Only a Witch Can Fly

I read Only a Witch Can Fly yesterday while I was blow-drying my hair.  (Doesn't everyone read while they are blow-drying their hair?)  My dear friend gave me a STACK of children's books for my birthday, and I'm ever-so-slowly working through them, savoring them one at a time like rare and precious treats. And indeed they are.

So about this witch flying business ...

I didn't like this book. The title intrigued me, while at the same time, the rational, objective (boring) side of my brain chimed in not-very-helpful thoughts, such as "Nuh-uh. Birds can fly, too.  And airplanes with competent pilots.  And, anyway, I don't believe in witches." Boy, I bet I was a delight to my teachers.

But the thick, dry paper beckoned, as did the illustrations that evoked very fond memories of Tilly Ipswitch, a much-beloved book circa 1972 (not exactly sure, as I can't find it on amazon).  The little witch in Only a Witch does wear super-cute striped stockings and her spotted kerchief is pretty much adorable.  And too, I love Alison McGhee's repetition of sky, moon, velvet, fly, bat ... as well as her wispy swirl of plot and imagery, very much like her "smoke rising up like a plume" after our little witch's unsuccessful first flight. Was I reading a poem? A song?  A story? Or the best ... a dream-like curling up of all three?

Our girl in the story, though, well ... she's out of bed and in her yard in the middle of the night.  Her little brother is up with her, and the cat, too.  Weather conditions and Halloweenish critters seem perfect for a nocturnal journey.  Eventually, kerchief girl achieves her goal.  And her parents and cat and little brother all seem pretty pleased with her feat, judging from their sweet, astonished smiles. 

That's nice. I guess.  Maybe I'm just too grown up.  I'm imagining too many kids begging for brooms and dragging their younger siblings into the yard in the middle of the night. And glaring at their cats for their inability to purr "Look at the star" or "Poor you, poor, poor" or "Soar."

I'll try this one again in October with a cup of hot tea and an imaginative five-year old. I bet it will go better.