Grady Hendrix, the maestro of horror, does it again in his latest novel, Witchcraft for Wayward Girls. Part horror, part historical commentary, and part V.C. Andrews fever dream, this book is a pretty devastating exploration of control, agency, and the unspeakable horrors of being young, female, and pregnant in pre-Roe v. Wade America. Add a splash of occultism, a dash of teenage rebellion, and Hendrix’s signature wit, and you’ve got a novel as irreverent as it is thought-provoking. This isn’t your average witch story. This is a black-magic middle finger to the patriarchy—and it’s glorious.

The year is 1970. Meet Fern, Rose, Holly, and Zinnia, four unfortunate souls shipped off to the Wellwood Home for Unwed Mothers, a prison masquerading as a place of redemption. Here, girls are renamed, stripped of autonomy, and taught that their bodies—and by extension, their lives—are society’s to command. Enter Miss Parcae, a mysterious bookmobile librarian with a penchant for meddling and a gift for delivering How to Be a Groovy Witch into the hands of our heroines. What begins as a quirky diversion soon becomes a lifeline as the girls learn to weaponize their shared trauma and a dash of black magic against the forces that oppress them. But power, as the book reminds us, always comes with a price—and it’s usually paid in blood.

Hendrix’s knack for weaving societal critique into his horror is unparalleled, and Witchcraft for Wayward Girls is no exception. While his past works (The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires and My Best Friend’s Exorcism) flirted with themes of friendship and feminism, this novel grabs those concepts by the throat and shakes until the teeth rattle. Hendrix’s research into the dark history of maternity homes and the abuses of the era elevates the narrative from eerie fiction to gut-wrenching plausibility. Yet, he doesn’t wallow in despair; his writing strikes a precarious balance between seething rage and biting humor. As he told NPR, “This isn’t just a book about witches. It’s a book about how fucked up society can be when it’s convinced it’s doing the right thing.”

At its core, Witchcraft for Wayward Girls is a story about power—who has it, who’s denied it, and what it costs to take it back. The novel’s most chilling aspect isn’t the witchcraft (although that gets delightfully gnarly) but the real-world horrors of misogyny, systemic abuse, and societal control. Hendrix’s depiction of childbirth in a pre-Roe world is graphic and unflinching, reminding readers that the scariest monsters are often human. Yet, amidst the darkness, there’s an undercurrent of resilience and solidarity. The girls’ makeshift coven isn’t just about casting spells; it’s about reclaiming agency in a world hellbent on taking it from them.

Hendrix’s prose is a cocktail of sardonic wit and emotional gut punches. One moment you’re laughing at a Pepto-Bismol-colored carpet described as “like walking through the inside of someone’s ear”; the next, you’re fuming over a doctor’s casual cruelty or crying as a girl clutches her stolen child’s blanket. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, especially among the girls. Rose’s hippie bravado, Holly’s fragile silence, and Fern’s simmering anger create a dynamic ensemble that feels heartbreakingly real.

Hendrix’s greatest strength lies in his characters. These aren’t cookie-cutter horror tropes; they’re messy, complicated, and painfully human. Fern’s journey from scared teenager to reluctant leader is beautifully layered, while supporting characters like Zinnia and Miss Parcae add depth and intrigue. The novel’s pacing mirrors a thunderstorm—slow-building tension that erupts into chaotic, cathartic release. And while the supernatural elements are compelling, it’s the human drama that lingers.

If there’s a flaw in Hendrix’s cauldron, it’s the uneven pacing. The first half takes its sweet time setting the stage, and while this groundwork pays off, some readers might find themselves antsy for the magic to begin. Additionally, the novel’s epilogue, while emotionally satisfying, feels almost too tidy given the messy realities it explores.

Witchcraft for Wayward Girls is a battle cry. Hendrix has crafted a story that’s equal parts rage and redemption, humor and heartbreak. It’s a reminder that while magic might not be real, the power of solidarity and rebellion sure as hell is. Whether you’re a die-hard Hendrix fan or a newcomer to his work, this novel deserves a spot on your shelf—and maybe a lock of hair, just in case you feel like trying a spell or two yourself. Just don’t forget: power always comes with a price.

So, grab a drink, light a candle, and dive into Hendrix’s latest novel. But fair warning: you might come out of it angrier and just a little more ready to hex the patriarchy.

Tor Nightfire
Published January 14, 2025