Rating: ★★★★★
Author: Molly Knox Ostertag
Title: The Witch Boy
ISBN: 9781338089516
Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Scholastic, Inc., 2017 Page Count: 213 pages
Synopsis from Publisher: In thirteen-year-old Aster's family, all the girls are raised to be witches, while boys grow up to be shapeshifters. Anyone who dares cross those lines is exiled. Unfortunately for Aster, he still hasn't shifted... and he's still fascinated by witchery, no matter how forbidden it might be.
When a mysterious danger threatens the other boys, Aster knows he can help -- as a witch. It will take the encouragement of a new friend, the non-magical and non-conforming Charlie, to convince Aster to try practicing his skills. And it will require even more courage to save his family... and be truly himself.
When I was browsing my local library for some books and graphic novels to potentially offer my students (and enjoy for myself), I was drawn towards The Witch Boy by Molly Knox Ostertag for two reasons: the modernized graphic novel art style that I've come to really enjoy from stories in this media, and the title itself succinctly pitching a story of gender nonconformity in fantasy. I didn't need to read the back cover to understand what I might be in for. It properly sold it to its audience.
I was a child who grew up loving sports and spending a lot of time with my boy cousins and friends; it wasn't always met with elation from my family. Just trying to enjoy the things I enjoyed that weren't on a binary, and often being met with some sort of derision, was something that bugged me. (I also always found this hilarious because while getting my hands dirty outside, I still had a big collection of Barbie dolls, so I guess it was really I just wasn't enough of one way or another as a child. Pity for them.) This identity clash didn't contribute anything to my own gender identity or sexuality, but it was something that always stuck with me. I never wanted to push that onto another kid.
Ostertag captures the timeless life lesson in children's media that it's okay to be who you are in The Witch Boy. And they do so with vibrant art that's engaging for all ages, language that is easily followed by a younger audience—as a read along or for advanced readers on their own—and middle grade students. It hits the perfect age range when children are realizing more what parts make up their interests and personalities, how they navigate the world different from their friends and family, and the ways that puberty and self-realization really leave a lot of kids feeling unseen or sometimes left behind. Even the ones who seem like they have it all together.
This magical community is introduced with a group of daughters, who have discovered their gifts, learning the rules and mechanics of witchcraft. They have an intuit connection to nature, understanding runes and elements, and how natural materials—such as the fruits growing around them in their lustrous village—prefer to be called by their magical names. The witches take on a caretaker role in this community. As they learn the secrets of nature and witchcraft—something safeguarded from the boys and men in the group—they can use that knowledge for healing, potions making, and other spell-work. That's when we spot Aster, a young boy in the village, hiding in a tree to spy on the class that he's forbidden from joining. He's caught, of course, and cast out of the area where the girls are learning.
Off the bat, I found that the way this story introduces the gender conflict to be well done. It's the perfect example of show, not tell. You get a glimpse into the magical rules of this world, you learn about what the women in the village are learning and practicing, and immediately you discover a boy who's interested but cast aside because of his gender. I found it quite ironically delicious that this opening scene has the teaching witch explain that once a witch acknowledges and learns the preferred names of the fruits and the trees, they can cast incantations to ask for its offerings. The disconnect the village already has between how it cares for nature/craft versus each other is established and pervasive in the remaining story.
Aster runs home, upset, and talks to his mom who tries to comfort him but seems concerned over their inability to mesh well with the rules of their magic. She and Aster's father spend most of the graphic novel hopeful that his shapeshifting abilities will appear soon, and he can join the other young men learning their kind of magic. I won't continue to spoil the plot, but I do want to point out some things I thought were nicely done.
Ostertag managed to avoid overdone tropes where the main character is awfully ridiculed for their behavior or made to be a complete outcast. There are times the children found Aster peculiar, but they never went out of their way to exclude Aster from anything. Case and point, the very next moment of the same opening scene has Aster being invited to join the other boys who were about to play capture the flag—sure, there was a little dissention over the choice, but it wasn't because Aster was weird, it was because he wasn't very good at capture the flag. Fair enough, champ.
Aster's not immediately thrilled by joining them, but I think this does a great job to set up the closeness of this magical village. They still include one another and expect that participation from one another. Which can have its faults, but it means Aster didn't grow up in a place that shunned him for existing; he got to grow up with family that maybe sometimes just didn't get him. Which is a much softer experience to represent in media—both for the families reading along together, and for the children looking for something less traumatic to relate to. Later in the story, as Aster's penchant for witchcraft rises, there is more division and conflict that builds, but that's to be expected.
All the hope for Aster to find his way in their village always comes with the expectation that Aster will eventually align with what they want from him. This pressure is one that can cause some of the hardest strife for a recipient. If you know that your loved ones are expecting something from you because they want the best for you, it can be hard to explain to them that their kind of love is hurting you—stifling your ability to be who you truly are. We see this internal conflict with Aster throughout most of this first story. And his curiosity is made worse when he discovers he's not the first boy in the village who wanted to be a witch.
Something I especially loved about The Witch Boy was when Aster meets a normal (i.e. un-magical) kid in the city. He isn't supposed to be going outside of the village, but his frustrations lead him far from home, and he stumbles across a normal suburb with a girl named Charlotte, or Charlie, who is walking outside when she spots Aster successfully growing blackberries from a bush through an incantation. With a childlike charm, she doesn't need much understanding to accept that Aster might have some kind of powers she's never seen before, and she's fine to keep his secret. Aster is taken with how kind Charlie is and goes back to visit her more often throughout the story—despite very strict rules about leaving the village.
Charlie is a delightful contrast to Aster. She may have to choose between a limited run of "girls'" sports to play while her school gives the boys far more options for extracurricular activities. But her tomboy nature is never a point of conflict for her. She doesn't behave the way other girls are "expected" to behave, but you never get the sense that she's ever felt pressure to be anyone other than who she is. And through that, she sets a stable example for Aster about finding his own voice and courage—even in his secluded village.
I'm sincerely hoping not to spoil too much of the main plot, but I want to end by saying I truly enjoyed this graphic novel. And I also read the other two The Hidden Witch and The Midwinter Witch shortly after. It's a wonderful series. The climax of this first story is packed with Aster finding his courage, learning secrets of his village that pull him into personal and familial conflict, and teaching an entire village that suppressing who someone is can only lead to long-lasting pain. It is a metaphor for young queerness, but it's also a well done example of the ways in which we all are told who we're supposed to be when we're young, rather than allowed to grow and learn for ourselves.
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