WOMS: The Spellshop

My uncle died earlier this month.

I know that’s an odd way to begin a book review, but his death is intrinsically linked to this book I want to share. This will be a bit unorthodox. Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I’m flooded with memories in my mourning. I’ve sat down trying to write this review as strictly a review for the past month, but each time I can’t help but circle back to my uncle and his death. I seem incapable of separating the two.

You see, after I first learned he was dying back at the end of September, on a rather dismal grey and drizzly day, I walked into a Half Price Books needing some comfort. A warmth like sunlight glowed from this cover, beckoning to me. Just looking at it felt like receiving a hug, so I bought it.

Over the next couple of weeks, I would escape to the world of the small island of Caltrey with Kiela and Caz and Larran and Bryn, following them on their adventure. It was the soothing balm my grieving soul needed as I mourned the loss of a man who inspired me in so many ways I wish I had recognized sooner. Sure, I always knew he had influenced me, but it wasn’t until his time was imminent I understood how much, how deep. Funny, how that is. Inconvenient is more accurate.

What was so wonderful, I think, and relevant and poignant about Kiela’s journey from reclusive librarian and hermit to congenial jam-maker, villager, and daring spellcaster was seeing how she grew and evolved to trust others, rely on them, and become a valued and protected member of the community. She grew into herself, embracing the parts of her which had long been buried beneath the stacks and stacks of books she cared for at the Great Library of Alyssium under the duress of safe-guarding knowledge for the elite only to realize their secrets were always meant to be shared with all.

’But I do know books’—and that meant there was nothing she couldn’t know, eventually. That was a magic in and of itself.”

This is what she whispers to herself on the verge of committing a treasonous crime—sharing the secret, forbidden knowledge hidden in her precious books to save the village she’s come to cherish and love.

In a way, it reminded me of what my uncle taught me. Not with words, but by example.

He was a proud and private man, who would loathe to know I’m writing about him. He was also extremely quiet, fierce, but so sweet and gentle. Though his life was filled with early tragedy, he found his moments of joy and fought for them until the end.

Most importantly, he was an artist. His work is breathtaking and unique, and I admire his skill and craft. His chosen medium was metal, and he welded these exquisite sculptures creating awe-inspiring pieces. Most of them were huge, especially to me as a small child, and even now as an adult. I remember going to his art shows and marveling at what he achieved.

What he taught me was to stay true to your craft, to explore whatever inspires you, have fun with creating, but most important—stay true to yourself.

Kiela’s character experiences a similar revival as she returns to her childhood home fleeing the revolution engulfing the Crescent Islands Empire. She rediscovers not only her past, but embraces it allowing it to inform her future. When she tries a spell on her raspberry brambles, to test a theory on how to help restore the failing orchards on the island, soon her house is overrun with raspberries. She sees an opportunity, remembering her parents who would make jam from the fruit years ago, and even finds their recipe tucked away in a cabinet to use. The jam becomes her currency to barter with the [baker] for food and supplies, and to sell to give her a source of income. Her shop also serves as a front to hide her real purpose: selling spells disguised as remedies to restore the magic on the island. Soon, word spreads as thick and rich as her raspberry jam, and the island soon flourishes again. Kiela brings life back to Caltrey.

Sometimes abandoning one’s past is necessary, but in those rarest of moments—sometimes, like Kiela, remembering your past connects you to your future.

My uncle may be gone, but the lessons he taught me still linger. They’re still with me. He is still with me.