The Witch’s Boy
(2005, Ages 12 and Up)
3/1/19
It’s a well-known if, unfortunately, not well-practiced, fact that not all people make good parents. Even those with the best intentions may be unable, for whatever reason, to raise a child in a healthy manner. As much as I like kids and kids’ stories, I’ve long since discovered and decided that, though I am many things, mother material is not one of them. Heck, taking care of a dog for a family friend while he was out of town for a week is the closest I’ve ever come to babysitting. In a way, the would-be parent in this novel reminds me of myself. I may not be a witch, but I, too, value my freedom to practice my preferred craft and time to meditate both on the world and on things known only to myself. So what if I suddenly had a living, breathing baby to look after? Would I raise him into a stable and content adult with the material instincts I didn’t know I had? Or would my inexperience and neglect turn him into a monster?
Deep in the woods, far from the ways of Man, a witch lives in peaceful solitude. Neither good nor evil, her very name unknown but to herself and to the powers she serves, she spends her days studying nature and its many mysteries, the flora and fauna her only company. But one day, she comes across something strange even to her: an abandoned infant, more goblin than human, possibly the most hideous offspring ever spawned. Against her better judgement, the witch takes him in, intending to raise him with the help of her cat familiar, Falance, Ysul, the she-bear, and Bagordax, a powerful demon. Though the boy, whom the witch names Lump, at first thrives within this home filled with magic and wonder, such a childhood leaves him woefully unprepared when he is faced with the cold reality that is mankind and its cruelty. As Lump grows up, his broken heart and unfulfilled dreams corrupt him with a lust for power that threatens his foster mother and those loyal to her. With neither the witch’s teachings nor all magic in the world able to reform or heal him, it falls on Lump himself to rediscover the innocence he once had, and seek out his own inner peace and happiness.
As of the time of this writing, I’ve not read any of Michael Gruber’s other books, so I can’t offer any comparisons between this and them. All I can say is, when I found The Witch’s Boy as a young teen, I thought, “Hey, it has magic in it; I’m in.” Readers who love fairy tales—like me—will love the way Gruber weaves in references to many famous fairy tales, having both protagonists and side characters of the narrative proper talk about them as though they were personal experiences or actual historical events. But these serve a greater purpose than simply further showing off the already magical setting. Gruber subverts these tales in ways that realistically explore characters’ psyches and motivations, and which not-so-subtly suggest that the traditional stories are just the offensively sanitized, nonsensical ramblings of superstitious humans and these new accounts tell the real, brutally honest truth as nature intended. Depending on your point of view, it can be difficult to decide which versions are meant to be more provocative and disturbing. That being said, we are offered some very intriguing alternate scenarios here. For example: What if Cinderella was in fact an unhinged clean freak who ditched her kind--not mean—stepmother for the prince? What if Pinocchio did forego school to become a performer? What if Sleepy Beauty regretted being awakened and longed to go back to her perfect dream world? And what if a dangerous predator was instead a true friend and ally and a brave, strong man the real monster to the witch when she was once an innocent little girl in a bright red cloak?
But fantasy is only the backdrop to a story that can be all too real: a mother who, besides being distracted by her work, doesn’t know how to be a mother in the first place, and the negative impact this has on her charge. The witch is not the easiest protagonist to sympathize with at times. As far as parenting is concerned, she is often lazy and selfish, making excuses for her faults while being confused whenever Lump is disagreeable. But these are portrayed not as evil traits so much as human ones. It is interesting to note that the omniscient narrator refers to the witch primarily as “the woman”. This is partly due to her true name being a cosmic mystery not meant for mortal ears, but I think it also emphasizes the fact that she may be practically a deity in her own right, but she is also still a woman. She can easily make sure Lump has food and shelter, but as she comes to see too late the result of giving him little else, all she is left with is an angry and bitter child, and she, for all her power, is left feeling truly vulnerable and full of guilt and regret:
“‘That child is spoiled,’ said the cat from his comfortable perch in a stone niche near the hearth.
The woman looked at him crossly and was about to make an objection, but a tiredness came over her suddenly, of the sort well-known to those whose children have not turned out as well as they had expected, and she simply sighed.
‘I think you are right, Falance,’ she admitted. ‘I cannot see why, however. The boy has had everything that is proper for a child—food, warmth, shelter, well-fitting shoes—’
‘What we say,’ the cat said, interrupting this litany, ‘is cuff and cuddle cats the kitten. This child has had little of either cuffs or cuddles.’
‘That is untrue,’ said the woman. ‘I have spent many hours with him, baby and boy.’
‘Yes, and when he grew fretful, or you bored, you called for Ysul.’
‘What! Am I to be taught mothering by an old tomcat?’
For once, the cat did not flinch; cats have a keen sense of who has the moral advantage, and, having once seized it, he was not about to give it up. He ignored her angry gaze. ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘you are not fond of him, or rather you are as fond of him as you are of everything. His little achievements bring a smile to your lips, but it is the same smile you bestow on the first iris or a passing badger. You are correct that I am no expert, yet I don’t think this is the usual case among mothers of men. Instead, they dote. With us, it sometimes happens that a mother will ignore one of her kits, and it will grow into a runt, snarling and ill-mannered, yet still it has its brothers and sisters to heap among, be warmed by, to play with and learn from. You will observe that Lump has never had this chance. He has no sibs, nor even friends of his own kind.’
‘I never had friends!’ the woman blurted out in a strange, harsh tone that surprised both her companion and her.
Then they were both silent for a period, while she tended to her pastry. She made a tray of strawberry tarts—Lump’s favorite—stoked the fire, and popped them into the oven. Wiping her hands, she settled herself in a chair facing the hearth. When she spoke, her voice was weary. ‘I suppose you will say I should have known better. You will say you warned me of this.’
‘No cat would be so rude,’ said Falance. ‘You followed your heart, which, despite all, cannot be entirely ill. Nevertheless, it is a fair puzzle. Something must be done. The child is what? Ten years old?’
‘Something like that,’ said the woman, suddenly conscious that parents elsewhere were not so vague and made much of their children’s birthdays and held parties to celebrate them. The woman had never thought to do this and regretted it, now. Witches do not attend many parties, and those they do go to are hardly suitable for children.
‘Then it is time you thought about what he will do to make his way in the world,’ the cat went on. ‘He cannot stay here forever.’
‘No, of course not,’ the woman murmured.” (Pg. 62-65)
Of course, Lump is not blameless either. The segments in which he watches his enchanted windows reminds me of the final lines from the second to last chapter of Peter Pan, in which Peter watches the Darling children’s reunion with their parents from afar:
“There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a strange boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.”
I think this matches Lump’s dilemma perfectly. He, too, is surrounded by marvels that any kid would be lucky enough to even dream about, but no friends to share them with. However, Peter Pan is literally a master of his realm, able to fly and to fight, with no authority figures to thwart him. Lump has no magical abilities whatsoever and is subject to the wishes of both his mother and her servants. But perhaps most pitiful of all, he lacks even the freedom to seek out friends. He is not allowed any contact with other people due to his appearance, partly for his protection, but then he has no idea he is ugly. Not only does this delude him into believing he is handsome while humans are deformed, but it gives him an increasingly dangerous superiority complex. The continual denial of his desires and reminding of his weaknesses only further intensify his loneliness—and eventually, his egotism:
“A year passed. Lump was nearly eleven, the age when to ordinary children the company of friends is the dearest thing in the world. But Lump had no friends. Now, such children will often invent companions; in Lump’s case this natural tendency was supported by his two magic windows. [. . .]
[. . .] Lump could hear the chuffing and pawing of the camels in the stockade and an occasional raucous bleat. A tall narrow door opened at the side of the inn, and a small figure emerged—a boy of about Lump’s own age, dressed in a white robe and a white skullcap. Lump watched as the boy fed and watered the camels. Lump seemed to be right behind him as he worked and murmured to the beasts. ‘I don’t speak your language,’ Lump said in a low urgent voice, ‘but I know so much about you. I know your name is Djer and you have two sisters, Mahli and Zera, and your mother is Leila. You father is dead, killed by bandits, you believe, and you help your mother run the caravanserai. It is a lonely place; and while many people pass through, no one stays for long, and the friendships you make are only passing ones. You are lonely, I know; sometimes at night you come out by yourself and sing to the camels, playing music on a harp with two strings. How I wish you would look up just once and see me! Please look up! I am so lonely, too!’
And then it seemed that Djer did look up, and that their eyes met and that Djer smiled at him, but it was only that a hawk had flown across the dunes, as it were, behind Lump, where he could never look. Then the bird flew over the caravanserai and away, and Djer lifted his empty bucket and went back inside.
Lump could have wept with vexation. [. . .]
[. . .]
‘Farewell, my friends,’ he whispered through the glass; his breath clouded over the dancing scene like fog from the sea. Here was the real reason that he had wanted to learn magic, to command dragons and flying carpets, as he had seen and heard in the stories Bagordax had caused to play on his walls. Yes, he was a prisoner, too, a handsome prince cast away from all he loved.” (Pg. 71-74)
And these feelings only get worse as Lump grows into adulthood. By this time, he is much wiser regarding human nature and, as such, much more painfully aware and self-conscious of his looks. But this isn’t the only thing that hinders his social skills. Magic has enabled him to see the best and most beautiful the world has to offer. As a result, his views have been warped and his tastes spoiled for its plainer, less awe-inspiring side. So when a genuine opportunity to make friends with honest, caring people does come his way, he can’t bring himself to take those hands for fear of either being rejected or appearing common and weak, as has been done to him so often before.
Like many coming-of-age and self-discovery stories, this book isn’t easy to talk about without giving too much away. What makes The Witch’s Boy so masterful isn’t only its stunning, mystical, and romantic imagery and characters we want to see succeed in spite of their flaws and mistakes. It has a captivating way of using fantasy as a lens with which younger readers can explore issues faced by children and adults every day, from parenthood and familial relationships to social interaction, childhood trauma, and healing through personal reflection and forgiveness. Just as one doesn’t have to be young, beautiful, or even human in order to embark on a hero’s journey, one doesn’t have to be magic to make their own in their walk of life.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Witch's Boy by Michael Gruber (published by HarperTempest, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
Deep in the woods, far from the ways of Man, a witch lives in peaceful solitude. Neither good nor evil, her very name unknown but to herself and to the powers she serves, she spends her days studying nature and its many mysteries, the flora and fauna her only company. But one day, she comes across something strange even to her: an abandoned infant, more goblin than human, possibly the most hideous offspring ever spawned. Against her better judgement, the witch takes him in, intending to raise him with the help of her cat familiar, Falance, Ysul, the she-bear, and Bagordax, a powerful demon. Though the boy, whom the witch names Lump, at first thrives within this home filled with magic and wonder, such a childhood leaves him woefully unprepared when he is faced with the cold reality that is mankind and its cruelty. As Lump grows up, his broken heart and unfulfilled dreams corrupt him with a lust for power that threatens his foster mother and those loyal to her. With neither the witch’s teachings nor all magic in the world able to reform or heal him, it falls on Lump himself to rediscover the innocence he once had, and seek out his own inner peace and happiness.
As of the time of this writing, I’ve not read any of Michael Gruber’s other books, so I can’t offer any comparisons between this and them. All I can say is, when I found The Witch’s Boy as a young teen, I thought, “Hey, it has magic in it; I’m in.” Readers who love fairy tales—like me—will love the way Gruber weaves in references to many famous fairy tales, having both protagonists and side characters of the narrative proper talk about them as though they were personal experiences or actual historical events. But these serve a greater purpose than simply further showing off the already magical setting. Gruber subverts these tales in ways that realistically explore characters’ psyches and motivations, and which not-so-subtly suggest that the traditional stories are just the offensively sanitized, nonsensical ramblings of superstitious humans and these new accounts tell the real, brutally honest truth as nature intended. Depending on your point of view, it can be difficult to decide which versions are meant to be more provocative and disturbing. That being said, we are offered some very intriguing alternate scenarios here. For example: What if Cinderella was in fact an unhinged clean freak who ditched her kind--not mean—stepmother for the prince? What if Pinocchio did forego school to become a performer? What if Sleepy Beauty regretted being awakened and longed to go back to her perfect dream world? And what if a dangerous predator was instead a true friend and ally and a brave, strong man the real monster to the witch when she was once an innocent little girl in a bright red cloak?
But fantasy is only the backdrop to a story that can be all too real: a mother who, besides being distracted by her work, doesn’t know how to be a mother in the first place, and the negative impact this has on her charge. The witch is not the easiest protagonist to sympathize with at times. As far as parenting is concerned, she is often lazy and selfish, making excuses for her faults while being confused whenever Lump is disagreeable. But these are portrayed not as evil traits so much as human ones. It is interesting to note that the omniscient narrator refers to the witch primarily as “the woman”. This is partly due to her true name being a cosmic mystery not meant for mortal ears, but I think it also emphasizes the fact that she may be practically a deity in her own right, but she is also still a woman. She can easily make sure Lump has food and shelter, but as she comes to see too late the result of giving him little else, all she is left with is an angry and bitter child, and she, for all her power, is left feeling truly vulnerable and full of guilt and regret:
“‘That child is spoiled,’ said the cat from his comfortable perch in a stone niche near the hearth.
The woman looked at him crossly and was about to make an objection, but a tiredness came over her suddenly, of the sort well-known to those whose children have not turned out as well as they had expected, and she simply sighed.
‘I think you are right, Falance,’ she admitted. ‘I cannot see why, however. The boy has had everything that is proper for a child—food, warmth, shelter, well-fitting shoes—’
‘What we say,’ the cat said, interrupting this litany, ‘is cuff and cuddle cats the kitten. This child has had little of either cuffs or cuddles.’
‘That is untrue,’ said the woman. ‘I have spent many hours with him, baby and boy.’
‘Yes, and when he grew fretful, or you bored, you called for Ysul.’
‘What! Am I to be taught mothering by an old tomcat?’
For once, the cat did not flinch; cats have a keen sense of who has the moral advantage, and, having once seized it, he was not about to give it up. He ignored her angry gaze. ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘you are not fond of him, or rather you are as fond of him as you are of everything. His little achievements bring a smile to your lips, but it is the same smile you bestow on the first iris or a passing badger. You are correct that I am no expert, yet I don’t think this is the usual case among mothers of men. Instead, they dote. With us, it sometimes happens that a mother will ignore one of her kits, and it will grow into a runt, snarling and ill-mannered, yet still it has its brothers and sisters to heap among, be warmed by, to play with and learn from. You will observe that Lump has never had this chance. He has no sibs, nor even friends of his own kind.’
‘I never had friends!’ the woman blurted out in a strange, harsh tone that surprised both her companion and her.
Then they were both silent for a period, while she tended to her pastry. She made a tray of strawberry tarts—Lump’s favorite—stoked the fire, and popped them into the oven. Wiping her hands, she settled herself in a chair facing the hearth. When she spoke, her voice was weary. ‘I suppose you will say I should have known better. You will say you warned me of this.’
‘No cat would be so rude,’ said Falance. ‘You followed your heart, which, despite all, cannot be entirely ill. Nevertheless, it is a fair puzzle. Something must be done. The child is what? Ten years old?’
‘Something like that,’ said the woman, suddenly conscious that parents elsewhere were not so vague and made much of their children’s birthdays and held parties to celebrate them. The woman had never thought to do this and regretted it, now. Witches do not attend many parties, and those they do go to are hardly suitable for children.
‘Then it is time you thought about what he will do to make his way in the world,’ the cat went on. ‘He cannot stay here forever.’
‘No, of course not,’ the woman murmured.” (Pg. 62-65)
Of course, Lump is not blameless either. The segments in which he watches his enchanted windows reminds me of the final lines from the second to last chapter of Peter Pan, in which Peter watches the Darling children’s reunion with their parents from afar:
“There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a strange boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.”
I think this matches Lump’s dilemma perfectly. He, too, is surrounded by marvels that any kid would be lucky enough to even dream about, but no friends to share them with. However, Peter Pan is literally a master of his realm, able to fly and to fight, with no authority figures to thwart him. Lump has no magical abilities whatsoever and is subject to the wishes of both his mother and her servants. But perhaps most pitiful of all, he lacks even the freedom to seek out friends. He is not allowed any contact with other people due to his appearance, partly for his protection, but then he has no idea he is ugly. Not only does this delude him into believing he is handsome while humans are deformed, but it gives him an increasingly dangerous superiority complex. The continual denial of his desires and reminding of his weaknesses only further intensify his loneliness—and eventually, his egotism:
“A year passed. Lump was nearly eleven, the age when to ordinary children the company of friends is the dearest thing in the world. But Lump had no friends. Now, such children will often invent companions; in Lump’s case this natural tendency was supported by his two magic windows. [. . .]
[. . .] Lump could hear the chuffing and pawing of the camels in the stockade and an occasional raucous bleat. A tall narrow door opened at the side of the inn, and a small figure emerged—a boy of about Lump’s own age, dressed in a white robe and a white skullcap. Lump watched as the boy fed and watered the camels. Lump seemed to be right behind him as he worked and murmured to the beasts. ‘I don’t speak your language,’ Lump said in a low urgent voice, ‘but I know so much about you. I know your name is Djer and you have two sisters, Mahli and Zera, and your mother is Leila. You father is dead, killed by bandits, you believe, and you help your mother run the caravanserai. It is a lonely place; and while many people pass through, no one stays for long, and the friendships you make are only passing ones. You are lonely, I know; sometimes at night you come out by yourself and sing to the camels, playing music on a harp with two strings. How I wish you would look up just once and see me! Please look up! I am so lonely, too!’
And then it seemed that Djer did look up, and that their eyes met and that Djer smiled at him, but it was only that a hawk had flown across the dunes, as it were, behind Lump, where he could never look. Then the bird flew over the caravanserai and away, and Djer lifted his empty bucket and went back inside.
Lump could have wept with vexation. [. . .]
[. . .]
‘Farewell, my friends,’ he whispered through the glass; his breath clouded over the dancing scene like fog from the sea. Here was the real reason that he had wanted to learn magic, to command dragons and flying carpets, as he had seen and heard in the stories Bagordax had caused to play on his walls. Yes, he was a prisoner, too, a handsome prince cast away from all he loved.” (Pg. 71-74)
And these feelings only get worse as Lump grows into adulthood. By this time, he is much wiser regarding human nature and, as such, much more painfully aware and self-conscious of his looks. But this isn’t the only thing that hinders his social skills. Magic has enabled him to see the best and most beautiful the world has to offer. As a result, his views have been warped and his tastes spoiled for its plainer, less awe-inspiring side. So when a genuine opportunity to make friends with honest, caring people does come his way, he can’t bring himself to take those hands for fear of either being rejected or appearing common and weak, as has been done to him so often before.
Like many coming-of-age and self-discovery stories, this book isn’t easy to talk about without giving too much away. What makes The Witch’s Boy so masterful isn’t only its stunning, mystical, and romantic imagery and characters we want to see succeed in spite of their flaws and mistakes. It has a captivating way of using fantasy as a lens with which younger readers can explore issues faced by children and adults every day, from parenthood and familial relationships to social interaction, childhood trauma, and healing through personal reflection and forgiveness. Just as one doesn’t have to be young, beautiful, or even human in order to embark on a hero’s journey, one doesn’t have to be magic to make their own in their walk of life.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Witch's Boy by Michael Gruber (published by HarperTempest, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
EPISODE SONGS:
“Foundling” - Alex Nelson
“Foundling” - Alex Nelson
“Mother Love” - Alex Nelson
“Neither Nor” - Alex Nelson
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
Michael Gruber on Wikipedia
Michael Gruber's Official Website
The Witch's Boy on Goodreads
The Witch's Boy on Common Sense Media
Buy The Witch's Boy on Amazon
Buy The Witch's Boy at Barnes & Noble
Buy The Witch's Boy on Ebay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature
Michael Gruber on Wikipedia
Michael Gruber's Official Website
The Witch's Boy on Goodreads
The Witch's Boy on Common Sense Media
Buy The Witch's Boy on Amazon
Buy The Witch's Boy at Barnes & Noble
Buy The Witch's Boy on Ebay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature