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A review by oraclelotus
Witchcraft for Wayward Girls by Grady Hendrix
5.0
Beneath the witchcraft and beneath the fiction lies a story about the women who came before us—their legacies erased, made invisible. The way this novel wrenches, pulls, and demands our gaze forces us to confront the injustices of a world that isn’t even that far behind us.
The unraveling from the climax into the epilogue deserves to be praised and studied for years. I truly cannot overstate how devastating those final chapters are: layered with pain, searing hurt, and the kind of hopelessness that settles in your bones.
From start to finish, I felt completely transported into another time—witnessing horrors inflicted on so many women, forced to endure the devastation alongside them. Their pain was my pain. Hope is torn away as easily as it was offered. Throughout the narrative, Grady constructs, layers, and pieces together an answer to the question: What does it mean to be a wayward girl? He forces the reader to wear those shoes and walk every agonizing mile.
On Fern’s Characterization:
Grady does an incredible job conjuring this character. Rarely have I felt so deeply invested in a protagonist so early on. By the end, I felt like I had truly seen her, heard her, and ached for her. It was a visceral, relentless journey to follow Neva and Fern’s intertwined story, and I’m grateful to have trudged and flown across those pages with them.
My one critique:
At times, Grady treads too closely to being preachy—even veering into what felt like virtue signaling. A few lines in the epilogue come off as performative, pushing the point a little too hard when the narrative already did the work beautifully.
Overall:
Now more than ever, this is a story that needs to be devoured, understood, and remembered. Fiction like this screams at the foundations of our world, tearing away layers of complacency and forcing wisdom only empathy can teach. If I hadn’t been a feminist before, I would be a witch now. My very being feels like fresh coal in a dimming furnace. I am angry. I am enraged. And I want to tear this society down.
Because yesterday, it was “wayward girls” blamed for everything from high taxes to crime to the collapse of Western society. Today, it’s immigrant families torn apart by ICE raids. It’s Mexicans blamed for a failing economy. It’s women, queers, Black folks, Asians, scapegoated again and again to protect systems that fear our power.
This novel doesn’t just tell a story—it casts a curse. One that leaves you marked, unsettled, and unable to look away.
Read it. And don’t you dare look away.
The unraveling from the climax into the epilogue deserves to be praised and studied for years. I truly cannot overstate how devastating those final chapters are: layered with pain, searing hurt, and the kind of hopelessness that settles in your bones.
From start to finish, I felt completely transported into another time—witnessing horrors inflicted on so many women, forced to endure the devastation alongside them. Their pain was my pain. Hope is torn away as easily as it was offered. Throughout the narrative, Grady constructs, layers, and pieces together an answer to the question: What does it mean to be a wayward girl? He forces the reader to wear those shoes and walk every agonizing mile.
On Fern’s Characterization:
Grady does an incredible job conjuring this character. Rarely have I felt so deeply invested in a protagonist so early on. By the end, I felt like I had truly seen her, heard her, and ached for her. It was a visceral, relentless journey to follow Neva and Fern’s intertwined story, and I’m grateful to have trudged and flown across those pages with them.
My one critique:
At times, Grady treads too closely to being preachy—even veering into what felt like virtue signaling. A few lines in the epilogue come off as performative, pushing the point a little too hard when the narrative already did the work beautifully.
Overall:
Now more than ever, this is a story that needs to be devoured, understood, and remembered. Fiction like this screams at the foundations of our world, tearing away layers of complacency and forcing wisdom only empathy can teach. If I hadn’t been a feminist before, I would be a witch now. My very being feels like fresh coal in a dimming furnace. I am angry. I am enraged. And I want to tear this society down.
Because yesterday, it was “wayward girls” blamed for everything from high taxes to crime to the collapse of Western society. Today, it’s immigrant families torn apart by ICE raids. It’s Mexicans blamed for a failing economy. It’s women, queers, Black folks, Asians, scapegoated again and again to protect systems that fear our power.
This novel doesn’t just tell a story—it casts a curse. One that leaves you marked, unsettled, and unable to look away.
Read it. And don’t you dare look away.