Book markets witchcraft to kids

“Men have lost touch with our primal selves, the part of us that ran in the wilderness. We lost our connection to the Horned God, our primal Father.” This strange passage appears on page 233 of Where to Park Your Broomstick: A Teen’s Guide to Witchcraft. I must tell you that this “Horned God” business frightens me a bit.

But let me put my fear aside – maybe I am being unreasonable. Or maybe I’m too conservative. What’s there to get excited about – all that the back cover says about this book is that it “has all the information you need to practice witchcraft.” This book is written as “an introduction to Wicca and paganism.” The author, Lauren Manoy, is an expert on the subject – she started “studying Wicca at age 14,” according to the biographical details that accompany the book. The books seems to be directed towards young women in their early teens who are interested in witchcraft. Manoy knows her audience well, and writes in a light, playful style sure to appeal to it.

See, now I know I’ve overstated things. A slickly produced book on witchcraft issued by a major publisher (Simon & Schuster) that’s being marketed with teenage girls in mind – what on earth could be scary about that?

As far as books on this subject go, Where to Park Your Broomstick seems to be complete. In addition to outlining a history of Wicca, it provides the reader with “a bunch of spells, rituals, and recipes for you to play with.” These include everything from “pimple-banishing concoctions to psychic-awareness incense blends.” For example, on pages 165-66, we find a spell to obtain a “hot date” that involves chanting and burning incense. On page 171, we find an “invisible locker” spell, which surely no high school-age witch would want to be without. After you cast this spell, your locker at school supposedly becomes invisible to “nosy neighbours.” In addition, the book also has advice (seven pages) on how one can use magic to tell the future.

Where to Park your Broomstick also describes how the reader can build an altar to the Wiccan “goddess” – apparently she (or She) likes black candles and pentagrams, but will be satisfied with more restrained expressions of devotion.

The book, I’m pleased to report, is not overtly hostile to the Christian faith. Then again, it isn’t exactly friendly. For example: “If one of those narrow-minded monkey types tells you you’re stupid for thinking of God as a woman, turn around and ask: ‘How many men do you know who can give birth to a seven-pound baby, much less an entire universe?”

The book comes with a patronizing note to parents of prospective witches from a social worker named Jerry Sander. He favourably contrasts Wicca’s “respect for all living things” (sic) with the tawdry “fashions, bad bands, violent movies, and computer games” that dominate teen culture. Thank goodness for Mr. Sander – I always knew that the Backstreet Boys, not books written by strange people about bizarre occultish activities, represented the biggest danger facing today’s youth.

If there was one part of the book that I can support, it’s the portion where the author warns her readers about the sort of witches they should avoid. These include witches that insist “you give up all your other friends, family, or activities” or who “will only meet you alone.” The reader is also warned to steer clear of those individual witches that make you “feel like there’s something wrong or off about the person.” I would expand the list – young people should be wary of anyone who proposes that witchcraft can help them “encounter the infinite, divine energy of the universe.”

Those of us who guffaw at concepts like magic, witches and spells will get a good, long chuckle from this ridiculous book. But, as the reference to a “Horned God” suggests, we shouldn’t only laugh – and by “we,” I also mean those of us who don’t worship a god with sharp things protruding from his forehead. I’m afraid that if we don’t start questioning why exactly major publishers are so keen to get books like this into print, and then push them on young people, the joke is going to be on us.

Neil Hrab is a Toronto writer.