Witches in Seattle

Charlie is 15 years old.  He lives a quiet, almost reclusive life just outside a small town in the California Sierra foothills.  He goes to school, he does his homework, he works hard helping Elizabeth, his young single mother, raise and harvest the vegetables that end up on their dinner table.  His family is poor and his social life is limited, but he feels reasonably happy and content.

Then one day, a large dog appears at the door and demands, in good English, "Give me the boy, Elizabeth."  Elizabeth refuses, a fight ensues, and mother and son flee north to Seattle.

Charlie -- understandably, in a state of shock -- quickly finds himself living with an aunt and uncle in a large, upper middle class home in West Seattle, near Alki point with views of the Sound and of the coming and going of the ferries.  He is enrolled in "Puget Academy," a private (fictitious) West Seattle school, where, although excruciatingly shy, he is quickly befriended by Diego, a popular student leader.

Within the first week or two of his arrival in Seattle, he discovers two upsetting facts about himself.  He may be gay.  And he is definitely a witch.

In The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight, Seattle native Jeff Jacobson has written an original and absorbing fantasy novel in a powerfully evoked Pacific Northwest setting.  Charlie learns that "the community" of witches exists everywhere, in every nation, and that he himself is a witch's son.  The community consists mainly of good men and women who simply want to live inconspicuously, keeping their powers to themselves, without bothering or being bothered by others. 

But, as in every group, there are bad apples who use their unusual abilities for evil, and who seek ways to increase their power at the expense of others.

Jacobson's writing is forceful and absorbing.  His main characters are well fleshed out -- not cardboard heroes and villains -- and his descriptions of the natural surroundings in the Northwest are vivid and help carry the plot.  The author himself may well be a "foodie," because meals are described in mouth-watering detail.

Similarities to the Harry Potter books are obvious.  But, to my mind, Jacobson's writing is richer and more sophisticated.  While the Harry Potter saga is a rollicking good adventure, it tends to be a bit cartoonish.  Jacobson's book, on the other hand, entices the reader into almost believing that witches could well exist.  And not only exist, but exist all around us, right here in Seattle -- in West Seattle, Madison Park, Seward Park, Belltown, and the Pike Place Market (all of which serve as locales for the book's action).

Charlie's romance with his school classmate --the relationship between Diego and Charlie teeters for some time between love and friendship -- is serious to the boys, and is treated seriously -- but described lightly and with restraint.  This is more an adventure story than a romance, and Charlie's eventual coming out seems to serve primarily as an occasion for Charlie, a novice witch, to demonstrate his willingness -- despite his shyness -- to be completely honest, honest with others, certainly, but especially honest with himself.

The plot seems to slow a bit around the half-way point, as Charlie is mastering the mumbo jumbo of how to be a witch.  But we do learn with some excitement during these sections how Charlie learns to fly on a broom (yes, despite cell phones, witches aren't entirely creatures of the 21st century). We are told of the aerodynamic qualities of different types of woods, the way in which the "ignition" spell must be recited (not just spoken, but "felt), how to go up and down, steer left and right, and how to handle the occasional air pocket. 

A nighttime training flight by Charlie and his aunt out over Elliot Bay and the Sound, with a quiet broom landing for a picnic on Blake Island, appears breathtakingly idyllic.  I don't recall Harry Potter's quidditch lessons being described as lovingly, or in such realistic detail.

The final quarter of the novel races forward faster and faster, as Charlie and his adult friends within the witch "community" face life and death dangers to themselves, to other witches and their children, and to earth itself.  Charlie is forced to overcome not only his shyness, but his own normal teenage angst, angst that feeds upon and enhances psychic confusion from his encounters with his own newly awakened witchcraft powers and his ability to sense the evil in the minds of his enemies.  The plot reaches a temporary resolution at the novel's conclusion, but the scene has clearly been set for a sequel already being written.

This YA book is appropriate for any kid in middle school or older -- especially for those who find themselves tongue-tied with shyness, or who suspect they might be gay.  Or, of course, for those kids who wonder if they might be witches.  Also appropriate for all you adults who secretly read and loved your children's Harry Potter books whenever the kids were away from the house.