|
will
show
how
the
blood
witch
motif,
in
which
ordinary
adolescent
characters
discover
that
they
have
inherited
magical
powers
through
their
parents
or
ancestral
bloodline,
can
be
used
to
explore
the
theme
of
identity
development
in
our
cultural
construction
of
adolescence.
Following
the
lead
of
pioneering
developmental
psychologists
like
G.
Stanley
Hall
and
Erik
Erikson,
the
association
of
identity
formation
with
adolescence
is
so
common
that
many
view
the
theme
of
“seeking
and
articulating...a
sense
of
self-identity”
as
the
“overriding
characteristic
of
adolescence”
(Brown
and
Stephens
53).
The
universality
of
this
theme
causes
it
to
cross-over
into
all
discussions
of
adolescence,
whether
from
the
practical
or
literary
standpoint;
as
Patrick
Jones
notes,
“all
good
YA
books
concern
the
problem
that
is
adolescence.
..[the]
search
for
identity,
independence,
excitement,
and
acceptance”
(131).
With
treatments
of
this
theme
spanning
developmental,
educational,
and
aesthetic
spheres,
there
is
perhaps
no
more
productive
site
for
interdisciplinary
dialogue
on
youth
literature
81
as
the
topic
of
adolescence
itself,
especially
regarding
adolescent
identity
formation.
This
chapter
will
explore
how
contemporary
books
about
blood
witches,
when
analyzed
according
to
psychosocial
models
of
identity
development,
both
embody
and
transform
the
theme
of
identity
formation
in
young
adult
literature
by
asserting
the
possibility
of
a
socially
responsible
autonomous
adolescent
self.
|
will
first
consider
how
earlier
feminist
readings
of
the
teen
witch
must
be
expanded
to
include
discussions
of
adolescence
itself.
|
will
then
examine
identity
formation
as
a
central
theme
in
the
cultural
construct
of
adolescence
by
exploring
this
theme
in
relation
to
adolescent
developmental
psychology,
particularly
the
work
of
Hall
and
Erikson,
focusing
on
its
connection
to
young
adult
literature.
|
will
then
apply
these
concepts
to
frame
a
literary
analysis
of
the
theme
of
adolescent
identity
formation
in
books
about
blood
witches,
through
which
|
will
show
how
becoming
a
witch
acts
as
a
motif
for
the
development
of
the
socially
responsible
autonomous
adolescent
self,
or
one
who
is
able
to
define
the
integrity
of
the
core
self
as
being
balanced
with
the
demands
of
various
social
contexts.
The
discussion
will
focus
on
three
series
about
blood
witches:
Russell
Moon’s
Witch
Boy,
Cate
Tiernan’s
Sweep,
and
Nancy
Holder
and
Debbie
Viguie’s
Wicked.
The
goal
of
this
chapter
is
to
show
how
literary
explorations
of
the
theme
of
identity
development
in
youth
literature
can
be
enriched
through
interdisciplinary
analytical
frameworks
that
incorporate
the
82
practical
concepts
that
have
come
to
inform
our
cultural
construction
of
adolescence.
Girl
Power?
Expanding
the
Discussion
of
Teen
Witches
It
is
important
here
to
emphasize
that
in
spite
of
the
traditional
and
popular
conception
of
the
witch
as
a
female
figure,
in
all
of
the
recent
young
adult
novels
|
have
examined,
gender
is
not
a
determining
factor
in
deciding
who
is
a
witch;
male
and
female
witches
are
equally
common.
Yet
since
in
the
past
the
majority
of
literary
and
cultural
depictions
of
witches
have
been
feminine,
it
is
not
surprising
that
much
of
the
criticism
dealing
with
teen
witches
has
consisted
of
feminist
readings
which
explore
the
connection
between
witchcraft
and
female
adolescents.
Earlier
criticism
on
teen
witches
has
mainly
consisted
of
feminist
readings
of
the
work
of
New
Zealand
writer
Margaret
Mahy.
Mahy’s
novels
are
stories
of
young
women
who
either
discover
that
they
are
witches
(The
Haunting,
1982;
The
Changeover:
A
Supernatural
Romance,
1984)
or
who
wield
magical
power
(The
Tricksters,
1986).
Mahy’s
work
has
attracted
a
plethora
of
feminist
readings
that
interpret
witchcraft
as
a
motif
for
the
sexual
and
social
development
of
the
female
adolescent
characters
in
opposition
to
the
patriarchal
norms
imposed
on
female
sexual
identity.
'
Allison
Waller’s
recent
article
“Solid
All
the
Way
Through:’
Margaret
Mahy’s
Ordinary
Witches”
is
a
notable
exception
to
this
trend.
Departing
from
the
traditional
feminist
readings
of
Mahy’s
work,
Waller
considers
how
although
83
critics
have
“often
stressed
the
feminist
possibilities
of
mixing
fantasy
and
reality...issues
of
modern
Western
adolescence
[are]
equally
crucial
in
their
overall
theme”
(78).
In
Waller's
analysis
of
what
our
culture
considers
the
markers
of
“normal
adolescence”
(81),
she
mentions
Robert
Havighurst’s
Developmental
Tasks
and
Education,
an
influential
study
that
attempts
to
identify
what
constitutes
normal
human
development
in
society
from
infancy
to
late
adulthood.
While
she
does
not
quote
Havighurst’s
model
extensively,
Waller
states
that
“the
metaphorical
importance
of
[magical
power]
lies
in
the
ways
in
which
the
girls
actively
go
about
changing
their
identities-becoming
witches
as
well
as
teenagers”
(81).
Waller's
use
of
a
psychological
model
for
analyzing
a
literary
theme
acts
as
an
example
of
how
extra-literary
concepts
can
illustrate
the
cultural
significance
of
youth
literature.
Waller’s
analysis,
while
illustrative
of
the
potential
for
an
interdisciplinary
discussion
of
identity
development,
is
still
limited.
In
spite
of
her
intention
to
redirect
the
discussion
of
teen
witches
to
a
discussion
of
adolescence
in
general,
Waller
still
primarily
focuses
on
what
it
is
to
be
a
female
adolescent,
thus
aligning
her
analysis
more
closely
with
feminist
criticism
than
she
may
have
intended.
For
example,
she
explores
extensively
the
domestic
roles
that
the
girls
occupy
(79-80)
and
the
connection
between
witchcraft
iconography
and
Mahy’s
construction
of
female
sexuality
(83-6).
She
concludes
that
in
spite
of
being
“a
growing
pain,
a
symbol
of
developing
sexuality,
and
a
potentially
dangerous
84
skill,”
and
therefore
a
potential
motif
for
adolescent
development
of
both
sexes,
witchcraft
is
still
“a
female
power”
(86).
Allison
Waller's
view
of
witchcraft
as
“a
female
power”
is
not
only
problematic
when
applied
to
the
novels
|
am
discussing
in
its
gender-specificity;
the
very
notion
that
‘power’
equals
‘empowerment’
must
also
be
reconsidered.
Although
she
discusses
how
Mahy’s
“witch
girls
remain
in
a
real
world
that
is
primarily
domestic,
familial,
and
restricted,”
Waller's
essay
also
argues
that
the
girls’
magical
abilities
“open
up
mystical
possibilities
of
empowerment,
fulfillment,
and
sexuality”
(78).
Waller's
analysis
of
Mahy’s
texts
seems
to
warrant
the
feminist
reading
of
magic
as
empowerment,
which
interprets
witchcraft
as
a
symbol
of
female
agency;
however,
more
recent
works
and
criticism,
particularly
concerning
television
and
film,
problematize
the
popular
concept
of
adolescent
‘girl
power’
that
is
often
read
into
teen
witches.
{n
“Glamorous
Witchcraft:
Gender
and
Magic
in
Teen
Film
and
Television,”
Rachel
Moseley
explores
the
complex
relationship
between
“feminism
(as
a
female
power)”
and
“femininity”
(403)
in
media
depictions
of
contemporary
girl
witches.
She
frames
her
discussion
with the
seemingly
incongruent
definitions
of
the
word
“glamour”
as
“surface
or
physical
feminine
allure”
and
its
original
meaning
of
“magic,
enchantment,
spell”
(404),
revealing
how
in
this
“double-edged”
term
“a
profound
but
contradictory
link
is
posited
between
femininity
and
magic
in
which
femininity
is
produced
as
superficial
and
deceptive
charm,
mysterious
and
unknowable
in
essence,
and
as
85
power”
(404,
emphasis
original).
While
Moseley
offers
the
‘post-feminist’
interpretation
that
teen
girl
witches
can
make
use
of
both
aspects
of
“glamour”
(405),
her
reading
destabilizes
earlier
(primarily
feminist)
criticism
of
teen
witches
that
has
tended
to
solely
focus
on
how
witchcraft
becomes
a
source
of
empowerment
for
female
characters
and
the
implied
audience.
In
their
analysis
of
the
television
program
Sabrina
the
Teenage
Witch,
Projansky
and
Vande
Berg
challenge
how
“popular
discourses
on
Sabrina
celebrate
girl
power”
(36,
emphasis
original).
They
argue
that
the
“freedom”
that
magical
power
affords
Sabrina,
which
allegedly
makes
her
an
“independent
and
powerful”
role
model,
is
“only
temporary,”
and
that
“she
must
always
come
back
to
her
responsibility
to
others
and
the
pursuit
of
feminine
beauty
and
masculine
attention”
(36).
In
spite
of
the
fact
that
they
are
specifically
discussing
females,
Moseley
and
Projansky
and
Vande
Berg’s
analyses
draw
attention
to
the
often
contradictory
role
that
magical
power
plays
in
stories
about
blood
witches
of
both
genders.
Projansky
and
Vande
Berg’s
argument
in
particular
emphasizes
how
the
demands
of
an
adolescent
identity
can
supersede
the
significance
of
the
witch
identity.
Although
popular
conceptions
of
the
witch
tend
to
take
for
granted
that
they
are
female,
the
recent
trend
to
depict
both
female
and
male
witches
necessitates
a
reevaluation
of
the
popular
practice
of
reading
witchcraft
as
a
motif
for
female
power.
Waller's
use
of
a
sociological
study
on
adolescence
is
an
important
expansion
on
the
discussion
of
the
teen
witch,
but
her
analysis
still
86
‘stops
short
of
fully
assessing
the
connection
between
witchcraft
and
the
cultural
construction
of
adolescence
that
a
study
of
contemporary
blood
witches
of
both
genders
might
entail.
In
spite
of
her
focus
on
female
adolescence,
there
is
much
that
can
be
made
of
her
statement
that “the
magic
inherent
in
witchcraft
of
all
kinds
has
its
own
metaphorical
meaning
for
being
a
teenager...identity,
status
and
role,
power
and
its
responsibilities—all
processes
of
awareness
that
signify
the
developmental
stages
of
adolescence”
(83).
|
would
like
to
use
this
quotation
as
a
point
of
departure
to
begin
my
discussion
of
the
interdisciplinary
construct
of
adolescence—particularly
the
concepts
of
identity
and
power—in
young
adult
literature.
The
adolescent
heroes
of
Moon,
Tiernan,
and
Holder
and
Viguie’s
novels
are
witches,
but
they
are
teenagers
first.
Blood
witches
possess
the
magical
abilities
that
are
popularly
associated
with
fictional
witches
(such
as
the
ability
to
transport
oneself
or
to
wield
magic
as
a
weapon),
but the
essentials
of
the
characters
and
storylines
of
these
texts
reveal
that
these
young
adult
novels
are
fairly
unremarkable
in
their
focus
on
what
is
considered
to
be
the
pervasive
theme
of
YA
literature:
growing
up,
or
identity
development.
Psychology
and
Young
Adult
Literature
As
it
concerns
texts
which
deal
with
many
cultural
conceptions
of
adolescence,
criticism
of
young
adult
novels
is
a
common
site
of
interdisciplinary
dialogue,
bridging
the
discourses
of
education,
psychology,
and
sociology
to
literary
criticism.
It
is
quite
common
for
books
of
criticism
on
young
adult
87
literature
to
include
discussions
of
adolescent
developmental
psychology
for
the
purpose
of
providing
insight
into
adolescent
readers,
or
even
fictional
teen
characters.
In
some
cases,
information
on
the
developmental
stages,
such
as
Havighurst’s
model,
is
meant
to
be
of
use
to
practitioners
who
are
the
imagined
audience
of
the
guide.
In
Teaching
Young
Adult
Literature:
Sharing
the
Connection,
Brown
and
Stephens
promote
a
very
practical
reason
for
their
inclusion
of
a
discussion
of
the
developmental
tasks
of
adolescence:
Although
there
are
many
different
ways
to
examine
adolescent
development,
the
perspective
we
take...is
to
focus
on
what
educators
need
to
know
to
promote
adolescents
as
readers
and
the
role
that
young
adult
literature
plays
in
their
development.
In
order
to
select
and
use
young
adult
literature
effectively,
teachers
must
understand
adolescents,
their
needs,
and
their
interests.
(47)
Patrick
Jones
includes
a
similar
discussion
of
adolescent
psychology,
even
challenging
common
negative
stereotypes
about
teenagers
for
his
intended
audience
of
librarians
in
Connecting
Young
Adults
and
Libraries,
sharing
with
Brown
and
Stephens
the
similar
goal
of
giving
practitioners
information
that
might
be
helpful
for
reaching
adolescent
readers.
Using
adolescent
psychology
for
the
purpose
of
understanding
young
readers
often
overlaps
with
using
psychology
as
a
lens
through
which
to
read
young
adult
characters,
implying
that
a
connection
exists
between
real
and
fictional
constructs
of
adolescence.
For
example,
Brown
and
Stephens’
88
discussion
of
the
developmental
tasks
falls
tellingly
into
the
chapter
entitled
“Learning
about
the
Young
Adult
in
Young
Adult
Literature”
(47),
where
they
proceed
to
discuss
the
significance
of
realism
in
promoting
reader
identification.
Working
under
the
assumption
that
“one
reason
that
youths
read
young
adult
literature
is
that
they
are
able
to
see
themselves
in
these
books,”
they
“examine
the
characteristics
of
adolescents
by
identifying
characters
from
different
books”
in
order
to
support
the
basis
for
such
identification
(52-3).
By
focusing
on
the
idea
of
reader
identification,
Brown
and
Stephens
make
an
implicit
connection
between
literary
depictions
of
adolescence
and
the
experiences
of
actual
adolescent
readers.
Psychologist
Sharon
A.
Stringer
takes
an
even
more
bibliotherapeutic
approach
to
assessing
the
relationship
between
teenage
characters
and
readers
in
Conflict
and
Connection:
The
Psychology
of
Young
Adult
Literature.
Stringer’s
interdisciplinary
analysis
is
intended
to
be
a
“collaborative
link”
that
is
meant
to
“facilitatfe]
communication
among
researchers,
teachers,
parents,
and
teenagers
in
the
community”
(xiii),
showing
how
“[yJoung
adult
fiction
and
psychology
both
illustrate
how
problems
can
be
important
sources
of
growth
and
achievement”
(xv).
Going
into
far
more
depth
on
the
topic
than
Brown
and
Stephens,
Stringer
uses
examples
from
young
adult
literature
to
illustrate
various
psychological
issues
of
adolescence,
such
as
family
relationships,
the
influence
of
peer
groups,
achievement,
morality,
and
depression
and
suicide.
Stringer
goes
further
than
simply
presenting
how
such
issues
exist
thematically
as
topics
in
young
adult
89
literature,
however.
She
argues
that
“[yloung
adult
literature
provides
valuable
information
about
intervention
and
prevention
of
adolescents’
problems”
promoting
the
belief
that
“[i]lluminating
constructive
coping
methods
in
the
psychology
of
young
adult
fiction
offers
additional
preparation
for
teachers,
parents,
and
adolescents”
(xii).
The
approaches
of
Brown
and
Stephens,
Jones,
and
Stringer
all
show
how
young
adult
novels
become
sites
for
interdisciplinary
dialogue,
where
popular
conceptions
of
adolescence,
though
rooted
in
psychology,
shape
the
literary
construction
of
adolescence
in
fictional
works.
Along
with
providing
information
about
readers
and
their
relationship
to
texts,
the
use
of
adolescent
psychology
in
assessing
the
appeal
of
young
adult
novels
to
their
adolescent
audience
also
becomes
a
criterion
for
evaluating
the
literary
merit
of
the
texts
themselves.
In
their
influential
textbook,
Literature
for
Today's
Young
Adults,
Donelson
and
Nilsen
have
included
in
each
of
their
seven
editions
a
brief
discussion
of
Havighurst’s
developmental
tasks.
Rather
than
simply
offering
the
developmental
tasks
as
a
model
by
which
to
judge
the
realism
or
relevance
of
specific
texts,
the
authors
use
it
to
illustrate
a
characteristic
of
the
“best”
young
adult
literature.
Donelson
and
Nilsen
argue
for
the
relevance
of
psychological
frameworks
in
assessing
literary
merit
under
the
heading
“Successful
Young
Adult
Novels
Deal
with
Emotions
That
Are
Important
to
Young
Adults’:
Good
authors
do
not
peruse
psychology
books
searching
for
case
histories
or
symptoms
of
teenage
problems
they
can
envision
90
making
into
good
stories.
This
would
be
as
unlikely
and
as
unproductive
as
it
would
be
for
a
writer
to
study
a
book
on
literary
devices
and
make
a
list:
‘First,
|
will
use
a
metaphor
and
then
a
bit
of
alliteration
and
some
imagery,
followed
by
personification.’
The
psychological
aspects
of
well-written
novels
are
a
natural
part
of
the
story
as
protagonists
face
the
same
kinds
of
challenges
readers
are
experiencing,
such
as
the
developmental
tasks
outlined
two
generations
ago
by
Robert
J.
Havighurst.
(35)
Donelson
and
Nilsen
are
making
several
claims
about
“well-written
novels”
that
have
a
bearing
on
the
larger
connection
of
young
adult
literature
to
the
social
construction
of
adolescence.
First
is
the
obvious
assertion
that
well-written
novels
will
contain
elements
that
could
be
found
in
adolescent
psychology,
even
if
their
authors
do
not
“peruse
good
psychology
books”
in
search
of
“case
mK“
histories.”
“Close
connections
exist
between
adolescent
literature
and
psychology,”
they
explain,
“with
psychology
providing
the
overall
picture
and
adolescent
literature
providing
individual
portraits”
(35).
Like
Stringer,
Brown,
and
Stephens,
the
authors
take
for
granted
that
the
“challenges”
faced
by
fictional
characters
in
young
adult
novels
will
reflect
the
reality
of
adolescent
readers,
thus
emphasizing
the
belief
in
the
verisimilitude
between
the
lived
experience
of
adolescents
and
the
depiction
of
such
experiences
by
“good
[adult]
authors.”
Finally,
their
connection
of
one
particular
psychological
model
to
an
implied
universal
experience
of
adolescence,
one
that
should
presumably
seem
91
as
“natural”
a
part
of
the
author’s
knowledge
about
teenagers
as
it
is
to
the
world
of
the
text,
raises
the
question
of
how
models
such
as
Havighurst’s
are
connected
to
popular
conceptions
of
adolescence.
Each
of
these
views
on
the
intersection
between
readers,
authors,
world,
and
text
illustrate
calls
for
further
discussion
on
how
interdisciplinary
analytical
frameworks
that
integrate
concepts
and
models
from
disciplines
related
to
the
aesthetic
and
the
practical
approaches
to
youth
literature
can
illustrate
how
these
texts
embody
adult
values
and
beliefs
about
young
people.
The
Social
Construction
of
Adolescence
While
there
has
always
existed
a
biological
stage
in
life
that
is
marked
by
puberty,
the
concept
of
adolescence
as
a
social
and
psychological
developmental
phase
in
life
is
itself
an
interdisciplinary
construct,
and
a
fairly
recent
one
at
that.
As
Joseph
Kett
explains
in
Rites
of
Passage:
Adolescence
in
America,
1790
to
the
Present,
the
relatively
recent
emergence
of
a
stage
in
life
falling
between
childhood
and
adulthood
came
about
as
the
result
of
a
variety
of
economic
and
social
factors
that
resulted
in
efforts
to
“universalize
and
to
democratize
the
concept
of
adolescence”
at
the
beginning
of
the
twentieth
century
(215).
The
seemingly
pervasive
connection
between
psychology
and
our
popular
beliefs
about
adolescence
can
in
part
be
explained
by
its
origins
in
this
discipline.
The
“seminal
book”
(Kett
215)
describing
this
new
category
was
G.
Stanley
Hall’s
1904
study
Adolescence:
Its
Psychology
and
Its
Relations
to
92
Physiology,
Anthropology,
Sociology,
Sex,
Crime,
Religion
and
Education.
Although
Hall
was
a
psychologist,
the
title
of
his
work
alone
suggests
how
all-
encompassing
his
study
of
youth
attempted
to
be,
detailing
a
normative
view
of
adolescence
that
argued
for
specific
measures
for
dealing
with
the
particular
problems
of
this
group.
Building
on
the
pre-Darwinian
theory
of
recapitulation,
Hall
posited
four
developmental
stages
of
growth
of
the
child
through
to
adulthood
that
corresponded
to
the
supposed
stages
of
development
of
our
species,
with
adolescence
marking
the
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
that
precedes
adult
enlightenment.
Hall
argued
that
since
certain
adolescent
behaviour
was
natural,
even
cathartic,
some
allowances
should
be
made
for
youth
so
that
they
could
resolve
their
contradictory
impulses;
repression
would
only
lead
to
more
serious
problems
with
the
same
behaviour
later
in
life.
Although
many
of
Hall’s
ideas
are
controversial,”
he
is
still
credited
by
many
as
being
“the
father
of
adolescent
psychology”
(Dacey
40),
or
even
more
broadly
the
“father”
or
“discoverer”
of
adolescence
(Lesko
51;
Griffin
18).
Such
titles
are
not
necessarily
meant
to
designate
the
worth
of
Hall’s
ideas,
but
they
do
acknowledge
that
his
views
have
continued
to
influence
the
popular
conception
of
adolescence
in
the
hundred
years
since
his
seminal
work
was
first
published.
Barbara
White
states
in
her
study
of
novels
of
female
adolescence
in
America,
“[Hall’s]
name
and
his
book
may
be
forgotten
today,
but
adolescence
is
still
regarded
in
exactly
the
context
he
established”
(9).°
Hall's
theories
at
once
sought
to
understand
as
well
as
influence
adolescent
behaviour,
an
approach
93
that
has
impacted
the
attitudes
of
adults
towards
teenagers
since
then,
including
parents,
educators,
practitioners,
and
even
authors
of
young
adult
novels.
Hall's
‘storm
and
stress’
model,
characterized
by
changes
in
both
the
physiology
as
well
as
the
behaviour
of
the
adolescent,
continues
to
dominate
the
popular
conception
of
adolescence
as
a
period
of
chaos,
upheaval,
and
rebellion
that
leads
to
normative
individual
maturation.
But
‘normalizing’
the
difficult
behaviour
of
adolescents
was
not
simply
intended
to
garner
sympathy
and
understanding
for
young
people;
it
was
meant
to
provide
insight
into
how
to
manage
it
as
well.
Although
Hall’s
work,
and
the
widespread
views
on
adolescence
it
inspired,
argued
for
allowances
to
be
made
for
difficult
teen
behaviour,
this
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
nonetheless was
supposed
to
yield
specific
developments
that
would
lead
the
individual
into
normal
and
productive
adulthood.
This
belief
that
the
upheaval
of
adolescence
has
its
particular
place
in
the
social
development
of
individuals
led
to
the
further
creation
of
developmental
models
or
stages
such
as
Havighurst’s
that
have
attempted
to
assess
the
desired
outcomes
of
this
period
in
life.
In
all
fields,
the
main
task
of
adolescence
can
be
described
as
identity
achievement.
identity
Formation:
The
Work
of
Erik
Erikson
Haill’s
work
has
inspired
the
popular
social
construct
of
adolescence,
the
central
theme
of
which
in
the
psychological,
pedagogical,
and
literary
spheres
is
often
cited
as
identity
formation.
As
Donelson
and
Nilsen
explain
of
young
adult
94
novels,
the
various
issues
of
exploring
sexuality,
gaining
independence
from
one’s
family,
negotiating
relations
within
one’s
peer
group,
or
choosing
an
occupation
can
all
be
gathered
“under
the
umbrella
heading
of
achieving
an
identity”
(35).
As
“the
task
of
adolescence,”
this
theme
can
be
found
in
“any
piece
of
teenage
fiction” (35).
The
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
and
the
concurrent
experimentation
with
roles
and
beliefs
is
considered
to
be
a
normative
part
of
human
development
in
our
culture,
one
that
is
expected
to
lead
to
the
formation
of
a
coherent
individual
adult
identity.
While
Hall
may
be
considered
the
‘father
of
adolescent
psychology’
in
general,
“identity
formation
and
development
are
synonymous
with
the
work
of
Erik
Erikson”
(Heaven
27).
While
there
exist
various
other
approaches
to
understanding
identity
formation,*
Erikson’s
psychosocial
approach
to
studying
identity
development
has
had
widespread
influence
within
psychology.”
Hall
attempted
to
explain,
or
normalize,
adolescent
behaviour
as
being
essential
to
human
development,
but
the
work
of
Erik
Erikson
identified
what
the
product
of
that
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
would
be.
In
his
seminal
text
Identity,
Youth
and
Crisis
(1968),
Erikson
designates
identity
achievement
as
the
major
developmental
task
of
adolescence.
Expanding
on
Sigmund
and
Anna
Freud’s
psychosexual
approach
to
development
(Heaven
27),
Erikson
promotes
a
psychosocial
approach
to
identity
formation.
The
psychosocial
approach
“seeks
to
integrate
the
roles
played
by
both
society
and
an
individual’s
intrapsychic
dynamics
and
biology
in
developing
and
maintaining
personal
identity”
(Kroger,
95
“Identity
Development
during
Adolescence”
25).
Erikson
describes
how
identity
formation
occurs
as
a
result
of
learning
to
integrate
the
influences
of
childhood
identifications
with
the
biological
and
psychological
changes
of
adolescence,
all
within
the
context
of
particular
societal
influences
and
demands.
He
explains:
Identity
formation...arises
from
the
selective
repudiation
and
mutual
assimilation
of
childhood
identifications
and
their
absorption
in
a
new
configuration,
which,
in
turn,
is
dependent
on
the
process
by
which
a
society
(often
through
subsocieties)
identifies
the
young
individual,
recognizing
him
as
somebody
who
had
to
become
the
way
he
is,
and
who,
being
the
way
he
is,
is
taken
for
granted.
(159,
emphasis
original)
The
result
of
this
successful
integration,
then,
is
“[a]n
optimal
sense
of
identity”
which
is
experienced
simply
as
“a
sense
of
psychosocial
well-being...a
feeling
of
being
at
home
in
one’s body,
a
sense
of
‘knowing
where
one
is
going,’
and
an
inner
assuredness
of
anticipated
recognition
from
those
who
count”
(165).
Erikson’s
description
of
successful
integration
indicates
the
resolution
of
the
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
that
Hall’s
work
brought
into
the
popular
understanding
of
adolescence.
The
Identity
Crisis
and
the
Personal
Fable
in
the
Blood
Witch
Motif
The
process
of
integration
begins
with
what
is
perhaps
Erikson’s
most
widely-used
concept:
the
identity
crisis.
Erikson
stresses
that
the
‘crisis’
“no
96
longer
connotes
impending
catastrophe,”
rather
it
designates
a
“necessary
turning
point,
a
crucial
moment,
when
development
must
move
one
way
or
the
other”
(16).
The
identity
crisis
is
commonly
associated
with
adolescence
and
as
such
frequently
becomes
a
recognizable
feature
of
adolescent
novels,
where
“(IJanguage
use
conditions
identity
crises
and
their
resolution”
(Neubauer
125).
While
the
‘catastrophic’
nature
of
the
crisis
is
downplayed
by
Erikson,
such
a
moment
nonetheless
serves
as
an
important
impetus
to
the
action
of
young
adult
novels
that
concern
themselves
with
the
theme
of
identity,
or
what
critics
of
this
genre
call
“the
problem
of
adolescence”
(Jones
131).
Novels
about
blood
witches
are
no
exception
to
this
trend,
and
if
anything
they
exemplify
the
semantic
range
of
the
word
‘crisis.’
Rather
than
presenting
witchcraft
as
a
normal
part
of
the
teenager's
world
(as
is
the
case
with
many
of
the
characters
in
the
Harry
Potter
novels,
for
example),
the
story
begins
with
the
teen
finding
out
that
he
or
she
is
a
witch,
with
the
remainder
of
the
series
following
the
new
witch's
(usually
reluctant
and
difficult)
acceptance
of
this
role.
Since these
are
blood
witches
(as
opposed
to
Wiccans
who
choose
to
practice),
this
revelation
usually
involves
the
characters
finding
out that
one
or
both
of
their
parents
is
either
a
witch
or
part
of
a
witch
family,
an
insight
that
forces
the
teen
to
reevaluate
their
past
as
well
as
their
future.
Russell
Moon’s
Witch
Boy
concerns
seventeen
year-old
Marcus
Aurelius’s
discovery
that
his
long-absent
father,
who
abandoned
him
on the
day
he
was
born,
is
actually
the
disgraced
king
of
a
people
who
call
themselves
witches,
making
Marcus
their
97
new
prince
and
heir.
The
importance
of
the
theme
of
identity
is
suggested
by
the
blurb
given
on the
back
of
first
book
(which
sets
out
to
relay
both
the
specific
and
general
thematic
appeal
of
the
novel),
where
the
final
line,
emphasized
in
purple
font
and
set
off
in
italics,
reads:
“What
am
I?”
At
the
start
of
Holder
and
Viguie’s
Wicked
series,
Holly
Cathers’s
parents
drown,
leaving
her
to
finish
high
school
in
the
care
of
her
father’s
family
who
live
across
the
country.
It
is
in
her
new
home
that
Holly
finds
out
that
she
and
her
twin
cousins
all
belong
to
the
“Cahors”
family
of
witches
who
flourished
in
France
before
coming
to
the
New
World,
when
their
identities
were
hidden
along
with
their
original
names.
Holly
discovers
that
she
is
the
reincarnation
of
the
most
powerful
Cahors
witch,
Ilsabeau,
and
that
as
such
she
is
the
star-crossed
lover
of
the
handsome
and
rich
Jer
Devereaux,
who
is
himself
the
reincarnation
of
a
powerful
ancestor
who
was
also
Isabeau’s
husband. Although
it
has
not
yet
been
completed
at
the
time
of
writing,
the
four
novels
in
the
series
thus
far
explore
how
both
Hollly
and
Jer
must
build
a
sense
of
self
amidst
the
challenges
of
their
nascent
power
as
witches,
their
family
legacies,
the
demands
of
their
rival
covens,
and
most
importantly,
their
status
as
reincarnations
of
their
ancestors.
The
theme
of
identity
formation
is
likewise
emphasized
in
Cate Tiernan’s
Sweep
series,
where
the
process
of
becoming
a
witch
is
used
as
a
motif
for
this
common
theme
of
adolescence.
Classifying
Tiernan’s
books
under
the
combined
headings
of
“The
Occult/Search
for
Identity,”
Michael
Cush’s
ALAN
98
review
emphasizes
the
normative
aspect
of
the
series’
focus
by
pointing
out
that
“[t]he
search
for
identity
is
an
issue
all
young
adults
seem
to
find
themselves
tangled
in,
and
sixteen-year
old
Morgan
Rowlands
is
no
different.”
Even
though
Morgan
spends
most
of
the
first
book
exploring
an
interest
in
Wicca
(and
the
cute
boy
who
introduces
her
and
her
friends
to
it),
the
real
revelation
comes
at
the
end
of
the
book
when
her
boyfriend/mentor
Cal
Blair
tells
her:
“You're
a
blood
witch”
(Book
of
Shadows
187).
The
larger
impact
of
this
‘crisis’
on
Morgan’s
sense
of
identity
is
articulated
in
the
series
of
short
statements
given
in
Morgan’s
voice
on
the
back
cover
of
the
second
novel,
The
Coven:
“I
am
not
who
|
thought
|
was.
|
am
not
a
regular
sixteen-year-old
girl.
|
am
a
witch.
A
real,
ancestral
witch.
My
parents
are
not
my
biological
parents.
My
sister
and
|
share
no
blood.
Even
in
the
coven,
|
am
too
powerful
now,
too
different
to
belong.”
For
all
of
these characters,
the
discovery
of
their
witch
identities
is
the
metaphorical
“turning
point”
that
Erikson
designates
as
initiating
the
process
of
identity
formation
that
characterizes
adolescence.
Finding
out
that
these
teens
are
not
just
any
witches,
but
figures
of
great
importance
within
their
already
distinctive
groups,
does
more
than
simply
initiate
the
quest
for
identity
achievement
that
characterizes
the
young
adult
novel.
These
important
‘secret
identities’
and
messianic
roles
can
also
be
described
as
a
literary
example
of
what
David
Elkind
calls
“the
personal
fable”
(126).
Although
within
Elkind’s
work
on
egocentricism
in
adolescence
the
personal
fable
is
“a
story
that
one
tells
oneself
but
that
is
not true”
(126), within
a
fictional
context
the
99
story
of
a
previously
unknown
remarkable
history
conveys
to
both
the
character
as
well
as
the
intended
reader
the
sense
of
“specialness”
(127)
that
this
construct
is
meant
to
give
to
the
adolescent.
Witch
Boy’s
Marcus
Aurelius
is
exalted
as
a
messianic
figure
by
the
coven
of
followers
who
had
initially
passed
themselves
off
as
some
students
and
teachers
in
his
new
high
school.
Marcus's
guidance
counselor/coven
member
emphasizes
the
teenager's
‘specialness’
or
importance
as
the
prince
and
savior
of
the
doomed
“Cerns,”
an
ancient
line
of
witches
who
worship
the
Celtic
god
Cernunnos.
He
tells
Marcus:
“[The
Cerns]
are
all
looking
here.
You
are
the
one...Every
Cern
in
the
world
knows
about
you
and
has
been
greatly
anticipating
your
emergence.
You
are
our
one
and
only”
(154).
In
the
Wicked
series,
Holder
also
emphasizes
Holly's
uniqueness
by
assigning
her
a
messianic
duty.
At
her
initial
meeting
with the
Mother
Coven
(to
which
her
family
belongs
and
which
is
rival
to
the
Deveraux’s
Supreme
Coven),
an
image
of
Holly’s
ancestor
Isabeau
materializes
over
the
young
woman
and
declares
to
the
assembly
that
“[t]his
one
and
this
one
alone
will
save
the
Mother
Coven
and
prevent
the
Supreme
Coven
from
enslaving
all
humanity!
And
she
will
do
it
with
the
aid
of
our
enemy’s
own
son,
Jeraud
Deveraux!”
(Curse
282).
Morgan
Rowlands
finds
out
that
her
exceptional
magical
talents
(since
she
becomes
a
powerful
witch
within
the
several
months
that
marks
the
series
duration)
likewise
marks
her
for
a
great
destiny.
She
is
told
by
her
biological
father,
who
is
described
as
“one
of
the
most
evil
witches
in
existence”
(Eclipse
6),
that
she
is
the
sgiurs
dan,
“[t]he
fated
scourge.
The
destroyer”
(Eclipse
118).
100
Her
father
explains
that
the
destroyer
comes
every
several
generations
“to
change
the
course
of
a
clan,”
and
that “the
signs”
say
it
is
Morgan
(118).
While
her
father’s
clan
has
traditionally
worked
for
the
forces
of
“evil,”
Morgan’s
decision
to
either
take
up
the
Woodbane's
quest
for
power
or
else
conversely
direct
her
clan
towards
working
for
good
is
part
of
her
own
search
for
identity.
Within
the
context
of
developmental
psychology,
the
fairly
common
narrative
motifs
of
the
miraculous
birth
and
the
hero
as
savior
elaborate
upon
the
identity
crisis
and
the
personal
fable
as
features
of
adolescent
development
that
have
also
become
part
of
the
popular
construction
of
adolescence
in
young
adult
literature.
Balancing
Core
and
Context:
The
Socially
Responsible
Autonomous
Self
The personal
fable
and
the
identity
crisis
can
help
us
interpret
the
initial
‘tasks’
set
out
for
blood
witches,
but
understanding
the
teenagers’
challenge
of
integrating
their
new-found
powers
into
their
private
and
social
lives
requires
another
concept
related
to
adolescent
identity
development—identity
achievement,
or
developing
an
autonomous
self.
A
useful
framework
for
understanding
what
is
involved
in
identity
achievement
(which
is
heavily
influenced
by
Erikson’s
model
of
psychosocial
development)
can
be
drawn
from
the
aptly-named
Identity
and
Development:
An
Interdisciplinary
Approach,°
a
collection
that
explores
this
issue
through
a
number
of
disciplinary
lenses.
Although
the
individual
essays
in
this
collection
(particularly
those
on
identity
101
development
in
literature
and
history)
offer
insights
into
how
questions
of
identity
arise
in
all
aspects
of
culture,
the
model
proposed
in
the
concluding
essay,
“Identity
and
Development:
An
Interdisciplinary
View”
by
Graafsma
and
colleagues,
provides
a
framework
that
can
be
usefully
applied
to
examining
the
theme
of
identity
achievement
in
young
adult
literature.
The
authors
propose
a
‘core-context’
model,
in
which
“identity
involves
the
balance
between
something
that
is
core
and
something
that
serves
as
the
context
to
that
core”
(163).
The
nature
of
core
and
context
are
variables
that
change
across
the
disciplines.
Core
can
refer
to
“an
intrapsychic
core,
to
a
national
psyche,
or
even
the
core
of
the
writer
or
the
subject
of
the
writer”
(164).
Context
can
likewise
refer
to
“intrapsychic
context...and
to
wider
circles
of
contexts
such
as
family,
peer
group,
society,
and
historical
time”
(164).
The
“balance”
between
the
core
and
context
suggests
Erikson’s
“optimal
state
of
identity”
that
is
characterized
by
sameness,
continuity,
or
“a
sense
of
psychosocial
well-being”
(Erikson
165).
Although
the
psychosocial
approach
seems
to
stress
the
importance
of
social
acceptance
of
the
adolescent,
personal
identity
is
developed
from
the
interaction—or
the
“dynamic
tension”
(Graafsma
et
al.
162)—between
core
and
context.
As
Patrick
Heaven
states,
“identity
formation
and
achievement
imply
a
discovery
of
the
self’
(39).
While
the
concepts
of
identity
and
self
overlap
and
can
in
many
ways
be
used
interchangeably
(Kroger,
/dentity
Development:
Adolescence
through
Adulthood
7),
|
will
defer
to
Graafsma
and
Bosma’s
definition
of
self
as
“the
essence
of
the
102
individual
person...the
‘inner
core’
of
the
personality
system,
the
‘very
Me,’
or
the
‘source
of
mental
energy”
(181).
Thus
while
identity
formation
and
achievement
involves
development
in
various
domains,
the
self
is
the
core
of
these
experiences.
As
mentioned
above,
the
task
of
finding
out
about
one’s
self,
or
“seeking...and
articulating
a
sense
of
self-identity”
is
also
an
“overriding
characteristic”
of
young
adult
literature
(Brown
and
Stephens
53).
As
it
is
dependent
on
the
optimal
state
of
identity,
or
the
balancing
of
core
with
context,
that
is
part
of
identity
achievement,
the
development
of
an
autonomous
self
is
considered
“one
of
the
key
normative
psychosocial
developmental
issues
of
adolescence”
(Zimmer-Gembeck
&
Collins
177).
Despite
the
fact
that
the
possibility
of
autonomy
is
debated
in
many
circles
(particularly
in
poststructuralist
and
postmodern
criticism),’
within
the
social
construct
of
adolescence
as
it
is
informed
by
psychology,
autonomy
is
considered
the
normative
and
desired
outcome
of
adolescent
identity
formation.
The word
autonomy
has
numerous
connotations,
ranging
from
personal
freedom
to
detachment,
often
suggesting
the
separation
or
independence
of
the
core
self
from
social
contexts.
Within
the
context
of
psychosocial
identity
formation,
however,
autonomy
involves
the
balance
between
core
and
context,
or
the
self
and
society.
In
their
overview
of
research
on
autonomy
in
adolescence,
Zimmer-Gembeck
and
Collins
propose
that
“socially
responsible
and
optimal
autonomous
functioning
follows
from
the
continuing
maintenance
of
connections
to
social
partners,
while
becoming
increasingly
self-regulating,
self-
103
motivating,
and
independent”
(176).
Deci
and
Ryan
elaborate
on
the
psychosocial
nature
of
autonomy
by
suggesting
that
self-determination
consists
of
actions
performed
from
three
‘intrinsic’
motivations:
competence,
or
feeling
capable
of
effectually
influencing
one’s
environments
and
experiences,
rather
than
feeling
helpless;
autonomy,
or
believing
that
one’s
actions
come
from
the
self
as
opposed
to
being
under
external
control;
and
finally,
relatedness,
which
involves
maintaining
satisfying
relations
with
the
world;
including
caring
for
others
and
believing
that
they
care
for
one’s
self
(qtd.
in
Baumeister
714).
This
understanding
of
autonomy
also
characterizes what
Hall,
Erikson,
as
well
as
Havighurst
and
the
other
proponents
of
developmental
tasks
designate
as
the
ultimate
goal
of
adolescence:
developing
a
sense
of
self
through
interpersonal
interaction
leading
to
greater
social
acceptance.
Such
a
definition
allows
for
independent
action
that
is
mediated
by
concern
for
others—in
other
words,
the
actions
of
a
socially
responsible
autonomous
self.
As
an
alternative
to
detachment
or
separation,
this
emphasis
on
autonomy
as
acquiring
a
sense
of
agency
amidst
interpersonal
relationships
characterizes
the
development
of
adolescents
in
contemporary
young
adult
literature
as
well.
Anne
Scott
MacLeod
argues
that
as
opposed
to
young
adult
(particularly
‘problem’)
novels
of
the
sixties
and
seventies
that
concentrated
on
the
isolation
of
tormented
teens
who
“were
just
lost
and
unhappy
and
remarkably
passive
in
their
distress,”
contemporary
novels
focus
on
“adaptation
to
a
larger
world”
(126).
This
adaptation
involves
a
stronger
sense
of
personal
agency,
but
104
at
the
same
time
it
stresses
the
importance
of
interpersonal
relationships.
MacLeod
writes
that
in
recent
young
adult
novels “fewer
authors
insist
on
the
total
isolation
of
their
protagonists”
and
that
“most
1980’s
and
1990's
novels
acknowledge
that
human
beings
need
other
human
beings”
(127).
The
need
for
personal
relationships
is
hardly
seen
as
dependence,
however;
on
the
contrary,
these
relationships
provide
strength
and
motivation
to
the
adolescent
character:
[Flictional
adolescents
are
less
passive
than they
were
in
the
1970's.
They
are
still
largely
on
their
own,
but
in
many
novels
they
have
the
resources,
in
the
form
of
friends,
emotional
maturity,
and
an
occasional
helpful
adult,
to
deal
with
serious
problems
and
even
to
arrive
at
an
outlook
that
accommodates
the
pain
of
experience
without
blighting
all
hope.
(127)
Although
MacLeod’s
reading
of
autonomy
involves
decreased
emotional
dependence
on
parents
(128-9),
“[flamily,
defined
broadly
as
people
who
care
about
one
another,
whether
related
or
not,
is
understood
to
be
important”
(127).
According
to
MacLeod,
then,
contemporary
young
adult
literature
promotes
a
concept
of
maturity
that
accords
with
the
psychosocial
model
of
finding
a
balance
between
core
and
context,
or
the
development
of
the
self
within
the
context
of
interpersonal
relationships.
Power
as
Potential
Although
the
dilemma
of
the
blood
witch
seems
to
bear
little
resemblance
to
the
lives
of
everyday
teenagers,
the
struggle
of
these
young
witches
to
105
balance
their
newly-discovered
magical
abilities
with
their
previously
‘normal’
existences
nonetheless
fits
into
the
framework
of
psychosocial
identity
development
that
characterizes
depictions
of
their
more
‘mundane’
counterparts
in
young
adult
literature.
In
contemporary
novels
about
blood
witches,
agential
power
is
literally
translated
into
magical
power.
This
newfound
magical
power
gives
each
teen
the
ability
to
impact
their
environment,
which
consequently
provides
them
with
the
opportunity
to
act
independently.
Far
from
confirming
their
identities,
however,
managing
this
power
serves
as
a
motif
for
the
process
of
forming
a
core
self,
since
each
blood
witch
still
has
to
make
choices
about
how
to
use
the
power
that
they
have
inherited
as
part
of
their
prodigious
births.
Just
as
L.
Frank
Baum
in
The
Wizard
of
Oz
offered
binaries
for
types
of
witches
and
magic,
these
blood
witches
have
to
decide
if
they
will
be
‘good
witches’
or
‘bad
witches.’
Witch
Boy's
Marcus
realizes
the
destructive
potential
of
his
power
when
he
unintentionally
kills
his
girlfriend
(33-7)
and
nearly
kills
a
member
of
his
new
coven
who
has
provoked
him
into
a
fight
(158-60).
Marcus’s
father,
whose
own
character
is
questionable,
explains
the
morally
ambiguous
nature
of
this
newfound
power
to
the
teen:
“You
are
evil
as
you
are
good...
Your
powers,
Marcus,
like
your
nature,
can
cut
both
ways”
(Dark
Prince
18).
Although
he
is
reluctant
to
admit
to
his
father
that
he
is
capable
of
hurting
others,
Marcus
nonetheless
confesses
to
himself,
“!
quite
frankly
don’t
know
what
|
am,
what
I
am
capable
of”
and
concedes
that
“being
so
unsure
of
oneself
and
one’s
capabilities
may
be
a
pretty
fair
definition
of
evil”
(17-18).
In
this
respect,
Moon
106
depicts
Marcus’s
lack
of
self-knowledge
as
a
lack
of
competence
that
threatens
both
his
personal
autonomy
and
his
relationships
with
others.
Cate
Tiernan
likewise
depicts
witchcraft
as
agential
power
that
the
blood
witch
must
both
accept
and
learn
to
control
as
part
of
her
identity
development.
Just
as
in
Witch
Boy,
in
the
Sweep
series
it
is
Morgan
Rowland’s
long-absent
and
reprehensible
biological
father
who
explains
that
the
girl’s
powerful
magic
represents
potential
only.
As
he
tells
her,
“magick
[sic]
is
neither
good
nor
evil.
It
just
is.
Power
is
neither
good
nor
evil.
It
just
is”
(Eclipse
65).
In
his
attempts
to
dissuade
the
teen
from
siding
against
him
by
joining
the
side
of
‘good,’
Morgan’s
father
then
adopts
the
discourse
associated
with
adolescent
identity
exploration,
telling
the
teen
that
she
is
too
young
to
make
a
commitment
either
way.
Sounding
very
much
like
a
concerned
parent,
he
reasons:
“Don't
limit
yourself
this
way.
You're
only
seventeen:
You
have
your
whole
life
of
making
magick—beautiful,
powerful
magick—ahead
of
you.
Why
close
all
the
doors
now?”
(65).
Tiernan’s
choice
to
explicate
Morgan’s
struggle
with
power
through
a
discussion
between
a
parent
and
child
about
personal
choices
and
potential
emphasizes
the
metaphorical
relevance
of
magic
as
agential
power
that
young
adults
must
learn
to
balance
in
their
development
of
autonomy.
Finally
in
the
Wicked
series,
Holder
and
Viguie
use
Holly’s
struggle
with
the
power
she
has
inherited
as
the
reincarnation
of
her
powerful
ancestor
to
depict
the
difficult
moral
consequences
that
can
come
with
exercising
magical
power.
For
example,
in
order
to
strengthen
her
magic
in
the
fight
against
the
107
Deveraux
clan
(a
rivalry
that
her
ancestor
Isabeau’s
ghost
continually
provokes),
Holly
decides
to
sacrifice
her
cousin’s
familiar,
a
pet
cat.
The
sacrifice
grants
Holly
the
service
of
“the
Dark
Ones”
(Curse
198),
and
with
this
act
the
authors
write
that
“ambition
and
determination
had
supplanted
her
goodness;
now
she
had
purpose
and
passion,
but
she
wasn’t
sure
she
was
still
lovable”
(198).
When
she
is
confronted
by
her
cousin
and
other
coven
members
and
reprimanded
for
her
act,
Holly
is
described
as
feeling
“sick
to
her
soul,
mean,
and
unlovable,”
but
nonetheless
“strong”
(204).
The
blood
witch’s
use
of
power
brings
about
agential
and
social
conflicts,
or
a
rift
between
being
“strong”
and
being
“lovable,”
which
represents
the
tension
between
core
and
context
that
must
be
balanced
as
a
part
of
the
teens’
identity
development.
The
Influence
of
Close
Relationships
on
Identity
Formation
The
discourse
taken
from
psychosocial
models
of
identity
development
has
thus
far
helped
illuminate
how
the
struggles
of
teen
blood
witches
are
magical
equivalents
of
the
searches
for
identity
that
characterize
cultural
depictions
of
their
mundane
counterparts;
likewise,
the
psychosocial
mode
can
also
be
used
to
interpret
the
blood
witches’
resolution
of
their
identity
crises.
While
their
‘power
literally
grants
blood
witches
the
agential
aspects
of
autonomy—competence
and
the
ability
to
act
from
the
core—it
is
the
need
for
relatedness
that
ultimately
influences
what
sort
of
witch
each
teen
will
develop
into,
and
thus
what
identity
they
will
achieve.
Because
of
their
great
power,
the
108
adolescent
witches’
behaviour
is
understood
to
impact
a
large
social
network
(coven,
witch
community,
or
even
the
world
of
ordinary
people),
but
as
with
the
psychosocial
model
for
adolescent
identity
formation,
it
is
their
desire
to
maintain
close
relationships
that
impact
the
teen
witches’
development
the
most.
As
opposed
to
general
social
relationships,
which
can
exist
in
a
number
of
contexts,
social
psychologist
Arthur
Aron
defines
close
or
personal
relationships
as
“patterns
of
interactions
that
involve
affectively
strong
bonds
between
individuals
and
considerable
interdependence,
such
as
romantic
and
marital
relationships,
friendships,
and
parent-child
relationships”
(442).
By
providing
a
link
to
the
blood
witches’
core
selves
as
they
existed
before
their
identity
crises,
these
close
relationships,
like
MacLeod’s
extended
notion
of
family
(127),
aid
in
the
teens’
identity
achievement,
which
involves
“merging
one’s
past
with
future
aspirations”
(Heaven
26).
Wicked,
Sweep,
and
Witch
Boy
all
have
their
teen
blood
witches
ultimately
balance
core
and
context
through
their
close
relationships,
and
by
extension
their
larger
social
circles,
thus
reflecting
the
pervasive
cultural
theme
of
the
outcome
of
adolescent
identity
formation:
the
development
of
a
socially
responsible
autonomous
self.
In
the
Wicked
series,
Holder
and
Viguie
use
the
trope
of
possession
to
symbolize
Holly’s
lack
of
a
true
core;
consequently,
it
is
also
through
breaking
her
possession
that
the
teen
is
able
to
begin
to
form
her
own
identity.
By
helping
a
coven
member
clear
her
body
of
a
host
of
demons
who
have
possessed
the
girl
and
tried
to
attack
other
coven
members
through
109
her
body
(Spellbound
254-72),
Holly
achieves
a
sense
of
autonomy,
taking
control
over
the
magical
power
and
the
blood
feud
that
she has
inherited
as
part
of
her
Cahors
heritage.
Following
the
exorcism,
which
literally
embodies
the
removal
of
outside
influences
on
the
core
self,
Holly
is
able
to
tell
her
boyfriend
Jer
confidently
that
their
relationship
will
not
end
in
betrayal
as
Ilsabeau
and
Jean’s
did
since
it
belongs
to
the
two
of
them
and
is
theirs
to
determine.
When
Jer
first
protests
that
it
is
their
ancestors
acting
through
them,
Holly
assures
him:
“It
is
us...It
always
has
been”
(303).
While
Holly
is
able
to
now
act
on
her
own
emotions
(as
opposed
to
the
conflicted
desires
of
her
ancestor,
Isabeau),
Jer
realizes
that
he
is
a
“coward”
(304)
for
using
the
threat
of
his
ancestor’s
influence
as
an
excuse
for
not
acting
on
his
emotions.
Holder
and
Viguie
develop
Holly's
core
through
the
teen’s
increasing
ability
to
control
the
powerful
influences
that
threaten
her
friends
and
lover,
leaving
her
with
the
confidence
to
act
according
to
her
own
desires.
Cate
Tiernan
also
makes
personal
relationships
the
pivotal
factor
influencing
how
Morgan
Rowlands
decides
to
use
her
power
in
the
Sweep
series.
In
Morgan’s
case,
it
is
the
absence
of
a
close
relationship
with
her
biological
father
that
ultimately
has
her
decide
against
using
her
power
to
strengthen
the
evil
Woodbane
clan.
Although
she
knows
that
“it’s
wrong
to
wipe
out
whole
villages,
whole
covens,
in
one
blow”
(Eclipse
65),
Morgan
is
nonetheless
moved
when
Ciaran
appeals
to
their
parent-child
bond:
“You
are
my
daughter;
my
blood
is
in
your
veins.
I’m
your
family.
I’m
your
father—your
real
110
father.
Join
with
me
and
you'll
have
a
family
at
last”
(65,
emphasis
original).
She
later
realizes,
however,
the
importance
of
a
caring
bond
as
opposed
to
a
biological
connection
when
Ciaran
ultimately
threatens
to
kill
her
if
she
does
not
join
him,
just
as
he
killed
her
birth
mother:
Hearing
him
confirm
this
broke
my
heart.
|
felt
a
sadness
in
my
chest
like
a
dull
weight.
Any
of
the
confused
affection
|
had
for
him,
any
lingering
hopes
|
had
of
someday,
somehow
having
an
actual
relationship
with
the
man
who
had
fathered
me,
dissipated.
A
real
father
would
never
hurt
his
own
daughter—as
a
real
soul
mate
wouldn't
have
killed
his
lover.
(119)
Tiernan
emphasizes
the
impact
of
recognizing
the
false
bond
on
Morgan’s
own
development
as
a
witch
when,
following
this
realization,
Morgan
turns
her
father
over
to
the
council
of
witches,
thus
severing
her
ties
to
her
father’s
family
and
allying
herself
with
her
mother’s
clan.
Morgan’s
identity
achievement
is
revealed
during
her
final
confrontation
with
Selene,
the
leader
of
her
father’s
dark
Woodbane
clan.
Just
as
Holder
and
Viguie
do
with
Holly
in
the
Wicked
series,
Tiernan
symbolizes
identity
achievement
through
Morgan’s
full
assumption
of
power.
In
the
middle
of
the
battle
with
Selene,
Morgan
accepts
her
full
identity
on
her
mother’s
side
and
makes
a
decision
about
her
destiny,
declaring:
“I’m
a
Riordan...l’m
the
sguirs
dan
[the
destroyer].
This
will
end
here,
and
my
descendents
will
go
on
to
help
Woodbanes
be
everything
they
can
be,
on
the
side
of
good”
(162,
emphasis
added).
The
acceptance
of
her
heritage
and
hope
111
for
her
descendents
represents
for
Morgan
what
the
psychosocial
model
describes
as the
“merging
of
one’s
past
with
future
aspirations,
while
recognizing
one’s
present
talents,
limitations
and
characteristics”
that
defines
identity
formation
(Heaven
26).
In
Witch
Boy,
Russell
Moon
even
more
explicitly
establishes
the
importance
of
relatedness
in
the
development
of
a
socially
responsible
adolescent
self.
Where
Tiernan
has
Morgan
make
the
choice
to
join
one
group
of
witches
over
another,
Moon's
conflicted
hero
is
finally
able
to
control
his
dark
power
and
achieve
a
firm
sense
of
autonomy
by
temporarily
rejecting
the
only
options
that
have
been
presented
to
him.
Although
he
is
unsure
of
who
to
trust—his
father,
or
the
coven
members—Marcus
finally
makes
an
alliance
based
on
how
each
side
as
acted
towards
his
mother
and
pet
dog/familiar.
The
coven's
acts
of
killing
Marcus’s
pet
and
kidnapping
his
mother
at
the
beginning
of
the
final
book
in
the
series
help
Marcus
finally
decide
that
they
are
his
enemies:
“They
have
my
mother.
The
coven,
the
witches,
who
first
showed
me
what
|
was.
Whom
up
to
now
|
have been
unsure
of—whom
|
have
been
unable
to
pin
down
on
one
side
or
the
other—good
or
evil,
friend
or
foe.
They
have
made
themselves
known
at
last”
(Blood
War
3,
emphasis
original).
His
desire
to
save
his
mother
also
leads
Marcus
to
develop
an
autonomous
position
in
which
he
is
only
allied
to
his
father
out
of
a
shared
concern
for
his
mother,
Eleanor.
Even
though
his
inherited
status
as
a
blood
witch
places
him
in
the
middle
of
it,
Marcus
takes
a
new
position
outside
of
the
conflict
between
the
coven
and
his
father,
the
112
exiled
former
king
of
the
witches,
even
when
he
decides
to
join
temporarily
with
his
father
in
the
interest
of
saving
his
mother’s
life.
Moon
emphasizes
the
importance
of
close
relationships
over
the
promise
of
power
in
Marcus’s
decision:
Not
that
!
believe
[my
father]
is
in
any
way
perfect,
or
solidly
good.
It
may
be
that
for
him,
just
as
for
the
coven,
this
is
all
about
blood
and
power.
The
coven
wants
the
impurity
of
human/witch
blood
like
mind
obliterated,
or
at
least
somehow
absorbed
into
the
fold.
My
father
wants
a
new,
mixed
breed
of
witch.
And
they
both
want
power
and
control.
Me?
|
want
my
mother.
(11,
emphasis
original)
Marcus's
desire
to
protect
his
mother
also
gives
him
the
strength
to
defeat
the
coven
leader,
Spence,
who
has
kidnapped
her.
Although
it
seems
as
if
Marcus
will
lose
to
the
coven
leader
in
their
final
confrontation,
the
battle
suddenly
turns
when
Spence
makes
a
move
to
attack
Eleanor
and
Marcus
finds
new
strength
and
power
with
which
to
defend
her:
“with
that
step,
[Spence]
has
finished
a
process
begun
by
my
father
long
ago...1
am
stronger
in
this
moment
than
anyone
has
ever
been”
(133,
emphasis
original).
Like
Holder,
Viguie,
and
_
Tiernan,
Moon
uses
the
development
of
the
teen
blood
witch
as
a
motif
to
illustrate
the
importance
of
the
context
of
close
relationships
in
the
formation
of
the
core
adolescent
self.
113
Conclusion
What
is
significant,
then,
about
contemporary
novels
about
male
and
female
adolescent
blood
witches
is
how
unremarkable
these
books
are,
thematically.
On
the
surface
the
blood
witches’
choice
to
follow
good
over
evil
may
seem
inevitable
or
even
formulaic,
but
it
is
how
and
why
they
make
their
choices
that
defines
the
dominant
literary
and
cultural
theme
of
identity
development
that
these
books
share
with
realistic
young
adult
novels.
Since
power
itself
is
purposefully
made
morally
ambiguous
in
these
novels,
responsibility
to
others,
rather
than
an
adherence
to
an
abstract
notion
of
justice,
motivates
the
teens
to
make
their
choices
and
allegiances.
As
they
concern
the
moral
and
emotional
development
of
young
people
who
have
suddenly
been
granted
great
power
over
themselves
and
others,
contemporary
novels
about
blood
witches
depict
the
growth
of
the
young
witch
as
a
model
for
the
desired
outcome
of
adolescence—the
development
of
the
socially
responsible
autonomous
self.
In
this
way
these popular
novels
articulate
the
overarching
theme
of
the
cultural
construction
of
adolescence
that
has
its
roots
in
the
work
of
Hall
and
Erikson:
passing
through
a
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
in
order
to
achieve
identities
as
autonomous
adults
who
are
able
to
balance
their
core
selves
within
the
contexts
of
various
close
relationships,
and
by
extension
larger
social
contexts.
Applying
concepts
and
terminology
drawn
from
psychosocial
models
of
identity
development
to
literary
analyses
of
non-canonical
or
popular
texts,
such
as the
series
examined
here,
not
only
provides
us
with
a
useful
114
vocabulary
for
understanding
the
theme
of
identity
development
in
this
body
of
work;
it
also
allows
us
to
once
again
assess
how
the
adult
values
and
beliefs
about
the
development
of
young
adults
that
come
to
us
from
practical
disciplines
comes
to
shape
our
literary
construction
of
adolescence.
Shifting
from
exploring
the
psychological
needs
of
the
reader
to
the
pedagogical
goals
of
the
author,
the
next
chapter
will
examine
another
common
witch
motif
found
in
youth
literature:
the
historical
witch.
My
analysis
of
the
changes
to
the
historical
witch
motif
in
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child
will
examine
historical
fiction
through
the
disciplinary
lenses
of
education,
history,
and
cultural
studies
in
order
to
show
how
historical
fiction
functions
as
a
pedagogical
literary
form,
thus
further
revealing
how
the
witch
has
come
to
inhabit
a
new
range
of
meanings
concerning
the
development
and
education
of
adolescents.
Notes
1
For
example,
in
her
reading
of
The
Feminine
Subject
in
Children’s
Literature,
Christine
Wilkie-Stibbs
describes
how
Mahy
“exploits,
if
not
subverts,
the
construction
of
the
witch
at
the
negative
pole
of
the
female
spectrum...whose
repression
is
necessary
to
sustain
male
narratives
of
supremacy”
(109).
2
Most
discussions
of
Hall’s
work
explicitly
criticize
his
orientation
towards
eugenics,
with
his
concern
for
adolescence
corresponding
closely
to
his
belief
in
the
possibility
of
improving
the
species
(or
more
particularly,
the
Anglo-Saxon
‘race’)
by
administering
properly
to
the
behaviour
of
youth
(see
Dacey
40-43).
Christine
Griffin
offers
a
more
complete
critique
of
Hall’s
ideas
and
the
often
contradictory
nature
of
his
allowances
and
constraints
in
Representations
of
Youth:
The
115
Study
of
Youth
and
Adolescence
in
Britain
and
America.
She
argues
that
“Hall
represented
unspontaneous
young
white
middle-class
males
as
normal,
with
exteriors
or
conformity
and
confidence
hiding
a
turmoil
of
emotion,
sexual
confusion,
and
self-doubt”
(15).
3
Joseph
Kett
offers
a
comprehensive
contextualization
of
Hall’s
work
within
the
emergence
of
adolescence
at
the
beginning
of
the
twentieth
century
in
his
often-cited
historical
overview,
Rites
of
Passage:
Adolescence
in
America
1790
to
the
Present
(1977).
See
also
Nancy
Lesko’s
chapter
on
“Making
Adolescence
at
the
Turn
of
the
Century”
in
Act
Your
Age!:
A
Cultural
Construction
of
Adolescence
for
a
thorough
discussion
of
the
origins
of
Hall's
ideology
of
adolescence
in
the
nineteenth-century
European
romanticism
of
youth and
his
continuing
influence
on
North
American
concepts
of
adolescence.
4
Jane
Kroger
offers
a
comprehensive
comparative
discussion
of
the
various
approaches
to
studying
identity
development,
including
psychosocial,
historical,
narrative,
and
sociocultural
(Identity
Development:
Adolescence
through
Adulthood
14-27).
Most
textbooks
or
guides
on
adolescence
contain
helpful
overviews
of
the
topic
of
identity
development;
see,
for
example,
Dacey
and
Kenny’s
chapter
on
“The
Self
and
Identity
Formation,”
in
Adolescent
Development,
or
the
chapter
on
“Identity
and
the
Self"
in
Heaven’s
The
Social
Psychology
of
Adolescence.
5
For
example,
James
Marcia’s
“identity-status
model”
is
often
cited
as an
influential
development
of
Erikson’s
work
on
adolescent
identity
formation
(eg.
Kroger,
“Identity
Development
during
Adolescence”
207;
Heaven
31).
Marcia
identifies
four
stages
regarding
how
adolescents
approach
identity-defining
roles
and
values
(identity-achieved,
moratorium,
foreclosure,
and
diffusion)
which
attempt
to
understand
the
“relationship
of
experimentation
and
commitment
variable
to
the
formation
of
ego
identity”
(Kroger,
“Identity
Development
During
Adolescence”
211).
6
This
collection
arose
from
a
multidisciplinary
conference
on
identity
development,
held
in
Amsterdam
in
1990,
that
brought
together
scholars
from
such
diverse
fields
as
psychoanalysis,
history,
psychology,
and
literature
(x).
The
aim
of
the
conference
was
two-fold:
to
bring
together
116
recent
research
in
the
various
disciplines,
and
to
try
and
find
the
“central
concepts”
that
were
common
to
all
approaches
(x).
7
The
place
of
the
individual
in
society
has
become
a
topic
of
great
concern
in
contemporary
criticism
of
young
adult
literature,
with
opinions
varying
on
the
presentations
and
possibilities
of
achieving
autonomy
or
a
sense
of self.
Since
|
have
chosen
to
focus
on
the
particular
contribution
of
developmental
psychology
to
the
cultural
construction
of
adolescence,
|
have
decided
to
forgo
discussing
subjectivity.
Nonetheless,
|
wish
to
include
a
brief
mention
of
two
important
studies
on
subjectivity
and
identity
in
adolescent
fiction.
Poststructuralist
readings
of
young
adult
literature
follow
postmodern
rejection
of
the
modernist
notion
of
autonomy
and
instead
focus
on
how
the
subject
is
constructed
by
various
institutions,
including
language.
In
Disturbing
the
Universe:
Power
and
Repression
in
Adolescent
Literature,
Roberta
Seelinger
Trites
argues
that
“power
is
even
more
fundamental
to
adolescent
literature
than
growth”
(x)
since
“adolescents
do
not
achieve
maturity
in
a
YA
novel
until
they
have
reconciled
themselves
to
the
power
entailed
in
the
social
institutions
with
which
they
must
interact
to
survive’
(20).
Since
this
relatively
recent
genre
is,
according
to
Trites’s
argument,
built
upon
the
“postmodern
awareness
of
the
subject’s
inevitable
construction
as
a
product
of
language”
(18),
this
awareness
then
“renders
the
construct
of
self-determination
virtually
obsolete”
(18).
Rather
than
positing
‘growing
up’
as
leading
the
achievement
of
autonomy—here
called
“transcendence
or
separation”
(18)—Trites
argues
that
instead
“the
YA
novel
teaches
adolescents
how
to
exist
within
the
(capitalistically
bound)
institutions
that
necessarily
define
teenager's
existence”
(19).
Not
all
theorists
agree
with
the
importance
(or
uniformity)
of
subjectivity
as
Trites
reads
it.
Robyn
McCallum
instead
chooses
to
examine
“ideologies
of
identity”
as
they
appear
in
adolescent
fiction,
of
which
poststructuralist
subjectivity
and
humanism
exist
as
binaries.
McCallum
makes
the
point
that
poststructuralist
criticism
“situates
[the]
individual
within
dominant
social
and
ideological
paradigms,
a
prestructured
social
order
within
which
s/he
is
ultimately
represented
as
disempowered
and
passive"
(7).
On
the
other
hand,
adolescent
fiction
and
117
criticism
“typically
assume
and
valorize
humanistic
concepts
of
individual
agency,
that
is
the
capacity
to
act
independently
of
social
restraint,”
an
ideology
that
“offers
young
readers
a
worldview
which
for
many
is
simply
idealistic
and
unattainable”
(7).
McCallum’s
concern,
then,
is
finding
a
balance
between
these
two
ideologies
of
identity
(7).
118
Chapter
3
The
Historical
Witch:
Rethinking
History
through
Historical
Fiction
The
two
previous
chapters
on
the
wicked
witch
and
the
blood
witch
motifs
have
explored
the
use
of
the
fictional
witch
figure
as
a
symbol
of
psychological
or
developmental
importance
to
a
projected
adolescent
audience;
the
remainder
of
the
study
will
examine
the
witch
as
an
actual
historical
or
contemporary
figure.
While
the
final
chapter
will
discuss
novels
featuring
Wiccan
or
pagan
characters
(the
“real
witch”
motif),
this
chapter
will
explore
how
the
historical
witch
has
been
depicted
in
historical
fiction
for
young
adults.
Taking
as
my
example
novels
concerning
the
North
American
witch
trials
of
the
seventeenth
century,
in
this
chapter
|
will
explore
how
insights
gained
from
education,
cultural
studies,
and
critical
pedagogy
can
be
used
to
examine
and
reassess
the
view
of
historical
fiction
as
a
pedagogical
form
through
which
readers
gain
information
and
perspectives
on
specific
historical
events.
The
dominant
discourse
and
major
works
of
literature
systematically
dismiss
the
idea
that
the
New
England
witch
trials
should
be
studied
as
just
that—the
persecution
of
witches.
While
there
is
no
doubt
that
the
majority
of
those
who
were
accused
and
even
executed
as
witches
were
‘innocent,’
the
catalyst
for
the
hysteria
was
a
long-standing
fear
and
oppression
of
those
who
practiced
a
belief
that
was
different
from
the
dominant
Christianity.
By
maintaining
a
pedagogical
focus
that
only
explores
the
New
England
witch
trials
as
a
cipher
or
simply
as
a
metaphor
for
other
situations,
educators
and
writers
have
diminished
the
importance
of
cosmology
in
the
condemnation
of
witches
and
Native
North
119
Americans,
who
were
both
seen
by
Christians
as
‘devil-worshippers.’
Such
an
exclusion
also
overlooks
the
significance
of
the
trials
in
the
cultural
identity
of
those
who
today
identify
themselves
as
“witches’"-—-Wiccans
and
Neopagans.
A
revised
pedagogical
strategy,
both
in
the
writing
and
teaching
of
fiction,
is
needed
to
initiate
meaningful
discussion
about
the
New
England
witch
trials.
The
metaphorization
of
historical
events
in
general
must
be
reassessed
as
a
learning
strategy,
and
as
in
the
case
of
the
witch
trials,
analyzing
rather
than
analogizing
events
can
lead
to
new
perspectives
on
historical
events
that
have
particular
relevance
today.
|
will
examine
how
a
new
young
adult
novel,
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child,
acts
as
an
alternative
text
in
which
the
neglected
issue
of
the
role
of
cosmology
in
the
witch
persecutions
is
explored.
|
will
show
how
Rees’s
work
provides
an
important
new
dimension
to
the
discussion
of
the
New
England
witch
trials,
and
how
focusing
on
the
spiritual
controversy
embedded
within
the
persecution
of
witchcraft
can
provide
new
insight
into
the
cosmological
differences
that
continue
to
characterize
relations
between
monotheistic
Western
religions
and
the
pantheistic
or
shamanistic
spirituality
of
Native
North
Americans,
Wiccans,
and
followers
of
indigenous
faiths
world-wide.
Using
Rees’s
novel
as
an
example
of
how
the
historical
witch
is
being
reinterpreted
today,
this
chapter
will
show
how
the
witch
figure
has
become
a
symbol
through
which
we
can
examine
the
ways
in
which
the
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
studying
youth
literature
can
be
integrated
in
an
analysis
of
how
historical
fiction
can
be
used
as
an
educational
forum
for
authors
and
educators
to
teach
interpretations
of
history
to
young
readers.
120
Historical
Fiction:
Using
Literature
to
Teach
History
Historical
fiction,
more
than
any
other
contemporary
form,
continues
to
fulfill
the
traditional
goal
of
youth
literature
to
instruct
with
delight.
A
combination
of
historical
fact
and
imaginative
fiction,
historical
fiction
has
long
been
valued
by
adults
for
being
“more
entertaining
than
history
and
more
informative
than
fiction”
(Cai
279).
While
historical
authenticity
or
accuracy
is
considered
an
essential
value
of
this
body
of
work
(Cai
282-3),
it
is
the
literary
aspect
of
historical
fiction
that
conveys
to
readers
a
knowledge
of
the
past
in
more
personal
terms
than
facts
alone
can
provide.
As
Alethea
Helbig
states,
the
pedagogical
and
imaginative
promise
of
historical
fiction
is
that
“young
readers
can
learn
not
only
the
facts
of
history,
to
which
the
writer
must,
of
course,
adhere,
but
more
importantly,
they
can
discover
that,
while
circumstances
have
changed,
human
nature
and
basic
human
values
have
not”
(45).
Historical
fiction
is
even
commonly
included
in
social
studies
programs
for
its
ability
to
engage
students
imaginatively
while
providing
them
with
an
illustration
of
the
past
that
can
be
used
to
complement
educational
units
on
historical
periods
such
as
the
Middle
Ages.
'
While
some
educators
and
critics
value
what
it
allegedly
tells
us
about
the
unchanging
human
condition
or
the
accuracy
of
its
reflection
of
the
past,
others
argue
that
the
transformative
power
of
historical
fiction
instead
lies
in
the
authors’
ability
to
represent
a
range
of
alternative
perspectives
that
may
not
always
have
been
examined
in
traditional
accounts
of
historical
events.
Rather
than
retelling
one
dominant
narrative,
“today’s
historical
writing
for
children
often
present
untold
stories
that
begin
to
fill
in
the
gaps
of
mainstream
versions
of
the
past”
(Enisco
et
al.
279).
In
this
respect,
historical
fiction
tells
121
us
as
much
about
the
present
as
it
does
the
past.
Seelinger
Trites
argues
that
“it
is
not
enough
to
use
novels
to
teach
about
the
historical
period
in
which
they
are
set.
These
novels
are
themselves
historical
artifacts
of
the
time
period
during
which
they
were
written”
(31).
Historical
novels
and
our
pedagogical
approaches
to
connecting
young
readers
to
them
depend
on
interpretations
of
past
events
that
often
reflect
the
attitudes
and
beliefs
of
the
period
in
which
the
novels
are
written.
As
McGillis
observes
in
his
exploration
of
the
ideological
aspects
of
historical
fiction
for
young
people:
“Implicit
in
every
narrative
of
the
past
is
a
reflection
of
the
present.
This
is
the
way
things
were.
How
does
this
square
with
the
way
things
are?
And
do
we
wish
things
to
be
different
in
the
future
from
the
way
they
are
now?
In
other
words,
narrative
is
always
a
constructing
of
ideology”
(51).
Creating
narratives
out
of
the
past
reflects
a
desire
to
draw
a
connection
between
events
in
the
past
and
the
circumstances
of
the
present,
which
often
includes
examining
difficult
or
traumatic
episodes
with
the
optimistic
intention
of
avoiding
or
correcting
similar
situations
in
the
present
or
future.
McGillis
points
out
the
important
fact
that
the
‘lesson’
conveyed
in
fictional
narratives
written
about
a
specific
historical
period
or
fact
will
change
to
reflect
the
worldviews
of
the
time
in
which
it
is
written.
And
as
interpretations
of
history
change,
broaden,
or
are
questioned,
so
must
the
value
of
traditionally
sanctioned
historical
narratives
be
reexamined.
The
case
of
the
historical
witch
is
an
ideal
example
through
which
to
examine
changing
ideological
attitudes
toward
cosmology
and
the
historical
cultural
imperialism
of
Western
Christianity,
especially
regarding
pantheistic
spirituality
in
North
America;
the
treatment
of
the
historical
witch
motif
also
poses
important
questions
about
the
practice
of
122
interpreting
history
itself.
As
|
will
show,
critically
examining
various
fictional
interpretations
.
of
the
witch
trials
through
the
disciplinary
lenses
of
cultural
studies,
history,
and
critical
pedagogy
can
bring
to
light
a
number
of
issues
about
the
sometimes
problematic
literary
and
pedagogical
function
of
historical
fiction
as
a
means
of
providing
insight
into
the
present
through
narratives
of
the
past.
Teaching
the
Witch
Triafs:
The
Problematic
Use
of
History
as
Metaphor
The
New
England
witch
trials
of
the
seventeenth
and
eighteenth
centuries
stands
as
one
of
the
most
intriguing
and
sensational
events
in
North
American
history.
Often
known
for
the
most
famous
case,
the
Salem
witch
trials,
the
outbreak
of
‘witch
hysteria’
in
early
America
is
often
the
subject
of
classroom
history
units,
academic
discussion,
and
historical
literature.
The
trend
in
discourse
about
the
trials
has
been
to
interpret
their
significance
in
terms
of
what
the
witch
symbolized
to
colonists;
as
a
result,
the
persecution
of
witches
in
the
seventeenth
century
has
been
most
often
interpreted
as
a
case
of
mass
hysteria,
and
most
commonly,
the
persecution
of
unorthodox
individuals.
Traditional
pedagogical
approaches,
both
in
works
of
fiction
and
in
the
classroom
setting,
reflect
these
interpretations.
In
“The
Salem
Witch
Trials:
History
Repeats
Itself’
Bonnie
Albertson
outlines
a
high
school
classroom
unit
for
studying
Arthur
Miller's
famous
play
about
the
witch
trials,
The
Crucible,
which
focuses
on
providing
generalized
themes
for
understanding
the
causes
of
this
event.
While
Miller’s
play
is
not
by
definition
young
adult
literature,
it
is
nonetheless
regularly
studied
in
secondary
classrooms
as
a
work
of
historical
fiction
dealing
with
the
witch
123
trials.
Albertson
identifies
the
“teachable
moment”
in
this
unit
of
study
as
responding
to
students
inevitable
incredulity
at
the
hysteria
by
“plant[ing]
the
seed
that
maybe
what
happened
in
Salem
is
not
so
different
from
what
happens
today
all
over
the
world
and
in
our
own
community”
(89).
Like
many
educators,
Albertson
utilizes
the
event
of
the
New
England
witch
trials
to
find
parallels
to
other
instances
of
persecution,
and
to
show
students
how
to
“generalize
from
their
reading
and
research,
as
well
as
to
compare
and
to
contrast”
(99).
Miller
intentionally
wrote
The
Crucible
in
the
1950s
as
an
allegorical
commentary
on
McCarthy’s
persecution
of
communism
in
his
own
society.”
Albertson
consequently
begins
her
unit
on
the
play
by
showing
how
“the
seventeenth-century
fear
of
the
devil
compares
to
the
twentieth-century
fear
of
communism”
in
that
“both
witch
hunts
were
occasioned
by
society’s
fear
of
the
other-—
xenophobia’
(90).
She
goes
on
to
recommend
other
“easy
comparisons”
(94)
and
examples
of
xenophobia,
such
as
the
experience
of
Chinese
immigrants
in
the
late
nineteenth
century,
genocide
in
the
Balkans,
racial
struggles
in
South
Africa,
and
even
the
public
response
to
the
AIDS
epidemic.
By
researching
and
developing
these
comparisons,
Albertson
believes
that
“students
learn
from
these
presentations
that,
in
fact,
history
has
repeated
itself
over
and
over”
(98).
Miller’s
focus
in
his
work
and
Albertson’s
approach
in
the
classroom
exemplify
typical
pedagogical
uses
of
the
New
England
witch
trials,
where
the
historic
event
becomes
a
trope
through
which
to
explore
other
examples
of
persecution.
This
tendency
to
search
for
parallels
to
the
trials
is
so
common
that
the
term
witch
hunt
now
carries
a
meaning
independent
of
the
event
itself,
124
applicable
to
any
situation
where
people
with
unorthodox
views
are
persecuted
in
some
manner.
The
use
of
the
witch
trials
as
a
parallel
to
other
occasions
implies
that
a
‘theme’
has
been
distilled
from
this
event,
a
theme
which
in
turn
becomes
the
dominant
way
of
understanding
and
interpreting
what
transpired.
Common
lexical
and
literary
use,
as
well
as
popular
belief,
indeed
seem
to
support
Albertson's
pedagogical
focus,
but
more
recent
work
in
public
memory
theory
in
the
field
of
cultural
studies
problematizes
the
traditional
use
of
the
witch
trials
as
a
trope,
and
calls
for
a
reexamination
of
the
events
and
figures
surrounding
the
trials.
The
typical
pedagogical
use
of
the
New
England
witch
trials
as
a
trope
for
persecution
needs
to
be
reconsidered.
Although
educators
and
writers
like
Albertson
and
Miller
find
the
comparison
between
the
trials
and
contemporary
events
fruitful,
the
overuse
of
this
event
as
a
trope
can
actually
trivialize
or
minimize
both
the
original
occurrence
as
well
as
the
situation
it
is
being
compared
to.
A
similar
concern
has
arisen
with
regards
to
the
role
of
the
Holocaust
in
education
and
the
media.
Writing
on
media
depictions
of
genocide,
Zelizer
comments
that “the
term
Holocaust
has
been
widely
overused,
to
the
point
that
it
no
longer
displays
a
direct
link
with
the
events
that
originally
thrust
it
into
the
public
eye”
(205,
emphasis
original).
Zelizer
argues
that
the
problem
with
drawing
parallels
between
one
well-known
event
and
a
more
contemporary
issue
is
that
“employing
familiar
terms
in
so
many
new
contexts...flattens
the
original
term’s
resonance
and
denies
the
complexity
of
the
events
to
which
it
125
refers”
(205).
As
with
the
term
witch
hunt,
“subtle
lexical
changes—such
as
the
transformation
of
Holocaust
to
holocaust
and
of
genocide
to
genocidal—further
flatten
the
term’s
original
referent”
(206).
Like
Zelizer,
Huyssen
addresses
the
possible
dangers
of
the
globalization
of
Holocaust
memory
leading
to
a
trivialization,
rather
than
a
deeper
understanding
and
acknowledgment,
of
historical
and
contemporary
events.
He
argues
that
“it
is
precisely
the
emergence
of
the
Holocaust
as
universal
trope
that
allows
Holocaust
memory
to
latch on
to
specific
local
situations
that
are
historically
distant
and
politically
distinct
from
the
original
event”
(24).
The
use
of
the
Holocaust,
or
any
well-known
historical
event,
as
a
“universal
trope”
causes
the
event
to
“los[e]
its
quality
as
index
of
the
specific
historical
event
and
begi[n]
to
function
as
metaphor
for
other
traumatic
histories
and
memories”
(24).
Huyssen
stresses
that “the
global
and
local
of
Holocaust
memory
have
entered
into
new
constellations
that
beg
to
be
analyzed
case
by
case,”
whereas
the
overuse
of
a
well-known
occurrence
as
a
trope
“decenters”
both
the
original
event
and
the
one
it
is
being
used
to
refer
to
(24).
Huyssen
specifically
criticizes
the
metaphorization
of
traumatic
events
in
acts
of
remembrance.
While
such
comparisons
“may
rhetorically
energize
some
discourses
of
traumatic
memory,
they
may
also
work
as
screen
memories
or
simply
block
insight
into
specific
local
histories”
(24).
Huyssen
is
emphasizing
that
the
metaphorization
of
historical
events
can
lead
to
(unintentional)
trivialization
of
their
complexity
and
impact.
126
Although
both
Zelizer
and
Huyssen
are
discussing
the
use
of
the
Holocaust
specifically
in
public
memory
discourse,
their
criticisms
can
also
apply
to
the
standard
practice
of
using
the
New
England
witch
trials
as
a
metaphor
for
later
historical
events,
like
the
McCarthy
era.
Overuse,
if
not
misuse,
of
the
term
witch
hunt
has likewise flattened
the
meaning
of
the
original
event
to
where
no
thoughtful
reference
is
being
made
to
the
trials
of
the
seventeenth
century.
The
nature
of
metaphor
in
thought
and
language
implies
that
a
specific
aspect
of
one
object
or
occurrence
is
being
compared
to
what
is
seen
as
something
similar
in
an
event
that
would
otherwise
be
seen
as
quite
distinct.
While
Huyssen
argues
that
making
such
comparisons
can
“block
insight
into
specific
local
histories”
of
lesser
known
events,
the
reduction
of
the
original
event
to
a
trope
also
creates
the
illusion
that
the
more
well-known
event
has
been
analyzed
and
interpreted,
and
that
an
accepted
public
understanding,
or
meaning,
has
been
achieved.
Both
Albertson’s
and
Miller’s
interpretations
and
strategies
show
that
the
New
England
witch
trials
have
been
turned
into
a
general
metaphor
for
persecutions
within
a
community.
Albertson
teaches
that
greed
was
the
main
reason
why
so
many
“jumped
on
the
bandwagon”
of
the
accusers
(90).
Miller
states
that
“[with
the
trials]
political
implications
are
the
central
issue
for
many
people”
who
are
interested
in
the
event
(390).
The
cause
for
the
persecution
itself,
witchcraft,
has
itself
been
turned
into
a
metaphor,
being
understood
by
most
scholars,
writers,
and
educators
today
as
a
false
designation
given
to
127
individuals
who
either
deviated
from
an
established
norm
or
who
were
specifically
targeted
for
financial,
political,
or
personal
reasons.
What
is
common
to
most
interpretations
and
depictions
of
the
trials
is
that
witchcraft
itself
is
never
seen
as
a
real
factor
in
the
persecution,
that
all
the
victims
were
in
fact
‘innocent.’
Innocent
here
means
that
they
were
not
in
fact
witches,
but
were
rather
falsely
accused
of
the
alleged
crimes
of
a
witch—a
view
that
still
implies
that
the
practices
associated
with
witchcraft
were
in
fact
crimes
in
themselves.
Miller
downplays
the
role
of
actual
witchcraft
in
the
persecutions,
and
further
removes
the
trope
from
its
original
context,
by
stating
that
“there
were
never
any
witches,
but
there
certainly
are
Communists”
(387).
Traditional
Approaches
to
the
Witch
Trials
in
Young
Adult
Fiction
Like
Miller's
The
Crucible,
most
works
in
young
people’s
fiction
dealing
with the
event
similarly
generalize
the
themes
associated
with
the
New
England
witch
trials
and
minimize
the
actual
role
of
witchcraft
in
the
event.
Despite
the
significance
of
these
events
in
our
relatively
young
continental
history,
Canadian
authors
have
written
very
little
about
the
witch
trials
in
North
America.
Carol
Matas
explores
the
European
rather
than
North
American
persecution
of
witches
in
her
book,
The
Burning
Time.
Setting
the
story
in
medieval
France,
Matas
presents
in
disturbing
and
graphic
detail
the
horrific
practices
carried
out
in
the
actual
historical
trials
and
executions,
emphasizing
that
an
overwhelming
number
of
the
victims
were
women.
While
the
heroine’s
mother
(who
is
128
condemned
as
a
witch)
is
associated
with
the
charge
because
of
her
status
as
a
healer
and
a
midwife,
the
implication
of
the
text
is
that
those
accused
in
the
story
were
actually
ordinary
women
“whose
only
crime
seemed
to
be
that
they
were
born
female”
(123).
Matas
distances
her
characters
further
from
any
actual
associations
of
‘real’
witchcraft
when
her
narrator
explains
to
the
reader
that:
“Perhaps
there
were
real
witches
somewhere.
But
all
the
ones
|
had
seen
accused
were
women,
that’s
all,
simple
women
with
none
but
the
ordinary
flaws
of
character
we
are
all
subject
to”
(120).
While
Matas’s
novel
provides
a
thoughtful
insight
into
the
significance
of
these
events
in
women’s
history,
with
its
European
setting
The
Burning
Time
does
not
deal
with
the
specific
role
that
indigenous
spirituality
played
in
the
North
American
witch
trials.
Yet
even
major
texts
depicting
the
New
England
witch
trials
in
particular
do
not
address
the
significance
of
cosmology
in
these
events.
American
writer
Elizabeth
George
Speare’s
Newbery
Medal-winning
The
Witch
of
Blackbird
Pond
has
often
been
cited
since
its
publication
in
1958
as
the
“superior
historical
fiction”
depicting
the
witch
hunts
(Thuente
50).
Despite
the
suggestion
of
the
title,
the
book’s
focus
is
neither
an
actual
witch
nor
the
witch
trials
themselves.
'
Speare’s
novel
is
based
on
an
earlier
account
of
a
girl
who
moved
fromthe
.
~
Barbados
to
stay
with
relatives
in
Colonial
America;
it
is
the
girl's
difficult
transition
to
the
harsh
Puritan
lifestyle
and
her
eventual
marriage
to
a
sailor
that
forms
the
plot
of
the
novel.
The
actual
trial
is
a
minor
episode
in
the
book,
only
occupying
three
of
the
books
twenty-one
chapters,
and
no
one
is
actually
129
convicted.
Both
accused
witches
are
‘innocent,’
one
being
an
old
Quaker
woman
who
is
an
outcast
in
the
Puritan
community,
and
the
other
being
the
girl
who
is
accused
because
of
her
friendship
with
the
old
woman.
Individuality
and
unorthodox
Christianity, rather
than
witchcraft,
are
the
crimes
that
Speare
attributes
to
her
characters,
distancing
them
from
any
practices
that
could
implicate
them
as
actual
witches.
Speare
minimizes
the
importance
of
the
Witch
Trials
in
her
novel
in
the
afterword,
where
she
advises
the
reader
to
explore
the
old
houses
of
Connetticut
and
to
further
research
the
“freemen’s
struggle
to
preserve
their
charter”
(the
royalist
vs.
freemen
conflict
being
one
the
political
themes
of
the
novel).
The
Witch
of
Blackbird
Pond
tells
much
about
early
Colonial
history,
and
contains
some
insight
into
the
Puritan
attitudes
towards
non-conformists,
but
in
spite
of
its
popular
status
as
a
book
about
the
New
England
witch
trials,
the
book
has
little
to
do
with
witches
or
the
trials
themselves.
This
traditional
focus
on
the
political,
economic,
and
personal
conflict
evidenced
by
the
trials
has
led
scholars
and
writers
to
draw
these
types
of
parallels
with
more
recent
events,
ranging
from
Miller's
McCarthyism
to
ethnic
cleansing
and
even
to
the
Holocaust.
The
firm
association
between
the
seventeenth-century
trials
and
later
events,
like
the
McCarthy
era,
has
limited
how
people
have
come
to
understand
the
original
event,
inhibiting
new
explorations
into
the
causes
and
outcome
of
the
witch
hunts
in
America.
In
her
introduction
to
the
1987
feminist
inquiry
The
Devil
in
the
Shape
of
a
Woman,
130
Karlsen
identifies
and
criticizes
the
narrow
scope
of
investigations
into
the
Witch
Trials:
Even
when
they
note
that
witches
were
usually
women,
most
works
pass
over
the
fact
quickly
or
conclude
that
witches
were
scapegoats
for
hostilities
and
tensions
that
had
little
to
do
with
sex
or
gender...later
studies
offer
valuable
insights
into
the
many
dimensions
of
witch
fear,
but
they
leave
readers
with
the
impression
that
sustained
historical
investigation
of
the
realities
of
women’s
position
in
their
communities
is
either
impossible
or
unnecessary.
This
is
not
simply
to
call
for
recognition
of
the
sheer
numbers
of
women
who
have
suffered
in
the
name
of
witchcraft.
That
acknowledgment
must
be
made
to
counter
the
tnvialization
of
and
glossing
of
both
witchcraft
and
women’s
history.
(xiii,
emphasis
added)
Although
the
focus
of
Karlsen’s
study
is
the
role
that
gender
played
in
the
persecution
of
witches,
her
charge
that
the
“trivialization
and
glossing
of
both
witchcraft
and
women’s
history”
by
traditional
approaches
to
the
trials
indicates
that
a
revisionist
historical
approach
to
the
role
of
witches
in
the
trials
is
needed.
While
Karlsen’s
work
examines
the
issue
of
women’s
history,
|
wish
to
focus
on
the
other
largely
neglected
area
of
concern
in
the
New
England
witch
trials:
spirituality
and
cosmology.
A
reexamination
of
the
New
England
witch
hunts
reveals
the
importance
of
the
historical
conflict
between
monotheistic
religions
131
and
pantheistic
spirituality,
a
conflict
that
in
this
event
impacted
both
followers
of
the
“Old
Religion”
of
Europe
as
well
as
Native
people
in
the
New
World
that
continues
to
be
played
out
today.
Reexamining
the
Role
of
Cosmology
in
the
Trials
Despite
Miller's
assertion
that
“there
were
never
any
witches”
(387),
witches
do,
and
allegedly
did,
exist.
Followers
of
the
Wicean
religion,
as
well
as
others
who
associate
themselves
with
“Neo-Paganism,”
are
reclaiming
the
very
term
“witch”
and
are
today
actively
trying
to
counter
the
negative
stereotypes
and
general
ignorance
that
surround
the
public
perception
of
witchcraft
(Berger
et
al.
196).
Eva
Mackey
describes
this
identity
building
as
a
strategy,
noting
that
“previously
marginalized
peoples
are
constructing
heroic
histories
and
mobilizing
ideas
about
authentic
identities,
and
doing
so as
political
strategies”
(403,
emphasis
original).
In
an
attempt
to
build
such
an
authentic
identity,
contemporary
witches
have
begun
to
cultivate
an
association
with
those
who
were
historically
persecuted
as
witches,
an
association
through
which
they
also
create
an identity
that
is
oppositional
to
Christianity,
a
religion
that
has
traditionally
cast
witches
in
a
negative
light
(Magliocco
189).
In
fact,
as
Magliocco
notes,
many
contemporary
witches
have
come
to
incorporate
the
historical
persecution
of
witches
into
their
group
identity,
“casting
New-Pagans
and
Witches
as
victims
of
a
legacy
of
discrimination
of
which
contemporary
insults
are
only
a
small
and
recent
part”
(187).
As
they
are
identified
with
one
of
132
the
most
widely
feared and
persecuted
groups
in
history,
today’s
witches
are
reclaiming
their
history
and
re-identifying
themselves
in
order
to
combat
the
negative
association
of
witches
as
worshippers
of.the
Christian
devil,
an
association
that
most
people
examining
events
like
the
New
England
witch
trials
either
take
for
granted
or
ignore.
In
order
to
understand
why
modern
witches
need
to
mobilize
“political
strategies”
to
combat
a
very
real
fear
and
misunderstanding
of
witchcraft,
one
need
not
look
any
farther
than
recent
events
in
Toronto.
The
Harry
Potter
controversy
in
the
Durham
school
board
revealed
how
both
parents
and
school
board
trustees
conflated
the
“sword
and
sorcery”
of
Rowling’s
books
with
the
contemporary
Wiccan
religion.
Trustee
Jane Weist
called
for
removal
of
the
popular
books
since
“we
don't
allow
books
that
promote
Christianity
in
our
public
schools...so
we
should
not
have
books
glorifying
witchcraft
either”
(Josey
B3).
One
parent
similarly
argued
that
“if
books
concerning
witchcraft
are
available
in
school,
then
the
Bible
and
other
religious
texts
should
be
used
extensively
in
classes,
as
well”
(“School
Board
Rebuffs”
D1).
A
right-wing
American
Christian
*
fundamentalist
group,
Freedom
Village
USA,
goes
as
far
as
to
state
on
its
website
that
“the
Harry
Potter
books
are
in
fact
designed
to
be
recruiting
tools
for
Wicca/Witchcraft
and
the
occult”
(“The
Truth
About
Harry
Potter”
4).
While
any
practicing
Wiccan
would
assure
readers
that
“Harry
doesn't
have
anything
to
do
with
real
witchcraft
or
magic
at
all”
(Higgins
AQ),
the
fact
that
the
controversy
has
arisen
in
the
first
place
indicates
that
contemporary
witchcraft
continues
to
be
133
misunderstood
and
feared,
as
it
was
at
the
time
of
the
original
Witch
Trials.
It
is
for
this
reason
that
modern-day
witches
are
attempting
to
reconstruct
their
identities
and
the
history
of
their
faith,
to
show
that
witchcraft
is
a
pantheistic
faith
that
is
something
very
separate
from
the
malevolent
dark
magic
depicted
in
popular
myth.
The
plight
of
the
witch
in
history
is
similar
in
many
respects
to
the
stereotyping
of
Natives
in
early
America.
In
their
recent
study
Shape-Shifting:
Images
of
Native
Americans
in
Recent
Popular
Fiction,
Macdonald,
Macdonald,
and
Sheridan
examine
the
changing
image
of
the
Indian
in
American
culture
from
the
early
Colonial
period
to
the
present.
The
authors
argue
that “the
American
Indian
is
the
generalized
figure
the
Europeans
immediately
began
to
create,
sometimes
as
a
merely
distorted
version
of
the
original
Native
Americans,
sometimes
as
an
almost
entirely
fictionalized
Other
Being
set
up
to
serve
colonial
agendas”
(x).
The
terms
used
with
reference
to
both
Natives
and
witches
are
of
definite
lexical
importance.
Just
as
the
common
understanding
of
_
the
term
witch
is
an
amalgamation
of
half-truths
and
myth,
“the
very
word
‘Indian’
is
a
conflation
of
hundreds
of
tribes,
languages,
and
cultures
into
one
emblematic
figure:
the
Other,
the
Alien,
the
generalized
Non-European’”
(x).
This
study
shows
that
xenophobia
(to
use
Albertson’s
term)
led
settlers
to
construct
an
image
of
Natives
that,
like
witches,
reflected
their
various
fears
rather
than
what
was
real.
134
The
‘otherness’
of
the
Natives
covered
many
aspects
of
their
culture
and
way
of
life,
but
just
as
witches
were
depicted
as
religious
adversaries,
Puritans
translated
their
fear
of
and
resentment
towards
Natives
into
a
religious
contention.
Although
those
convicted
of
and
executed
for
witchcraft
were
primarily
European
settlers,
colonists
regularly
grouped
witches
and
Natives
together
as
devil-worshippers.
Kences
writes
that
“the
Puritan
belief
[was
that]
Indians
and
witches
were
synonymous,
and
may
have even
been
responsible
for
the
process
of
affliction
itself”
(282).
Robinson
states
that
“Cotton
Mather
[a
key
prosecutor
in
Salem]
and
other
divines
were
constantly
railing
that
witches
and
Indians
both
were
agents
of
the
Devil”
(291).
Mather
himself
commented
in
Salem
in
1692
that
the
“Black
Man
(as
the
witches
call
the
devil)”
was
generally
thought
to
“resemble
an
Indian”
(qtd.
in
Hill
207),
and
that
“Devils
and
Witches”
were
often
to
be
found
“in
the
wigwams
of
Indians,
where
the
pagan
powaws
often
raise
their
masters,
in
the
shapes
of
bears
and
snakes
and
fires”
(qtd.
in
Hill
273).
While
witches
were
seen
as
handmaidens
of
the
Devil
who
inflicted
evil
upon
their
neighbours
in
order
to
please
him,
as
Increase
Mather
stated
in
1692,
the
“barbarous
Indians
(like
their
Father
the
Devil...delighted
in
crueltyes)”
(273).
Although
the
connection
between
witches
and
Natives
in
early
New
England
has
been
explored
somewhat
by
scholars,
this
aspect
of
the
trials
has
been
left
virtually
untouched
in
fiction.
As
most
novels
trivialize
the
charge
of
witchcraft
and
designate
those
accused
of
witchcraft
as
‘innocent’
victims,
the
135
presence
of
witchcraft
or
‘actual’
witches
has
as
a
result
been
ironically
dismissed
in
most
novels.
The
absence
of
a
significant
Native
presence
in
much
of
the
fiction
about
the
earlier
colonial
experience
in
New
England
should
also
be
noted.
The
Witch
at
Blackbird
Pond
only
mentions
Natives
in
the
context
of
the
Indian
Wars,
when
a
group
of
young
militiamen
are
“ambushed
by
Indians
who
attacked
savagely
with
both
arrows
and
French
rifles”
and
who
leave
“the
scalped
body
of
one
of
the
captives
lying
by
the
trail”
(233).
The
fictionalization
and
trivialization
of
witches
and
the
virtual
absence
or
narrowed
depiction
of
Natives
as
‘savages’
in
most
literature
about
the
witch
trials
has essentially
made
both
groups
non-existent,
or
at
best
inadequately
represented,
within
their
own
histories.
Although
the
presence
of
Native
people
has
often
been
minimized
in
historical
fiction
depicting
the
witch
trials
conducted
by
the
colonists,
the
similarity
in
the
settlers’
attitudes
towards
witches
and
Natives
opens
a
new
angle
for
studying
the
importance
of
the
witch
trials
in
the
cultural
history
of
this
continent.
Exploring
the
emergence
of
cosmology
as
a
theme
in
depictions
of
the
historical
witch
will
also
further
illustrate
how
an
integrated
reading
of
the
witch
figure
can
combine
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
understanding
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
youth
development
and
education.
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child
Celia
Rees’s
Witch
Child
is
possibly
the
first
book
for
young
people
to
examine
what
the
New
England
witch
trials
reveal
about
the
historical
136
controversy
between
the
monotheistic
and
pantheistic
worid-views
that
characterized
the
causes
of
the
persecution.
The
book
takes
the
form
of
a
diary
written
by
a
fourteen
year-old
girl
who
grows
up
in
England
in
the
mid-1600s.
When
her
grandmother
is
executed
as
a
witch,
Mary
is
forced
to
flee
to
the
New
World
in
order
to
escape
a
similar
fate.
What
distinguishes
Mary
from
most
heroines
in
historical
fiction
about
the
Trials
is
that
Rees
has
her
admit
in
the
first
line
of
the
book
that
“I
am
a
witch”
(1),
casting
the
main
character
in
the
unconventional
role
of
an
actual
follower
of
the
Old
Religion.
The
journal
follows
Mary’s
journey
to
the
New
World
and
her
life
in
a
new
Puritan
settlement.
Throughout
the
story,
Rees
develops
the
tension
between
Mary’s
personal
spiritual
beliefs
and
the
faith
of
the
Puritans,
and
much
of
the
conflict
in
the
book
is
centered
around
the
girl’s
attempts
to
continue
to
practice
the
Craft
while
still
adhering
to
the
strict
rules
of
the
colony.
She
is
eventually
befriended
by
a
Native
boy
and
his
grandfather,
who
belong
to
the
Pentucket
band
of
the
Pennacook
nation,
who
were
displaced
by
the
settlers
and
virtually
wiped
out
by
European
illnesses.
The
boy,
Jaybird,
and
his
grandfather
recognize
the
girl
as
belonging
to
a
similar
faith
as
their
own,
a
pantheistic
spirituality
that
is
grounded
in
nature.
Mary’s
practices
are
contrasted
to
the
attempts
of
some
of
the
colonists’
daughters
to
practice
the
type
of
magic
that
was
traditionally
associated
with
witchcraft,
creating
a
distinction
between
the
‘devil
worship’
feared
by
Puritans
and
the
actual
practices
of
the
Old
Religion.
When
she
is
137
finally
accused
of
witcheraft
by the
colonists,
Mary
escapes
to
the
wilderness,
presumably
to
join
Jaybird and
his
grandfather.
In
the
section
entitled
“Inspiration”
on
the
official
Witch
Child
website,
Rees
relates
how
the
idea
for
her
work
arose
from
questions
of
spirituality
and
cosmology:
When
|
was
at
university,
|
studied
American
History...at
about
this
time,
|
also
read
a
book
about
shamanism,
and
it
suddenly
occurred
to
me
that
the
beliefs
and
skills
which
would
have
condemned
a
woman
to
death
in
one
society
would
have
been
revered
in
another.
In
North
America,
at
that
time
[the
seventeenth
century],
two
communities
with
these
sharply
differing
values
could
have
been
living
side
by
side—Native
Americans
were,
broadly
speaking,
a
shamanistic
people.
That
got
me
thinking,
what
if
there
was
a
girl
who
could
move
between
these
two
worlds?
By
analyzing
the
witch
hysteria
in
New
England
as
arising
from
an
encounter
of
two
different
cultures
with
“sharply
differing
values,”
Rees
is
examining
the
event
within
the
context
of
what
Walcott
refers
to
as
creolization,
a
term
he
employs
when
discussing
neo-slave
narratives,
but
which
could
also be
applied
in
this
context.
“Creolization,”
he
writes,
“requires
that
we
think
about
the
possibilities
and
turbulences
of
violent
cultural
sharing
that
produce
new
positions
of
identity
and
relation”
(139).
Walcott
believes
that
imaginative
literature
plays
an
important
role
in
examining
creolization.
He
states
that
“the
critical
fiction
is
138
multigenre:
novel,
history,
literary
criticism,
social
and
cultural
critique”
and
that
“the
best
of
these
literary
works
reinterpret
and
change
social
and
psychic
landscapes
of...humanity”
(140).
Works
that
reinterpret
historical
cultural
exchanges,
as
Rees’s
novel
does,
can
be
called
what
Sylvia
Wynter
refers
to
as
“counternovels’”
(qtd.
in
Walcott
140).
Counternovelists
“write
back
to
officially
sanctioned
histories,
disturbing
the
popular
acceptance
of
history
as
‘truth’
(141).
Writers
who
create
works
that
challenge
the
common
acceptance
of
historical
‘truth’
are
creating
a
new
pedagogical
opportunity,
since
“by
doing
so,
they
insist
that
readers
(re)neogtiate
complex
layers
of
identification
and
commonality”
(141).
The
form
as
much
as
the
content
of
Rees’s
novel
distinguishes
it
as
a
counternovel,
and
the
writer
herself
as
a
counternovelist.
In
describing
the
transformative
power
of
literature,
Walcott
states
that
“imaginative
literature
is
transformed
in
the
hands
of
the
subaltern
who
must
make
it
work
for
more
than
it
is
generally
assumed
to
work
for”
(139).
Walter
Benjamin
likewise
insists
that
“if
in
the
course
of
the
centuries,
efforts
have been
made...to
implant
instruction
in
the
novel,
these
attempts
have
always
amounted
to
a
modification
of
the
novel
form”
(88).
Rees
modifies
the
novel
form
and
makes
it
“work
for
more
than
it
is
generally
assumed
to
work
for”
by
having
the
story
take
the
form
of
the
heroine’s
journal,
thereby
minimizing
the
aesthetic
distance
between
the
reader
and
the
text.
As
Rees
explains
on
the
Witch
Child
website,
“I
wrote
it
this
way
because
|
wanted
Mary
to
seem
real.
|
wanted
to
cut
the
distance
between
her
and
the
139
reader
so
she
didn't
come
over
as
just
a
girl
who
lived
a
long
time
ago.”
Rather
than
utilizing
the
more
common
third
person
narrative
voice,
or
even
first
person
narration,
Rees
goes
to
considerable
lengths
to
make
the
work
seem
like
an
authentic
account.
The
fictional
journal
is
prefaced
by
an
imaginary
editor
who
provides
biographical
material
on
the
author/narrator
of
the
journal,
even
commenting
on
the
revisions
supposedly
made
to
a
manuscript
that
was
found
sewn
into
a
quilt.
Although
the
inconsistency
in
the
name
of
the
‘editor’
not
matching
the
name
of
the
author
on
the
cover
indicates
that
the
‘journal’
is
actually
a
fiction,
many
readers
are
nonetheless
convinced
of
its
authenticity.*
By
framing
the
work
of
fiction
as
an
authentic
journal,
Rees
attempts
to
elicit
a
response
in
the
reader
like
to
that
of
encountering
testimony,
which
is
indeed
how
many
readers
first
perceive
the
work.
Rees
utilizes
testimony
as
a
device
that
counteracts
the
trend
of
simply
using
the
trials
as
a
parallel
to
other
unrelated
situations
in
an
attempt
to
place
the
event
within
the
reader’s
existing
experience.
In
“The
Touch
of
the
Past,”
Simon
discusses
the
potential
use
of
testimony
in
establishing
“transactional”
memory.
Whereas
the
generalization
of
the
witch
trials
to
a
trope
utilizes
and
values
the
event
for
its
applicability
to
countless
other
situations,
Simon’s
notion
of
transactional
memory
counteracts
the
metaphorization
of
experiences
outside
the
viewer’s
own
understanding,
a
kind
of
analogizing
that
critics
like
Zelizer
and
Huyssen
argue
actually
trivializes
the
events
involved.
Transactional
memory,
Simon
explains,
is
capable
of
“enacting
a
claim
on
us,
providing
accounts
of
the
past
that
may
wound
or
140
haunt—that
may
interrupt
one’s
self-sufficiency
by
claiming
an
attentiveness
to
an
otherness
that
cannot
be
reduced
to
a
version
of
our
own
stories"
(63).
The
participants
in
transactional
memory
must
ask
themselves:
‘What
might
be
the
substance
of
a
point
of
connection
at
which
|
am
touched
to
respond
to
the
memories
of
others,
not
in
the
sense
of
meaningless
sentiment,
a
too-easy
empathy,
or
the
false
nostalgia
of
a
late
imperialism,
but
rather
as
a
means
of
experiencing
certain
events
as
part
of
ongoing
relations
of
power
and
privilege,
the
legacy
of
which
|
participate
in
and
am
called
to
transform?’
(65)
The
engagement
that
Simon
is
identifying
here,
where
the
participant
is
summoned
to
view
the
testimony
of
an
other's
experience
as
distinctly
outside
their
own,
creates
a
possibility
for
learning
that
is
impeded
when
the
pedagogical
focus
limits
the
interpretation
of
events
by
incorporating
only
what
the
participant
has
already
experienced
or
already
understands.
Although
the
status
of
Witch
Child
as
a
testimony
is
undermined
by the
fact
that
it
is
a
fiction,
the
opportunity
for
gaining
new
understanding
and
acting
upon
it
is
nonetheless
still
a
desirable
and
realistic
possibility
for
the
reader.
As
mentioned
above,
the
uniqueness
of
Rees’s
depiction
of
the
New
England
witch
trials
lies
in
her
focus
on
the
previously
neglected
issue
of
the
spiritual
and
cosmological
conflicts
evidenced
by
the
trials.
While
there
is
very
little
written
about
the
role
of
Wicca
or
paganism
in
education,
there
have
been
141
an
increasing
number
of
discussions
arising
regarding
the
effect
of
educating
children
of
all
faiths
in
Native
spirituality.
As
with
the
recent
Harry
Potter
controversy,
there
has
been
a
growing
backlash
in
Canada
against
the
teaching
of
Native
spirituality
in
classrooms.*
Dr.
Stan
Wilson,
professor
of
Educational
Policy
Studies
at
the
University
of
Alberta
and
member
of
the
Opaskwayak
Cree
Nation
in
Manitoba,
has
drawn
attention
to
the
resistance
to
the
teaching
of
Native
spirituality
by
describing
what
Canadian
children
can
learn
from
Natives’
beliefs.
Wilson
believes
that
“social
studies
curricula
in
public
schools
could
aspire
to
no
higher
ideals
than
those
espoused
in
traditional
Native
teachings”
since
“they
would
promote
a
much
more
civilized
way
of
viewing
and
interacting
with
the
world,
whether
taught
separately
or
in
combination
with
other
religious
beliefs”
(7).
Drawing
a
distinction
between
Western
“religions”
and
Native
“spirituality,”
Wilson
distinguishes
between
the
two
groups
based
upon
cosmological
views.
Western
religion,
which
he
identifies
primarily
with
Christianity,
is
structured
according
to
a
hierarchy
that
Wilson
argues
is
not
to
be
found
in
Native
spirituality.
Christians
place
a
male,
immaterial
God
at
the
head
of
the
universe,
followed
by
man,
and
then
by
woman,
all
of
whom
have
dominion
over
nature.
Wilson
believes
that
this
hierarchical
religious
structure
“may
explain
why
people
of
the
Western
world
naturally
see
themselves
as
presiding
over
a
cultural
hierarchy”
(7).
The
Christian
hierarchy
also
separates
God
from
nature,
leading
Christians
to
see
nature
as
something
less
than
sacred.
Native
spirituality
dismisses
the
notion
of
such
a
hierarchy,
as
“being
142
bound
to
respect
life-giving
forces
obligates
[Natives]
to
be
more
respectful
of
nature,”
and
there
can
conversely
be
“no
peace,
understanding,
or
sustainability
in
a
Western
ethic
that
releases
humans
to
exploit
nature”
(7).
By
teaching
Native
spirituality,
Wilson
hopes
that
students
will
understand
not
only
something
more
about
Native
culture,
but
also
that
they
will
recognize
what
Simon
identified
as
their
own
role
in
the
legacy
of
power
and
control
being
testified
against,
here
a
cosmological
view
that
allows
one
group
to
have
dominion
over
and
exploit
other
people
and
all
of
creation.
While
Wilson
identifies
the
notion
of
hierarchies
as
the
major
difference
in
cosmological
views
of
Christians
and
Natives,
a
disruption
of
the
monotheistic
hierarchy
can
also
be
seen
as
the
source
of
much
of
the
Puritans’
persecution
of
acts
and
beliefs
associated
with
pantheism,
or
paganism.
Karlsen
identifies
“pride
of
spirit”
and
“discontent”
as
two
of
the
underlying
reasons
for
the
accusations
leveled
against
alleged
witches
in
New
England
(151).
Women
who
“refused
to
acknowledge
[their]
duty
to
God
and
men”
were
seen
as
“usurpers”
of
divine
authority
(151).
Those
who
were
seen
as
defying
the
hierarchical
order
created
by
God
were
guilty
of
the
same
kind
of
crimes
as
witches
and
Natives,
who
were
thought
to
pervert
the
hierarchy
by
placing
the
Devil
above
God.
‘The
Devil,’
in
this
context,
actually
encompasses
a
number
of
aspects
of
pantheistic
spirituality,
but
this
association
generally
seems
to
designate
a
communing
with
what
Wilson
calls
the
“life
forces
of
Nature.”
In
pantheistic
spirituality,
nature
is
seen
as
a
living
force
that
humans
live
in
harmony
with;
all
creation
is
capable
of
143
granting
gifts
to
those
who
reciprocate
the
exchange
with
mutual
respect
and
worship.
While
the
monotheistic
God
was
seen
as
an
immaterial,
detached
entity
presiding
over
the
tower
kingdom
of
the
human
and
natural
world,
Natives
and
witches
looked
to
nature
itself
to
provide
many
of
the
things
that
Christians
simply
prayed
for.
Because
of
their
direct
reciprocal
relationship
with
natural
forces,
Natives
and
witches
were
viewed
as
possessing
supernatural
powers,
which
included
shamanistic
transformation,
reading
the
future,
and
healing
abilities.
Since
the
Puritans believed
that
this
supernatural
power
over
God's
dominion
could
only
be
given
by
satanic
favour,
Natives
and
witches
were
consequently
seen
as
being
in
league
with the
Devil.
Rees
structures
Witch
Child
using
this
perceived
disruption
of
the
Christian
hierarchy
as
a
means
of
creating
an
interreligious
dialogue
between
the
Puritans,
followers
of
European
pagan
spirituality,
and
Natives.
In
Rees’s
work
those
who
commune
with
nature,
either
by
frequenting
or
residing
in
the
wilderness,
displaying
an
empathy
with
nature,
or
possessing
the
ability
to
heal
through
natural
means,
are
contrasted
with
the
Puritan’s
cosmological
dichotomy
between
God
and
nature.
The
dichotomy
that
Rees
establishes
between
man-
made
civilization
and
the
wilderness
best
illustrates
the
cosmological
conflict
underlying
the
events
depicted
in
her
novel.
Macdonald
and
colleagues
write
that
while
the
New
World
was
on
one
hand seen
by the
Puritans
as
the
place
|
chosen
for
them
to
build
God’s
“City
on
the
Hill”
(xi),
“the
deep,
dark
virgin
forest
in
which
Indians
dwelt
nearby
was
a
place
of
pagan
freedom”
(4).
“In
Puritan
144
eyes,”
they
continue,
“the
thin
strip
of
civilization
along
the
coast
was
backed
by
limitless
‘heathen’
forests
where
the
veneer
of
Europe
was
soon
stripped
away”
(4).
Both
Natives
and
witches
were
associated
with
the
forest,
the
Natives
inhabiting
it
and
the
witches
holding
their
meetings
there.
This
association
contributed
to
the
Puritanical
fear
of
the
wilderness
and
their
subsequent
need
to
defend
themselves
against
both
untamed
nature
and
those
who
lived
comfortably
within
it.
Throughout
Witch
Child,
Rees
employs
the
wilderness
as
a
trope
through
which
to
compare
the
monotheistic
Christian
and
pantheistic
world-views. The
author
writes
on
her
web
site
that
when
studying
the
history
of
the
colonies,
she
remembers
being
“struck
by
the
isolation
of
the
first
settlers
who
founded
New
England
and
thinking
about
how
they
must
have
felt,
surrounded
by
vast
forests,
on the
edge
of
an
unexplored
continent,
an
ocean
away
from
home.”
Within
the
text,
the
wilderness,
when
associated
with
the
Puritans,
is
portrayed
as the
“heathen
forests”
that
Macdonald
and
colleagues
describe.
The
settlers’
fear
of
the
wilderness
and
those
associated
with
it
are
made
a
projection
of
their
xenophobic
paranoia
about
the
New
World.
Upon
arriving
in
Salem,
one
sympathetic
woman
explains
to
Mary
the
Puritans’
fear
of
the
wilderness:
“They
find
themselves
surrounded
by
the
forest.
No
man
can say
how
far
it
stretches,
infested
with
natives
and
who
knows
what.
Their
faith
is
like
a
faint
spark
in
a
vast
darkness.
Their
fear
grows
like
a
bind-weed,
choking
everything”
(110).
Later,
during
the
colonists’
journey
to
establish
their
new
settlement,
Mary
145
describes
her
companions’
apprehensions,
which
go
beyond
fear
of
the
animals
they
may
encounter:
“The
forest
is
also
the
realm
of
Satan
and
against
him
and
his
forces
guns
offer
no
protection...stories
of
all
kinds
gain
credence
and
grow
in
circulation.
Stories
heard
in
Salem,
of
Black
Men
and
forest
spirits”
(121).
The
Reverend
Johnson,
a
hell-fire
and
brimstone
preacher
who
constantly
warns
his
parishioners
to
be
“ever
vigilant”
likewise
warns
them
that
“the
Indians
are
in
league
with
[the
Devil],
worshipping
him
in
their
forest”
(131).
Rees
equates
the
xenophobic
paranoia
of
the
settlers,
and
the
witchcraft
accusations
that
are
eventually
leveled
at
those
who
are
too
closely
associated
with
nature,
with
a
very
real
fear
of
an
unfamiliar
and
unknown
landscape.
Just
as
Rees
mingles
images
of
Natives,
spirits,
and
the
forest
to
describe
the
settlers’
fear
of
the
wilderness,
the
language
of
conquest
and
industry
characterizes
the
Puritans’
discourse
relating
to
their
belief
in
their
divinely-
appointed
task
of
building
the
city
of
God
in
the
New
World.
Rees
employs
urban
imagery
when
describing
the
Puritan
settlers’
perception
of
their
role
as
those
who
must
construct
the
kingdom
of
God
by
vanquishing
the
wilderness.
On
the
sea
voyage
from
England,
the
Reverend
Cornwell
interprets
the
appearance
of
the
Northern
Lights
as
a
vision
of
the
Celestial
City.
While
others
call
the
phenomenon
“The
Burning
Spears”
and
“The
Merry
Dancers,”
Cornwell
quotes
St.
John
the
Divine’s
apocalyptic
vision
of
the
New
Jerusalem:
“And
the
building
of
the
wall
of
it
was
of
jasper:
and
the
city
was
pure
gold,
like
unto
clear
glass.’
So
says
St.
John
the
Divine!
And
so
it
is!”
(60).
Upon
first
seeing
the
146
new
settlement
after
journeying
through
the
wilderness,
Cornwell
declares:
“We
have
reached
our
deliverance.
Before
us
stands
the
City
on
the
Hill.
Beulah,
Bride
of
God”
(124).
Later
the
Reverend
Johnson
assures
the
congregation
that
“we
are
God’s
chosen
people,
just
like
the
Israelites...we
found
a
hill
already
leveled
upon
which
we
could
build
our
city”
(136,
emphasis
original).
Rees
establishes
the
Puritans’
desire
to
conquer
the
wilderness
with
man-made,
divinely-sanctioned
structures
as
a
parallel
to
their
need
to
vanquish
the
perceived
enemies
of
God
who
congregated
in
the
unknown
and
hostile
regions
of
the
New
World.
Rees
employs
the
discourse
of
colonization
and
dominion
to
contrast
the
Puritans’
need
to
conquer
the
forest
and
claim
it
for
God
with
the
Native
and
witch’s
desire
to
commune
with
nature.
The
Puritan
settlers
are
described
as
carving
a
community
out
of
the
wilderness,
clearing
and
pushing
back
the
forest
in
order
to
create
their
settlement.
Once
the
road
to
the
new
settlement
appears
again
(already
begun
by
a
group
of
colonists
who
arrived
a
year
before),
Rees
contrasts
the
images
of
the
untouched
forest
to
the
growing
settlement.
As
the
road
appears,
Mary
notices
that
“all
around
the
trees
were
dead
or
dying,”
having
been
cut
around
the
bark
in
order
to
make
them
easier
to
clear
(125).
When
the
group
reaches
the
settlement,
Mary
likewise
observes
that
“all
around
[the
settlement],
the
forest
had
been
cut
down,
the
land
cultivated
into
fields”
(125).
While
Rees
goes
to
great
lengths
to
describe
how
the
colonists
carve
a
settlement
out
of
the
wilderness,
by
contrast
she
places
the
witch
and
Natives
as
147
being
at
home
in
the
wilderness.
On
the
journey
into
the
wilderness,
Mary
observes
that
the
Native
boy,
Jaybird,
and
his
grandfather
(who
were
reluctantly
employed
as
guides)
“are
at
home
in
the
forest”
taking
care
when
they
travel
to
“leave
no
sign
that
they
have
ever
been
there”
(121).
As
opposed
to
the
artificial,
imposing
structures
that
the
Puritans
build
to
withstand
the
harshness
of
nature
and
the
evils
in
the
forest,
Rees
actually
creates
a
literal
natural
home
for
the
Natives
within
the
wilderness.
Jaybird
brings
Mary
to
a
cave
“that
was
like
a
Cathedral,”
explaining
to
her
that
“this
place
is
special
for
my
people”
(164).
The
dwelling
is
“the
same...winter
or
summer”
as
it
is
“sheltered
from
the
wind”
(164),
a
stark
contrast
to
the
drafty,
impractical
homes
that
the
settlers
build.
The
Native
characters
display
a
deep
knowledge
of
the
land
that
translates
into
their
superior
ability
to
live
on
its
resources
and
obtain
shelter,
sustenance,
and
medicine—an
ability
that
makes
them
appear
to
the
settlers
to
possess
supernatural
powers.
As
with
the
Native
characters,
Rees
contrasts
Mary
to
the
wilderness-
fearing
settlers
throughout
the
novel
by
continually
associating
her
with
the
forest.
At
the
start
of
the
journal
the
girl
states
that
she
and
her
grandmother
lived
“in
a
small
cottage
on
the
very
edge
of
the
forest”
(11),
the
implication
being
that
living
in
the
forest
cast
suspicion
upon
her
family
even
in
England.
Upon
observing
the
settlers’
paranoia
on
the
journey
through
the
wilderness,
she
tells
the
reader:
“I
was
brought
up
deep
in
the
woods
and
|
do
not
fear
the
forest
as
the
others
do”
(122).
In
the
new
settlement,
Mary
is
often
depicted
as
going
148
solitary
into
the
forest,
gathering
herbs
and
plants
for
her
apothecary
friend
and
visiting
with
the
Natives.
Her
increasingly
frequent
journeys
into
the
forest
make
Mary
a
liminal
figure
of
the
text,
one
who
has
loyalties
to
her
new
Puritan
community
but
who
cannot
give
up
the
pantheistic
spirituality
that
is
her
grandmother's
legacy.
Although
her
intentions
are
‘innocent,’
it
is
the
discovery
of
Mary's
trips
to
the
woods
which
eventually
cast
her
under
suspicion,
supporting
Rees’s
association
between
the
condemned
practices
of
both
the
Natives
and
witches
practicing
the
Old
Religion.
Conclusion
The
revisionist
and
potentially
transformative
capacity
of
Celia
Rees's
Witch
Child
distinguishes
it
as
a
critical
fiction
that
creates
a
new
pedagogical
opportunity
for
study
of
the
New
England
witch
trials.
The
employment
of
such
an
unexpected,
and
indeed
unorthodox,
analysis
of
the
New
England
witch
trials
marks
a
change
in
the
possibilities
of
interpreting
this
event
in
the
early
twenty-
first
century.
Rather
than
simply
using
the
witch
trials
as
an
allegory
for
political
persecution,
Rees’s
novel
provides
a
new
interpretive
angle
that
introduces
the
idea
of
a
cosmological
disagreement
being
in
part
responsible
for
the
persecution
of
hundreds
of
people
in
early
America,
as well
as
thousands
in
Europe.
As
the
tension
between
the
dominant
monotheistic
religions
and
marginalized
pantheistic
faiths
is
still
far
from
resolved
today,
Rees’s
novel
can
149
encourage
discussion
between
readers
who
have
previously
taken
the
dominance
of
the
Judeo-Christian
worldview
for
granted.
This
analysis
of
Rees’s
transformation
of
the
historical
witch
motif
also
demonstrates
how
interdisciplinary
frameworks
which
cross
the
aesthetic
and
practical
divide
can
initiate
a
critical
analysis
of
how
historical
fiction
functions
as
a
pedagogical
literary
form
that
reinterprets
the
past
as
it
illustrates
it
for
young
readers.
As
McGillis
intones,
“History
reflects
the
desire
of
both
readers
and
writers...to
fashion
a
world
evermore
about
to
be.
We
can,
indeed,
choose
our
history,
and
when
we
do,
we
alter
the
world
in
which
we
move”
(54).
As
it
explores
a
past
and
a
potential
future
where
differing
cosmological
worldviews
are
valued
and
respected
equally,
Rees’s treatment
of
the
historical
witch
reveals
how
youth
literature
embodies
adult
values
and
goals
for
youth
development
and
education.
This
chapter
has
touched
on the
significance
of
the
recent
focus
on
cosmology
in
explorations
of
the
historical
witch
trials
in
the
lives
of
those
who
identify
today
as
‘witches’;
the
following
chapter
will
further
explore
the
role
of
cultural
identity-building
in
youth
literature
through
an
exploration
of
what
is
the
most
recent,
and
possibly
most
complex,
motif
to
surface
in
young
adult
novels
about
witches:
the
real
witch,.or
Wiccan.
While
novels
incorporating
the
wicked
witch,
the
historical
witch,
and
the
blood
witch
motifs
have
to
varying extents
made
use
of
the
witch
figure
symbolically,
my
analysis
of
the
real
witch
motif
will
explore
the
challenges
faced
by
Wiccan
authors
who
are
attempting
to
construct
150
their
cultural
and
religious
identity
in
a
literary
marketplace
that
has
them
competing
with
the
sensationalized
depictions
of
witchcraft
that
have
become
popular
with
the
teen
audience.
The
next
chapter
will
reassess
the
relationship
between
instruction
and
delight
in
novels
about
the
Wiccan
religion,
showing how
such
practical
concerns
as the
economic
pressures
of
competing
in
the
literary
marketplace
can
impact
the
ideals
and
goals
of
authors
of
youth
literature.
Notes
1
For
example,
Hicks
and
Martin
describe
an
initiative
in
the
United
Kingdom
which
focused
on
studying
historical
fiction
about
the
Middle
Ages
as
a
joint
literary
and
historical
studies
project.
According
to
the
authors,
who
were
themselves
involved
with
the
initiative,
the
“Each
Project”
(English
and/combined
with
history)
was
“designed
to
use
the
potential
of
teaching
historical
fiction
in
teaching
about
English
and
history”
(52).
2
See
Miller's
essay
“Why
|
Wrote
the
Crucible.”
3
Several
young
reviewers
of
the
book
on
the
web
site
Amazon.com
seemed
to
be
under
the
impression
that
the
journal
was
in
fact
written
in
the
seventeenth
century.
|
must
confess
that
|
myself
was
led
to
believe
in
the
journal's
authenticity
by
the
‘editor's’
preface;
|
was
considerably
into
the
work
by
the
time
|
realized
that
the
‘journal’
was
part
of
the
fiction.
4
Stephen
LaRose
examines
the
controversy
in
Saskatchewan
over
teaching
about
Native
spiritual
beliefs
in
the
classroom,
while
Terry
O’Neill
looks
at
a
similar
situation
in
British
Columbia.
151
Chapter
4
The
Real
Witch:
Negotiating
the
Literary
and
Religious
Marketplaces
The
previous
chapters
on
the
wicked
witch,
the
historical
witch,
and
the
blood
witch
motif
have
all
illustrated
what
integrated
aesthetic and
practical
approaches
to
studying
young
adult
novels
can
reveal
about
the
use
of
the
witch
as
a
fictional
symbol
that
reflects
adult
beliefs
about
the
development
and
education
of
the
adolescent
audience.
While
the
motifs
already
considered
are
fantastic,
or
in
the
case
of
the
historical
witch,
speculative,
the
final
motif
that
|
have
identified
concerns
a
type
of
witch
figure
that
is
grounded
in
a
contemporary
religion,
one
that
has
recently
had
a
strong
impact
on
youth
culture.
The
“real
witch”
motif
refers
to
characters
who
are
depicted
as
practicing
the
Wiccan
religion
and
who
are
regularly
referred
to
and
who
(like
many
real
Wiccans)
refer
to
themselves
as
“witches.”
Rather
than
having
magical
powers
that
come
naturally
from
an
unknown
source
as
with
blood
witches,
real
witches
practice
ritual
magic
and
observe
the
principles
of
the
Wiccan
faith.
Commonly
written
in
a
series
format,
novels
about
real
witches
focus
on
the
lives
of
teen
“witches”
who
are
nonetheless
remarkably
similar
to
their
mundane
counterparts
in
young
adult
fiction—problems
concerning
relationships,
friendships,
parents,
and
school
are
as
much
the
focus
of
these
novels
as
magic.
Since
they
are
about
ordinary
people
who
have
chosen
to
follow
the
religion
of
Wicca,
novels
152
about
real
witches
are
even
more
typical’
of
YA
novels
than
those
about
blood
witches,
which
tend
to
focus
on
the
teen’s
discovery
of
their
magical
heritage.
This
‘normalcy’
is
intentional.
Wiccan
authors
have
made
use
of
the
medium
of
teen
series
fiction
to
refute
the
long-standing
sensationalized
image
of
witches
that
derives
from
depictions
in
literature
and
popular
culture
that
have
made
witches
popular
with
teens
who
are
at
risk
of
conflating
fictional
witchcraft
with
Wicca.
Silver
Ravenwolf,
author
of
the
highly
successful
guide
to
Wicca
Teen
Witch
and
the
Witches’
Chillers
series,
explains
that
in
writing
the
series
she
“set
about
to
devise
a
world
where
the
teens
use
rea/
magick
[sic],
not
the
fairy
tale
stuff’
(Wifches’
Night
Out
225,
emphasis
added).
Likewise,
Wiccan
author
Isobel
Bird
states
that
she
wrote
her
Circle
of
Three
series
because
she
“was
seeing
a
lot
of
young
people
who
were
interested
in
the
Craft
and
who
_
wanted
good
books
to
read
that
would
inspire
and
entertain
them”
(Burns).
By
setting
out
to
“inspire
and
entertain”
young
readers,
both
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
are
observing
the
dictum
that
has
characterized
children’s
literature,
and
especially
religious
children’s
literature,
throughout
its
history—to
instruct
with
delight.
But
just
as
the
relationship
between
instruction
and
delight
has
been
precariously
balanced
throughout
the
history
of
writing
for
young
people,
the
intention
of
Wiccan
authors
to
create
fiction
that
stands
counter
to
“fairy
tale
magick”
(WNO
225)
is
problematized
by the
demands
of
the
literary
marketplace,
where
realism
must
paradoxically
coexist
with
sensationalism
in
order
to
ensure
the
popularity
(and
thus
the
success)
of
contemporary
young
adult
fiction.
The
153
demands
of
the
literary
marketplace
for
the
types
of
teen
witches
depicted
in
movies
and
television
thus
conflicts
with
the
demands
of
the
religious
marketplace,
in
which
Wiccans
are
attempting
to
enter
mainstream
society
by
contesting
these
stereotypes.
This
chapter
will
explore
how
the
pedagogical
goals
of
religious
novels,
expressed
through
the
sociological
paradigm
of
the
religious
marketplace,
are
influenced
by
the
demands
of
the
commercial
literary
marketplace.
|
will
examine
how
the
demands
of
the
literary
marketplace
can
interfere
with
the
pedagogical
goals
of
the
author
in
religious
fiction,
creating
a
situation
where
instruction
and
delight
seem
to
work
against
each
other.
The
ideological
and
commercial
status
of
novels
about
real
witches
becomes
an
issue,
then,
that
is
an
active
site
for
interdisciplinary
dialogue
on
youth
literature,
where
concepts
taken
from
the
history
of
children’s
literature,
the
sociology
of
religion,
the
publishing
industry,
marketing
and
advertising,
and
popular
media
all
contribute
to
how
the
external
realities
of
supply
and
demand
(translating
as
popularity
in
both
the
literary
and
religious
spheres)
come
to
influence
the
writing
of
texts
that
precariously
balance
instruction
with
delight.
Religion
and
Youth
Literature:
Pedagogy
and
Profit
The
controversy
surrounding
the
Harry
Potter
phenomenon
has
shown
us
that
many
readers
of
children’s
literature
relegate
religion
to
the
interest
of
specific
groups,
such
as
the
Christian
parents
who
opposed
the
alleged
154
presence
of
witchcraft
in
Rowling’s
novels.
But
those
who
are
too
quick
to
valorize
the
value
of
delight
and
fantasy
in
their
definitions
of
children’s
literature
often
fail
to
acknowledge
the
crucial
role
that
religion
has
played
in
the
growth
and
development
of
children’s
literature
in
English.
Some
of
the
earliest
texts
intended
specifically
for
a
child
audience
were
composed
in
the
seventeenth
century
by
Puritan
writers
such
as
John
Bunyan,
whose
work
The
Pilgrim’s
Progress
(1697)
was
initially
written
for
adults
but
quickly
became
a
children’s
classic.
Today
Puritan
texts
seem
heavy-handed,
abounding
with
tales
of
hell-fire
and
the
wages
of
sin,
but
as
Patricia
Demers
observes,
“the
stringent—often
ridiculed—beliefs
of
Puritanism
have
shaped
English
and
American
culture,
including
views
of
children
and
judgments
about
the
literature
deemed
appropriate
for
their
ethical
and
social
formation”
(From
Instruction
45).
Although
the
eighteenth
century
saw
the
true
origins
of
delight
in
children’s
literature,
religious
literature
still
continued
to
be
popular
with
the
works
of
the
Sunday
School
Moralists,
who
spread
their
doctrine
through
such
diverse
forms
as
educational
periodicals
addressed
to
middle-class
parents
and
tracts
that
were
distributed
in
Sunday
schools
for
the
poor.
Evangelical
writers
of
the
later
nineteenth
century
produced
fiction
that
integrated
popular
Victorian
sentimentality
with
godliness,
where
poor
orphans
and
their
generous
benefactors
would
share
in
the
corporeal
and
spiritual
satisfaction
that
came
from
a
life
infused
with
Christian
virtue
and
knowledge
of
the Bible.'
And
while
earlier
religious
writers
denigrated
the
use
of
fantasy
in
children’s
books,
writers
155
such
as
Charles
Kingsley,
George
Macdonald,
and
later
C.
S.
Lewis
and
Madeleine
L’Engel
combined
fantasy
with
Christian
theology
to
produce
stories
that
endure
as
classics
of
youth
literature.
The
pedagogical
goals
of
religious
authors
seem
to
take
precedence
as
their
motives
for
writing
for
young
audiences,
but
it
is
important
not
to
overlook
the
influence
of
the
literary
market
that
all
those
who
aspire
to
be
professional
authors,
even
those
writing
on
sacred
matters,
are
necessarily
subject
to.
In
other
words,
the
growth
of
youth
literature
as
an
industry
has
traditionally
benefited
from
the
successful
combinations
of
instruction
and
delight,
and
the
religious
literary
market
is
no
exception
to
this
trend.
In
her
discussion
of
the
“Beginnings
of
Children’s Readings,”
Gillian
Avery
informs
us
that the
late
seventeenth
century
“saw
a
dawning
realization
that
there
was
money
in
promoting
piety”
(24).
Avery
cites
the
specific
example
of
“publisher,
editor,
and
plagiarist”
Nathaniel
Crouch,
who
used
“the
commercial
possibilities
in
Puritan-
slanted
reading
for
the
young”
to
become
one
of
the
first
children’s
authors
to
make
a
full-time
living
through
his
books
(25).
Puritan
writer
Isaac
Watts’s
hugely
successful
and
influential
book
of
poetry
for
children,
Divine
Songs
(1715),
“became
a
part
of
English-speaking
childhood
for
nearly
two
centuries”
(Kinnell
28)—it
also
appeared
in
twenty
editions
in
the
author's
lifetime
alone.
Margaret
Nancy
Cutt
writes
that
while
they
are
well
known
for
the
fervor
and
dedication
with
which
they
battled
social
injustice
and
spread
the
word
of
God
to
rich
and
poor
readers
alike,
Evangelical
writers
of
the
later
nineteenth
century
156
also
enjoyed
commercial
success
as
their
works
were
used
for
specialized
Sunday
reading
or
were
placed
in
the
Sunday
schools
that
were
established
by
Evangelical
sects
to
promote
both
theological
and
functional
literacy
(xt).
One
particular
author,
Hesba
Stretton,
achieved
“astronomical”
sales
as
her
publications
under
the
influential
Religious
Tract
Society
were
widely
translated
for
use
in
Sunday
Schools
all
around
the
world;
Stretton’s
commercial
success
significantly
also
granted
her
financial
independence
as
a
single
woman
and
allowed
her
to
support
a
wide
variety
of
charitable
projects
and
causes
(115,
117).
Whether
they
actively
sought
to
tap
into
a
potential
market,
like
Crouch,
or
whether
like
Stretton
they
simply
enjoyed
the
commercial
success
that
came
with
the
popularity
of
their
work,
religious
writers
have
traditionally
fared
no
differently
than
their
secular
counterparts
in
regard
to
participating
in
the
literary
marketplace,
where
sales
of
books
are
as
much
a
sign
of
success
as
the
quality
of
the
message
being
conveyed.
Publishing
for
the
Teen
Reader/Consumer
While
earlier
religious
writers
may
have
been
more
concerned
with
targeting
the
wallets
of
the
parents
of
their
potential
readers,
today’s
adolescents
have
become
the hot
market
for
publishers.
The
commercial
aspects
of
book
production
often
seem
to
be
outside
of
(or
even
beneath)
the
concerns
of
both
‘book’
and
‘child’
people
not
directly
involved
in
publishing,
but
those
who
claim
to
be
concerned
with
the
pedagogical
use,
literary
quality,
or
cultural
significance
157
of
recent
books
published
for
young
readers
cannot
overlook
commercial
factors,
which
ultimately
play
a
large
part
in
determining
what
is
even
published.
Taxel
and
Ward
observe
that
“business
aspects
of
publishing
comprise
a
set
of
factors
that
play
an
often
unrecognized
role
in
shaping
children’s
literature.
Although
obvious
to
those
within
the
industry,
the
impact
of
the
business
side
of
children’s
literature
has
escaped
the
serious
scrutiny
it
deserves”
(52).
As
part
of
considering
the
impact
of
the
“business
side”
of
youth
literature,
especially
on
the
problematic
popularity
of
religious
fiction
such
as
novels
about
real
witches,
it
is
important
to
look
at
the
status
of
adolescents
not
only
as
potential
readers,
but
as
commercial
and
religious
consumers
as
well.
Most
industries
are
actively
courting
teen
consumers, who
are
increasingly
in
control
of
their
own
spending
and
who
are
as
a
result
becoming
the
key
demographic
for
possessing
disposable
income.
In
the
opening
chapter
of
the
practical
textbook
Wise
Up
To
Teens:
Insights
into
Marketing
and
Advertising
to
Teenagers,
Zollo
gives
several
reasons
as
to
“Why
Teens
Are
Important
Consumers”
(5).
Zollo
points
out
that
adolescent
consumers
have
a
large
amount
of
“discretionary
spending
power”
that
comes
from
personal
allowances,
part
time
jobs,
and
family
money,
among
other
sources
(6).
To
give
an
indication
of
the
rise
in
the
potential
for
teen
spending,
Zollo
cites
that
in
the
United States
the
combined
income
for
teens
in
1998
was
approximately
$121
billion,
a
staggering
amount
that
is
nonetheless
a
significant
increase
from
$86
billion
in
1993
(10).
The
teenage
market
is
also
important
“because
of
the
158
money
they
will
spend
in
the
future”
(16);
in
other
words,
companies
who
secure
the
loyalty
of
these
teenage
consumers
hope
to
maintain
that
loyalty
as
they
continue
to
mature.
As
a
competitive,
profit-driven
industry,
the
publishing
industry
must
cater
to
the
commercial
potential
in
the
teen
market.
The
trade
magazine
Publishers
Weekly,
which
makes
a
point
of
exploring
the
practical
side
of
marketing
literature
to
teenagers,
is
a
useful
resource
for
considering
“the
business
side
of
children’s
literature”
(Taxel
and
Ward
52).
Making
use
of
figures
taken
from
teen
marketing
firms
such
as
Zollo’s
Teen
Research
Unlimited,
Publishers
Weekly
articles
such
as
the
recent
“Tapping
the
Teen
Market”
offer
insight
and
advice
on
how
“publishers
and
booksellers
target
this
spend-happy
but
elusive
audience”
(Rosen,
“Tapping”
84).
Covering
everything
from
effective
cover
design
to
the
identification
of
emerging
trends,
Publishers
Weekly
makes
clear
the
goal
of
publishers—to
produce
and
market
literature
that
will
meet
the
demands
of
teen
readers.
Although
it
often
falls
outside
of
the
consideration
of
youth
literature
scholars
on
both
the
literary
and
the
practical
sides
of
the
conceptual
divide
that
has
characterized
studies
in
this
field,
the
economic
incentive
of
the
publishing
industry
to
cater
to
teen
tastes
has
a
significant
influence
on
the
type
of
material
that
is
produced
and
ultimately
added
to
the
canon
of
young
adult
literature.
In
this
way
an
interdisciplinary
study
of
the
nature
of
youth
literature
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
ideas
about
the
development
and
tastes
of
young
people
159
draws
attention
to
the
importance
of
extra-literary
factors,
such
as
economic
concerns
and
marketing
trends,
on the
production
of
this
body
of
work.
Religious
Books
Today
In
what
many
children’s
literature
historians
would
consider
an
ironic
reversal
of
the
movement
away
from
religious
subject
matter
toward
more
‘delightful’
fare,
today’s
adolescent
readers
seem
to
be
drawn
to
books
about
religion
and
spirituality.
Angie
Kiesling
of
Publishers
Weekly
describes
teen
spirituality
as
“one
of
the
hottest
emerging
markets
in
teen
bookselling,”
attributing
its
growth
to
the
“sheer
numbers”
of
adolescents
who
have
expressed
an
interest
in
this
subject
(30).
While
many
would
assume
that
the
great
variety
of
‘secular’
texts
has
marginalized
the
once
ubiquitous
religious
youth
literature
into
a
specialized market,
in
actuality
there
still
exists
a
growing
and
increasingly
profitable
market
for
religious
writing
today.
Christian
publishers
are
enjoying
commercial
success
as
they
continue
to
provide
both
fiction
and
nonfiction
titles
for
adolescent
readers.
In
the
spirit
of
their
Victorian
Evangelical
forbearers,
these
publishers
are
gaining
popularity
and
enjoying
commercial
success
by
addressing
the
social
pressures
and
problems
that
their
young
readers
face
in
the
world
today.
One
such
example
is
publisher
Thomas
Nelson's
Extreme
for
Jesus,
a
line
that
Publishers
Weekly
reports
has
grown
into
a
multi-million
dollar
division
through
its
use
of
“MTV-type
language”
and
a
“marketing
tool
that
many
publishers
are
convinced
is
the
way
160
to
capture
the
elusive
teen
spirit’—in
other
words,
a
well-attended
website
(Kiesling
30).
Other
marketing
initiatives
from
publishing
companies
have
included
the
introduction
of
lines
of
“in-your
face”
teen
novels,
books
taking
the
form
of
online
‘chats’
with
God
for
the
web-savvy
reader,
and
even
a
metallic-
cased
bible
that
resembles
a
palm
pilot
(Kiesling
32).
The
commercial
potential
surrounding
religious
texts
that
appeal
to
a
young
audience
(specifically
now
the
elusive
teen
market)
clearly
has
not
changed
much
since
the
early
religious
writers
first
set
out
to
tentatively
combine
their
religious
instruction
with
delight.
What
has
changed
significantly
in
recent
religious
writing
for
young
people,
however,
is
that
religion
is
no
longer
necessarily
synonymous
with
Christianity.
The
growing
market
also
includes
a
wide
variety
of
New
Age
titles
for
adolescents,
covering
different
faiths,
such
as
Buddhism,
to
general
texts on
meditation,
astrology,
and
spirituality.
In
an
article
for
Publisher's
Weekly
on
New
Age
books,
Rosen
states
that
“the
prevalence
of
New
Age
in
the
adult
market
(perhaps
with
a
nod
to
Harry
[Potter]'s
influence)
is
spreading
into
the
youth
arena”
(“Casting”
40).
Rosen
quotes
a
publishing
director
who
stresses
the
connection
between
the
buying
power
of
teenagers
and
the
growth
of
this
division:
“We
know
teens
like
to
spend
money.
They
buy
books
and
CDs
and
they
go
to
New
Age
novelty
shops’
(40).
Llewellyn
Books,
one
of
the
oldest
and
most
popular
publishers
of
New
Age
and
Pagan
books,
has
recently
launched
a
special
“Teens
and
Tweens”
website
from
its
main
site
that
ties
in
promotions
for
its
latest
publications
with
information
about
New
Age
practices
and
religions
161
aimed
at
an
adolescent
audience,
exhibiting
the
marketing
savvy
of
Nelson’s
Extreme
for
Jesus
line.
The
opening
page
of
the
site
presents
a
clouded
night
sky,
over
which
the
enigmatic
phrase,
“All
Things
Mysterious,”
materializes.
Visitors
are
then
taken
to
the
main
page,
where
they
can
choose
to
explore
(and
view
advertisements
for
their
teen
publications
on)
such
topics
as
“Astrology,”
“Tarot,”
and
“Wicca.”
The
visually
appealing
web
sites
that
promote
labels
such
as
Llewellyn
and
Thomas
Nelson’s
Extreme
for
Jesus
are
evidence
of
how
publishers
of
religious
literature,
eager
to
capture
the
interest
(and
discretionary
spending
power)
of
young
readers,
are
becoming
more
savvy
about
marketing
their
material
directly
to
their
targeted
adolescent
audience.
Of
all
the
material
available
on
alternative
religions,
however,
“Wicca
especially
seems
to
have
enchanted
the
young
adult
crowd”
(Kiesling
31).
The
phenomenal
commercial
success
of
Llewellyn
author
Silver
Ravenwolf's
1998
text
Teen
Witch:
Wicca
for
a
New
Generation
(already
in
its
fifteenth
printing
as
of
2004)
has
spurred
a
trend
in
publishing
books
on
Wicca
for
young
and
middle
readers.
Isobel
Bird’s
Circle
of
Three
series
and
Silver
Ravenwolf’s
Witches’
Chillers
series
represent
the
fictional
counterpart
to
the
popularity
of
non-fiction
books
on
Wicca.
The
growing
interest
of
teenagers
in
New
Age
religions
and
Wicca
has
created
an
expansion
in
the
literary
market
for
religious
literature,
providing
a
unique
opportunity
for
conducting
an
integrated
analysis
of
the
relationship
between
teen
interest
in
religion
and
the
place
of
youth
literature
in
the
wider
sphere
of
youth
culture.
162
The
Sociology
of
Religion
and
the
Religious
Marketplace
This
high
demand
for
diverse
spiritual
literature
among
young
audiences
reflects
the
evolving
cultural
landscape
of
religion
in
North
American
society,
where
Christianity
no
longer
has
the
monopoly
over
the spiritual
beliefs,
and
therefore
the
religious
literary
market,
that
it
has
traditionally
held
in
cultures
whose
literature
has
historically
been
written
in
English.
In
describing
this
cultural
phenomenon
of
religious
diversity,
|
am
intentionally
invoking
economic
imagery
in
order
to
allude
to
the
paradigm
that
sociologists
of
religion
widely
use
to
describe
the
behavior
of
religious
members
and
the
interaction
and
administration
of
religions
within
a
pluralistic
society:
the
religious
marketplace.
R.
Stephen
Warner,
who
is
largely
credited
as
popularizing
and
refining
the
marketplace
paradigm
over
the
last
fifteen
years,
proposed
this
concept
as
an
alternative
to
the
traditional
plausibility
paradigm
in
which
“secularization
(meaning
declining
religious
conviction)
is
a
function
of
the
increasing
implausibility
of
religious
doctrine,
which
is
in
turn
due
to
the
demise
of
the
religious
monopoly”
(3).
While
the
old
paradigm
implies
that
a
decline
in
adherence
to
the
monopolizing
religion
indicates
a
shift
away
from
religion
itself,
the
new
paradigm
suggests
that
“disestablishment,
the
beginning
of
the
end
for
European
religion,
is
the
beginning
for
American
religion”
(5,
emphasis
original).
Although
several
religious
sociologists
have
taken
a
quantitative
approach
in
applying
economic
theory
to
this
paradigm,
Warner
himself
and
others
“employ
163
less
economic
models
of
human
psychology”
(8)
in
which
constituents
must
be
persuaded
rather
than
coerced
into
following
a
religion.
The
religious
market
paradigm
is
particularly
relevant
when
describing
the
religious
needs
and
attitudes
of
adolescent
‘consumers.’
Rather
than
existing
as
a
recent
trend
in
youth
culture,
this
interest
in
diverse
types
of
spirituality
is
actually
a
feature
typical
of
adolescent
identity
formation.
As
my
analysis
of
the
blood
witch motif
revealed,
adolescence
is
the
period
in
human
development
that
requires
individuals
to
find
their
place
within
society,
a
process
that
often
involves
questioning
their
upbringing
and
comparing
it
with
lived
experiences.
In
their
overview
of
“Religious
Development
in
Adolescence,”
Ream
and
Savin-
Williams
describe
how
developmental
theorists
like
G.
Stanley
Hall
and
Erikson
have
traditionally
viewed
adolescence
as
“fhe
age
of
conversion”
(53,
emphasis
original).
The
current
interest
of
teens
in
alternative
and
New
Age
religions
may
also
spring
from
the
influence
of
their
parents’
generation,
which
has
been
dubbed
“A
Generation
of
Seekers”
by
sociologist
of
religion
Wade
Roof
Clark
in
his
influential
book
of
the
same
name.
This
interest
in
multiple
spiritual
paths
can
also
extend
to
what
has
sometimes
traditionally
been
referred
to
as
the
supernatural
aspects
of
Spirituality
in
religious
beliefs
as
well
as
in
youth
interest
in
the
popular
media.
Donald
and
Arpi
Miller
note
that
members
of
Generation
X
are
“willing
to
open
the
door
to
angels
and
demons,”
and
that
for
many
young
people
“[t}he
old
worldview
of
the
Enlightenment
rationalism
has
a
crack
in
it”
(11).
Indeed,
many
164
aspects
of
New
Age
spirituality
seem
to
touch
upon
the
supernatural,
with
its
references
to
Goddess
worship,
astrology,
tarot,
and
the
problematic
concept
of
witchcraft.
In
her
recent
book,
From
Angels
to
Aliens:
Teenagers,
the
Media,
and
the
Supernatural,
Lynne
Schofield
Clark
examines
the
relationship
between
youth
culture
and
the
supernatural,
pointing
out
that
“[tleens
have
long
been
interested
in
stories
and
practices
that
have
to
do
with
the
supernatural”
(24).
Looking
at
a
wide
range
of
television
shows,
films,
and
other
multimedia
(such
as
the
internet),
Schofield
shows
how
current
interests
in
the
supernatural
reflect
the
longstanding
need
for
teenagers
to
find
meaning
in
a
world
where
they
often
feel
powerless.
She
also
makes
an
important
connection
between
supernatural
stories
and
the
religious
identities
of
young
people,
acknowledging
the
significance
of
personal
choice
in
each:
While
it
is
important
to
examine
the
relationship
between
popular
entertainment
and
religious
beliefs,
the
claim
that
one
directly
changes
the
other
denies
the
way
that
media
tend
to
reflect
cultural
values
as
well as
shape
them...
The
intersection
of
religion
with
popular
culture
that
appeals
to
teens...
must
be
understood
in
relation
to
a
stance
of
religious
relativism
that
has
been
a
natural
outcome
of
an
environment
in
which
spiritual
and
religious
identity
are
increasingly
viewed
as
a
personal
choice.
(47-8)
‘As
Schofield
suggests,
the
religious
marketplace
and
popular
media
are
closely
connected
in
the
lives
of
young
people,
where
popular
images
of
religion
and
165
even
the
supernatural
in
the
media
provide
options
from
which
the
self-directed
young
seeker
begins
to
choose.
Wicca
in
the
Marketplace
Nowhere
is
this
close
connection
between
the
popular
media
and
religion
more
apparent
than
with
the
Wiccan
religion.
To
the
members
of
‘Generation
Hex,’
(what
some
commentators
have
dubbed
the
primarily
young
females
becoming
interested
in
the
religion),
the
popularity
of
blended
depictions
of
both
witches
and
Wiccans
in
the
media
have
led
to
a
rise
in
interest
in
the
Wiccan
religion.
As
mentioned
in
the
introduction
to
this
study,
the
film
to
which
the
‘Generation
Hex’
phenomena
is
most
commonly
attributed
is
the
1996
feature
The
Craft,
a
film
in
which
four high
school
girls
explore
the
alleged
‘dark
side’
of
Wicca,
a
fictional
set
of
curses
and
spells
that
dubiously
allude
to
Wicca
in
the
title
and
throughout
the
movie.
The
Craft’s
success
was
immediately
followed
by
a
string
of
television
shows
featuring
characters
that
are
either
(or
alternately)
referred
to
as
witches
or
Wiccans.
Sabrina
the
Teenage
Witch
is
an
earlier
example
of
such
a
program,
in
which
this
otherwise
fairly
standard
adolescent
situation
comedy
exploits
the
comic
potential
of
a
young
witch
who
can
instantly
change
(and
usually
change
back)
everything
from
her
appearance
to
her
location
in
time
and
space.
The
WB
Network’s
Charmed
surrounds
the
family
and
love
lives
of
three
beautiful
witch
sisters,
who,
as
one
reviewer
summarized,
wear
“skin-baring
sweaters
and
coral-slicked
lips
as
they
dispatch
demons,
166
exuding
a
wholesome
randiness
all
the
while”
(la
Ferla
9.1)
.
Finally,
in
the
phenomenally
popular
Buffy
the
Vampire
Slayer,
Willow
Rosenberg,
the
title
character's
best
friend,
is
a
real/blood
witch
hybrid,
an
apparent
devotee
of
Wicca
who nonetheless
discovers
that
she
possesses
enough
innate
powers
to
visibly
manipulate
(and
on
one
occasion
almost
destroy)
the
world
around
her.
Even
Llewellyn
International
admits
that
it
was
the
success
of
the
movie
The
Craft
that
motivated
them
to
launch
Ravenwolf's
Teen
Witch
(Carvajal
E
1),
a
book
which
contrary
to
what
the
teens
do
in
the
film, tells
potential
buyers
on
its
back
cover
that
it
“won't
teach
you
how
to
shoot
thunderbolts
from your
fingertips.”
This
blended
depiction
of
witches/Wiccans
that
has
become
popular
in
the
media
also
extends
to
the
literary
marketplace,
where
alongside
original
stories
of
blood
witches,
such
as
those
examined
in
chapter
two,
there
also
exists
a
large
market
for
‘television
tie-ins-—books
that
are
based
on
the
characters
and
the
plots
of
certain
television
shows.
While
|
have
only
chosen
to
closely
examine
original
works
of
fiction
in
this
study,
which
excludes
media
tie-ins,
it
is
nonetheless
significant
to
make
note
of
the
fact
that
each
of
these—Sabrina
the
Teenage
Witch,
Charmed,
and
Buffy
the
Vampire
Slayer—have
all
been
developed
into
series
fiction
that
shares
shelf
space
in
most book
stores
with
series
fiction
by
Wiccan
authors.
According
to
Publishers
Weekly,
in
2002
the
Buffy
books
had
topped
sales
of
three
million
copies,
showing
“no
signs
of
slowing
down”
(Maas
16);
the
series
has
even
launched
a
separate
branch
167
devoted
specifically
to
the
character
Willow,
reinforcing
the
popularity
of
the
young
witch
figure
within
popular
culture.
The
title
of
one
Charmed
TV
tie-in,
Something
Wiccan
This
Way
Comes,
represents
how
the
show
ambiguously
biends
both
the
wicked
witch
and
the
real
witch
figure,
through
its
mixed
references
to
evil,
Shakespeare’s
Weird
Sisters,
and
Wicca.
The
task
of
Wiccan
authors
hoping
to
educate
readers
about
their
religion
is
therefore
contentious:
they
must
acknowledge
both
the
sources
for
the
interest
of
their
young
readers
(and
at
times
negotiate
the
pressure
to
capitalize
upon
it)
while
actively
providing
information
about
the
faith
that
their
young
audiences
may
want
or
need
to
be
aware
of,
such
as
the
very
real
problems
of
discrimination
that
Wiccans
face
in
mainstream
society
that
comes
from
misinformation
and
the
sensational
depictions
of
witchcraft
that
seems
to
attract
some
people
while
repelling
many
others.
The
religious
marketplace
paradigm,
then,
can
help
explain
the
relationship
between
pedagogy
and
popularity
that
is
especially
problematic
in
young
adult
novels
about
Wicca.
Like
Warner,
it
is
also
my
intention
to
emphasize
the
psychological
rather
than
economic
aspect
of
the
paradigm.
The
concept
of
competition,
where
religions
must
work
to
meet
the
demands
of
consumers,
can
be
usefully
applied
to
understanding
the
connection
between
the
literary
and
the
religious
marketplaces,
especially
how
these
two
can
come
into
conflict
with
each
other,
as
they
do
with
young
adult
fiction
about
Wicca.
|
will
frame
my
discussion
of
the
pedagogical
goals
of
authors
Isobel
Bird
and
Silver
Ravenwolf
according
to
the
sociological
concepts
of
conflict
and
168
competition
in
the
religious
marketplace.
This
discussion
will
provide
another
example
of
how
the
witch
figure
has
a
significant
and
unique
place
in
contemporary
adolescent
culture
that
is
mirrored
in
the
novels
about
witches
written
for
an
adolescent
audience,
further
illustrating
the
potential
for
interdisciplinary
study
of
the
relationship
between
the
aesthetic
and
practical
approaches
to
youth
literature.
Instructing
through
Delight:
The
Pedagogical
Agenda
of
Wiccan
Authors
Daniel
Olson
elaborates
upon
the
market
paradigm
by
addressing
the
notions
of
conflict
and
competition,
which
are
both
aspects
of
what
he
terms
more
generally
as
“religious
opposition”
that
occurs
in
a
pluralistic
market
(139).
Again,
while
|
am
metaphorically
rather
than
literally
stressing
the
economic
aspects
of
this
paradigm,
|
believe
that
Olson’s
clarification
of
these
two
terms
can
be
used
to
explain
the
pedagogical
strategy
and
ideological
agenda
of
Wiccan
authors.
Rather
than
viewing
competition
as
a
process
through
which
religions
compete
with
one
another
for
constituents,
Olson
stresses
that
competition
can
be
“unconscious,”
where
specific
groups
are
more
concerned
with
maintaining
their
appeal
to
potential
adherents,
rather
than
enticing
followers
from
another
religion
or
church
(144-5).
In
this
respect,
Wiccan
authors
feel
an
obligation
to
provide
information
on
their
faith
to
those
who
may
be
interested
in
it.
Isobel
Bird
expresses
this
intention
when
she
explains
her
motivation
to
the
online
book
review
site,
Teenreads:
“I’d
wanted
to
write
a
series
169
about
Wicca
for
a
YA
audience
for
several
years,
primarily
because
|
was
seeing
a
lot
of
young
people
who
were
interested
in
the
Craft
and
who
wanted
good
books
to
read
that
would
inspire
and
entertain
them’
(Burns).
Bird’s
motives
echo
the
feelings
of
many
modern
Wiccans
who,
according
to
a
recent
census
of
Neo-pagans,
hold
hopes
that
popularizing
the
faith
will
help
it
become
more
acceptable
in
more
segments
of
society
(Berger
et
al.
195).
According
to
the
census,
on
the
whole
Neo-pagans
and
Wiccans
believe
that
popularization
will
help
the
religion
become
more
“mainstream”
(173).
By
having
their
faith
become
more
mainstream
and
recognizable,
these
Wiccans
hope
to
normalize
their
faith
and
gain
the
social
acceptance
that
major
religions
possess.
In
focusing
their
fiction
on
real
witch
characters,
Wiccan
authors
such
as
Isobel
Bird
and
Silver
Ravenwolf
share
the
pedagogical
agenda
of
providing
information
on
the
Wiccan
religion
through
entertaining
fictional
novels,
thus
meeting
both
the
religious
as
well
as
the
literary
market
demands
of
adolescent
audiences
interested
in
Wicca.
While
authors
of
blood
witch
novels,
such
as
those
discussed
in
the
previous
chapters,
resist
a
direct
association
of
their
fictional
witchcraft
with
Wicca,
both
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
see
their
series
as
contributing
to
the
reference
material
on
Wicca
available
to
their
young
audience,
providing
information
on
the
religion
within
a
fictional
frame.
When
describing
her
motivation
for
writing
Circle
of
Three
to
the
online
publication
Teenreads,
Bird
acknowledged
that
there
were
“already
a
number
of
good
how-to
nonfiction
books”
on
Wicca,
but
that
there
was
“no
fiction
with
Wiccan
themes”
(Burns).
170
She
states
that
she
“wanted
to
write
a
series
that
followed
a
group
of
young
people
learning
about
the
Craft,
with
all
of
their
mistakes
and
joys,
so that
readers
could
get
a
taste
of
what
practicing
Wicca
is
like,
and
perhaps
be
inspired
to
find
out
more
on
their
own”
(Burns).
Representing
Isobel
Bird’s
desire
to
“inspire
and
entertain”
her
readers,
Circle
of
Three
is
a
series
of
fifteen
novels
that
revolve
around
the
lives
of
three
teenage
girls
as
they
learn
about
Wicca.
The
series
spans
the
year
and
a
day
dedication
period
that
in
most
traditions
an
initiate
must
undertake
before
he
or
she
can
be
initiated
into
the
Craft.
True
to
the
tradition
of
girls’
series
fiction,
Bird’s
main
characters
exist
as
recognizable
stock
characters
who
form
an
unlikely
alliance
based
upon
their
shared
interest
in
Wicca.
Kate
is
the
pretty
and
popular
star
athlete
who
must
contend
with
the
disapproval
of
her
clique
as
well
as
her
Roman
Catholic
family
when
she
decides
to
study
Wicca.
Annie
is
the
glasses-wearing
science
nerd
who
takes
a
rational
and
empirical
approach
to
her
studies,
though
as
the
series
progresses
she
develops
the
intuition
and
appreciation
for
mystery
that
practicing
the
Craft
also
demands.
Cooper
is
the
rebel
of
the
group,
a
sarcastic
loner
from
a
broken
home
who
plays
electric
guitar,
wears
a
motorcycle
jacket
to
school
and,
as
she
reflectively
observes,
uses
humour
as
“a
defense
mechanism.
You
know,
to
cover
up
all
of
my
antisocial
tendencies
and
fear
of
rejection.
At
least
that’s
what
the
therapist
|
saw
once
said”
(So
Mote
it
Be
139).
Each
character
is
meant
to
represent
a
different
way
of
approaching
the
Craft,
and
their
tendency
to
come
across
as
171
caricatures
may
stem
from
the
fact
that
Bird
created
each
one
to
represent
“a
part
of
[her]self’
(Burns).
Over
the
course
of
the
series
the
girls
learn
about
the
different festivals
and
rituals
observed
in
the
Wiccan
religion
by
working
with
different
covens
in
their
area.
They
practice
ritual
magic,
sometimes
using
it
responsibly
and
at
times
irresponsibly,
depicting
the
“mistakes
and
joys”
of
learning
about
Wicca
that
Bird
wanted
to
present
to
readers.
Silver
Ravenwolf
likewise
intended
her
Witches’
Chillers
series
to
educate
readers
about
Wicca
while
entertaining
them.
Ravenwolf’s
hugely
successful
nonfiction
guide
on
Wicca
for
teens,
the
aptly
named
Teen
Witch,
inspired
this
fictional
series
about
adolescent
Wiccans
who
solve
crimes.
In
the
afterword
that
appears
in
each
of
the
three
Witches’
Chillers
novels,
Ravenwolf
explains
that
the
idea
for
the
series
came
from
her
daughter,
who
commented
that
the
five
teens
depicted
in
the
cover
art
for
Teen
Witch
looked
“like
real
people”
(Witches’
Key
to
Terror
afterword).
Ravenwolf
created
identities
for
each
of
the
teens
and,
like
Bird,
set
about
to
depict
the
ups
and
downs
of
learning
about
the
Craft.
Where
Circle
of
Three
resembles
the
series
fiction
traditionally
popular
with
girls,
the
three
titles
thus
far
comprising
Witches’
Chillers
are
written
as
mysteries,
where
high
school
student
Bethany
Salem
and
her
coven
of
teen
Wiccans
use
magic
and
sleuthing
to
catch
thieves,
identify
blackmailers,
and
even
solve
murders.
Although
the
criminal
plots
of
Ravenwolf’s
novels
are
awkward
and
seem
implausible,
she
takes
care
to
fill
her
books
with
practical
information
on
Wicca
172
that
resembles
the
information
found
in
her
nonfiction.
For
example,
near
the
beginning
of
the
first
book,
the
author
describes
how
during
a
ritual
Bethany’s
coven
of
five
must
work
as
a
“group
mind”
(Witches’
Night
Out
21),
a
concept
of
cooperation
and
trust
that
Ravenwolf
describes
in
great
detail
in
Teen
Witch
(35-
6,
76,
83,
130,
183).
Ravenwolf
even
includes
a
sample
spell
at
the
end
of
each
text
that
is
meant
to
resemble
one
of
the
spells
carried
out
in
the
story.
Like
Isobel
Bird,
Silver
Ravenwolf
stresses
the
theme
of
instruction
with
delight
in
both
the spiritual
and
the
everyday
lives
of
her
characters:
“Bethany
and
her
friends
are
students
of
magick
[sic],
which
in
a
way
makes
it
all
the
more
fun!
They
will
make
mistakes
as
they
wrestle
with
school,
family
problems,
and
relationships
with
peers”
(WNO
afterword).
Both
authors
see
their
fiction
as
a
way
to
provide
information
about
Wicca
to
young
readers
in
a
format
that
they
can
relate
to,
as
a
supplement
to
nonfiction
material
on
the
subject.
Responding
to
Conflict:
Writing
Against
Intolerance
While
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
have
on
one
hand
responded
to
perceived
demands
for
information
about
their
religion
which
stem
from
unconscious
competition
with
other
faiths
that
are
available
for
teens
to
explore,
they
are
also
responding
to
what
Olson
calls
“conscious
conflict.”
Conflict
is
a
type
of
opposition
where
the
intent
of
certain
types
of
“obstructing
behavior
(or
imagined
behavior),
is
to
obstruct
the
attainment
of
the
religious
group’s
goals
(or
its
associated
identity
group’s
goals)”
(140).
This
behavior,
which
may
or
may
not
173
stem
from
other
religious
groups,
“is
aimed
at
undermining
the
goals
of
a
religious
group
or
the
associated
identity
group”
(140).
For
Wiccans,
such
“obstructing
behavior”
usually
stems
from
intolerance
within
the
larger
non-
Pagan
community.
As
|
mentioned
in
the
previous
chapter
on
historical
witches,
the
controversy
surrounding
the
restriction
of
the
Harry
Potter
books
in
schools,
where
opponents
indiscriminately
associated
fictional
witchcraft
with
the
Wiccan
religion,
is
but
one
example
of
how
negative
beliefs
about
the
Wiccan
faith
manifest
themselves
in
mainstream
society.
In
the
United
States
this
intolerance
of
Neo-Pagan
or
Wiccan
practices
can
be
even
more
pronounced.
As
part
of
its
Brio
Girls
young
adult
series,
the
right-wing
Christian
group
Focus
on
the
Family
has
even
released
a
novel
in
which
one
of
its
lead
characters
unwittingly
nearly
joins
a
Wiccan
circle
after
being
misled
by
the
group’s
leader
into
thinking
that
she
is
attending
an
alternative
type
of
Christian
youth
group
(Grasping
at
Moonbeams).
Within
the
religious
marketplace
the
response
of
Wiccans
has
been
to
begin
to
identify
themselves
according
to
this
conflict
by
incorporating
anticipated
intolerance
into
their
group
identity,
such
as
contemporary
witches’
affinity
to
the
victims
of
the
witch
trials
which
was
discussed
in
the
previous
chapter.
|
wish
to
once
again
draw
on
Magliocco’s
assertion
that
in
response
to
the
“real
discrimination”
that
they
face
from
both
religions
and
in
mainstream
society,
Neo-
Pagans
and
Wiccans
have
in
fact
developed
“oppositional
culture”
(185).
As
part
of
their
culture,
these
groups
create
“oppositional
narratives”
in
which
they
174
identify
with
the
historical
victimhood
of
witches,
“casting
Neo-Pagans
and
Witches
as
victims
of
a
legacy
of
discrimination
of
which
contemporary
insults
are
only
a
small
and
recent
part”
(187).
Ethnographer
Sarah
Pike
has
likewise
examined
how
Wiccans
and
Neo-Pagans
share
experiences
of
persecution
to
create
a
sense
of
community
(xii).
As
part
of
their
own
contributions
to
the
religious
marketplace
through
the
literary
marketplace,
Isobel
Bird
and
Silver
Ravenwolf
also
include
oppositional
narratives
within
the
larger
narratives
of
their
novels
about
real
witches.
As
with
Olson’s
definition
of
conflict,
the
authors
address
the
“obstructing
behavior”
that
comes
from
both
religious
and
non-religious
sources
by
developing
strong
themes
of
intolerance
in
their
novels.
Ravenwolf
devotes
a
section
of
Teen
Witch
to
discussing
discrimination,
where
she
warns
her
audience
that
by
“com{ing]
out
of
the
broom
closet”
they
risk
facing
the
“monstrous
behavior”
of
discrimination,
which
she
claims
her
children
have
suffered
from
at
school
at
the
hands
of
“lots
of
kids,
and
dumb
adults”
(234-5).
The
Witches’
Chillers
novels
include
many
examples
of
intolerance,
which
Ravenwolf
takes
care
to
attribute
to
irredeemable
characters
who
are
almost
melodramatic
in
their
treatment
of
her
teen
Wiccans.
The
author
continually
alludes
to
the
historical
witch
trials
in
order
to
identify
contemporary
intolerance
of
Wiccans
with
the
persecution
of
witches
in
the past.
At
one
point
in
the
first
novel,
the
blond
cheerleader
identified
as
“Vanessa
the
Viper”
(68)
gathers
her
squad
of
nameless
“clones”
around
Bethany
and
goads
them
into
burning
the
girl’s
hair
and clothes
with
lighters
(70).
175
Ravenwolf
again
alludes
to
the
oppositional
narrative
of
the
witch
trials
when
one
of
Bethany's
teachers
opens
a
lesson
on
the
Salem
Witch
Trials
by
suggesting
to
the
class
that
perhaps
“Bethany
will
find
the
part
about
putting
evil
to
death
most
interesting”
(146).
The
novel
also
includes
what
seems
to
be
an
obligatory
conversation
between
Bethany
and
one
of
her
fellow
coven
members
about
discrimination,
which
is
behavior
that
her
friend
Tillie
points
out
that
she
knows
all
about
from
being
“black”
(115).
By
alluding
to
instances
of
intolerance
from
the
past
and
those
experienced
within
other
cultures,
Ravenwolf
creates
an
oppositional
narrative
and
thereby
addresses
within
her
novel
the
conflict
of
Wiccans
in
the
religious
marketplace.
While
Silver
Ravenwolf
emphasizes
the
“monstrous”
nature
of
discrimination
by
alluding
to
the
historical
witch
trials,
Isobel
Bird
chooses
to
focus
more
on
contemporary
circumstances
in
which
young
Wiccans
can
come
up
against
discrimination,
namely
in
the
spheres
of
school,
family,
and
friends.
Although
the
Circle
of
Three
series
contains
occasional
instances
of
intolerance,
Bird
devotes
the
eighth
book,
The
Five
Paths,
to
discussing
the
issue
in
greater
detail.
The
title
of
the
book
alludes
to
the
meaning
behind
the
pentacle,
which
is
the
traditional
symbol
of
Wiccans
and
is
often
mistakenly
confused
with
a
Satanic
pentagram.
The
rebel
of
the
group,
Cooper,
is
placed
at
the
centre
of
controversy
when
she
refuses
to
stop
wearing
the
pentacle
to
school,
a
situation
that
has
its
parallel
in
real
life.
Rather
than
making
the
veiled
threats
that
Ravenwolf’s
characters
face
at
the
hands
of
teachers
and
administrators,
Bird
176
presents
the
principal's
complaints
as
passively
sympathetic,
dismissing
the
ultimately
discriminatory
behaviour
as
being
in
the
best interests
of
the
larger
school
population.
She
assures
Cooper,
“It’s
not
you
we're
worried
about...It's
the
other
students.
We
don't
want
them
to
feel
uncomfortable”
(58).
When
Cooper
decides
not
to
stop
wearing
the
symbol,
she
has
to
campaign
to
educate
school
officials
and
ultimately
the
public
on
the true
meaning
of
the
symbol
through
newspaper
stories
written
about
her
case;
she
even
speaks
at
a
meeting
of
school
board
trustees
in
an
attempt
to
defend
her
right
to
wear
what
they
dub
“a
potentially
offensive
symbol”
in
school
(106).
Cooper
is
physically
attacked
by
a
group
of
older
teens
who
confront
her
when
she
is
with
a
group
of
friends
for
being
“some
stupid
high
school
punk
who
thinks
she’s
hot
stuff
because
she
wears
a
necklace”
(174).
As
in
real
life,
right-wing
watchdog
groups
launch
a
counter
campaign
to
Cooper's
case
in
the
media,
using
the
opportunity
to
caution
parents
that
movies
and
television
shows
that
show
“witchcraft
as
glamorous
and
fun”
and
even
the
Harry
Potter
books
will
create
“a
whole
nation
of
children
who
are
swept
up
in
the
deadly
lies
perpetuated
by
these
people
[Wiccans]”
(161).
Along
with
physical
threats,
Cooper
has
to
suffer
alienation
and
a
lack
of
support
from
many
people
close
to
her,
as
everyone
from
her
friends
to
her
parents
tell
her
that
in
spite
of
the
fact
that
they
believe
she
is
right
in
principle,
as
her
mother
tells
her
after
the
attack,
“If
you
didn’t
insist
on
wearing
[the
pentacle],
and
talking
about
it
every
chance
you
get,
then
this
kind
of
thing
wouldn't
happen”
(181).
While
she
wins
the
case
in
the
end
with
the
177
help
of
her
lawyer
father
and
a
Wiccan
advocacy
group,
ultimately
even
Cooper
must
question
her
own
motives
for
pursuing
the
case,
asking
herself
before
the
final
hearing:
“Was
she
being
stubborn
now,
or
was
she
in
the
right?”
(212).
Bird
presents
an
in-depth,
and
realistic,
exploration
of
the
many
forms
that
discrimination
can
take
in
both
the
personal
and
public
spheres,
showing
how
a
lack
of
knowledge
about
the
Wiccan
religion
is
in
most
cases
what
leads
to
intolerance
and
discrimination.
Providing
information
about
Wicca
goes
beyond
enlightening
readers
about
an
obscure
faith
that
they
might
not
have
heard
of:
by
writing
about
‘real’
witchcraft,
Wiccan
authors
are
using
the
literary
marketplace
as
a
forum
to
correct
the
misinformation
that
contributes
to
the
conflicts
Wiccans
face
within
the
religious
marketplace.
Examining
Bird
and
Ravenwolfs
response
to
intolerance
through
the
sociological
framework
of
the
religious
marketplace,
then,
demonstrates
how
the
“real
witch”
motif
in
young
adult
literature
reflects
the
educational
goals
of
authors
regarding
their
audience.
Instruction
vs.
Delight:
The
Problematic
Popularity
of
Witches
While
young
adult
novels
about
real
witches
clearly
manifest
the
(admittedly
well-founded)
fear
of
intolerance
and
even
persecution
that
Wiccans
face,
the
most
significant
type
of
competition
that
Wiccan
authors
must
contend
with,
however,
does
not
come
from
the
obstructing
behaviour
or
attitudes
of
different
religions.
It
comes
from
the
sensationalized
depictions
of
witchcraft
that
178
abound
in
the
media
and
in
literature,
such
as
the
various
types
of
witches
encountered
in
this
study.
Isobel
Bird
writes
that
she
intended
her
series
to
clarify
images
of
magic
that
come
from
“popular
images
[of
witches]
in
books,
movies,
and
television
shows”
which
are
“based
on
fantasy
instead
of
reality”
(Burns).
Here
Bird
is
referring
to
the
plethora
of
television
shows
and
feature
films
that
have
depicted
teen
witch
characters
using
magical
powers
that
owe
their
origins
to
a
special
effects
studio
rather
than
a
ritual
circle,
such
as
the
television
shows,
movies,
and
media
tie-ins
discussed
earlier.
Isobel
Bird
does
not
see
these
images
as
particularly
harmful,
admitting
that
she
herself
enjoys
these
programs,
but
she
does
take
care
to
stress
the
difference
between
this
“fantasy”
and
the
reality
of
the
Wiccan
religion.
As
she
tells
Teenreads:
|
love
watching
shows
like
‘Buffy,’
‘Sabrina,’
and
‘Charmed,’
but
these
shows
don’t
depict
real
witchcraft.
When
people
see
the
witches
doing
things
like
the
witches
on
those
shows
do,
it’s
difficult
for
them
to
understand
that
Wicca
is
actually.
a
very
serious,
very
spiritual
practice
that
has
little
to
do
with
what
they
see
on
TV
or
read
in
most
books.
(Burns)
The
goal
to
demystify
Wicca
and
distinguish
it
from
the
sensationalized
depictions
popularized
in
the
media
seems
to
reflect
the
educational
agenda
of
Wiccans
to
correct
misinformation
about
their
faith.
179
Yet
in
spite
of
Bird’s
reservations
regarding
the
blending
of
fact
with
fantasy
in
popular
depictions
of
witchcraft,
upon
closer
examination
of
the
young
adult
novels
by
these
Wiccan
authors
there
is
at
times
a
dubious
division
between
the
‘fantasy’
of
Hollywood—or
to
use
Ravenwolf’s
term,
“fairy
tale”
magic—and
the
‘reality’
of
Wicca
that
these
authors
depict
in
their
texts.
Popular
images
of
witches
are
a
source
of
misinformation
for
young
audiences
which
Wiccan
authors
feel
they
must
contend
with,
but
the
commercial
potential
for
young
adult
novels
about
“real”
witches
is
paradoxically
dependent
upon
these
images.
In
their
effort
to
create
what
they
feel
to
be
good
stories,
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
at
times
cater
more
to
the
demands
of
the
commercial
literary
marketplace,
which
is
closely
connected
to
supernatural
depictions
of
witchcraft
in
the
popular
media,
thus
calling
into
question
the
‘realism’
of
their
characters.
The
real
witch
becomes
conflated
with
the
sensational
blood
witch
through
the
way
in
which
teen
Wiccan
characters
are
at
times
presented
as
being
unrealistically
empowered
by
their
religion.
Non-fiction
texts
about
Wicca
such
as
Ravenwolf's
Teen
Witch
emphasize
the
fact
that
“Wicca
is
a
nature
based,
life-affirming
religion
that
follows
a
moral
code
and
seeks
to
build
harmony
among
people,
and
empower
the
self
and
others”
(4,
emphasis
original).
Ravenwolf’s
text
offers
a
variety
of
teen-friendly
spells
that
are
meant
to
help
them
with
everyday
problems,
such
as
the
bargain-hunting
“Angel
Shopping
Spell” (186),
the
“Just
Say
No
Spell”
(213),
and
“The
Exam
Spell”
(220),
which
also
includes
‘mundane’
advice
on
getting
enough
rest
and
eating
a
180
good
breakfast
in
order
to
enhance
test
performance.
Ravenwolf
is
careful
to
stress
the
limits
of
witchcraft
in
the
real
world
in
her
non-fiction,
even
including
a
section
of
hotline
numbers
dealing
with
alcohol
and
drugs,
child
abuse,
runaways,
health
issues,
and
general
crises
(242).
She
also
includes
several
anecdotal
examples
where
she
stresses
the
necessity
of
talking
to
adults
about
problems,
urging
teens
to
“seek
help”
from
an
adult
they
trust—either
a
parent,
teacher,
or
even
clergy
member
(204).
Such
advice
may
be
fine
for
ordinary
teenagers
reading
a
non-fiction
book
about
Wicca,
but
in
the
world
of
teen
series
young
witches
are
endowed
with
powers
that
allow
them
to
change
situations
that
would
normally
be
beyond
their
control.
Just
as
the
strong
appeal
of
young
witches
depicted
in
the
media
and
in
popular
novels
about
blood
witches
seems
to
rest
in
their
existence
as
powerful
beings
capable
of
changing
their
lives
and
environments
at
will.
This
appeal
also
corresponds
with
many
adolescents’
expectations
of
the
Wiccan
religion.
As
anthropologist
Andres
|.
Perez
y
Mena
suggested
in
a
New
York
Times
article
on
the
subject
of
teen
interest
in
Wicca,
Wicca
appeals
to
this
mixed
audience
of
mainly
middle-class
teenagers
who
live
in
rural
and
suburban
areas
because
“they
have
few
distractions
and
even
less
control
over
their
lives,
and
they
practice
sorcery
to
exert
power
over
their
existence”
(qtd.
in la
Ferla,
9.1).
While
the
use
of
the
term
‘sorcery’
is
an
inaccurate
(and
potentially
offensive)
description
of
the
practice
of
the
Wiccan
religion,
Perez
y
Mena’s
point
nonetheless
describes
the
expectations
that
popular
images
of
witchcraft
181
encourage,
and
which
young
adult
novels
about
witches
do
not
consistently
dismiss.
This
type
of
unrealistic
empowerment
is
a
generic
feature
of
series
fiction
which
makes
for
a
better
story,
if
not
necessarily
an
accurate
depiction
of
teen
Wiccans.
As
Sherrie
Inness
notes:
“girls’
series
recount
the
exploits
of
heroines
who
are
often
superior
to
any
girl
in
real
life,
whether
that
may
entail
being
stronger,
more
beautiful,
or
more
intelligent.
In
depicting
the
lives
of
these
superior
beings,
girls’
series
books
typically
create
a
world
that
is
full
of
adventure
and
intrigue”
(3).
While
Inness’s
analysis
focuses
mainly
on
early
series
fiction,
the
formulaic
appeal
of
heroines
who
are
“superior
beings”
clearly
finds
its
way
into
Ravenwolf
and
Bird’s
series
about
teen
Wiccans.
In
spite
of
the
categorical
difference
between
blood
and
real
witches,
both
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
occasionally
biur
the
line
between
depicting
Wicca
as
a
religion
based
on
study
that
is
open
to
all
people
and
presenting
witchcraft
as
an
innate
power
that
some
people
are
born
with.
In
Witches’
Night
Out,
Bethany’s
housekeeper
Ramona,
who
is
also
an
old
friend
of
her
mother’s,
describes
the
almost
mystical
method
by
which
the
girl’s
mother passed
along
her
powers
to
her
only
daughter
shortly
before
her
own
death:
“Before
your
mother
died,
she
passed
the
power
to
you.
|
know,
because
she
called
me
and
told
me...She
did
it
while
you
were
sleeping.
She
knew
her
time
was
growing
short”
(135).
Thus,
in
spite
of
the
fact
that
Bethany’s
friends
believe
that,
like
them,
she has
acquired
any
power
she
has
182
from
what
she has
learned
from
books
or
by
asking
“magick
shop
owners”
(134),
she
has
actually
“come
by
it
naturally”
(135).
Bird
likewise
channels
aspects
of
the
blood
witch
motif
in
her
depiction
of
super-powered
real
witches.
Even
though
the
first
two
books
of
Circle
of
Three
focus
heavily
on
the
girls
learning
about
magic
from
books
and
from
classes
they
take
in
the
local
bookstore,
in
the
third
book
it
is
revealed
that
Cooper
seems
to
come
from
a
line
of
witches through
which
she
has
inherited
her
powers,
powers
which
include
the
Second
Sight
of
the
book’s
title.
While
Cooper
finds
out
that
her
grandmother
passed
along
her
magical
knowledge
through
instructive
“little
rhymes
and
games”
(153-4)
rather
than
the
near-osmosis
that
Ravenwolf
describes,
Bird
emphasizes
the
importance
of
her
genetic
heritage
through
the
reluctance
of
Cooper's
mother
to
accept
these
abilities
into
her
own
life.
In
spite
of
her
desire
to
suppress
all
things
magical
in
her
life,
Cooper’s
mother
admits
to
her
that
she
once
“put
a
curse
on
a
boy
who
had
been
teasing
[her]
for
a
long
time,”
supposedly
causing
him
to
fall
and
break
his
arm
the
next
day
(157).
By
including
characters
who
receive
their
powers
as
blood
witches,
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
begin
to
appeal
to
the
supernatural,
rather
than
the
natural,
side
of
the
Wiccan
faith
that
is
often
conflated
with
sensationalized
images
of
witchcraft.
In
Bird
and
Ravenwolf’s
novels,
their
characters
behave
like
Inness’s
“superior
beings”
in
their
ability
to
transcend
the
boundaries
of
how
normal
teenagers
are
able
to
change
their
worlds
by
appealing
to
the
popular
series
formula,
namely
the
mystery
genre.
Remaining
true
to
their
origins
in
the
series
*
183
fiction
about
teen
sleuths
such
as
Nancy
Drew,
both
authors
have
their
characters
use
their
Wiccan
‘powers’
in
order
to
solve
crimes.
Each
of
Ravenwolf’s
Witches’
Chillers
novels
is
based
around
a
crime,
such
as the
death
of
Bethany
Salem’s
boyfriend
in
the
first
novel
and
the
apparent
mysterious
sabotage
of
an
apple
orchard
in
the
third
book.
While
one
would
be
hard-
pressed
to
find
a
spell
in
Teen
Witch
that
would
help
a
teen
solve
the
murder
of
a
friend
in
real
life,
Bethany
and
her
friends
cast
a
spell
in
which
they
ask
the
Goddess
to
“send
the
Hounds
of
the
Wild
Hunt
to
find
Joe’s
killer!”
(23).
At
the
end
of
the
novel
Joe’s
killer
(who
turns
out
to
be
Bethany’s
hated
stepmother)
actually
appears
to
be
attacked
by
a
pack
of
dogs
just
as
she
is
about
to
kill
Bethany
and
her
friends
(210).
Isobel
Bird
also
has
her
teen
Wiccans
solve
crimes
with
the
help
of
their
powers.
In
Second
Sight,
Cooper
is
able
to
use
her
newly-discovered
psychic
ability
to
communicate
with
the
ghost
of
a
local
girl
who
was
recently
murdered.
Much
like
mediums
who
appear
on
talk
shows
and
use
their
powers
to
help
solve
crimes,
Cooper
is
able
to
provide
the
police
with
valuable
information
that
leads
them
to
the
real
killer,
freeing
an
innocent
man
in
the
process.
And
in
a
nod
to
the
teen
sleuth
genre,
Cooper
and
Annie
actually
apprehend
the
killer
themselves,
with
the
help
of
the
apparition
of
the
dead
girl,
who
startles
the
killer
and
causes
him
to
fall
down
a
flight
of
stairs
just
as
he
is
about
to
kill
the
two
girls
(221-2).
Both
authors
literally
attribute
to
their
characters
the
‘super
powers’
that
their
teen
sleuth
predecessors
figuratively
possessed
in
an
effort
to
add
184
suspense
to
their
novels
about
Wiccan
characters,
thus
creating
a
situation
where
instruction
conflicts
with
delight.
This
interweaving
of
supernatural
elements
into
the
ritual
magic
of
Wicca
is
another
area
where
novels
about
real
witches
come
to
resemble
their
sensational
counterparts
in
the
popular
media.
According
to
a
Pagan
census,
most
Wiccans
describe
magic
as
their
ability
to
influence
through
their
will
what
others
would
instead
see
as
“happy
coincidences”
(Berger
et
al.
38).
Ravenwolf's
Teen
Witch
spells
could
be
viewed
as
happy
coincidences
if
they
were
performed
successfully,
such
as
finding
a
good
bargain
while
out
shopping,
or
else
they
could
be
attributed
to
personal
empowerment
through
positive
thinking,
such
as
preparing
oneself
for
an
exam
or
to
‘just
say
no’
when
offered
drugs.
But
while
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
have
both
complained
about
how
‘fairy
tale
magic’
is
confused
with
real
magic,
both
authors
nonetheless
include
scenes
where
the
magic
manifested
is
more
closely
aligned
to
what
appears
in
movies
and
television
than
how
most
real
Wiccans
describe
experiencing
magic.
Bird
literally
blurs
the
line
between
fantasy
and
reality
in
her
fifth
book
of
the
series,
In
the
Dreaming.
What
begins
as
a
Midsummer
celebration
with
the
local
coven
becomes
a
supernatural
experience
for
the
girls,
when
Cooper
is
kidnapped
by
a
group
of
fairies.
The
names
of
Cooper’s
mischievous
captors—
such
as
Bird
and
Spider—even
allude
to
the
flora
and
fauna-inspired
names
of
the
fairies
in
Shakespeare’s
A
Midsummer
Night's
Dream.
While
Cooper
believes
that
she
is
being
tormented
by
a
group
of
young
Wiccans
who
have
185
“staged
the
whole
thing”
(206),
nowhere
in
the
ten
remaining
books
is
a
mundane
explanation
given
for
what
happened,
and
the
reader
is
clearly
led
to
believe
that
Cooper's
experience
was
genuinely
magical.
As
mentioned
earlier,
the
fruition
of
the
“Wild
Hunt”
spell
that
brings
the
killer
to
justice
in
Witches’
Night
Out
is
one
example
where
the
results
of
magic
are
more
supernatural
than
what
could
be
explained
as
a
meaningful
coincidence.
Ravenwolf
uses
strong,
even
brutal,
images
to
make
the
appearance
of
the
dogs
concrete
and
realistic:
Bethany
and
her
friends
smell
“a
heavy
canine
odor”
and
see
the
dogs’
“powerful
jaws
munching
through
[Angela,
the
killer's]
skin
like
a
laser
obliterating
paper”
until
“there
were
pieces
of
her
everywhere.
Just
like
Nam
had
wished”
(210).
Although
only
Bethany
and
her
friends
seem
to
see
the
dogs,
and
her
stepmother’s
death
is
officially
caused
by
a
premature
heart
attack,
Ramona
assures
Bethany
that
they
have
“seen
things
on
the
astral
plane
for
real”
while
what
the
other
witnesses
saw
appeared
in
“the
earth
plane
as
illusion”
(214).
In
spite
of
their
pedagogical
goals
of
instructing
young
readers
about
the
Wiccan
faith
and
thus
clarifying
the
misconceptions
about
the
religion
that
originate
in
popular
images
of
witchcraft,
both
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
contribute
to
this
misinformation
by
presenting
their
characters
as
|
unrealistically
empowered
‘superior
beings’
whose
real
life
‘natural’
magical
practices
intermingle
indiscriminately
with the
supernatural.
186
Conclusion
The
goals
of
Wiccans
within
the
religious
marketplace—with
regards
to
both
conflict
and
competition—are
to
provide
audiences
with
accurate
information
about
the
beliefs
and
practices
of
the
Wiccan
faith,
while
the
goals
of
the
literary
marketplace,
on
the
other
hand,
concern
the
popularity
of
the
more
sensationalized
teen
blood
witches.
This
tension
ultimately
creates
a
seemingly
paradoxical
situation
for
Wiccan
authors
in
which
instruction
conflicts
with
delight,
where
the
external
realities
of
the
Wiccan
faith
competes
with
the
generic
demands
for
fiction
about
witches
that
is
closely
tied
to
the
sensationalized
images
of
Wiccans
made
popular
by
movies,
television,
and
within
the
literary
marketplace,
television
tie-ins.
The
dilemma
faced
by
Wiccan
authors,
then,
is
that
which
is
in
some
ways
faced
by
all
writers
of
fiction
for
young
people,
whether
religious
or
not.
In
fiction,
there
is
ultimately
no
‘real’
world—only
one
that
ts
imagined
by the
author.
Still,
when
it
comes
to
youth
literature,
few
are
willing
to
assert
that
there
can
be
any
wholly
fictional
worlds
that
hold
no
significant
resemblance
to
the
world
we
experience
every
day.
What
books
involving
supposed
‘real’
witches
show
us
is
that
with an
ideologically
charged
issue
such
as
religion,
the
truth
within
fiction
may
not
even
lie
inside
the
text.
The
goals
of
the
authors—both
ideological
as
well
as
commercial—need
to
be
considered
if
we
are
to
understand
how
writers
can
in
some
respects
create
transformative
educational
reading
experiences
for
young
audiences,
while
in
other
ways
contradict
both
themselves
and
even
the
187
various
messages
they
promote
within
their
texts.
The
conflicted
depiction
of
real
witches
in
young
adult
novels
reflects
how
the
tension
between
instruction
and
delight,
which
has
traditionally
divided
scholarly
approaches
to
studying
this
body
of
work,
can
instead
be
reintegrated
to
produce
analytical
frameworks
that
investigate
both
the
educational
and
aesthetic
features
that
characterize
youth
literature
as
a
literary
form
which
embodies
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
the
education
and
development
of
children
and
adolescents.
Notes
1
Patricia
Demers
offers
a
brief
overview
on
religious
children’s
fiterature,
particularly
the
Puritans
and
the
Sunday
School
Moralists,
in
From
Instruction
to
Delight:
An
Anthology
of
Children’s
Literature
to
1850
(2004),
while
her
Heaven
Upon
Earth:
The
Form
of
Moral
and
Religious
Children's
Literature
to
1850
goes
into
more
detail
about
the
late-eighteenth
and
early-
nineteenth
century
Sunday
School
Moralists.
Margaret
Nancy
Cutt’s
Ministering
Angels:
A
Study
of
Nineteenth-Century
Evangelical
Writing
for
Children provides
more
comprehensive
coverage
of
religious
writers
of
the
later
nineteenth
century.
2
The
company’s
online
address
is
www.liewellyn.com/teen.
3
For
example,
although
Cate
Tiernan
(author
of
the
Sweep
series)
includes
some
elements
of
Wicca
in
her
fiction,
in
an
interview
posted
on
fan
site
The
Fire Fairy,
she
takes
care
to
make
a
distinction
between
“the
parts
of
the
books
that
are
truly
Wicca-based”
and
the
“magickal
parts”
(“Original
Razorbill
Interview’).
She
states
clearly
that
although
she
draws
on
elements
of
Wicca
in
writing
her
novels,
she
herself
is
not
a
Wiccan
or
a
member
of
any
organized
religion.
188
4
One
particular
case
occurred
in
1999
when
a
Michigan
high
school
honour
student,
represented
by
the
American
Civil
Liberties
Union,
successfully
defended
her
right
to
wear
a
pentacle
to
school
after
she
was
ordered
not
to
wear
the
symbol
by
school
authorities
(la
Ferla
9.1).
The
case
was
a
well-publicized
example
of
what
is
a
common
problem
for
young
Wiccans
in
secondary
school.
189
Conclusion
The
definitive
characteristic
of
the
witch
in
the
past
has
been
her
tendency
to
elude
definition.
Like
my
predecessors,
|
must
also
conclude
that
|
have
been
unable
to
essentialize
the
witch,
to
distill
a
single
definition
from
the
variety
of
depictions
that
have
surfaced
in
my
chosen
area
of
young
adult
literature
published
in
the
last
decade.
But
from
the
beginning,
it
has
never
been
my
intention
to
do
so.
When
|
began
to
look
for
“witches”
in
young
adult
novels,
|
did
not
encounter
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West.
|
found
heroic
witches,
teen
witches,
historical
witches
who
did
not
have
to
be
‘innocent,’
Wiccans,
and
most
importantly,
male
“witches.”
The
only
thread
common
to
all
these
depictions
was
that
these
characters
were
labeled
“witches.”
Unable
to
form
a
single
hypothesis
that
could
account
for
the
variety
of
witch
motifs
|
encountered
in
these
young
adult
novels,
|,
like
Eliot
Rose
over
forty
years
before
me,
decided
to
“prove
nothing,
but
to
enquire
with
a
free
mind”
(3).
This
free
enquiry
led
me
to
the
other
goal
of
my
study,
which
was
to
interrogate
the
disciplinary
restrictions
and
limitations
that
in
many
ways
characterize
the
study
of
youth
literature.
As
someone
who
is
currently
in
a
doctoral
program
in
education
but
whose
undergraduate
and
masters
degrees
are
in
English,
|
am
a
“book
person”
as
well
as
a
“child
person.”
Contrary
to
much
of
the
scholarship
|
encounter,
|
see
no
reason,
other
than
the
compartmentalized
disciplinary
structure
of
the
university,
why
the
goals
of
190
“instruction”
and
“delight”
must
be
polarized
in
different
departments
and
disciplines.
The
peculiar
status
of
the
witch
as
a
figure
in
young
adult
literature
who
is
rooted
in
fantasy
but
shaped
by
real-world
factors
demanded
a
study
that
could
follow
the
movement
of
the
word
“witch”
itself
through
what
Rose
accurately
described
as
a
“bewildering
variety
of
mental
associations”
(3).
The
presence
of
male
witches
indicated
that
the
traditional
approach
to
studying
the
witch
as
a
female
figure,
and
therefore
primarily
the
subject
of
feminist
criticism,
could
not
sufficiently
account
for this
recent
growth
of
the
witch
into
a
gender
neutral
figure,
a
depiction
that
has
no
doubt
been
influenced
by
the
Wiccan
inclusion
of
both
males
and
females
under
the
term
“witch.”
These
encounters
immediately
indicated
that
looking
for
a
single
interpretive
framework
through
which
to
make
sense
of
this
variety
of
motifs
would
be
futile.
The
witch
is
a
symbol
that
takes
its
form
according
to
the
goals
and
needs
of
those
who
utilize
it;
analyzing
the
various
witch
motifs
found
in
the
particular
context
of
young
adult
literature
has
likewise
required
an
investigation
of
the
attitudes
and
beliefs
about
adolescent
readers
and
youth
culture
that
shape
these
motifs.
Taking
the
mutable
witch
figure
as
my
example,
then,
the
goal
of
this
study
has
been
to
demonstrate
how
the
construction
of
interdisciplinary
frameworks
that
bridge
the
division
of
the
literary
and
practical
approaches
to
studying
youth
literature
can
facilitate
our
understanding
of
this
body
of
work
as
the
embodiment
of
adult
values
about
the
development
and
education
of
young
people.
191
The
wicked
witch
is
the
most
familiar
cultural
depiction
of
the
witch
figure,
and
it
is
in
tracing
the
recent
development
of
this
traditional
archetype
for
a
young
adult
audience
that
we
begin
to
see
the
complex
overlapping
of
disciplines
that
is
needed
to
construct
frameworks
for
understanding
the
integration
of
the
literary
and
practical
components
of
youth
literature.
The
wicked
witch
figure
is
most
commonly
associated
with
the
literary
culture
of
younger
children,
where
she
is
found
in
a
wide
variety
of
forms
ranging
from
fairy
and
folk
tales
to
novels
such
as
The
Wizard
of
Oz
and
the
Chronicles
of
Narnia.
Psychoanalysts,
psychologists,
and
educators
have
explored
the
connection
between
younger
children
and
fairy
tales
extensively,
showing
that
the
flat
depictions
of
villainy
which
the
traditional
wicked
witch
archetype
embodies
suits
the
psychological
needs
and
tastes
of
younger
children,
who
tend
to
associate
themselves
with
the
heroes
and
find
security
in
the
death
or
elimination
of
villains.
Practitioners
have
also
observed,
however,
that
this
interest
and
ability
to
relate
to
what
Propp
called
the
“functions”
or
roles
of
archetypal
figures
declines
in
adolescence,
a
period
in
which
the
development
of
readers
begins
to
demand
the
particular
psychological
complexity
of
the
novel
instead
of
the
‘flatness’
that
is
characteristic
of
folk
tales.
The
need
to
kill
the
witch
instead
becomes
the
need
to
Know
the
witch,
a
transformation
that
can
be
usefully
illustrated
through
the
Jungian
concept
of
integrating
the
shadow,
a
term
that
analysts
such
as
Marie-
Louise
von
Franz
have
used
to
identify
the
psychological
significance
of
the
archetypal
wicked
witch
figure.
The
movement
of
the
wicked
witch
away
from
192
the
sphere
of
villainy
that
she
traditionally
occupies
in
traditional
literature
to
a
more
complex
depiction
in
the
young
adult
novel
can
best
be
described
through
narratological
frameworks
such
as
Mieke
Bal’s
classes
of
actors
(itself
a
development
of
Propp’s
list
of
functions),
which
facilitate
the
study
of
characters
or
plots
at
the
level
of
the
story
(or
fibula)
regardless
of
form.
In
novels
such
as
Witch
Hill
and
The
Witch
in
the
Lake,
the
wicked
witch
as
evil
villain
is
abstracted
into
what
Bal
calls
the
actantial
power,
a
force
that
is
more
psychological
than
physical,
representing
the
unacknowledged
guilt or
violence
of
an
individual
or
community—the
shadow.
Napoli’s
reworkings
of
Hansel
and
Gretel
and
Rapunzel,
on
the
other
hand,
concretize
the
archetypal
wicked
witch
by
making
her
into
the
actantial
subject
(often
also
called
the
hero),
a
more
‘numan’
character
who
is
given
a
background
story
and
motivations
for
her
actions.
Whether
they
turn
her
into
an
abstract
symbol
of
psychological
trauma
or
a
human
being
whose
‘evil’
acts
can
be
understood
as
human
weakness
or
desperation,
authors
of
young
adult
novels
challenge
adolescent
readers
to
know
or
understand
the
wicked
witch,
closing
the
distance
between
the
audience
and
the
villainy
that
traditional
flat
depictions
of
the
wicked
witch
promote.
While
it
concerns
a
much
more
contemporary
example
of
the
changing
witch
figure
than
the
wicked
witch,
the
blood
witch motif
likewise
illuminates
the
importance
of
psychological
themes
in
young
adult
literature,
or
in
this
case
the
theme
of
adolescence,
identity
development.
While
criticism
on
teen
witches
in
young
adult
novels
has
traditionally
focused
on
how
witchcraft
or
magic
acts
as
a
193
metaphor
for
female
development,
the
expansion
of
the
depiction
of
teen
blood
witches
in
recent
young
adult
literature
to
include
both
males
and
females
instead
draws
attention
to
the
particular
connection
between
the
trope
of
becoming
a
witch
and
adolescence
in
general.
In
spite
of
the
magical
circumstances
surrounding
the
development
of
teen
witches,
viewing
these
texts
through
frameworks
adapted
from
adolescent
psychology
show
us
that
the
main
task
of
teen
witches
is
the
same
as
that
of
their
more
mundane
adolescent
counterparts:
identity
achievement.
Starting
with
Hall
and
proceeding
through
the
work
of
Erikson
and
other
developmental
and
social
psychologists
in
the
last
century,
the
pervasive
influence
of
the
discipline
of
psychology
has
framed
our
understanding
of
adolescence
as
a
period
of
‘storm
and
stress’
resulting
in
the
achievement
of
a
grounded
adult
identity
that
integrates
past
experiences
with
future
aspirations.
The
series
Witch
Boy,
Sweep,
and
Wicked
depict
young
people
struggling
to
control
their
new
power
while
learning
to
balance
their
core
selves
with
the
extreme
changes
in
their
various
social
contexts
that
accompany
their
discovery
and
assumption
of
their
witch
heritage. Ultimately,
it
is
the
influence
of
their
close
relationships
that
wins
out
over
the
biological
ties
that
both
burden
and
bless
these
teen
witches,
allowing
these
characters
to
develop
into
socially
responsible
autonomous
selves,
or
people
who
can
exercise
their
own
agential
power
while
still
forming
and
maintaining
healthy
and
responsible
social
relationships.
While
psychology
has
always
had
a
strong
presence
in
criticism
of
YA
novels,
applying
psychological
frameworks
to
this
genre
does
194
more
than
provide
insight
into
adolescent
readers
or
treat
characters
as
‘real
people.
The
depictions
of
teen
blood
witches
reveal
how
identity
development
is
a
concept
that
permeates
our
cultural
construction
of
adolescence,
thereby
forming
the
strongest
literary
theme
featured
in
young
adult
literature.
Borrowing
terminology,
models,
and
concepts
from
developmental
and
social
psychology
can
therefore
allow
us
to
analyze
literary
depictions
of
adolescence
with
complexity
and
precision
in
place
of
generalizations
and
clichés.
The
challenges
faced
by
teen
witch
characters
as
they
develop
their
new
identities
presents
for
us,
then,
an
opportunity
to
interrogate
the
interdependence
of
the
aesthetic
and
practical
components
in
theorizing
young
adult
literature.
The
convergence
of
pedagogical
and
aesthetic
concerns
in
young
adult
literature
is
even
more
vividly
illustrated
in
novels
about
the
historical
witch
figure.
Long
valued
for
its
ability
to
provide
historical
information
in
an
engaging
and
empathetic
manner,
historical
fiction
represents
one
of
the
strongest
embodiments
of
the
traditional
dictum
of
children’s
literature
to
provide
instruction
through
delight.
But
as
a
pedagogical
form,
historical
fiction
is
also
an
ideological
vehicle;
it
does
not
teach
history
but
rather
an
interpretation
of
history
that
is
itself
rooted
in
the
beliefs
and
worldviews
of
the
author
and
time
and
place
that
he
or
she
writes
in.
The
case
of
the
historical
witch
shows
us
how
the
‘lessons’
that
historical
fiction
teaches
can
be
usefully
investigated
in
the
manner
that
the
teaching
of
history
in
general
is
being
evaluated
and
criticized
in
the
fields
of
cultural
studies
and
critical
pedagogy.
Insights
from
these
fields
195
problematize
the
longstanding
practice
of
using
the
plight
of
accused
witches
as
a
trope
for
generalized
scapegoating,
a
trope
that
has
been
applied
allegorically
to
represent
persecution
in
any
number
of
historical
events.
As
with
the
Holocaust,
overuse
of
the
term
‘witch
hunt’
has
led
to
a
flattening
of
the
original
event’s
meaning
and
narrowed
the
scope
through
which
we
question
the
original
event
and
any
event
it
is
compared
to,
as
exemplified
by
the
popularity
of
Arthur
Miller’s
allegory
of
McCarthyism,
The
Crucible.
Celia
Rees’s
novel
Witch
Child
provides
a
much-needed
revisiting
of
the
discussion
of
the
witch
trials
in
North
America.
By
examining
the
significance
of
cosmological
worldviews
in
accusations
of
witchcraft,
Reese
draws
an
interesting
and
timely
parallel
between
the
shamanistic
and
pantheistic
practices
of
Native
people
and
the
alleged
practices
of
accused
witches.
Although
the
author
is
not
herself
a
Wiccan,
Rees’s
novel
nonetheless
questions
the
dominance
of
the
Christocentric
worldview
that
contemporary
witches
along
with
those
who
practice
Native
spirituality
and
other
indigenous
faiths
have
come
to
address
in
their
own
identity-building
endeavors.
As
the
treatment
of
the
historical
witch
motif
illustrates,
what
is
needed
to
invigorate
discussion
and
exploration
of
past
events
in
historical
novels
is
for
the
practices
of
teaching
and
depicting
history
to
be
critically
evaluated
so that
new
interpretations
which
introduce
perspectives
and
voices
that
may
have
been
historically
silenced
can
emerge.
The
“real
witch”
motif
is
the
most
recent
manifestation
of
the
witch
figure,
reflecting
the
growing
presence
and
popularity
of
Wicca
in
mainstream
youth
196
culture.
Just
as
historical
fiction
represents
the
convergence
of
the
principles
of
instruction
and
delight,
Wiccan
authors
Isobel
Bird
and
Silver
Ravenwolf
have
utilized
the
medium
of
young
adult
literature
to
educate
readers
about
the
principles
of
this
faith.
Religious
instruction
is
one
of
the
oldest
purposes
of
youth
literature,
and
while
the
popularity
of
such
didactic
literature
seemed
to
subside
in
favour
of
more
‘delightful’
fare
well
over
a
century
ago,
the
publishing
industry
shows
that
recently
books
about
religion
are
in
demand
in
the
increasingly
important
young
adult
market.
One
important
change
in
the
market
for
religious
literature
then
and
now,
however,
is
that
whereas
“religion”
in
children’s
literature
written
in
English
at
one
time
automatically
connoted
“Christianity,”
today
adolescent
readers
are
interested
in
a
variety
of
religions,
especially
Wicca
and
other
‘New
Age’
religions.
This
religious
diversity
in
contemporary
multicultural
North
American
society
can
likewise
be
expressed
through
the
marketplace paradigm
employed
in
studies
of
the
sociology
of
religion,
where
a
large
number
of
religions
in
a
sense
compete
with
each
other
for
the
loyalty
of
followers.
Since
the
identity
development
characterizing
adolescence
marks
it
as
“the
age
of
conversion”
(Ream
and
Savin-Williams
53,
emphasis
original),
catering
to
the
needs
and
interests
of
the
youth
market
presents
an
ideological
as
well
as
economic
initiative.
The
obstructing
behaviour,
or
active
intolerance,
of
Wiccan
beliefs
and
practices
(as
displayed,
for
example,
in
episodes
of
the
Harry
Potter
controversy)
has
created
the
need
for
corrective
rather
than
simply
informative
depictions
of
197
Wicca
in
popular
culture,
including
young
adult
literature.
Wiccan
authors
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
have
attempted
to
correct
the
sensationalized
blended
images
of
witchcraft
and
Wicca
that
have been
promoted
in
popular
culture
through
such
television
shows
as
Buffy
the
Vampire
Slayer
and
Charmed
and
films
such
as
The
Craft,
along
with
the
media
“tie-in”
novels
that
are
based
on
such
programs.
In
spite
of
these
goals
to
educate
readers
on
the
nature-based
practices
of
Wiccans
(which
include
seasonal
festivals
and
meditation),
Bird
and
Ravenwolf
ultimately
fail
to
distance
their
series
from
the
sensationalized
images
of
magic
that
have
popularized
witchcraft
in
youth
culture.
The
unrealistic
empowerment
of
young
characters—a
generic
feature
used
to
create
suspense
in
series
fictions—becomes
problematic
in
Bird’s
Circle
of
Three
and
Ravenwolf’s
Witches’
Chillers,
where
the
supernatural
magic
displayed
by
the
teens
becomes
less
of
a
reflection
of
Wiccan
practice
(and
in
Ravenwolf’s
case
a
contradiction
of
her
own
non-fictional
writings
on
Wicca
for
teens)
and
more
of
an
imitation
of
the
sensational
witchcraft
that
each
author
set
out,
in
theory,
to
correct.
The
paradoxical
success
of
novels
about
“real”
witches
illustrates
how,
in
spite
of
the
reluctance
of
critics
and
practitioners
to
engage
with
“the
business
side”
of
youth
literature
(Taxel
and
Ward
52),
the
pressure
of
market
forces
(in
this
case
both
economic
and
sociological)
can
cause
the
goals
of
instruction
and
delight
to
work
against,
rather
than
for,
each
other.
Using
the
witch
as
an
example,
this
study
has
explored
how
interdisciplinary
frameworks
that
bridge
the
literary
critical
and
practical
divide
in
198
studies
of
youth
literature
can
explore
the
cultural
significance
of
young
adult
literature
as
reflecting
adult
beliefs
and
values
about
the
development
and
education
of
young
people.
Following
the
completion
of
this
project,
|
intend
to
undertake
a
study
of
another
figure
that
is
both
pervasive
in
youth
literature
but
which
has
yet
to
receive
any
extensive
treatment
as
a
significant
cultural
presence:
the
fat
teen
in
young
adult
novels.
Just
as
the
disciplinary
transience
of
the
witch
figure
has
traditionally
made
it
the
object
of
interdisciplinary
study,
the
field
of
fat
studies
investigates
how
fatness,
or
corpulence,
is
a
social
construction
that
bridges
a
number
of
disciplinary
contexts
and
is
in
many
ways
defined
by
them.
As
LeBesco
and
Braziel
write
in
their
introduction
to
their
recent
anthology
of
scholarly
essays,
Bodies
out
of
Bounds:
Fatness
and
Transgression,
“[w]hat
counts
as
fat
and
how
it
is
valued
is
far
from
universal:
indeed,
these
judgments
are
saturated
with
cultural,
historical,
political,
and
economic
influences”
(2).
Although
the
essays
in
this
anthology
do
not
deal
directly
with
youth
culture
in
particular,
my
intention
to
apply
interdisciplinary
frameworks
to
the
study
of
fat
characters
in
youth
literature
shares
in
the
goal
of
“unraveling
the
discourses
of
consumerism,
medicine,
and
psychology
that
so
permeate
contemporary
constructions
of
corpulence
and
fat”
(8).
While
the
topic
of
body
image
in
young
adult
literature
has
received
considerable
attention
(particularly
as
it
relates
to
female
characters),
the
specific
treatment
of
fat
characters
in
this
body
of
work,
like
the
cultural
construction
of
fatness
in
199
general,
is
an
under-explored
but
increasingly
important
area
of
inquiry
that
will
necessitate
the
crossing
of
the
aesthetic
and
practical
divide.
Along
with
this
particular
future
study,
|
intend
to
continue
to
develop
the
interdisciplinary
frameworks
|
have
constructed
from
the
concepts
and
models
taken
from
the
literary
and
practical
fields
associated
with
youth
literature
and
its
audience
in
order
to
work
towards
creating
analytical
approaches
which
investigate
youth
literature
as
a
distinct
body
of
work,
different
in
both
purpose
and
form
from
literature
for
adults.
Karen
Coats
points
out
that
while
scholars
have
in
the
past
focused
on
applying
existing
literary
theories
to
youth
literature
in
an
effort
to
legitimize
the
study
of
this
field,
“we
are
now
in
the
process
of
thinking
through
the
limits
of
existing
theory,
and
attempting
to
create
a
theoretical
apparatus
more
adequate
to
the
unique
concerns
of
our
subject”
(143).
It
is
my
hope
that
the
issues
raised
and
the
disciplinary
relations
explored
in
my
analysis
of
the
witch
figure
in
young
adult
novels
will
further
this
effort
to
develop
theories
that
continue
to
explore
what
has
always
been
the
‘unique’
characteristic
of
youth
literature—the
relationship
between
instruction
and
delight.
200
Appendix
Novels
About
Witches
Read
for
the
Study
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The
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---.
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2002.
Baum,
L.
Frank.
The
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Puffin-Penguin,
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And
it
Harm
None.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
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---.
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New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
The
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New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
2002.
---.
The
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New
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---.
The
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New
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2001.
---.
In
the
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New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
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New
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2002.
---.
Making
the
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New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
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---.
Merry
Meet.
New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
Ring
of
Light.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
--.
Second
Sight.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
So
Mote
it
be.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
Through
the
Veil.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
What
the
Cards
Said.
New
York:
Avon-HarperCollins,
2001.
---.
Written
in
the
Stars.
New
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Avon-HarperCollins,
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201
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—-.
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New
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---.
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New
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New
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New
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New
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New
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---.
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New
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203
---.
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New
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New
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---.
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New
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