WOMS: The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic

This book messed me up. In a good way.

The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic is a debut novel by Breanne Randall, marketed as Practical Magic meets Gilmore Girls, and I couldn’t agree more. Though I’ve only seen one of those, and neither are necessarily favourites of mine, this is one of those rare examples when the comp titles are right on the money. This book takes you in, wraps you up in a cosy knitted blanket, hands you a warm cup of tea, and invites you to partake of the Revelares and their mysterious magic in the small town of Poppy Meadows. It’s a story of family, loss and grief, and how to balance all that with finding and being true to yourself.

I think why it resonated with me so much is that is where I am in my journey.

Like Sadie, I grew up in a large family with an equally large reputation on both sides. Though I lost my maternal grandmother in my teens, the influence she carried is still prevalent today. As I have been learning more about myself and my autism, I feel reconnected to her somehow, wondering if the disease she suffered was autoimmune from years of suppressing her own neurodivergence.

When I published my first short story last year—and simply writing in general—I’m constantly reminded of how she frequently wrote, the copious reflections and memoirs she shared with us grandkids to teach us of our roots, our heritage. I know my writing carries on that legacy she began. Then again, I often wonder if it started with her, or if she learned this form of expression from her own grandmother, if this is our family tradition we’ve passed down through the generations. Or maybe it is a purpose unfulfilled…

Even now I can’t write this blog post without weeping as it stirs up that dormant grief I still carry. I will never stop missing her. There’s so much I wish I could share with her, so much I’ve learned since she was taken too soon, succumbing to her disease, that I know she would enjoy hearing.

None of my grandparents saw me get married. All of them are gone. Only one of them saw me blossoming into adulthood, but passed on before I was even twenty-three. I find it strange when people talk about their grandparents in adulthood since mine are no longer around, though more often I don’t even notice.

I fear this book would trigger some of my PTSD. Instead, it was more a balm, like Sadie’s healing salve with helichrysum and lavender. It felt like a hug from the past, with a strengthening—the reassurance I didn’t know I needed—to face my future.

This book is full of whimsy and wonder, that small town familiarity, and surprisingly a lot of recipes I’m sure are delicious and I want to try! There’s also some equally spooky moments, too, for all the coziness you feel from the warmth seeping through the pages.

Though there may have been some slight predictability, the execution by Randall is exquisitely sweet like a delicate pain au chocolat, but you don’t realise the chocolate has essence of rose or orange or some other light flavour.

I’ve already recommended this book to my dentist and hygienist and anyone else I come into contact with, so obviously, I hope you read it too as this book is full of rich, scrumptious magic you need to partake.