I always feel weird reviewing memoirs that I didn't like; it's too easy to take that negative rating as some kind of judgment against that person's life--to be oddly contrarian or otherwise disagreeable. Writing--as with all creative pursuits--is a very personal activity at the outset, doubly so when the results are pointedly about the author's life. It's made a bit easier when the author isn't on Goodreads--I don't feel like I'm yelling negativity in their direction--but it's never fun.
The focus of Initiated: Memoir of a Witch is on the author, Amanda Yates Garcia. There's a bit of a split focus thought: Major parts of her life and the way she grew in magical practice to become a witch. The fact that I used the word "split" shows one of the book's biggest problems--everything feels disjointed as she teeters between these two focuses, never quite able to bring them together into a coherent narrative.
I only speak one language, but I've heard from bilingual people that they think differently depending on which language they're using. Maybe that's not true, much like the idea that someone who goes blind can suddenly hear and smell better, but I could see how different languages with their different grammars and lexicons could change thought patterns. The idea illustrates how I feel like Yates Garcia is writting: Her life is one brain thought pattern, her magic is another. They're two languages within this book that never gel together.
Maybe it's less a problem of thought, and more a problem of focus. She focuses on her life--particularly teens through twenties--without making magic the guiding narrative. She has to bring it in around the edges. She values conveying the big moments that defined her life (abusive childhood, sex work, major romantic relationships) without intentionally defining how those moments affected her magical path.
Yates Garcia makes regular reference to her magical beliefs and practices--the Goddess, some rituals, various covens--yet she doesn't tell us how she reached the point of believing these things, doing these things. For me, that should be the crucial focus of any memoir whose subtitle includes, "...of a Witch." Instead the advancement of her beliefs happen behind the scenes, sometimes even requiring a quick "here's where I am now" type sentence at the beginning of a chapter to catch us up on these developments, rather than naturally leading us through them.
In the introduction she says that she wants this book to be for everyone. Women, men, non-binary, trans, etc, etc. It's a great acknowledgment. However, she's doing unintentional gatekeeping because she regularly says things that anyone outside her particular branch of magical practice would find eyebrow-raising, or at least befuddling. Regular references to the Goddess. Her familiars. My favorite example, though, is this:
"Runes are the Norse divination tools from pre-Christian Scandinavia, often carved in stone or bone. I'd created mine out of clay at summer camp and had them painted with my menstrual blood. Clearly one of the most existential runes..."
1. What is the purpose of runes? We are assumed to already know.
2. What is the purpose of using menstrual blood? Granted, the idea of extra power in menstrual blood isn't a foreign concept to me, but it was still pretty shocking to read her casually mention that without any kind of explanatory "here's why I use blood" and "here's why I use menstrual blood" context.
3. The use of "clearly" highlights the assumption that the reader is already fully informed about runes and their place in magic.
While that's sort of a perfect storm of problems, those same assumptions permeate the rest of the book.
Because she's so casual about talking about things like the Goddess as though I have the same beliefs about the Goddess, and random mentions of her familiars, and things like spirits that inhabit buildings or towns (which have a fancy name I'm too lazy to look up), that when she calls a particular woman a "fairy" and a particular man a "demon," I take her at face value. She dated a fairy, she dated a demon. It wasn't until I finished the book that I decided that in those cases, she was using the terms figuratively, not literally. But that's the kind of faith it requires to read Initiated. You engage in so much suspension of disbelief that in the cases she turns figurative, you don't even realize it until later.
All of the above is, in my mind, pretty bad. But I could probably forgive it if the parts about her life felt like more than, well, major scenes in the life of Amanda Yates Garcia. Towards the end we could argue that an interesting theme of her relationship with her mother. If that theme could be traced back to the beginning, this could have been pretty good. But again, as with everything else here, it's not intentionally integrated into the overall narrative.
There isn't any overall narrative. It's a slideshow. Every chapter is a slide, where Yates Garcia stands in front of her captive audience, talking about it.
I couldn't hate Initiated: Memoir of a Witch. It's very flawed, yes, but I still did a lot of highlighting. And while the overarching narrative doesn't really exist, Yates Garcia's crisp prose makes reading fairly consumable. Recommended only for people who are Yates Garcia fans, or already "initiated" themselves.