The Witch's Daughter. Home · The Witch's Views KB Size Report. DOWNLOAD EPUB The Bearwalker's Daughter (Daughter of the Wind) · Read more. Incantation from The Craft: A Witch's Book of Shadows by Dorothy. Morrison The witch's daughter / Paula Brackston. .. of manual labor. While trying everything she can think of to make herself beautiful, the witches daughter discovers the secret of beauty Download Free PDF -.
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Download The Witch's Daughter (The Witch's Daughter, #1) Free Reading PDF. My name is Elizabeth Anne Hawksmith, and my age is three hundred and. Once upon a time, there lived a witch who was very mean and ugly. She was as ugly as a burnt plum pudding. She had only one daughter, who was named. About the Author. • A Conversation with Paula Brackston. Behind the Novel. • “ Writing The Witch's Daughter”. An Original Essay by the Author. Keep on Reading.
The witch craze in Europe qualifies as a holocaust. Women and men were executed during a year period. Can you imagine, four hundred years of such incredible ignorance and downright foolishness?
Like most real accused witches, she is older, she is somewhat unstable mentally, and she is a burden to her family. Today witchcraft persecutions continue in modern-day African countries such as Congo, Congo Republic, Angola and Zimbabwe, to name a few where I have heard specific accounts emanating from. At my blog , I write about these witchcraft reports in the hope that increased awareness can make a difference. It is no authorly fabrication, sadly. The book exists, and was responsible for fanning the frenzied flames of witchcraft fears.
I also blog excerpts from it. Ruiz said something that just blew my mind: that sometimes family members accused other members of witchcraft because they were so hungry. I kept mulling this horrifying idea over.
I was more writer than historian, I fear. Q: The scenes of dancing at the festivals showed how happy this fictional village once was. What made you include that?
I was for a brief, wonderful time a member of the Schulplattler group, a German folk dance group in Oakland, California. Learning how to move my body in these ancient rhythms and patterns, aided by flying sweat and exuberance, felt like putting the needle down into the groove of an LP. Q: On the other side of the coin, this book unflintingly shows the horrors faced by those who were accused. What was it like to research such horrid history?
When I wrote scenes where women were harmed, I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach. I was humbled by the true, real, sordid pain that humans inflict on each other. My greats grandmother Mary Bliss Parsons was accused in Massachusetts, and again 18 years later.
Both times, the courts set her free. She was accused of oddities like being able to step into the brook and come out dry. I learned about her while I was writing my novel.
Such uncanny timing, to find this out while I was in the midst of writing about witchcraft. And also strangely dissonant to discover events that happened years ago, via technology so comparatively new.
My mother sent me to a website on Mary—there are many, but click here for the one that includes a thoughtful analysis of her circumstances versus those of her main accuser. Her default position toward me, as an African, was a kind of patronizing, well-meaning pity. My roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe.
In this single story, there was no possibility of Africans being similar to her in any way, no possibility of feelings more complex than pity, no possibility of a connection as human equals.
I must say that before I went to the U. But in the U. Never mind that I knew nothing about places like Namibia. But I did come to embrace this new identity, and in many ways I think of myself now as African. Although I still get quite irritable when Africa is referred to as a country, the most recent example being my otherwise wonderful flight from Lagos two days ago, in which there was an announcement on the Virgin flight about the charity work in "India, Africa and other countries.
If I had not grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa were from popular images, I too would think that Africa was a place of beautiful landscapes, beautiful animals, and incomprehensible people, fighting senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves and waiting to be saved by a kind, white foreigner. I would see Africans in the same way that I, as a child, had seen Fide's family.
This single story of Africa ultimately comes, I think, from Western literature. Now, here is a quote from the writing of a London merchant called John Lok, who sailed to west Africa in and kept a fascinating account of his voyage. After referring to the black Africans as "beasts who have no houses," he writes, "They are also people without heads, having their mouth and eyes in their breasts.
And one must admire the imagination of John Lok. But what is important about his writing is that it represents the beginning of a tradition of telling African stories in the West: A tradition of Sub-Saharan Africa as a place of negatives, of difference, of darkness, of people who, in the words of the wonderful poet Rudyard Kipling, are "half devil, half child. In fact, I did not know what African authenticity was.
The professor told me that my characters were too much like him, an educated and middle-class man. My characters drove cars.
They were not starving. Therefore they were not authentically African. But I must quickly add that I too am just as guilty in the question of the single story. A few years ago, I visited Mexico from the U. The political climate in the U.
And, as often happens in America, immigration became synonymous with Mexicans. There were endless stories of Mexicans as people who were fleecing the healthcare system, sneaking across the border, being arrested at the border, that sort of thing.
I remember walking around on my first day in Guadalajara, watching the people going to work, rolling up tortillas in the marketplace, smoking, laughing. I remember first feeling slight surprise. And then, I was overwhelmed with shame. I realized that I had been so immersed in the media coverage of Mexicans that they had become one thing in my mind, the abject immigrant.
I had bought into the single story of Mexicans and I could not have been more ashamed of myself. So that is how to create a single story, show a people as one thing, as only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become.
It is impossible to talk about the single story without talking about power. There is a word, an Igbo word, that I think about whenever I think about the power structures of the world, and it is "nkali.
Power is the ability not just to tell the story of another person, but to make it the definitive story of that person. The Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti writes that if you want to dispossess a people, the simplest way to do it is to tell their story and to start with, "secondly.
Start the story with the failure of the African state, and not with the colonial creation of the African state, and you have an entirely different story.
I recently spoke at a university where a student told me that it was such a shame that Nigerian men were physical abusers like the father character in my novel.
I told him that I had just read a novel called "American Psycho" — Laughter — and that it was such a shame that young Americans were serial murderers.
Laughter Now, obviously I said this in a fit of mild irritation. Laughter But it would never have occurred to me to think that just because I had read a novel in which a character was a serial killer that he was somehow representative of all Americans.
This is not because I am a better person than that student, but because of America's cultural and economic power, I had many stories of America. I had read Tyler and Updike and Steinbeck and Gaitskill. I did not have a single story of America.
When I learned, some years ago, that writers were expected to have had really unhappy childhoods to be successful, I began to think about how I could invent horrible things my parents had done to me.
Laughter But the truth is that I had a very happy childhood, full of laughter and love, in a very close-knit family. But I also had grandfathers who died in refugee camps.
My cousin Polle died because he could not get adequate healthcare. One of my closest friends, Okoloma, died in a plane crash because our fire trucks did not have water. I grew up under repressive military governments that devalued education, so that sometimes, my parents were not paid their salaries.
And so, as a child, I saw jam disappear from the breakfast table, then margarine disappeared, then bread became too expensive, then milk became rationed.
And most of all, a kind of normalized political fear invaded our lives. All of these stories make me who I am. But to insist on only these negative stories is to flatten my experience and to overlook the many other stories that formed me. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.
They make one story become the only story. Of course, Africa is a continent full of catastrophes: There are immense ones, such as the horrific rapes in Congo and depressing ones, such as the fact that 5, people apply for one job vacancy in Nigeria. But there are other stories that are not about catastrophe, and it is very important, it is just as important, to talk about them.
I've always felt that it is impossible to engage properly with a place or a person without engaging with all of the stories of that place and that person.
The consequence of the single story is this: It robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar. So what if before my Mexican trip, I had followed the immigration debate from both sides, the U. What if my mother had told us that Fide's family was poor and hardworking? What if we had an African television network that broadcast diverse African stories all over the world?
What the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe calls "a balance of stories. Now, the conventional wisdom was that Nigerians don't read literature. He disagreed.