Meg to Mildred

From Meg to Mildred - thoughts on How witches in children’s books make us more accepting of the ‘other’.  

I’ve always kept a soft spot in my heart, and my heaving bookcase, for all the wonderful witches that appeared in children’s books.  If we ignore the bad witch stereotype portrayed in fairy tales and look towards works published within the last century, there is a whole barrage of women and girls who were good witches.

Starting with Meg, of ‘Meg and Mog’ at age three, we see a girl and her cat who wants to be a friend to all, then onto Dorrie the little witch, who was always getting into mischief, who had odd socks and a little black cat, showed us it was ok to make mistakes as long as you learn from them, then moving onto other stories where the witch took on the role of the fairy godmother or grandmother figure, taking the witch from a clumsy but friendly child into an older figure who was to be respected, but was also friendly and warm too.

Moving on again from the wise old ladies back to younger girls, and onto Mildred Hubble of ‘the worst witch’ we were reminded once again that the witch could be the outsider, the girl who is bullied for being a little bit different to everyone else. Mildred wasn’t the best witch at her school, she wasn’t the smartest or best at flying or at potions, and still triumphed in the end. These girls started planting the seed from day one that it was ok if you were different, or if your friend was different to everyone else around you, a seed that has carried on by an extent to Hermoine Granger of Harry Potter, and fully onwards into this decade by  the natural successor to the ‘worst witch’ series, ‘Witch Wars’ written by Sibéal Pounder.

It is these girls who paved the way for us to carry on being different, by showing us when we are young and have not learned the prejudices of the world that it is ok to be the odd one out as we grow up, whether that means being gay, transgender, having a disability, being mixed race, lack of skin pigmentation, and so on,  or even becoming the tattooed vegan in a family who are allergic to vegetables, they all beat their bullies, overcame their obstacles and revelled in being the ‘other’, giving us that permission gained in childhood to wave our broomstick [flag] high.

Will travel for books

Where have all the bookshops gone?Thoughts on living in a one bookshop area.

I live in a north-western town in England, a country which is home to so many wonderful stories, yet they cannot be found. The town is quite typical, in that there’s a waterstones [UK bookstore chain] and a branch of the works [discount bookshop chain] - sells a lot of crime and post WWII style romance/drama type fiction, of which the charity shops are full of, so where do I go when I want something new?  

Once upon a time, there was an independent bookshop in the vicinity, called Sweetens. As a child I used to imagine it was split into sections, a space for every child and grown-up to buy a book they’d like to read, and rows of jars of sweets so you’d have the perfect lollipop to go with Blyton, a gobstopper for Dahl, a licorice for a western. I never went in as a child, my mother would always say ‘oh, sorry there isn’t time today, we’ll go in next time.’ As a teenager and allowed to travel alone, I finally made it into that shop, which has now since closed down. No split sections, no jars of sweets, and no real selection of books beyond local history, crime/thriller novels and yet more pre or post WWII romantic dramas. I fell out of love for independants.

I want to walk into a bookshop knowing that I want, no, I desire a new book, but I do not know what it will be until it is in my hands, where I can run over the cover in my hands, smell the pages and guess where it was printed and bound before opening it [I can smell the difference between UK and USA new editions!] The thrill of discovering the unknown book has gone, replaced by dictated table displays and books selected based on hype alone. Not that books don’t deserve that hype, but what of the new authors and new stories and old stories that deserve that promotion but are still unknown?  

As an adult, I decided to try again, whilst on a visit with friends, tentatively testing the waters with a beautiful independant bookshop called The Hive, which is in Norwich. The Hive, whilst not having jars of sweets, is a sprawling shop, winding around and around like the branches of treehouses in the books of my childhood, each alcove turned into a small room, each with it’s own genre, and a bookcase just for moomins. I fell in love that day, and won’t let go of that love this time.

I will travel for books, and whenever I find myself in a new area, I will hunt for book shops. Sometimes all I find is more waterstones or religious book shops, which do not appeal to me, I’m wanting fiction, to be taken on a ride to a place or feeling new.   Although sometimes I’ll strike it rich, and find a new place hidden within the sprawling metropolis. The thrill has now returned and the hunt is now afoot.