The Witch Diggers
by Jessamyn West
My last reads of this author (one of my favorites) were Friendly Persuasion and Except for Me and Thee, very different animals than this read. Picking The Witch Diggers off my TBR list, and reading, I immediately felt the change in mood and atmosphere present. There was crazy here somewhere. Lurking hard.
Even with the dark, low music playing in the atmosphere, her writing compels me to turn pages, word after word, character to character, with just enough vagueness to slow me down. Re-read, re-imagine, make sure I’m catching exactly what she means. The way the text is sectioned, cut into relevant pieces helps me and I thank her silently. Her descriptions are lovely, winding, as if she wrote them while in a twirl so a reader gets a 360 view.
Subjects in this book are deeper, grimier than the other two books I’d read. The main character starts out to be Cate, a girl who is trying to be all she should be, but is painfully aware of how far her real self is from the ideal. Then other characters are added, and a reader begins to see how that self-exam is going on with all, and just to add fuel to the fire, the setting is a county poor house, inhabited by souls who have suffered far and wide on the spectrum of life’s troubles. Cate’s father, Link, is a man who gave up law to serve the public so he could match up to the ideal he’d grown to expect out of himself. By the end of the book, I could make a case for just about 5 or 6 characters to be considered "the main character." There are too many characters to examine here, and that is not the purpose of this review – which is to give you, dear reader, a sense of whether this book is for you. To that I say – so if you’ve read others of Jessamyn West’s books, you may want to give this a try. This is a “think-about” book.
The title comes from inmates of the poor house who are rough in nature, spiritual to an uncomfortable degree (felt like kool-aid drinkers to me). They followed a man who equipped all with digging instruments and would go out and have a revelation, like a water witcher or dowser, that he could restore the faith and hope of all those who joined in. There were potholes all around the poor house property.
At the close of the book one ponders about happiness, the point of the author’s effort at writing this book. Is it earned by our actions? Is it purchased? Perhaps it is a matter of luck, lottery or clever dealing? Are we tricked into it? Do we just call what we got enough? And what of our duty, if any, to account for any lack of happiness we may experience: Is it our fault? Has it been knocked out of us by storms and battles? Is happiness deserved or undeserved? Bestowed by divine others or wrenched away as a consequence of missed steps on the path or wisdom unheeded?
This, for me, will be one of those “sticky” stories that I carry along, which pop up at the oddest, most perfect moments.