The Book of Witches
Jonathan Strahan, ed.
Paperback/ebook
ISBN: 9780063113220
Harper Voyager, August 1, 2023, 512 pgs

As Senior Editor at Locus Magazine, I’ve seen a lot of original anthologies come through the office over the past few years. This one stands among the best of them. Editor Jonathan Strahan is no stranger to anthologies: ISFDB shows an extensive publication history going back to the late 1990s, and before that he was running a magazine. He is also one of genre’s more awards-decorated editors, including, fairly recently, a World Fantasy Award nomination and Locus Award win for 2020 anthology The Book of Dragons (also from Harper Voyager). In fact, not long ago, I reviewed his MIT Press anthology Tomorrow’s Parties, which was good.

But this book? In my opinion, this places him among the best anthologists I’ve read. Sure, he has a long history in genre; but this one demonstrates that he’s also connected with what’s happening now. Strahan proves this by pulling together a stunning set of authors who stand among the best of the current generation of writers, and delivering a book which is rich in excellent original fiction. I’ll share my thoughts about a few pieces, but seriously, just glance inside the table of contents—if you aren’t excited by this list, you probably just don’t know enough about short fiction.

Witches opens with Linda Addison’s poem “Seed of Power.” It’s an important choice because on the one hand, it lets the reader know that this book also features poetry; on the other, simply put, it’s excellent, so it sets the tone for the rest of the book. Shaped like a seed or a bulb the shape of the poem itself evokes traditional imagery of the feminine. While evoking that traditional imagery, the text simultaneously embodies and challenges ideas of the feminine. The shape reflects the challenges of the ideas born from the text, smiling warmly while drawing the reader towards realizations about their own assumptions. The phrases, the lines, they are great; but collected together as a poem, they become both powerful and empowering. This message is artistic, beautiful, but still lucid: people have the right and the ability to define themselves, and attempts to seek control by defining them are foolish. The final note of the poem expands on all the ideas set forward beforehand, to allow for things that are beyond the scope of the shape. In other words, it suggests infinite possibilities. And rightly so.

Cassandra Khaw definitely knows how to open a story, how to reach into a reader’s chest and demand their attention. Khaw flexes this knowledge in “Met Swallow.” Great opening lines are followed by great dialogue and a distinctive voice. Khaw adds to all this gently beautiful storytelling—sentences which, if you’re paying attention, you could sit with for a while and appreciate on their own, but which also work smoothly, so you could just read along and let the language choices breathe in your subconscious, enhancing your enjoyment. And oh yeah, the story is also just really cool. A nameless point-of-view character takes the form (both flesh and damaged memories) of Amaranth, who was recently murdered. Then Point-of-View begins to search for the killer. From there, things get wonderfully complicated, as Point-of-View has to infiltrate the family, as well as sort through the conflicting emotions arising from digging into a dead stranger’s life.

“Really cool” could describe a lot of these stories, including Darcie Little Badger’s “The Liar.” In this case we need to embellish “really cool” with a few other words: clever, beguiling, unexpected. Dialogue and straightforward prose ground the reader in the story, to the extent that, even for me—conscientiously reading in order to review—the act of reading simply melts away and you are carried through the narrative. Jodie makes for a protagonist we want to follow, and while some of the elements of the story setup are familiar, such as a power which comes with an ironic curse, the application of the ideas, and the combination of story elements, make for a seriously entertaining read. There is also a looming threat: someone who is stealing powers, and who may be a danger to our protagonist. You might think of Heroes (the television show), and that’s fair, since the plot had a similar description; but it’s also not fair, because this story feels unique and awesome and far more engrossing. Of course, Jodie dives from the poker table into danger, so . . . yes! This one is fun!

Emily Y. Teng starts “The Cost of Doing Business” with an opening line that grabs you, but also creates the feeling of a read with layers—and blood. Teng then adds a touch of humor, a wry smirk, while giving us the cool concept of a witch who works in an office in a factory, where you might go with whatever kinds of job-related problems might arise. The problem in the story is a severe on-the-job accident. Teng effectively (or perhaps entertainingly) combines folkloric imagery and a dash of camp with modern concerns: industry, conspiracy, big money taking advantage of laborers. Well, then again, you can just read it as a fun, clever story. Little touches throughout the narrative make the read even more enjoyable.

Millie Ho offers us a poem, “She Who Makes the Rain.” Through wonderful use of imagery, sentence and phrase structures, and compelling word choices, Ho evokes change, age, uncertainty, and more. Ho juxtaposes power with vulnerability, and through poetry and the fantastic reveals truths about life. It’s a brief, vibrant work, which perhaps says that people are more complex than we think, and more valuable than we realize.

Saad Z. Hossain had an engaging story in Strahan’s aforementioned Tomorrow’s Parties, but I liked “Orphanage of the Last Breath” even more. One thing I’ve learned from dipping into Hossain’s work from time to time is that there is often valuable class subtext at the center of the story. “Orphanage” digs in right away, with a police commissar fabricating witchcraft charges as part of a scheme to “clean up” the disenfranchised inhabitants of an otherwise swanky area. Texas Mok is an unsympathetic protagonist, somewhat swaggering and over-armed for the task at hand, but interesting in the way he tickles at the things many people like about military/police style heroes: a touch of military glamor, a seemingly good backstory, cool gadgets, and a catchy name. He is unsympathetic towards the people of the slum, despite being aware that this is where the employees of the wealthy actually live. As I said: lots of subtext. Mok is the type that is perfectly willing to do a job, and perfectly willing to get rough while doing it. Ultimately, he is a bully, and the sticky glamor should make readers wonder how many of their other gun-carrying heroes are also bullies. In the narrative, Mok is told about a real witch, an actual monster who lives deep in the heart of the slum. “We will kill this witch,” Mok says, “and return the orphans.” And with this, Hossain brilliantly demonstrates the complexities of so-called heroism, and the ways that people who aren’t really heroes can look and sound like heroes in certain circumstances. Things get bloodier from there, and the revelations which follow are a brutal look at the human tendency to abuse power, among other things.

C.L. Clark’s “What Dreams May Come” is one of the more memorable pieces, and that’s saying a lot, since this is a book overflowing with memorable pieces. I’ve said it of some of the others already, but I need to say it again: Clark knows how to open a story. This one dunks you into the tension, pulling together a number of different story elements seamlessly, getting you involved and worried and caught up in the drama of the piece, while also stitching in the information you need to get a sense of what’s going on. Calling Clark an expert storyteller would somehow seem inadequate. Family dissonance is at the center of things, but this is a family that can do interesting things with dreams, while also being a family with at least a few lethal boundaries. Pol is our protagonist, dragged back into the family drama when their sister calls telling them that their mother is in trouble. Pol has tried to keep their distance from the family up to this point, but now has to lie to their wife and make an emergency trip to go help. Add to this that the family hasn’t seen Pol since top surgery . . .? Layers of brilliant immediacy and friction all at once. Pol has to navigate the animosity of their aunts, and the emotions of being back “home,” while also facing the dangers involved in saving their mom from powers gone awry. I mean, this is great fiction, y’all.

The Harper Voyager page describes this book as “illustrated by Alyssa Winans.” I’m bummed that neither of my early digital copies (a .pdf as well as the NetGalley release) has these illustrations. I encourage you to go to Winans’s website and get a taste of what may be in store. There are good reasons she’s been nominated for several Hugo awards and won a British Science Fiction Award, including vibrant colors, striking use of contrast, distinctive style, and more.

In any case, I hope readers take a look at this book, and honestly, I hope it is at least discussed when awards time comes around. Strahan shows off his genius here, combining longstanding short fiction powerhouses like Ken Liu and Sheree Renée Thomas with proven authors that readers want to see more of, like Tade Thompson, Kelly Robson, and Tochi Onyebuchi; and then adding relative newcomers who’ve made their mark as unique, commanding writers, like Premee Mohamed and Tobi Ogundiran. In these careful selections, Strahan has put together a book which takes on a trope, which entertains, yes; but which also does so many things that are necessary and wonderful. I can’t wait for more readers to get to experience this book.