Guest Post: The Most Misunderstood Witches in Fantasy, by Angela Slatter

Immacolata, in Clive Barker’s Weaveworld
If Immacolata were a male character she’d be described as having the drive to succeed, a take-no-prisoners go-getter. As it is, she gets a bad rap as a crazy witch. Yes, she is indeed a villain in Weaveworld, although she’s really nowhere near as bad as the others (the Salesman, Hobart, the Scourge). Sure, she’s seeking revenge and does some terrible things in its pursuit, yet for all her fierceness she’s got a sense of honour. When Suzanna stumbles onto the power of The Menstruum Immacolata tells her ‘Better you remained unfound. Better you never tasted the menstruum … Now you’ll know more than you wish to know, feel more than you ever wanted to feel.’ There’s pity there for an opponent. Later, when Immacolata is dead-but-not-dead, she remembers Suzanna’s kindness and repays the debt by warning of the coming danger. So, she’s that rare thing: a villain with honour. All these tiny moments of humanity make her, for me, a misunderstood witch.

Molly Weasley, in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series
Don’t, whatever you do, be fooled by Molly Weasley’s exterior. Sure, the cardigans (oh dear, the cardigans), the shapeless dresses, the temper, the hair that looks as though it hasn’t seen a brush since Methuselah was a boy, the complete lack of any acquaintance with colour co-ordination, are all things to make you think she’s harmless. Plus she behaves like someone’s potty mother. But that’s just camouflage: Molly’s blending in, sneaking under the radar. Everyone judges her on those surface elements and that means she’s perfectly placed to wrong foot folk at important moments. Failing to take her seriously is a very bad mistake: just ask Bellatrix Lestrange. Oh, that’s right. You can’t.

Fanny Miller, in Joanne Harris’ Sleep, Pale Sister
Fanny Miller creeps into the tale as a brothel madam, but she becomes increasingly sympathetic as her tale unrolls … and this takes some doing because as you get to know her tragedy, you also see all the dark things she’s doing to get revenge. Although I’m going to argue it’s not entirely revenge: while she’ll be more than happy if the revolting Henry Paul Chester gets his, what she really wants is her murdered daughter back. Sure, she goes to terrible lengths to achieve this and sacrifices a lamb of a character in the process … but you can kind of see why she’s so obsessed, when the law won’t protect her or her child, she has no rights, and she’s got no one on whom she can depend except herself. Her solution is extreme, but she’s fighting for her family.

Circe, in Homer’s The Odyssey
Everyone wants to tell you that Circe is terrible, a dread sorceress. Well, she’s also a goddess, thank you very much, and a dab hand at potions. Sure, she was exiled to the island for bumping off her husband, but that could happen to anyone and I’m willing to bet he left wet towels on the floor, didn’t ever get around to fixing that loose floorboard, and never put the seat down. Her actions in The Odyssey are perfectly reasonable: the crew of Odysseus’ ship put ashore on her island of Aeaea − hers, mind you, it’s not some holiday resort − without asking permission, proceed with the plundering, and here’s Circe, a woman alone. What’s she going to do? Lie down and take it? Hells, no. She calmly invites them to sit at her table and feast upon the wine and cheese there. What she doesn’t mention is that she’s spiced things up with one of her famed potions and the trespassers (except Odysseus, who’s got that boot-licker Hermes in his ear, giving away secrets) are turned, fairly appropriately, into swine. Circe: a woman defending her home.
Of Sorrow and Such is available now from Tor.com Publishing.