It’s Witchcraft*

It’s often the case that we fear things that we don’t understand. That’s how myths and scary stories are handed down over time. And one of the most persistent set of stories is the set of stories about witchcraft and sorcery. Those stories come up in many different cultures and are told in different ways and that’s what’s interesting; it’s such a pervasive set of beliefs. The stories that are told at this time of year about wicked women who fly around on broomsticks and cast evil spells are just one kind of example. There are lots of others and as influential as they’ve been in history, it makes sense that they’d show up a lot in different kinds of crime fiction too. And no, I’m not going to mention crime fiction where there are paranormal explanations for things. Really my focus is crime fiction where belief in witchcraft and sorcery plays a role in the story.

For instance, many of Tony Hillerman’s novels feature Navajo beliefs and traditions. And one of those traditions is a belief in skinwalkers, or witches. These are people who practice what the Navajo people call the Witchery Way. They can assume the shape of animals and use their abilities to wreak havoc. Although not all Navajos believe in skinwalkers, it’s a well-known set of stories. We see how influential this belief is in Skinwalkers. In that novel Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn and Sergeant Jim Chee, each in a different way, investigate a series of deaths that seem to be connected to the Bad Water Clinic, run by Dr. Bahe Yellowhorse. As they piece together the clues, we find that although the deaths have a very prosaic cause, the belief that witchcraft is at work plays an important role in the novel. We also see in this series a real contrast between those beliefs and the Navajo tradition of healing. For instance, in the early Hillerman novels, Chee is studying to be a yata’ali, or Navajo healer. That spiritual tradition of the healing arts is not at all the same as witchcraft but it’s often been mistaken for it. That misunderstanding has led to quite a lot of damage.

There’s a lot of mention of traditional belief in what you might call witchcraft in James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux novels. Most of those novels take place in rural Louisiana where several different cultural beliefs have come together. One of them is juju, adapted from West African tradition. In the Burke novels juju is depicted as similar to, but not identical to, voodoo, and those who have skill at this kind of witchcraft are believed to have powerful abilities. For instance, in A Morning for Flamingos, Robicheaux is, among other things, trying to find out the truth behind the murder of Hipolyte Broussard. Tee Beau Latiolais has been convicted of the murder, but he claims that he isn’t guilty. Robicheaux promises that he’ll find out what really happened and begins to investigate. The trail leads to Gros Mama Goula, who runs a local brothel and who is said to be a juju woman. All sorts of stories have been passed around about her power, and although Robicheaux isn’t superstitious he knows that she has local clout.  When Robicheaux questions her, she startles him with what seem to be some eerie insights into what’s going on his mind. No, it’s not ‘mind-reading’ and no, witchcraft doesn’t solve this mystery. In fact, the scenes with Gros Mama Goula don’t take up a lot of space in this story. But her influence and the influence of traditional beliefs is obvious in this novel.

Belief in witchcraft – or at least uneasiness about it – shows up in M.C. Beaton’s Death of an Outsider too. In that novel, Constable Hamish Macbeth takes a temporary leave from his usual post at Lochdubh to fill in for a colleague in the village of Cnothan. He’s not exactly warmly welcomed and the feeling is mutual. But Macbeth takes up his temporary duties nonetheless and it’s not long before he finds that there are others even more disliked than he is. William Mainwaring and his wife Agatha are English ‘incomers’ who supposedly have taken up crofting. Everyone suspects that Mainwaring is involved in something much shadier, though. As if that’s not bad enough, he’s contemptuous of the locals, overbearing and has made more than his share of enemies. Agatha hasn’t been much easier to like and matters come to a head when she complains that she’s being pursued by a group of witches. She may not be particularly old-fashioned or overly superstitious but she’s uneasy enough about the possibility of witchcraft that she’s quite anxious and upset. Macbeth finds out that there’s a down-to-earth explanation for the incidents that have frightened Agatha Mainwaring but the situation turns tragic when Mainwaring is murdered. Now, Macbeth has to enlist the aid of wary and unhelpful locals to find out the truth behind the victim’s death.

Today there’s a lot more understanding of traditional healing and different kinds of spirituality than there was in earlier times. And we see that stark contrast in historical crime fiction and in crime fiction that includes connections with the past. There are a lot of examples of this; I’ll just refer to one. Shona MacLean’s The Redemption of Alexander Seaton takes place in 17^th Century Banff, Scotland. Apothecary’s assistant Patrick Davidson is poisoned, and everyone believes that local music master Charles Thom is responsible. He’s duly arrested and imprisoned, but he claims that he’s innocent. He begs his friend, schoolteacher Alexander Seaton, to find out the truth behind the murder and Seaton agrees. He begins to ask questions and in the course of his investigations, he finds that both Davidson and Davidson’s beloved Marion Arbuthnott may have been paying visits to a mysterious old woman who’s got the reputation of being a witch with the ability to cast spells, heal, curse and so on. If that’s true, then there are several local people who might have wanted Davidson dead, as feeling against witches is at the boiling point. Then, Marion Arbuthnott dies, too, apparently a successful suicide. When the locals find out that she might have been involved in witchcraft, that story has terrible consequences. In the end, though, it turns out that neither death has anything to do with casting spells. It also turns out that there’s more to the mysterious old woman than meets the eye.

In A Carrion Death by the writing duo known as Michael Stanley, we are introduced to Botswana police inspector David ‘Kubu” Bengu. In this novel, a body is discovered in the Botswana desert. It’s mostly been consumed by hyenas, so there isn’t much evidence as to what happened. The death is initially put down to accident but Kubu isn’t convinced. He begins to ask questions and investigate further. Then there’s another death. As he’s trying to make sense of what’s happened, he runs into traditional beliefs about witch doctors, who are said to have great power and of whom many of the locals are fearfully respectful. Kubu’s been university-educated and doesn’t believe in traditional spirituality. But he does understand that others do, and is reminded of that one Sunday when he tells his father of an encounter between one of his associates and an old man who’s said to be a witch doctor. Kubu’s father reminds him that for many in Botswana, traditional views of spirituality and of witch doctors hold sway and must be respected. No, the two victims were not killed by witch doctors. Their deaths are related to greed, corruption and land-grabbing. But it’s interesting to see the power that the traditional belief system has.

We also see those beliefs depicted in Adrian Hyland’s Diamond Dove (AKA Moonlight Downs). Lincoln Flinders is the leader of an Aborigine encampment at Moonlight Downs. When he is brutally murdered, it’s thought at first that his death is the work of Blakie Japanangka, who is a local sorcerer. The two had a heated quarrel, and just after the murder, Blakie disappeared. So everyone makes the obvious connection. But Emily Tempest, who grew up in that encampment and has recently returned, is not so sure. She starts to investigate and in the end, she finds that Flinders’ murder isn’t related to sorcery at all. She also finds out some surprising truths about Blakie Japanangka. In this novel Hyland shares traditional beliefs about sorcerers and the difference between them and those who practice traditional healing. There’s also a thread of that in Gunshot Road, the next novel in this series. It’s easy to develop misunderstandings about traditional healing and what people think of as sorcery and witchcraft and Hyland makes the distinction clear, at least in my opinion.

Kerry Greenwood’s Corinna Chapman series features Melbourne baker Corinna Chapman and nearly always involves the other residents of Insula, the building in which Chapman lives and has her bakery. One of those residents is Miriam Kaplan, usually known as Meroe, who practices Wicca and owns The Sibyl’s Cave, which sells everything needed for practicing traditional Wicca. She has a very deep knowledge of traditional forms of healing and if you want to, you can call her a witch. But she’s a long way from the stereotyped evil witch with an ugly face and a broomstick. She is in fact a really interesting character through whom Greenwood shares Wicca beliefs and customs. In Trick or Treat in particular we learn about the origins of Samhain, the end-of-harvest festival with which witches are most traditionally associated. You could say that she practices witchcraft as it was originally intended – as it was known before all of the stereotypes and awful legends came up. And her skill with traditional healing, herbs and so on proves useful in more than one case of poisoning that comes up in this series.

Whether or not you are spiritual, it’s hard to deny the power that beliefs about witchcraft and sorcery have had over the years. I’ve only mentioned a few examples of crime fiction where misunderstanding about spirituality and beliefs about witchcraft play an important role. But those beliefs show up in many different cultures too, and that’s what I find particularly interesting.

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Frank Sinatra’s Witchcraft.

Where We Have Lived Since the World Began*

One of the really interesting developments we’ve seen in crime fiction in recent decades is the look the genre has given us at indigenous characters and communities. That’s not easy to do, either. It’s a challenge to create an indigenous character or explore an indigenous community honestly – without either glorifying its members and culture or condescending to them. When it works well, though, we get a fascinating perspective on unique world views and ways of life. We also get some very interesting and innovative characters.

As early as the 1930’s, Arthur Upfield showed readers the lives of some of the Aboriginal communities of Australia. His creation, Napoleon “Bony” Bonaparte is a member of the Queensland Police Force, so his cases frequently take him into Australia’s Outback and quite often involve the indigenous people who live there. Bony himself is half-Aborgine and thoroughly familiar with many of the indigenous cultures of the area. That knowledge and Bony’s own background are helpful to him as he investigates cases. In The Bushman Who Came Back for instance, Bony solves the shooting murder of Mrs. Bell, housekeeper at the homestead owned by Mr. Wootton. As if Mrs. Bell’s death isn’t enough to upset Wootton, his ranch hands and his staff, Mrs. Bell’s seven-year-old daughter Linda has been abducted. All evidence is that a local bushman nicknamed Yorky is the murderer and has taken Linda because she was a witness. Bony is called in to find Yorky and Linda before anything happens to the girl. In the process of tracking them and of finding out what happened on the morning of the murder, Bony discovers that Yorky is not the only suspect. He knows though that to get the answers he needs, he will need to find the bushman. So he relies not just on what Wootton and the ranch hands tell him but also on what the local Aborginal groups can tell him. In the end, it’s that knowledge as well as the knowledge he has of the land and its rhythms that lead Bony to the truth about Mrs. Bell’s murder and about what happened to Yorky and Linda.

More recently, Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest novels depict the lives of the Aboriginal communities of Australia’s Northern Territory. Tempest is a half-Aborigine/half-White member of the Aboriginal Community Police. In Diamond Dove (AKA Moonlight Downs) she returns to her home at the Moonlight Downs encampment after several years away. She’s no sooner home than she gets embroiled in a murder investigation. The leader of the Moonlight Downs encampment Lincoln Flinders is killed and his alleged murderer Blakie Japananga disappears. It all seems clear-cut at first, but Tempest isn’t sure that the obvious solution is also the correct one. So she looks into the case more deeply and finds that there was a lot more to Flinders’ death than it seemed. The same is true in Gunshot Road, in which Tempest solves the murder of prospector Albert “Doc” Ozolins, who was supposedly murdered as the result of a drunken quarrel. In both of these novels, we see the way members of the Aboriginal communities in the area live. Hyland presents them – and Tempest – honestly and respectfully. I sincerely hope there’ll be a new Emily Tempest mystery soon.

Tony Hillerman depicted the lives of Native Americans – especially the Navajo Nation – in interesting, respectful and truthful detail. His Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee are both members of the Navajo Tribal Police, and the murders they investigate often require knowledge of the Navajo Way in order to solve them. For example, in Skinwalkers, a series of three murders seems to be connected to the Bad Water Clinic run by Dr. Bahe Yellowhorse. That clinic combines Western medicine with Navajo healing traditions and although it’s done some good, there are people who are suspicious of what happens there. When Chee himself becomes the target of a would-be killer, Leaphorn knows he’ll have to rely on Chee’s knowledge of the Navajo Way as Chee is more traditional than Leaphorn is. Together the two discover what’s behind the murders and in the process we see the lives of those who live in the Navajo Nation. In fact, Hillerman received the distinction of being named a Special Friend of the Navajo Nation in 1987 for his treatment of that community in his work.

Margaret Coel presents the lives of members of the Arapaho Nation in her series featuring attorney Vicky Holden, who is Arapaho, and Father John O’Malley. The focus in that series is the Arapaho community of the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. Neither Holden nor O’Malley is blind to the challenges faced by the indigenous people of that area. Coel is frank about issues such as alcoholism and domestic abuse on the Reservation as well as about relations between members of the Arapaho Nation and Whites. That said though, Coel treats the Arapaho people with respect and presents their lifestyles both honestly and in fascinating detail.

Peter Høeg introduced readers to half-Inuit Smilla Jasperson in Miss Smilla’s  Feeling For Snow (AKA Miss Smilla’s Sense of Snow). In that novel, Jasperson meets a young boy named Isaiah Christensen – a fellow transplanted Greenlander. When the boy dies, allegedly after a fall from the roof of the building where both live, Jasperson comes to believe that he did not die accidentally. So she investigates the death despite all sorts of pressure to leave it alone. In the end, Isaiah Christensen’s death turns out to be related to two Danish expeditions to Greenland. Jasperson’s Inuit identity and her familiarity with her people’s culture prove to be very helpful as she looks into the case, and Høeg treats the Inuit people both respectfully and candidly.

Stan Jones does the same thing in his series featuring Nathan Active. Active is an Alaska State Trooper. He is also an Inupiat Eskimo, although he was given up for adoption as a baby and raised as White in Anchorage. Now he’s returned by assignment to the isolated area around Chukchi, north of the Arctic Circle. What’s interesting about this series is that Active arguably has to discover his Inupiat identity since he wasn’t raised among those people. So in a sense we see that community, at least at the start, “from the outside.”  It’s an interesting process of discovery for Active and for the reader. And Jones treats the indigenous community to which Active belongs with dignity and respect, while still being candid about the people who live in it.

And then there’s Michael Sears’ and Stanley Trollip’s (writing as Michael Stanley) Detective David “Kubu” Bengu, a member of Botswana’s CID, whom we first meet in A Carrion Death. In this novel, a body is discovered in the Botswana desert. At first it seems that the victim died by accident; it’s been almost completely eaten by hyenas and there seems no reason to believe the death is from foul play. But Kubu isn’t convinced, and begins to investigate not just the identity of the victim but also how the victim actually died. Kubu finds that this death is related to family politics as well as the politics and financial dealings of the Botswana Cattle and Mining Company. In this series, Sears and Trollip treat Kubu and the local culture candidly, but at the same time, they are depicted respectfully.

When authors present indigenous characters (of whom I’ve only had space to mention a few) with that balance of respect and candor, the result adds much to crime fiction. Which are your favourite indigenous sleuths?

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Nightwish’s Creek Mary’s Blood.