Every sentence seems breathtaking. Every scene walks the line between reality and unreality.
Everything is true, but is it true in a metaphorical sense? Or a physical sense? What is the difference?
What does love do, when confronted with such madness? Flee? Embrace? Contain?
These are the themes that Helen Oyeyemi plays with in her utterly stunning novel “White is For Witching.” I don’t understand the title. I won’t understand it until, I suspect, the third of fourth time I read that book. But it is so beautiful, so breathtakingly glorious on every page, I don’t know how I could resist reading it again and again.
It didn’t make much sense. But what it did express was transcendence.