I picked up Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner because it was a recommended book listed in the afterward of Weyward by author Emilia Hart (which I enjoyed very much and hope to also review, and even if I hadn’t enjoyed it very much it would have been worth the read for the inclusion of the recommended book list at the end!). I found Hart’s description intriguing: in 1920s Great Britain, a middle-class “spinster aunt” decides to move by herself to the countryside in order to pledge her soul to Satan. Pastoral countryside + proto-feminist comedy of manners + casually stripping oneself of all worldly possessions to devote oneself entirely to cozy witchcraft = You have my attention!
First published in 1926, Lolly Willowes plays its cards close to its chest for the first third or so of the novel, opening with a prolonged description of the Willowes family tree and a humorous accounting of protagonist Laura’s upbringing and her life up to her decision to abscond to the countryside. Laura goes directly from her childhood home, where she is her beloved father’s caretaker, to being moved to her brother’s household in London after her father’s death. In her brother’s home, she takes on the mantle of “Aunt Lolly” and acts as a caretaker to her two nieces. Once her nieces are grown, Laura starts having vivid daydreams about living in the countryside. Eventually, she tells her brother that she intends to move to a town called Great Mop, population 227, because “It has just occurred to me, Henry, that I am forty-seven.”
Once in the countryside, Laura becomes addicted to the freedom she finds there, although she does notice that the townspeople all seem to stay up unusually late, and there seems to be music coming from somewhere on many evenings. In fact, she is unwilling to go back to being helpful, uncomplaining Aunt Lolly ever again. When her nephew comes to visit her for an extended stay, she’s thoroughly content when it occurs to her that she’s been cheerfully walking a path toward witchcraft ever since she left London, especially if it means that his milk curdles every morning until he decides to depart and leave her in peace once and for all. After attending her neighborhood witch’s sabbath and having a couple of pleasant conversations with Satan himself, Laura officially pledges her soul to the devil and becomes a witch.
This was a totally unexpected and delightful book for me. It’s a quick, short read at a bit over 250 pages, and I thought it was both fun and fascinating. I would particularly recommend the edition I read, which included a forward by Alison Lurie that added a lot of interesting context for how unmarried women were treated in post-World War I Great Britain. The writing style definitely reflects the period in which it was written, so it takes some patience to get used to the cadence. There are also several passages that I could tell would have been funny if I had more context for the “pop culture” of 1926, but they went totally over my head almost 100 years later as a 2024 reader. That said, once Laura fully embraces her witch-ness, there are some quotes that are (depressingly) still quite relevant: “One doesn’t become a witch to run around being harmful, or to run around being helpful either, a district visitor on a broomstick. It’s to escape all that – to have a life of one’s own, not an existence doled out to by others.”
If you enjoy books from this era, I 100% recommend checking out Lolly Willowes. I was utterly charmed by Laura’s journey of self-discovery, and I may or may not be daydreaming about running away to a cozy witch village at this very moment.
