On the surface, White Magic is seemingly a cathartic collection of essays that reflect Elissa Washuta’s highly introspective, extremely personal (and quite revealing) experiences surrounding her battles with alcoholism, abusive relationships ending in heartbreak and pain, and post-traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD). With the help of counselors and therapists, she shares the results of their recommendations, their correct and incorrect conclusions, and subsequently the positive and negative effects it had on her life and mental health. However, at its core, she examines the tumultuous trials and tribulations experienced in her lifelong quest for help, healing, and peace. She is officially a member of the Cowlitz Indian Tribe but has ancestral ties to various other tribes and shares the evolution of her personal belief system which is rooted in Native American spiritualism and bolstered with blended doctrines, spells, and prayer.

The book’s title lends itself to her years of self-study on the subject and her fascination with witchcraft from childhood to adulthood. She pulls examples from pop culture (music, television, movies, icons, etc), literary anecdotes, and academic citations to craft her fascinating critiques of White Magic, Wiccan principles, and the negative influence of commercialization and Westernized (non-Indigenous) influences on the practice of witchcraft. I loved the inclusion of historical snippets and how she weaved her commentary on colonization’s destructive aftereffects and the systemic disenfranchisement of Native Americans throughout a majority of the essays; not to mention her insightful exploration of generational/hereditary trauma.

This book is rich and heavy - I needed to pause after each essay to digest what was presented. Not being familiar with her previous work, I opened this book with an open mind and no expectations and was not disappointed.

This is a gorgeous, incantatory bonfire of a memoir. I adored Washuta's original essay in Guernica "White Witchery" & was incredibly excited to see where her work would go. Washuta writes with a spiraling and unrelenting ferocity; there is no room to feel constricted or to lull, to let your eyes drift from the page. This isn't a passive reading experience. You can't necessarily "sink" into the work—and that's why it's so good. You have to engage, to reckon with the beauty and rigor and forcefulness of the language & the inventive, spell-like forms. And complicity is expertly rendered here—how the construct of whiteness itself is the most vile & haunted source of possession there is, and how magic has been co-opted & weaponized by whiteness' jaws. The grip of colonialism & violence is not simply a snare here, though—it's an indictment, but there's also the fact of the body, in all its burnings and desires and turbulent memories of history—and, most of all, how we can become incited to push back, to envision a magic that is not white people stealing from Indigenous and Black traditions. A beautiful, incendiary forest of flames, this book.

A few months ago I read Elissa Washuta's book My Body is a Book of Rules, which I loved. I was fortunate enough to hear about her upcoming book, and the title caught my eye. I grew up alongside a bunch of New Age-y hippies, and the idea of an Indigenous woman writing a book called White Magic was intriguing to me. It's supposed to be a story of how Washuta used the inner strength found during her years of trauma to become a "powerful witch".

I have a hard time reflecting on this book, partly because the focus of westernized magical practices are so broadly spoken of, although they play a very minor role. The idea of Indigenous power is understandably not really talked about, but is alluded to in such a vague way that it feels like it shouldn't have been included at all. As a Native woman, I understand how difficult it is to discuss this sort of thing in a way that is respectful and that doesn't discuss things that aren't meant to be discussed. However, it seemed to give an undue amount of power to westernized magical tools like Tarot and astrology, and not enough power to Native ceremonies and other tools that probably helped Washuta find her power. But perhaps Tarot and astrology was more helpful to Washuta. Western culture is certainly more accessible to people than Native culture.

In addition, this book is primarily about the events of the author's past decade which include a lot of things that were very hard to read about including sexual assault, many abusive relationships, alcohol abuse, and racism. I suspect if I hadn't just read My Body is a Book of Rules a few months ago I would have been better equipped to read this, but I feel like I'm still processing the events of Washuta's earlier traumas, which include sexual assault, abusive relationships, alcohol abuse, and racism. I appreciate the fact that Washuta gives voice a Native woman's long history of surviving abuse and diminishing our stories, but as a Native woman I am also processing decades (and generations) of abuses and racism, and reading a 400 page book that really gets into the horror of trauma is a bit much. By the end I was skimming everything, and realizing that yes, this is another page about how her ex is terrible to her, so let me skip it, and yes, this is another page about how her ex makes her feel like shit, so let me skip it, because she has established that her ex is awful, and I sympathize, but I am still coming to terms with how awful my ex was and we broke up 15 years ago. Her traumas hit a little close to home, I guess.

I would have been interested to read about the commodification and cultural appropriation of certain Native practices in the magical community, which Washuta barely mentions. This may be a good thing, and I can understand if it doesn't speak to her experiences at all, but since I grew up in close proximity to a yogic commune I feel like a lot these so called tools of magic were often weaponized against me, and I'm still resentful that I was used to legitimize certain practices like sweat lodges, and sage smoke (often used in conjunction with Tarot, candles and crystals) because I was a "real" Native American. Washuta brushes against this during her chapter on writing about the bridge while living in Seattle, but doesn't discuss much of what Native people have been asked to authenticate in the name of magic. After this book is published that may become to subject of her next book.

I think Native authors should be published, and should be read, and should be supported, even if their books fall a little short for me. This was well written, and I will continue to read Elissa Washuta in the future.

What an incredible collection of essays. It's rare that I encounter an essay collection that has me holding my breath and turning pages, desperate to know what happens next. The movement in this book is really astounding, the way each piece stands on its own but workings as part of a complicated whole with its own arc and flow. Washuta captures so much life and explores so much messy terrain.

This was definitely out of my normal genre. It was deep and insightful. It brought another perspective to light. This book wasn't necessarily one I quite enjoyed but do appreciate reading it.

Thank you to Netgalley for allowing me to read and review. All opinions are of my own.

This is a fiercely intelligent collection of essays on topics of witchcraft, addiction, trauma, and popular culture. The title essay offers an unflinching critique into how whiteness has plundered witchcraft from its Indigenous roots. Washuta’s voice is smart and compelling; an enrolled member of the Cowitz tribe, she tackles the Instagram witch aesthetic that has proliferated over the past couple years. In doing so, she draws our attention to the capitalist roots of selling sacred herbs such as sage to question what is at stake in the industry of self-healing, and what we are really being sold. In other pieces, Washuta delves into her personal history of addiction and PTSD, as well as the after-effects of colonialism and settler violence to explore the ways intergenerational trauma still lingers. Other essays intertwine Washuta’s personal story with the emergence of alcoholism in Indigenous communities amidst colonialism, and the soundtrack to a half-remembered DARE commercial from the late 80s. Her essay on the Oregon Trail video game is another stand-out and one of the few essays to make good use of the second person. These are essays rooted in place and landscape, intersectional, and virtuosic. Washuta is an essential new voice to be cherished and WHITE MAGIC is collection not to be missed.

Wow, where to begin with this book. Washuta is a rare talent, a young relatable woman who at the same time has the sage wisdom of a ninety-year-old. This memoir plays with form in new ways - I particularly loved the intensely paced section where she moves in time jumps from 2016 to 2018 and back again, spliced with quotes from a magician's book and scenes from Twin Peaks. Washuta uses new cultural markers to interrogate her Native American heritage - including the Oregon Trail game - and her identity struggles were really compelling. She also takes on the burden of vulnerability - akin to many works by Leslie Jamison or Elizabeth Ellen - where there's this distinct sense of honesty with the reader, likely at great personal cost. This is a gorgeous book - and I loved getting to revisit my old haunting ground, Seattle!

This was a DNF for me. Washuta brings such a unique perspective and weaves in and out of personal anecdotes, witchcraft, and Indigenous history. The format was what eventually made me give up on this read. The flow of consciousness was too circuitous, and in spite of being in essay form, there lacked coherence and direction.

This essay collection is impressively written; the prose is lyric, rich, and reads like poetry in some sections. It's clear the writer is very talented. I really appreciated the moments where the writer wove in histories and research; of words, of literature, of geography. I especially loved how colonialism was discussed. The bigger heart of the collection, however, felt to me like alcoholism and sexual violence. Important themes, but ones that felt hard for me as a reader; the voice felt very raw, and the frequent, explicit references to sexual assault made me feel cautious reading, as I never knew when to anticipate the imagery. This is a matter of personal taste, I think; I'm a reader who prefers trigger warnings (as a survivor myself) and to enter a certain mental space when I read that content. On the other hand, I'm sure many survivors will really connect with the voice and the way that content is covered. So I still recommend the book, but I feel the TW is helpful, depending on your comfort level when reading.