In Alexis Henderson’s The Year of the Witching, Immanuelle is born a sinner in the puritanical lands of Bethel, and she’s the biracial daughter of a woman who dared to demand more than the Prophet offered. Over the rest of her history hangs the taint of witchcraft, and one mistake – one minute breach of the Holy Protocol – may mean the pyre.

Immanuelle tries to do what’s expected of her. She tries to be the perfect daughter to the grandparents who took her in, a well-behaved woman, and a chaste and obedient adherent to the laws laid out by the Father.

But the Darkwood calls and so too its residents: Lilith, Mercy, Jael, and Deliliah: a coven of witches who worship the Mother. They are the women the Prophet could not burn, the women who once fought a Holy War against the men of Bethel (to whom Imamanuelle’s mother once turned when all was lost). They have been waiting for Immanuelle so she might wreak vengeance on their behalf – and on behalf of all women wronged by the Father, the Prophets, and their ilk.

Bethel is Immanuelle’s home and there are people she loves there, but she can’t – and won’t – ignore what she uncovers about the history of the place and its inhabitants. She won’t let any more women, any more girls, suffer for the egos and pride of men. How can she reconcile the two? Can she?

The Year of the Witching is exactly the female revenge fantasy I needed right now. I’m angry for so many reasons, and there’s very little I can do about any of them on either a micro or macro level. And I have to at least make a show of keeping my shit together. Why? Because I have kids who need me to do that. When I go to work, my patients need me to do that. And, despite what my brain seems to think, I do in fact need to sleep, so my rage mostly gets dispelled by proxy, and this novel did an excellent job of focusing those emotions, channeling them, and giving them a target.

The fact I’m not the only female-presenting human who feels the above may be a partial explanation as to why witches are so hot in publishing right now, especially in YA marketed books. Henderson’s novel has several elements, however, that make it a standout:

• A biracial lead. There are always exceptions to the rule, but the majority of witchy lit has focused on white leads. All girls deserve to see themselves in their heroes, and I’m thrilled to see the genre expanding to include a more diverse range of main characters. The Year of the Witching also doesn’t shy away from discussing racism and the bullshit ways religion has been used to justify it over the centuries. And I have to say, it is some absolutely gorgeous vitriol.
• Religion and faith are examined as separate entities. If, like me, you go to theology school, one of two things happens: you either come out firmer in your faith than you started, or you come out skeptical of religion in general (if not of higher powers wholesale). Everyone, however, acquires a deeper understanding of the concept of faith and acknowledges that it need not only be applied to religion. I am one of the latter, having already poked my faith with a couple of poleaxes by the ripe old age of 16. Faith, however, can be applied to any number of things. When wielded in the names of kindness and compassion, it can be a powerful force for good. I appreciate Henderson acknowledging the subtle differences between faith and religion and, in so doing, giving us a character who can survive what Immanuelle does with her belief in humanity credibly intact.
• Moral ambiguity. Both the Holy Protocols and the coven call to Immanuelle from the extremes of belief, and neither is wholly in the wrong – though neither of them is wholly in the right, either. To embrace either path fully is to court disaster, and Imanuelle realizes this just before it’s too late to make a third choice. And yet… and yet… the men of Bethel really have it coming. Stories with such complex choices as these and characters who walk the bridge of swords between imperfect solutions have always been, and continue to be, my favorites.
• Ambiguous setting. It isn’t entirely clear if Immanuelle’s Bethel is supposed to be in the way back or on the other side of an apocalypse, a trend that’s increasingly popular in dystopian lit and one I’m really digging. The fact of the matter is whether we’re in the way back or centuries in the future, people are people and if you step back and survey our decisions and the fallout, we haven’t changed all that much since the days we stood in the mouths of caves scratching our butts and wondering, “Can I eat that?” That’s an important thing for us to remember, especially in times such as these.

The only negative thing I have to report is that y’all have to wait until July 21st to read The Year of the Witching. Until then, follow Alexis Henderson on Twitter at @AlexHWrites or check out her website.