A. K. Blakemore
It is 1643 in Essex, England. The civil war is raging between the Puritans and Royalists. The time is rife with superstition and fear. Neighbor turns against neighbor. Scapegoats for life’s tragedies are hunted and persecuted. This is the setting for The Manningtree Witches by A. K. Blakemore, a blending of fact with fiction of the Puritan witch trials in which several women were executed for witchcraft in 1645 in the village of Manningtree. The protagonist is Rebecca West, the 19-year-old daughter of Beldam West, the ostensible ring-leader of the witches.
Life was never easy in Manningtree, but it takes a turn for the worse when the mysterious Matthew Hopkins, “the witchfinder,” moves into the village. Hopkins is on a mission to ferret out witches and bring them to trial. He gives full vent to his misogynism under the guise of doing “God’s work,” sniffing here and sniffing there until he finds a suitable target. His laser-sharp focus pinpoints weak, vulnerable, impoverished, elderly widows living on the margins of society who are easy prey. Through Rebecca’s eyes, we see the patriarchal hunting machine in full force as it singles out these women, solicits testimony against them, examines their frail bodies for evidence of satanic activities, uses their poverty as a sign of weakness, demonizes their pets, tortures them to solicit confessions, and twists their words to obtain a conviction and execution. Logic and common sense are in short supply. Rebecca, caught in the web of conspiracy against these women because of her mother, is temporarily incarcerated with them but obtains her release by telling the patriarchal court what it wants to hear.
The novel unfolds primarily through Rebecca’s first-person point of view. But it shifts sporadically to third person to describe scenes and events in which Rebecca is not present. These unnecessary shifts can be jarring and confusing. Rebecca’s diction is detailed and evocative. Replicating the idioms of 17th century England, it is replete with graphic descriptions, pungent odors, and immersive imagery. The diction is generally effective but can occasionally veer toward being too flowery and obscure.
The novel’s strength lies in its realistic character portrayals and in its lyrical description of the sights, sounds, smells, squalor, and poverty of 17th century England. Superstition, fear, Puritan fervor, lies, petty jealousies, and betrayal coalesce to scapegoat destitute women living on the fringes of society. The tension gradually builds up as layer upon layer of “evidence” against the women accumulates until the unthinkable happens.
The portrayal of the misogynistic Matthew Hopkins, clothed head to toe in black, is particularly effective as he sniffs around for vulnerable, elderly women to victimize. He is simultaneously sexually aroused and repulsed by a woman’s flesh. Rebecca’s mother, the fearless Beldam, emerges as the most powerful female. She is a crone in every sense of the word—a woman who refuses to be intimidated by the patriarchy, who will not submit to male domination regardless of the consequence to her personal safety, who exercises agency, and whose voice is not silenced until the patriarchy puts the noose around her neck to silence it.
An atmospheric plunge into a tragic period in English history. Highly recommended.