The Witch

In a small, sleepy town, a mediocre witch, in a mediocre marriage, tries to pass on her gifts to her twin daughters, who, it becomes immediately apparent, have skills far beyond her own. 'NDiaye at her most dazzling' Katie Kitamura 'This is NDiaye at her disquieting best' New York Magazine Lucie comes from a long line of witches, powers passed down from mother to daughter. Her own mum was formidable in her powers, but ashamed of her magic. Perhaps as a result, Lucie's own gift is weak: she can see into the future, sometimes - but more often, she can only see the present of some other location. Not very useful. And the worst part? All she can ever see are insignificant details - a scrap of outfit, the colour of the sky. Lucie's own children are initiated into their family's peculiar womanhood when they reach twelve years of age, and in a few short months, Maud and Lise are crying the curious tears of blood that denote their magical powers. Having learned, they take off quickly and fly the nest. Literally. Witty, dreamlike, vaguely unsettling, and utterly enchanting (pun intended), The Witch brings the mysteries of womanhood and motherhood into sharp relief and leaves us teetering on the edge, unbalanced by questions as seemingly unbreakable relationships break down left and right. Who is to blame for family failures? And how can you - can you? - build a nest that no one wants to fly?

Marie NDiaye was born in France in 1967. She published her first novel at seventeen, and has won the Prix Femina (Rosie Carpe in 2001) and the Prix Goncourt (Three Strong Women, 2009). Her play "Papa Doit Manger" has been taken into the repertoire of the Comédie Française. Her novel Ladivine (translated by Jordan Stump) was longlisted for the Booker International Prize in 2016, and in 2020 she was awarded the Prix Marguerite Yourcenar for her entire body of work. She lives in Paris.