What do you think?
Rate this book
Suffer a Witch: A Memoir
For readers of Know My Name by Chanel Miller and fans of Broadway’s John Proctor Is the Villain, a stunning memoir in verse about sexual abuse, survival, and sisterhood from the New York Times bestselling author of Blood Water Paint.
Joy McCullough’s earliest memories are of time spent in church, moments when she climbed the steps to recite from the pulpit, just like her preacher father. But when she was a teenager in San Diego in the 1990s, her connection to her family and church were forever altered when a youth pastor groomed and sexually assaulted Joy.
In her debut memoir, McCullough pairs achingly raw poems recalling her abuse and its aftermath with hopeful, challenging verses about her life today as she seeks healing and justice in a country that rewards men for sexual abuse and still insists “girls these days will say anything.”
Among the poems, McCullough also weaves prose letters to historical girls and women—from Joan of Arc to Abigail Williams—whose lives and stories were ignored when they were caught in the maelstrom of witchcraft accusations.
Suffer a Witch shines a bright, unsparing light on one woman’s experience—and on those of generations of women who came before her.
Joy McCullough’s earliest memories are of time spent in church, moments when she climbed the steps to recite from the pulpit, just like her preacher father. But when she was a teenager in San Diego in the 1990s, her connection to her family and church were forever altered when a youth pastor groomed and sexually assaulted Joy.
In her debut memoir, McCullough pairs achingly raw poems recalling her abuse and its aftermath with hopeful, challenging verses about her life today as she seeks healing and justice in a country that rewards men for sexual abuse and still insists “girls these days will say anything.”
Among the poems, McCullough also weaves prose letters to historical girls and women—from Joan of Arc to Abigail Williams—whose lives and stories were ignored when they were caught in the maelstrom of witchcraft accusations.
Suffer a Witch shines a bright, unsparing light on one woman’s experience—and on those of generations of women who came before her.
336 pages, Hardcover
First published August 18, 2026
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 131 reviews
September 13, 2026
My song of choice before heading into this powerful verse memoir.
Suffer a Witch made me feel sad and helpless and very, very angry. It is not just about the sexual abuse McCullough experienced from her youth pastor, not just about the years of trauma and recovery and triggers— it is so deeply upsetting because it is about a woman (in fact, many women) screaming what happened to her, over and over again, and being met with dismissal.
People ask why victims don't come forward and speak up, but McCullough did! She told family, she filed reports, she emailed employers. And it was all futile, because absolutely nothing happened. Her despair is palpable— despair that the man who groomed and abused her is still free, still working with kids.
But this book does something else, too. Interspersed with McCullough's personal memoir are letters to various women throughout history: those burned as witches, those bullied into confessing, those punished for being raped, and Eve. Eve, who, as the story goes, was the only woman alive and at the mercy of that milquetoast Adam and a god who would set a trap for her and then punish her when she fell into it.
McCullough's pain is evident as she extends understanding and, where appropriate, forgiveness towards all these women. It is incredibly moving.
It is also made stronger because the author resists painting women solely as innocent victims, both throughout history and in her own story. She forgives the women, many of them barely more than children, who threw others under the bus to escape torture. Then, in her personal story, she examines a brilliant lawyer who changed her life, gave her the language to speak about what happened to her, then went on to be a defence attorney for well-known rapists.
I don't know how anyone can read this without their nerves feeling raw. I hope it becomes popular. I hope that bastard has to see it everywhere he goes.
Here’s what I do notice
as a child formed by a church
with a father who preaches
predestination:
God made the tree with irresistible fruit
and the serpent to tempt her
then watched as events unfolded
exactly as he planned
and punished her for it.
Suffer a Witch made me feel sad and helpless and very, very angry. It is not just about the sexual abuse McCullough experienced from her youth pastor, not just about the years of trauma and recovery and triggers— it is so deeply upsetting because it is about a woman (in fact, many women) screaming what happened to her, over and over again, and being met with dismissal.
People ask why victims don't come forward and speak up, but McCullough did! She told family, she filed reports, she emailed employers. And it was all futile, because absolutely nothing happened. Her despair is palpable— despair that the man who groomed and abused her is still free, still working with kids.
But this book does something else, too. Interspersed with McCullough's personal memoir are letters to various women throughout history: those burned as witches, those bullied into confessing, those punished for being raped, and Eve. Eve, who, as the story goes, was the only woman alive and at the mercy of that milquetoast Adam and a god who would set a trap for her and then punish her when she fell into it.
McCullough's pain is evident as she extends understanding and, where appropriate, forgiveness towards all these women. It is incredibly moving.
It is also made stronger because the author resists painting women solely as innocent victims, both throughout history and in her own story. She forgives the women, many of them barely more than children, who threw others under the bus to escape torture. Then, in her personal story, she examines a brilliant lawyer who changed her life, gave her the language to speak about what happened to her, then went on to be a defence attorney for well-known rapists.
I don't know how anyone can read this without their nerves feeling raw. I hope it becomes popular. I hope that bastard has to see it everywhere he goes.
April 6, 2026
Admit it, the priests told you, and twelve years was old enough for you to know you must listen to church authorities. Old enough to know the truth didn't matter anyway. Old enough to know someone had to pay for a boy's wounded pride. (loc. 669*)
McCullough was a young teenager, a preacher's daughter, when a new youth pastor was hired at her father's church. That is not the point she describes as the tipping point, the moment when things could have been different—but fundamentally, this pastor who groomed her and sexually assaulted her tipped her life upside down. And: He was not subtle. And: Nobody spoke up, not when it was McCullough and not when it was her sister and not when it was the next girl behind closed doors with the youth pastor.
The story is devastating. McCullough is so clear about what happened and the ways in which she was silenced, both then and later; also the ways in which it affected her, then and later. (I won't get into the family parts of things here, but...if she's not still angry, she's a more forgiving person than I.) Her story comes in conversation with women accused of witchcraft—in Salem, in Sweden, in Scotland, beyond. (See the quotation up top.) It's also in conversation, at times, with itself: I do say that, in a previous draft, in a poem my editor says / isn't quite landing (loc. 855).
I had some trouble with the story format—verse works best for me when I can't just read it as sentences flowing one into another with extra line breaks, and when I have to slow down and reread to get all of the nuance and wordplay. While there is some play of structure and word choice here, for large parts of the book I was able to just read straight through. This is more personal preference than anything, but I probably would have found this a better fit for me in a different format (more prose, or a different style of poetry, or maybe a play). That said, maybe also worth noting that the formatting wasn't quite right on my Kindle (I read an ARC and assume this will work better in the final version, so not something to worry about), and if I'd realized earlier I would have switched to reading on my phone, where things like page breaks came across more clearly. And if you like your poetry on the more straightforward side, this is likely to be a better fit for you.
3.5 stars; structure wasn't for me, but the story is powerful and important, and I love the tie-ins to history. At one point McCullough mentions a previous book being called "timely" when it came out in 2018, and she notes that it was timely then and now and in the 1970s and in the 1610s and in so many years in between, and this feels the same way. It's a timely book, published now when so many stories have been told about abuse within churches and religion (and when restrictive evangelical religion is doing its best to take over the US), but it also would have been timely five years ago or ten or fifty, and I expect it will be timely still some years from now.
*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
McCullough was a young teenager, a preacher's daughter, when a new youth pastor was hired at her father's church. That is not the point she describes as the tipping point, the moment when things could have been different—but fundamentally, this pastor who groomed her and sexually assaulted her tipped her life upside down. And: He was not subtle. And: Nobody spoke up, not when it was McCullough and not when it was her sister and not when it was the next girl behind closed doors with the youth pastor.
The story is devastating. McCullough is so clear about what happened and the ways in which she was silenced, both then and later; also the ways in which it affected her, then and later. (I won't get into the family parts of things here, but...if she's not still angry, she's a more forgiving person than I.) Her story comes in conversation with women accused of witchcraft—in Salem, in Sweden, in Scotland, beyond. (See the quotation up top.) It's also in conversation, at times, with itself: I do say that, in a previous draft, in a poem my editor says / isn't quite landing (loc. 855).
I had some trouble with the story format—verse works best for me when I can't just read it as sentences flowing one into another with extra line breaks, and when I have to slow down and reread to get all of the nuance and wordplay. While there is some play of structure and word choice here, for large parts of the book I was able to just read straight through. This is more personal preference than anything, but I probably would have found this a better fit for me in a different format (more prose, or a different style of poetry, or maybe a play). That said, maybe also worth noting that the formatting wasn't quite right on my Kindle (I read an ARC and assume this will work better in the final version, so not something to worry about), and if I'd realized earlier I would have switched to reading on my phone, where things like page breaks came across more clearly. And if you like your poetry on the more straightforward side, this is likely to be a better fit for you.
3.5 stars; structure wasn't for me, but the story is powerful and important, and I love the tie-ins to history. At one point McCullough mentions a previous book being called "timely" when it came out in 2018, and she notes that it was timely then and now and in the 1970s and in the 1610s and in so many years in between, and this feels the same way. It's a timely book, published now when so many stories have been told about abuse within churches and religion (and when restrictive evangelical religion is doing its best to take over the US), but it also would have been timely five years ago or ten or fifty, and I expect it will be timely still some years from now.
*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
March 6, 2026
This was a tough read, but it was also incredibly powerful and moving. Written in verse, Joy McCullough tells the story of the grooming and sexual abuse she endured by the youth pastor at her church. The book is interspersed with letters to women throughout history that were accused of witchcraft. A heartbreaking, infuriating, and incredibly important read.
Believe women.
Believe women.
March 3, 2026
*** I received this book as an Advanced Reader’s Copy. I would actually rate it a 4.5, but GoodReads only likes whole numbers. 😁 My review follows.
I had my doubts about reading this book when I received it as an ARC giveaway, but I love novels in verse and memoirs so hunkered down and started reading. For the first 60 pages I was forcing myself to continue and really didn’t think I would finish because my initial impression of the author, Joy McCullough, was that she was so angry and bitter that I could not connect with her. I just “knew” that this book was going to be blaming every man and every church and Christianity in general for what happened to her.
However, I kept reading and suddenly realized that this story felt familiar, like a book I had read back in the fall. I walked over to the novels in verse section of my classroom library and discovered that the book felt familiar because it was familiar. I had read “Blood Water Paint” by Joy McCullough a few months ago. So again, I kept reading. And you know what? I could not put this book down!
I loved the pauses in the narrative for the letters to women throughout history. I loved the connections made between men with power over women not getting what they want and women being accused of being witches. (I thought A LOT about that and even stopped took a little bit of time in class to discuss it with my students.) I loved the emotional struggles I experienced as the author shared her the trauma she experienced. And I loved that as the story continued I no longer felt the bitterness and anger from the beginning of the book but rather the confusion and betrayal the author dealt with.
This book would have been a 5 for me if it weren’t for these two sticking points, which may not be a problem for most people. They are for me though. First, I really, really dislike gross generalization made about institutions that lead to the villainization of churches/Christianity, entire justice systems, etc., rather than placing blame where it is specifically needed (her youth pastor, her father, her church, the specific officer who shared information, etc.). And secondly, I do not want to know the political viewpoints of the author I am reading. We are already so surrounded by political divisions that I don’t want it spilling into my treasured reading time. The political bias was present throughout the book but was overwhelmingly obvious when the author created a lengthy list of women sexually assaulted by powerful men but skipped over likes of the Kennedys and Clintons of the world.
I did love this book and happily give it 4.5 stars, maybe even a 4.75.
I had my doubts about reading this book when I received it as an ARC giveaway, but I love novels in verse and memoirs so hunkered down and started reading. For the first 60 pages I was forcing myself to continue and really didn’t think I would finish because my initial impression of the author, Joy McCullough, was that she was so angry and bitter that I could not connect with her. I just “knew” that this book was going to be blaming every man and every church and Christianity in general for what happened to her.
However, I kept reading and suddenly realized that this story felt familiar, like a book I had read back in the fall. I walked over to the novels in verse section of my classroom library and discovered that the book felt familiar because it was familiar. I had read “Blood Water Paint” by Joy McCullough a few months ago. So again, I kept reading. And you know what? I could not put this book down!
I loved the pauses in the narrative for the letters to women throughout history. I loved the connections made between men with power over women not getting what they want and women being accused of being witches. (I thought A LOT about that and even stopped took a little bit of time in class to discuss it with my students.) I loved the emotional struggles I experienced as the author shared her the trauma she experienced. And I loved that as the story continued I no longer felt the bitterness and anger from the beginning of the book but rather the confusion and betrayal the author dealt with.
This book would have been a 5 for me if it weren’t for these two sticking points, which may not be a problem for most people. They are for me though. First, I really, really dislike gross generalization made about institutions that lead to the villainization of churches/Christianity, entire justice systems, etc., rather than placing blame where it is specifically needed (her youth pastor, her father, her church, the specific officer who shared information, etc.). And secondly, I do not want to know the political viewpoints of the author I am reading. We are already so surrounded by political divisions that I don’t want it spilling into my treasured reading time. The political bias was present throughout the book but was overwhelmingly obvious when the author created a lengthy list of women sexually assaulted by powerful men but skipped over likes of the Kennedys and Clintons of the world.
I did love this book and happily give it 4.5 stars, maybe even a 4.75.
March 30, 2026
This book was a beautiful and raw account of a woman’s experience with navigating/processing her childhood sexual abuse. She also incorporated letters written to women who were accused/accused others during the witch trials, and how their experiences so deeply mirror her own experiences, as well as those of modern day women. It’s a lovely tribute to survivors. I’m looking forward to reading her other works.
August 12, 2026
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author for this free eARC in exchange for an honest review.
Cried <3
The pros: The events of this memoir are hard to talk about, and unfortunately still common. I haven't read many such accounts, at least not long-form ones, and I think there are two main things that make this stand out. First is the interstitials of history, the letters to accused witches and the stories of the men that hurt them. It was a connection I wasn't expecting, as I had never really associated these stories with sexual assault, but I was thinking about it the wrong way. The results may differ (sometimes), but the pattern is the same; the loss of autonomy for the accused/assaulted women. I really loved the parallels, as well as just the deep empathy the author has for these women throughout history, even in cases that aren't so black and white. The second thing that stands out is how deeply the author is impacted to this day. She talks a few times throughout the book about how writing and researching this memoir has brought up many terrible memories, has led to new terrible revelations, and has often been triggering. Maybe it's crazy or evil of me to say, but I like that raw emotion. It makes everything feel more real. I think some memoirs and nonfiction try to distance themselves too much, and it sounds a little detatched sometimes, but I think this book is all the stronger for not flinching, not looking away, even though I'm sure that made it harder to write. This is a truly terrible series of events that the author has written in a very moving way, and I hope her and her story continue to help others.
The cons: Is it weird to say that I think more poetic forms/devices could've been used? Just something I'm noticing with the novels in verse I've read lately (which granted, aren't many). I don't think the book is lacking for it, per se, just something I noticed.
I'm definitely going to look into more of this author's work.
Cried <3
The pros: The events of this memoir are hard to talk about, and unfortunately still common. I haven't read many such accounts, at least not long-form ones, and I think there are two main things that make this stand out. First is the interstitials of history, the letters to accused witches and the stories of the men that hurt them. It was a connection I wasn't expecting, as I had never really associated these stories with sexual assault, but I was thinking about it the wrong way. The results may differ (sometimes), but the pattern is the same; the loss of autonomy for the accused/assaulted women. I really loved the parallels, as well as just the deep empathy the author has for these women throughout history, even in cases that aren't so black and white. The second thing that stands out is how deeply the author is impacted to this day. She talks a few times throughout the book about how writing and researching this memoir has brought up many terrible memories, has led to new terrible revelations, and has often been triggering. Maybe it's crazy or evil of me to say, but I like that raw emotion. It makes everything feel more real. I think some memoirs and nonfiction try to distance themselves too much, and it sounds a little detatched sometimes, but I think this book is all the stronger for not flinching, not looking away, even though I'm sure that made it harder to write. This is a truly terrible series of events that the author has written in a very moving way, and I hope her and her story continue to help others.
The cons: Is it weird to say that I think more poetic forms/devices could've been used? Just something I'm noticing with the novels in verse I've read lately (which granted, aren't many). I don't think the book is lacking for it, per se, just something I noticed.
I'm definitely going to look into more of this author's work.
July 21, 2026
Thank you NetGalley and Dutton Books for the review copy of Joy McCullough’s powerful memoir “Suffer a Witch.” It is deeply appreciated.
Trigger Warning: abuse of a minor
I love Joy McCullough’s work. Her novel in verse “Blood Water Paint” about the artist Artemisia Gentileschi is one of my favorite books. Her newest book “Suffer a Witch” is a hard-hitting memoir of betrayal, survival, and resilience.
McCullough recounts the years of grooming and sexual assault by a youth pastor, funneling her pain into poetry. She pulls women from the past into her narrative, women who spoke up and weren’t believed, women like her.
She speaks of the blessings of her life today with a supportive, loving husband and beloved children, and the shadows of the past that still haunt her. McCullough writes of her campaign for justice and closure for herself and her assailant’s other victims, and her desire to protect other girls that he has the free opportunity to prey on.
“Suffer a Witch” is a painful, angry memoir, written by a brave, brilliant woman, a mother, a sister, a survivor. A fighter.
Trigger Warning: abuse of a minor
I love Joy McCullough’s work. Her novel in verse “Blood Water Paint” about the artist Artemisia Gentileschi is one of my favorite books. Her newest book “Suffer a Witch” is a hard-hitting memoir of betrayal, survival, and resilience.
McCullough recounts the years of grooming and sexual assault by a youth pastor, funneling her pain into poetry. She pulls women from the past into her narrative, women who spoke up and weren’t believed, women like her.
She speaks of the blessings of her life today with a supportive, loving husband and beloved children, and the shadows of the past that still haunt her. McCullough writes of her campaign for justice and closure for herself and her assailant’s other victims, and her desire to protect other girls that he has the free opportunity to prey on.
“Suffer a Witch” is a painful, angry memoir, written by a brave, brilliant woman, a mother, a sister, a survivor. A fighter.
August 12, 2026
Let’s burn all men!
Read
August 9, 2026(unrated because I do not typically rate memoirs, but this is absolutely a highlight of my reading year and most likely will be the best book I read all month)
The way Joy McCullough intertwines her story with the stories of falsely accused and misunderstood women from history is beautifully done and creates such a compelling narrative that keeps you turning the page. It's an important, though painful reminder, that while society has changed and shifted in countless ways throughout the history of time, there's one thing that has not changed: women are always blamed for the atrocities placed upon them by men, and when they speak out and shine a light on the abuse and injustice they have received, everything they've ever said and/or done is placed under a microscope and used against them. However, what prevails above all else, is that women and victims continue to speak up, regardless of the outcome, and will do all they can to take back their power which shows a strength that no one can truly take away from you.
McCullough's writing is always impactful, and I think that telling this story, her story, in verse is something that feels so truthful to her and her art. From the first sentence I couldn't put this down. There were moments where I raged and yelled about the abuse she endured and the people who turned a blind eye when she spoke out, I cried multiple times as my heart was broken again and again by what she went through, and I was so inspired by how she never gave up and has continued to tell her story because her story and her voice matter.
I think the blurb saying that this is for readers of Know My Name by Chanel Miller and John Proctor is the Villain by Kimberly Belflower is absolutely spot on as someone who has read both the novel and the play and thought about them countless times since reading them. I thought this was an absolutely brilliant memoir and while it is a tough and heartbreaking read, I highly recommend it.
The way Joy McCullough intertwines her story with the stories of falsely accused and misunderstood women from history is beautifully done and creates such a compelling narrative that keeps you turning the page. It's an important, though painful reminder, that while society has changed and shifted in countless ways throughout the history of time, there's one thing that has not changed: women are always blamed for the atrocities placed upon them by men, and when they speak out and shine a light on the abuse and injustice they have received, everything they've ever said and/or done is placed under a microscope and used against them. However, what prevails above all else, is that women and victims continue to speak up, regardless of the outcome, and will do all they can to take back their power which shows a strength that no one can truly take away from you.
McCullough's writing is always impactful, and I think that telling this story, her story, in verse is something that feels so truthful to her and her art. From the first sentence I couldn't put this down. There were moments where I raged and yelled about the abuse she endured and the people who turned a blind eye when she spoke out, I cried multiple times as my heart was broken again and again by what she went through, and I was so inspired by how she never gave up and has continued to tell her story because her story and her voice matter.
I think the blurb saying that this is for readers of Know My Name by Chanel Miller and John Proctor is the Villain by Kimberly Belflower is absolutely spot on as someone who has read both the novel and the play and thought about them countless times since reading them. I thought this was an absolutely brilliant memoir and while it is a tough and heartbreaking read, I highly recommend it.
August 19, 2026
Such a tough book to review, it takes a long time to gather momentum and the witch narratives not to feel jarring. I felt the college-trial sections of the book were the most composed, which also makes me wonder if the earlier sections are intentionally less formed, due to the haziness of specific menu and an effort to help the reader understand her naïveté and limited but progressing sense of self, and how trauma often leaves only snapshots and odd details with overall sensation/feeling leading the way.
May 26, 2026
*Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review*
Suffer a Witch is a memoir-in-verse by Joy McCullough about her time in the church, the abuse she encountered during that time, and surviving the aftermath of those events. It weaves in the stories of historical women whose stories had previously been neglected. It is this historical resuscitation that has continually drawn me to McCullough. Her voice comes through so clearly in Blood Water Paint, I knew I had to read her again.
A memoir is a difficult thing to rate, especially one that recounts such personal and traumatic memories. McCullough demonstrates incredible bravery through her powerful prose and stunning verse. She crafts her story in a way very few people can. Her writing makes her story visceral, creating an intimacy with the reader that feels like she is right there telling you the story. This intimacy makes McCullough a force to be reckoned with; she doesn't pull punches, and her raw honesty sets a powerful example for readers of what bravery looks like. I have no doubt it will inspire others to recognize and confront the painful parts of their own stories, write their own narratives, and move towards healing.
The small "biographies" of historical women inserted into the narrative are a large reason why this book didn't make it to five stars for me. While I loved learning about these women and it felt important to know their names and hear their stories, it took me out of McCullough's narrative in a big way. I wasn't expecting these stories in a memoir, and while I am able to see the ways that they weave into McCullough's story, it felt a little dicey to me to use other women's stories as a way of telling your own. There is certainly a time and place for these stories; they absolutely need to be heard, and I would love for McCullough to be the one to tell them, but this didn't feel like the right place. The placements occasionally were awkward for me, and the intermittent insertion of McCullough's own voice, narrative, or assumptions into the biographies threw me off.
I will always appreciate what McCullough is doing; she is telling stories in a way I feel very few authors are. She is an incredible author, poet, and storyteller. I will continue to seek her out and read the stories she is telling. I am always learning from her, growing in new ways from her writing, and left in awe in some ways. While this wasn't necessarily a hit for me, it is nonetheless inspiring, brave, and poignant.
Suffer a Witch is a memoir-in-verse by Joy McCullough about her time in the church, the abuse she encountered during that time, and surviving the aftermath of those events. It weaves in the stories of historical women whose stories had previously been neglected. It is this historical resuscitation that has continually drawn me to McCullough. Her voice comes through so clearly in Blood Water Paint, I knew I had to read her again.
A memoir is a difficult thing to rate, especially one that recounts such personal and traumatic memories. McCullough demonstrates incredible bravery through her powerful prose and stunning verse. She crafts her story in a way very few people can. Her writing makes her story visceral, creating an intimacy with the reader that feels like she is right there telling you the story. This intimacy makes McCullough a force to be reckoned with; she doesn't pull punches, and her raw honesty sets a powerful example for readers of what bravery looks like. I have no doubt it will inspire others to recognize and confront the painful parts of their own stories, write their own narratives, and move towards healing.
The small "biographies" of historical women inserted into the narrative are a large reason why this book didn't make it to five stars for me. While I loved learning about these women and it felt important to know their names and hear their stories, it took me out of McCullough's narrative in a big way. I wasn't expecting these stories in a memoir, and while I am able to see the ways that they weave into McCullough's story, it felt a little dicey to me to use other women's stories as a way of telling your own. There is certainly a time and place for these stories; they absolutely need to be heard, and I would love for McCullough to be the one to tell them, but this didn't feel like the right place. The placements occasionally were awkward for me, and the intermittent insertion of McCullough's own voice, narrative, or assumptions into the biographies threw me off.
I will always appreciate what McCullough is doing; she is telling stories in a way I feel very few authors are. She is an incredible author, poet, and storyteller. I will continue to seek her out and read the stories she is telling. I am always learning from her, growing in new ways from her writing, and left in awe in some ways. While this wasn't necessarily a hit for me, it is nonetheless inspiring, brave, and poignant.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
Joy McCullough grew up in the Presbyterian church as a pastor's daughter. By the time she joined the youth group, she was all into God. And trained to obey adult authority. That's when her youth pastor began grooming her. Eventually, he r*ped and sexually assaulted her over the course of several years. This book is her memoir.
In each chapter, the author shares a part of her story. The chapters also contain stories of witches - women who were accused of crimes and punished. Throughout history, men have wielded power over women - their bodies, their words, their stories. This book is an attempt to win back women's voices, stories, and lives.
Reading this memoir has prompted me to reexamine my own past. I am also prompted to examine my attitudes toward women who say they have been sexually harassed and/or violated. It's too easy to dismiss their stories or blame them. Let's place the blame where it truly belongs and seek to discern the truth and believe women!
In each chapter, the author shares a part of her story. The chapters also contain stories of witches - women who were accused of crimes and punished. Throughout history, men have wielded power over women - their bodies, their words, their stories. This book is an attempt to win back women's voices, stories, and lives.
Reading this memoir has prompted me to reexamine my own past. I am also prompted to examine my attitudes toward women who say they have been sexually harassed and/or violated. It's too easy to dismiss their stories or blame them. Let's place the blame where it truly belongs and seek to discern the truth and believe women!
September 29, 2026
There are books that are difficult to read because of what happens within their pages, and then there are books that feel almost physically difficult to put down because the truth inside them burns so brightly. Suffer a Witch by Joy McCullough is the latter. I found this memoir fascinating, scalding, and devastatingly intimate—a star burning bright against the thrashing contempt of male abusers and the institutions, families, and communities that so often protect them.
Written primarily in verse and interwoven with prose letters to women throughout history who were accused, persecuted, and condemned as witches, McCullough tells the story of her own sexual abuse at the hands of a youth pastor when she was a teenager in San Diego in the 1990s. She had grown up in the church, the daughter of a preacher, and had known that world as a place of faith and belonging. That changes when the older youth pastor, whom she calls Brett, begins grooming and sexually abusing her. What makes the story especially horrifying is not simply the abuse itself, but the web of silence and complicity surrounding it.
McCullough describes the devastating aftermath: the confusion of being groomed, the distortion of her relationship with her own body, disordered eating, self-harm, and the long process of understanding exactly what had been done to her. Later, while studying at Northwestern University and volunteering as a sexual assault crisis counselor, she began to understand consent and sexual violence in a different way. She eventually found the courage to speak about what had happened, only to encounter the familiar machinery of disbelief and institutional self-protection. Her attempts to pursue accountability repeatedly failed, while Brett continued moving through church communities. The eventual revelation that he had also abused McCullough's older sister adds another horrifying dimension to an already painful story.
What makes Suffer a Witch so powerful, however, is the way McCullough connects her personal history to the much older history of women being punished for speaking, existing outside acceptable boundaries, or simply being inconvenient. Her letters to figures such as Joan of Arc, Bridget Bishop, Abigail Williams, and other women caught in the machinery of witchcraft accusations create a haunting conversation across centuries.
The witch has always been a particularly potent figure because she represents a woman whose voice, body, sexuality, knowledge, or independence becomes threatening. For centuries, accusations of witchcraft could transform women into monsters in the public imagination and make violence against them seem justified. McCullough understands the disturbing continuity in that history: the methods may change, but the impulse to discredit women, question their testimony, shame their bodies, and protect powerful men can remain frighteningly recognizable.
That is what made this memoir feel so painfully contemporary to me. Reading it in a moment when allegations of sexual abuse continue to collide with questions of power, institutions, political authority, and who gets believed, Suffer a Witch feels almost unbearably apt. The book doesn't need to name every contemporary scandal to make its point. Its central question—what happens when a woman tells the truth and the people around her decide that preserving a man's position is more important than confronting what he has done—continues to reverberate.
And yet this isn't simply a book about suffering. It is about reclaiming language. McCullough takes experiences that once left her powerless and gives them form, rhythm, history, and voice. The poetry makes the memoir feel incantatory at times, almost like a spell being constructed piece by piece. The women from history become companions rather than footnotes. The witch becomes not a symbol of evil, but a symbol of the woman who refuses to disappear.
I finished Suffer a Witch feeling furious, saddened, and strangely empowered. It is a memoir about abuse, but also about survival, sisterhood, memory, and the radical act of believing women. McCullough doesn't erase what happened to her. Instead, she transforms it into testimony.
Scalding, haunting, and beautifully written, Suffer a Witch is a book about what happens when women are told to be silent—and what happens when, finally, they refuse.
Written primarily in verse and interwoven with prose letters to women throughout history who were accused, persecuted, and condemned as witches, McCullough tells the story of her own sexual abuse at the hands of a youth pastor when she was a teenager in San Diego in the 1990s. She had grown up in the church, the daughter of a preacher, and had known that world as a place of faith and belonging. That changes when the older youth pastor, whom she calls Brett, begins grooming and sexually abusing her. What makes the story especially horrifying is not simply the abuse itself, but the web of silence and complicity surrounding it.
McCullough describes the devastating aftermath: the confusion of being groomed, the distortion of her relationship with her own body, disordered eating, self-harm, and the long process of understanding exactly what had been done to her. Later, while studying at Northwestern University and volunteering as a sexual assault crisis counselor, she began to understand consent and sexual violence in a different way. She eventually found the courage to speak about what had happened, only to encounter the familiar machinery of disbelief and institutional self-protection. Her attempts to pursue accountability repeatedly failed, while Brett continued moving through church communities. The eventual revelation that he had also abused McCullough's older sister adds another horrifying dimension to an already painful story.
What makes Suffer a Witch so powerful, however, is the way McCullough connects her personal history to the much older history of women being punished for speaking, existing outside acceptable boundaries, or simply being inconvenient. Her letters to figures such as Joan of Arc, Bridget Bishop, Abigail Williams, and other women caught in the machinery of witchcraft accusations create a haunting conversation across centuries.
The witch has always been a particularly potent figure because she represents a woman whose voice, body, sexuality, knowledge, or independence becomes threatening. For centuries, accusations of witchcraft could transform women into monsters in the public imagination and make violence against them seem justified. McCullough understands the disturbing continuity in that history: the methods may change, but the impulse to discredit women, question their testimony, shame their bodies, and protect powerful men can remain frighteningly recognizable.
That is what made this memoir feel so painfully contemporary to me. Reading it in a moment when allegations of sexual abuse continue to collide with questions of power, institutions, political authority, and who gets believed, Suffer a Witch feels almost unbearably apt. The book doesn't need to name every contemporary scandal to make its point. Its central question—what happens when a woman tells the truth and the people around her decide that preserving a man's position is more important than confronting what he has done—continues to reverberate.
And yet this isn't simply a book about suffering. It is about reclaiming language. McCullough takes experiences that once left her powerless and gives them form, rhythm, history, and voice. The poetry makes the memoir feel incantatory at times, almost like a spell being constructed piece by piece. The women from history become companions rather than footnotes. The witch becomes not a symbol of evil, but a symbol of the woman who refuses to disappear.
I finished Suffer a Witch feeling furious, saddened, and strangely empowered. It is a memoir about abuse, but also about survival, sisterhood, memory, and the radical act of believing women. McCullough doesn't erase what happened to her. Instead, she transforms it into testimony.
Scalding, haunting, and beautifully written, Suffer a Witch is a book about what happens when women are told to be silent—and what happens when, finally, they refuse.
June 14, 2026
Thank you to NetGalley and Penguin Young Readers Group for providing an ARC of this title. All opinions are my own.
Joy McCullough is a heavy hitter for me in the world of YA literature, and of course I can't resist a book with witchy influences. While not every single part of this worked for me--for instance, the poem that's just the section of the California Penal Code that lists all the individuals who are considered mandated reporters fell flatter than I think it was intended to--the whole is a stunningly raw, vulnerable, and powerful mirror held up to a society that has failed young women and girls since time immemorial. The open letters to witches of history (and witchcraft trials accusers, such as Abigail Williams, Ann Putnam Jr., and Betty Parris) are especially well done, as McCullough finds a threads of commonality between their terrible histories and her her own traumatic experiences. While there isn't necessarily justice in her tale, the conclusion the book seems to draw is that being a voice for other victims--for calling out these evils where she sees them--is its own kind of justice. Ideal for fans of memoirs or novels in verse.
Joy McCullough is a heavy hitter for me in the world of YA literature, and of course I can't resist a book with witchy influences. While not every single part of this worked for me--for instance, the poem that's just the section of the California Penal Code that lists all the individuals who are considered mandated reporters fell flatter than I think it was intended to--the whole is a stunningly raw, vulnerable, and powerful mirror held up to a society that has failed young women and girls since time immemorial. The open letters to witches of history (and witchcraft trials accusers, such as Abigail Williams, Ann Putnam Jr., and Betty Parris) are especially well done, as McCullough finds a threads of commonality between their terrible histories and her her own traumatic experiences. While there isn't necessarily justice in her tale, the conclusion the book seems to draw is that being a voice for other victims--for calling out these evils where she sees them--is its own kind of justice. Ideal for fans of memoirs or novels in verse.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
this was phenomenal. tough to read, but so powerful and so moving. mccullough is a master of her craft; all of her words are selected with the utmost precision and delivered with the gentlest of blows to the heart. it was such a pleasure to read a memoir in verse, something that i have never come across before. i loved the touch of the letters to mistreated and falsely accused women in history weaved through. i was truly brought to tears so many times through this. a beautiful, impactful book that i think everyone should read. thank you to the author for baring your soul to us.
Read
October 6, 2026I do wish I had read this with my eyeballs to better absorb the verse, but hearing the author read it was powerful. I was all up in arms at the beginning as I heard scripture being misapplied and bent to support abuse, but I think that was the point. Over and over, the adults in this girl’s and then woman’s life and church did the opposite of what Jesus tells them to. That’s the stuff and those are the people (religious leaders who abuse power) that Jesus came down the hardest on, and it makes sense why.
August 19, 2026
This was a tough read, making it even tougher to rate. The memoir is written in verse as the author shares her experience being the daughter of a pastor who was abused by the youth pastor at their church. Throughout the book there are letters written to other women in history that were accused of witchcraft, such as "Dear Salem Girls", Geillis Duncan, or witchcraft accusers such as Ann Putnam Jr.
September 23, 2026
This is almost two books in one. On one hand, it is a brief history of numerous women and girls who were prosecuted as witches. I learned a lot about many that I did not know about, and a bit more about some I had heard of. On the other hand, this is a heartbreaking memoir. Of teenage awkwardness, of abuse, and of betrayal. The pain of Joy's experience is palpable. She is yet one more in a LONG line of (then) young people who were betrayed in the most intimate of ways by adults who should have watched over her and cared for her. That she had to fight to attempt to save others from her predator, only for her warnings to fall on deaf ears, despite her having several character witnesses as a similar story from her own sister, is despicable.
August 25, 2026
It is my hope that every school that teaches The Crucible will teach this book, as well. Better yet, let’s just teach this one. What an incredible memoir. The layering of research and story makes it a masterpiece. Highly, highly recommend.
September 27, 2026
Such a powerful novel written in verse about surviving sexual abuse within a church community. The interspersed chapters dedicated to women throughout history who were accused of witchcraft were a perfect touch.
Did Not Finish
September 12, 2026I couldn’t do it. Too much of an empath and it was hitting me hard.
September 13, 2026
Emotional and powerful. Please go into this book knowing your limits on TW
August 17, 2026
the witch in me sees the witch in you (plot twist: most men are vile)
August 31, 2026
Agonizing and beautiful.
September 17, 2026
really loved the style of this
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
I’m torn on this one. I don’t think I’ve read anything this raw in a very long time. This couldn’t be taught to an entire classroom. Could not. Couldn’t be left on a shelf to fall into potentially uncaring hands. But, this book could be saved for a student who needs it, for a young woman facing sexual abuse trauma, religious trauma, or for a young man who loves her. So much pain on these pages, and the losses of a million other survivors, it overwhelms me. I’m giving it a three, just to let other educators know to proceed carefully.
September 6, 2026
Like many others, I first came to know the author's work through her book “Blood, Water, Paint.” To this day I'm enraptured by how she captured the complexity of emotion that is in large part to her honing her writing. After reading this, my heart aches anew as I see how much of those same feelings were channeled and filtered into the tale. Not to say that she used the Artemisia as a conduit. But that it was her unraveling the similarities between transgressions against them.
“To Suffer a Witch” is a difficult work to pigeon hole in genre or purpose. It's more than a memoir. It's not an expose of a person or an institution. It's not a profile of historical women overshadowed or overwritten by common narrative or the fiction of men. It's not about rage. Or resilience. Or trauma. Or healing. It's all of these things. All, because they are inseparable from lived experience.
If anything this is a book of understanding. Of reflecting and connect the dots. The author takes these slowly learned lessons from life and research and uses them to re-frame her experiences and perspectives of what she's been through. She then reaches back to reconsider the stories of other women who may have faced something similar. While she's done similar things in her fictional work, here it feels like a far more intimate conversation.
I wasn't left with the impression that this was ever supposed to be about fearlessly resisting, radical empowerment. These strong, bold, rally cries meant to fortify you to charge forth. Of course there was rage, encouragement, and if you don't admire anyone able to put one foot in front of the other let alone finding the fortitude to stand up for themselves and others I'm not sure this book will speak to you at all. But I think the aim was closer to encourage.
There was a feeling of support. Of not as much healing or forgiveness, but acceptance. Not complacency, but allowing yourself to acknowledge what was done. That having your power taken from you does not mean you are or were weak. It means knowing that a system that has never been set to operate, think, or empathize with you will always have the upper hand. That even if change may seem incremental that doesn't mean you stop, or that you can't find it in other places.
You built and find that support in your own circles. Your own families and networks. In not blaming yourself or believing the lies they've told themselves. In embracing the things they fear that make you spectacular.
You can see the author's personal struggles and how they evolve but you also see some really beautiful , quiet, moments of strength or revelation. For anyone who has struggled with deconstructing with their faith because of abuse, because of the hypocrisy, or being shunned for asking questions I think this will hit rather hard. It's implied that despite everything, the author still holds to a faith even though the institutions have failed her. Even if it likely does not look the same. That is a part of that type of narrative I don't see expressed often.
There is one example in this book that makes the author reconsider her entire purpose and journey both with the book and in life that was particularly striking. It is a lesson that you can be grateful and admire a person who has positively effected your life in one way while simultaneously finding other elements of that same person deplorable. To acknowledge in this day where we easily shut out people for one step out of line – albeit most of the times it's more like a leap than a step-- was arresting. Being able to appreciate one frame does not mean you simply waive off the other of 'give them a pass'. It just means that you embrace that people have multitudes. People evolve through their lives. Just not always in the same trajectory as you'd anticipate.
This is a read that will linger. It is not easy. It is heart breaking. But it is also full of empathy. For others, but also of yourself. It leaves the reader maybe not with hope but with a peace that only comes from being centered. Not whole, necessarily. Or healed. But affirmed. Reassured in your own validity.
“To Suffer a Witch” is a difficult work to pigeon hole in genre or purpose. It's more than a memoir. It's not an expose of a person or an institution. It's not a profile of historical women overshadowed or overwritten by common narrative or the fiction of men. It's not about rage. Or resilience. Or trauma. Or healing. It's all of these things. All, because they are inseparable from lived experience.
If anything this is a book of understanding. Of reflecting and connect the dots. The author takes these slowly learned lessons from life and research and uses them to re-frame her experiences and perspectives of what she's been through. She then reaches back to reconsider the stories of other women who may have faced something similar. While she's done similar things in her fictional work, here it feels like a far more intimate conversation.
I wasn't left with the impression that this was ever supposed to be about fearlessly resisting, radical empowerment. These strong, bold, rally cries meant to fortify you to charge forth. Of course there was rage, encouragement, and if you don't admire anyone able to put one foot in front of the other let alone finding the fortitude to stand up for themselves and others I'm not sure this book will speak to you at all. But I think the aim was closer to encourage.
There was a feeling of support. Of not as much healing or forgiveness, but acceptance. Not complacency, but allowing yourself to acknowledge what was done. That having your power taken from you does not mean you are or were weak. It means knowing that a system that has never been set to operate, think, or empathize with you will always have the upper hand. That even if change may seem incremental that doesn't mean you stop, or that you can't find it in other places.
You built and find that support in your own circles. Your own families and networks. In not blaming yourself or believing the lies they've told themselves. In embracing the things they fear that make you spectacular.
You can see the author's personal struggles and how they evolve but you also see some really beautiful , quiet, moments of strength or revelation. For anyone who has struggled with deconstructing with their faith because of abuse, because of the hypocrisy, or being shunned for asking questions I think this will hit rather hard. It's implied that despite everything, the author still holds to a faith even though the institutions have failed her. Even if it likely does not look the same. That is a part of that type of narrative I don't see expressed often.
There is one example in this book that makes the author reconsider her entire purpose and journey both with the book and in life that was particularly striking. It is a lesson that you can be grateful and admire a person who has positively effected your life in one way while simultaneously finding other elements of that same person deplorable. To acknowledge in this day where we easily shut out people for one step out of line – albeit most of the times it's more like a leap than a step-- was arresting. Being able to appreciate one frame does not mean you simply waive off the other of 'give them a pass'. It just means that you embrace that people have multitudes. People evolve through their lives. Just not always in the same trajectory as you'd anticipate.
This is a read that will linger. It is not easy. It is heart breaking. But it is also full of empathy. For others, but also of yourself. It leaves the reader maybe not with hope but with a peace that only comes from being centered. Not whole, necessarily. Or healed. But affirmed. Reassured in your own validity.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
A searing and poignant memoir written in verse with letters to women who suffered at the hands of the patriarchy or contributed to the telling of a “tale as old as time” and offering a paean to women’s resilience.
First, I am no fan of poetry. I didn’t read the blurb on this book very well or I would not have requested it, but like all things serendipitous, this turned out to an extraordinarily fascinating read (my thanks to NetGalley and Dutton Books for granting me access to this ARC).
“Rape culture tells us rape is a stranger in an alley with a knife or a gun”. This is a line from this memoir, but the theme of abuse begins earlier with the story of Artemisia Gentileschi, a young female artist in 17th C Italy, sent by her father to study under an artist only to be abused by him - and the father knew this could happen, who then tried to prosecute her abuser only to not be believed. In the author’s case, her minister father was woefully absent, leaving his daughter vulnerable to a predator on his staff. Later when her truth comes out , belief in her story is suspect especially from her father who after writing a book received much praise. The author writes “Lauded men of the cloth will always have a louder voice than mine.” The abuser goes on to serve as a youth pastor in other churches.
The author’s story of abuse is told during her high school and college years with Part III of the book focusing on her adult years and dealing with the damaging effects of the predator and recreating her sense of self. Having never experienced what the author has, I was so saddened by her tale. Predators are narcissistic controlling slime. In this age of the Epstein Files where people still believe the abuser over the abused, we see the damaging effects of patriarchy and misogyny.
I was surprised by how easy it was to read this book, verse and all. I especially enjoyed the letters. The first was my favorite about Eufame MacAlyane (1558-1591), a noblewoman who so angered King James VI for requesting pain relief in child birth that he had her burnt alive because that erstwhile misogynist believed that asking for pain relief “violated God’s commandment that women suffer in childbirth.” The Joan of Arc letter is the last letter where the author notes Joan is the most famous woman ever to get burnt at the stake who everyone knew was not a witch - patriarchy always wins! But as the author states “we know what happened but we just don’t care.” Finally, I learned the book cover is from a 1620 painting by Gentileschi depicting a scene from the Book of Judges where a woman drives a stake through the head of an evil Canaanite commander - what delightful snark! And the best way to sum up this book.
This book is filled with pain, anger, searing criticism and hope. The author’s resilience shines through.
I gave this book five stars because in spite of it being written primarily in poem form, I was not put off and could read and enjoy, for its gripping and searing topic and indictment of the patriarchy, and for the cleverness of writing a memoir in poem form. I found I enjoyed this book.
First, I am no fan of poetry. I didn’t read the blurb on this book very well or I would not have requested it, but like all things serendipitous, this turned out to an extraordinarily fascinating read (my thanks to NetGalley and Dutton Books for granting me access to this ARC).
“Rape culture tells us rape is a stranger in an alley with a knife or a gun”. This is a line from this memoir, but the theme of abuse begins earlier with the story of Artemisia Gentileschi, a young female artist in 17th C Italy, sent by her father to study under an artist only to be abused by him - and the father knew this could happen, who then tried to prosecute her abuser only to not be believed. In the author’s case, her minister father was woefully absent, leaving his daughter vulnerable to a predator on his staff. Later when her truth comes out , belief in her story is suspect especially from her father who after writing a book received much praise. The author writes “Lauded men of the cloth will always have a louder voice than mine.” The abuser goes on to serve as a youth pastor in other churches.
The author’s story of abuse is told during her high school and college years with Part III of the book focusing on her adult years and dealing with the damaging effects of the predator and recreating her sense of self. Having never experienced what the author has, I was so saddened by her tale. Predators are narcissistic controlling slime. In this age of the Epstein Files where people still believe the abuser over the abused, we see the damaging effects of patriarchy and misogyny.
I was surprised by how easy it was to read this book, verse and all. I especially enjoyed the letters. The first was my favorite about Eufame MacAlyane (1558-1591), a noblewoman who so angered King James VI for requesting pain relief in child birth that he had her burnt alive because that erstwhile misogynist believed that asking for pain relief “violated God’s commandment that women suffer in childbirth.” The Joan of Arc letter is the last letter where the author notes Joan is the most famous woman ever to get burnt at the stake who everyone knew was not a witch - patriarchy always wins! But as the author states “we know what happened but we just don’t care.” Finally, I learned the book cover is from a 1620 painting by Gentileschi depicting a scene from the Book of Judges where a woman drives a stake through the head of an evil Canaanite commander - what delightful snark! And the best way to sum up this book.
This book is filled with pain, anger, searing criticism and hope. The author’s resilience shines through.
I gave this book five stars because in spite of it being written primarily in poem form, I was not put off and could read and enjoy, for its gripping and searing topic and indictment of the patriarchy, and for the cleverness of writing a memoir in poem form. I found I enjoyed this book.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
📝 ARC Review: This hits hard from the start… the dedication: “To the angry girl, to the girl who tells her truth, to the girl who keeps her truth, if you find yourself in these pages, I'm so sorry. It wasn't your fault.
- I wrote this for you.”
This memoir was extra impactful for me as I love writing and reading poetry, and this was written in poetry & verse. Also, I’ve dealt with childhood SA in my own life and known people who were abused and let down by “church members”.
In between the heartbreaking poems of a girl who was taken advantage of by someone in a position of power and trust, we also have the author writing letters to women in history, mostly from the witch trials time. I appreciated becoming better acquainted with some of these historical figures who were mistreated and even killed because they were women and dared to reach for things men deemed unacceptable.
This memoir is raw and tragic. The author doesn’t hold back her honesty, her shame, her regrets, nor her actions to try and save others from a similar fate and bring attention to strong women from the past.
Topics such as religion, childbirth, “witches”, forced submission of women, rap£, self harm and PTSD are prevalent throughout this memoir.
(I also appreciated the explanation at the end of the book in regard to the importance of the book cover! I had forgotten until this triggered my memory, of the biblical story of Jael, who drove a tent stake through Sisera’s head. The cover made so much sense after the author explained that painting!)
Quote’s 👇
(Taken from an uncorrected proof ARC)
“… too aware the sanctuary was anything but.”
“… my rage at having my body made a thing for someone else’s amusement.”
“… can finally breathe which is wild because I didn’t even know I was suffocating.”
“… if anyone is going to hurt my body it’s going to be me.”
“… the women lost because the world feared their power.”
Genre: Memoir; poetry & verse.
POV: First Person
My Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 5/5
Release Date: August 18, 2026
Vibes: Heartfelt; Tragic; Bittersweet; Feminine Rage.
Tropes 👇
- Witch trials
- Strong women who were oppressed
- Recounting of religious figure taking advantage of the youth in his care
- Learning how to stand up and fight for yourself & others
- Based on a true story
- Feminine rage
CW’s 👇
- Underage SA
- Grooming by an abuser
- SA from a youth pastor
- Mention of self harm
- Topic of abortion
- Mention of death of an infant/children
- Injustice to women/murder of women
- Injustice in religion
- Failure to protect the innocent
- Pastor/Father turning blind eye to SA
- Complex PTSD/long lasting trauma
Thank you to NetGalley and the author for this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
- I wrote this for you.”
This memoir was extra impactful for me as I love writing and reading poetry, and this was written in poetry & verse. Also, I’ve dealt with childhood SA in my own life and known people who were abused and let down by “church members”.
In between the heartbreaking poems of a girl who was taken advantage of by someone in a position of power and trust, we also have the author writing letters to women in history, mostly from the witch trials time. I appreciated becoming better acquainted with some of these historical figures who were mistreated and even killed because they were women and dared to reach for things men deemed unacceptable.
This memoir is raw and tragic. The author doesn’t hold back her honesty, her shame, her regrets, nor her actions to try and save others from a similar fate and bring attention to strong women from the past.
Topics such as religion, childbirth, “witches”, forced submission of women, rap£, self harm and PTSD are prevalent throughout this memoir.
(I also appreciated the explanation at the end of the book in regard to the importance of the book cover! I had forgotten until this triggered my memory, of the biblical story of Jael, who drove a tent stake through Sisera’s head. The cover made so much sense after the author explained that painting!)
Quote’s 👇
(Taken from an uncorrected proof ARC)
“… too aware the sanctuary was anything but.”
“… my rage at having my body made a thing for someone else’s amusement.”
“… can finally breathe which is wild because I didn’t even know I was suffocating.”
“… if anyone is going to hurt my body it’s going to be me.”
“… the women lost because the world feared their power.”
Genre: Memoir; poetry & verse.
POV: First Person
My Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 5/5
Release Date: August 18, 2026
Vibes: Heartfelt; Tragic; Bittersweet; Feminine Rage.
Tropes 👇
- Witch trials
- Strong women who were oppressed
- Recounting of religious figure taking advantage of the youth in his care
- Learning how to stand up and fight for yourself & others
- Based on a true story
- Feminine rage
CW’s 👇
- Underage SA
- Grooming by an abuser
- SA from a youth pastor
- Mention of self harm
- Topic of abortion
- Mention of death of an infant/children
- Injustice to women/murder of women
- Injustice in religion
- Failure to protect the innocent
- Pastor/Father turning blind eye to SA
- Complex PTSD/long lasting trauma
Thank you to NetGalley and the author for this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
August 21, 2026
I’m not usually a fan of annotating books. It hurts my soul a bit to write on the pages. However, there are some times when I feel compelled to underline certain phrases or make notes in the margins of a book that I’m especially connected to. Suffer a Witch by Joy McCullough was one of those books for me. Part memoir, but told in verse, this book inspired so many emotions in me that I needed to get them on the page while I was devouring the text.
McCullough’s story is, unfortunately, all too familiar. As a child raised in a Christian church, she was abused by a person who knew that she would be too ashamed of what was happening to report it. Assaulted by the youth pastor (who had been hired by her father) for several years, McCullough’s story is tragic and heartwrenching. But then she takes her experiences and weaves them into poetry. With just a few dozen words on each page, every moment of McCullough’s story is powerful.
At first glance, I would have related to McCullough’s trauma, and would have found this book to be a moving account of her abuse and healing. But Suffer a Witch transforms into something else entirely, because McCullough has chosen to intersperse her story with letters she’s written to famous accused witches in history. By comparing her story with the Salem witches or historical women I hadn’t even heard of, McCullough is able to create a tragic thread throughout history of women being subjugated, abused, and wrongfully maligned. The true feminine rage and ferocious energy electrifies every page, and manifests a book that means so much more to me than a traditional memoir ever could. Even the cover has a creative meaning that ties the entire book together in such a brilliant way.
There is so much to be angry about when you read McCullough’s story, and the accounts of other women who have been brutalized over the course of history. But Suffer a Witch also made me feel incredibly hopeful in an odd way. It made me believe that other victims can find ways to tell their own stories in a way that feels authentic and unique, and perhaps, the greatest sign of strength in someone is their ability to use their own tragedy to help someone else.
I’ve already added several of McCullough’s other books to my TBR, and I can’t wait to dive into her writing even more. I’m grateful that she has been so open and honest with her story, and that she was brave enough to put it on paper. Hopefully, it will inspire other women to get angrier, because we have so many years of suffering in silence to make up for.
*Free ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review
McCullough’s story is, unfortunately, all too familiar. As a child raised in a Christian church, she was abused by a person who knew that she would be too ashamed of what was happening to report it. Assaulted by the youth pastor (who had been hired by her father) for several years, McCullough’s story is tragic and heartwrenching. But then she takes her experiences and weaves them into poetry. With just a few dozen words on each page, every moment of McCullough’s story is powerful.
At first glance, I would have related to McCullough’s trauma, and would have found this book to be a moving account of her abuse and healing. But Suffer a Witch transforms into something else entirely, because McCullough has chosen to intersperse her story with letters she’s written to famous accused witches in history. By comparing her story with the Salem witches or historical women I hadn’t even heard of, McCullough is able to create a tragic thread throughout history of women being subjugated, abused, and wrongfully maligned. The true feminine rage and ferocious energy electrifies every page, and manifests a book that means so much more to me than a traditional memoir ever could. Even the cover has a creative meaning that ties the entire book together in such a brilliant way.
There is so much to be angry about when you read McCullough’s story, and the accounts of other women who have been brutalized over the course of history. But Suffer a Witch also made me feel incredibly hopeful in an odd way. It made me believe that other victims can find ways to tell their own stories in a way that feels authentic and unique, and perhaps, the greatest sign of strength in someone is their ability to use their own tragedy to help someone else.
I’ve already added several of McCullough’s other books to my TBR, and I can’t wait to dive into her writing even more. I’m grateful that she has been so open and honest with her story, and that she was brave enough to put it on paper. Hopefully, it will inspire other women to get angrier, because we have so many years of suffering in silence to make up for.
*Free ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review
Displaying 1 - 30 of 131 reviews