Magic
An excerpt from Toehold
“This is the small magic of mending pots or finding lost animals. It is the magic that patches up the things that are broken or tarnished. It is the no fuss magic that rests on the small yearnings for things to be just that little bit better, please.”
I didn’t get around to posting for free subscribers last week - apologies - so there is no paywall attached to this excerpt from Toehold, which is a collection of notes about holding onto your sense of creative identity when the world you live in mitigates against that. I hope that you enjoy it. And look out for a bonus post coming up in a few days time.
In Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novel series, several books feature a coven of witches as the main characters. These women are genuinely capable of powerful magic but eschew the trappings of glamour, riches and social status that are the usual indicators of power. Their power derives from their magical skill, as well as a use of “headology” (a penetrating understanding of human nature), and indomitable self-confidence. What is interesting about Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg is that, although Pratchett is quite clear that they are genuine magical adepts, they also pride themselves on not using magic. They will resort to psychological manipulation and everyday trickery first. Because magic is powerful, they use it sparingly and as a last resort only. And when they do practice it, they don’t hold with airs and graces: no fancy occult jewellery, velvet dresses, crystal tipped wands, or elaborately choreographed rituals. They make do with what they have lying around not because they are deprived, but because they know they can make magic out of anything. In one book, they conjure up a demon (which they bully mercilessly) in an old copper laundry tub, using a laundry stick, a scrubbing brush, an old washboard, and a packet of soap flakes as magical accoutrements[i].
Another thing that is used in a few of Pratchett’s witches’ books is the shambles: a magical instrument that a witch uses to check the balance of the world. A shambles is made of string tied or threaded through other bibs and bobs, knicks and knacks, as a sort of occult Cat’s Cradle and cannot be pre-prepared. It can only be carried as disassembled components and must be made on the spot. Although it is strung about with odd little bits and pieces – feathers, chicken bones, pebbles, twigs, perhaps an egg or a live beetle (a shamble should always have something fresh in it) – it is definitely magic. Pratchett describes the little things on a finished shamble moving magically about on it as it tunes into the energies of the world.
So, it is something both definitely magic and definitely prosaic. That is the magic of Pratchett’s witches: Made of whatever comes to hand, deriving its potency from the commonplace altered by a change of focus and intent and the application of magical will.
Another form of magic found in fantasy novels is hedge magic, which in some books is considered perhaps a cut below the magical prowess of Pratchett’s witches but is magic, nevertheless. This is the small magic of mending pots or finding lost animals. It is the magic that patches up the things that are broken or tarnished. It is the no fuss magic that rests on the small yearnings for things to be just that little bit better, please.
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen[ii]
This quotation from Leonard Cohen regularly does the rounds on social media as a meme for good reason. It’s an example of his skill as a lyricist: He has taken something commonly regarded as a flaw – a crack – and flipped it around to show us that it is a conduit of light. In other words, he has taken something common and reworked it into something magical. Just as Pratchett’s witches made a web of string and twigs and bones into a magical tuning fork.
This is not easy to do, this manipulating of focus at will and then arriving at an understanding of what you have seen. Cohen was a brilliant poet, and those fictitious witches were adepts. Poetry and magic, and any other art you can name, take huge amounts of practice before the practitioner can manipulate whatever is lying around their environment and make the magic happen. But, and this is the really important point, the practice can start anytime and anywhere. It doesn’t need special props or costuming. You can learn to use whatever is lying around both in terms of material objects or the clutter in your mind. It can be snuck into the workings of everyday life – the incantation to find lost cattle or make good cheese can be murmured in between putting the baby down for a nap and starting the dinner.
But, yes, even that can be hard. How do you focus when the baby has been screaming and you feel too tired to cook let alone work even a small charm? This is where the discipline comes in. As Pratchett’s witches know, it’s not about getting the fancy words of the spell right, it’s about the focus you can bring to whatever you manage to say at the time. And it’s the finding of those moments of focus – of observing, noticing, intending, intuiting, imagining – that are key to building a creative mindset when the conditions of your life mitigate against the expression of your creative self.
When you are tired or busy or frazzled, the world can seem like it’s all cracks and no light. The charm is to look hard into the cracks, to appreciate them as worthy of attention. If you do not have the time or resources or energy or skill to make amazing art, then look at the bric-a-brac you already have lying around. Look at the chips and cracks and stains and dust in your life with fresh eyes. You may not be able to dash off that novel or song-cycle anytime soon, but you can jot down a few lines about the shambles that you find your own life is in. Even if this never turns out to be publishable or award winning, by doing so you will have trained your attention and your gaze to find the magic in the commonplace. And when the conditions of your life shift – and some cracks do allow some light to shine in – then you will be better poised to start to draft that novel or those poems with an agile but penetrating mind.
"Your life is already artful, just waiting for you to make it art" – Toni Morrison[iii]
Your life is full of magic. It might not be the kind of magic worked by a powerful wizard like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings who, if memory of the film serves correct, only attained his most elevated prowess after falling into an abyss with a demon. If you feel that your workaday life of meetings, commutes, laundry, the kids’ piano lessons, your mum’s podiatrist appointments make it impossible for you to attain Gandalf’s lofty heights then become a practitioner of hedge magic. Grab whatever’s around you and make it into a shambles. Learn to read the clouds and talk with ducks. Focus your magical will – that piece of willpower that has never given up and keeps tapping you on your mental shoulder and asking if this is the weekend you will get to start your novel. Focus that on the small things around you and look at them with a fresh and super-natural eye.
“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl[iv]
[i] Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett
[ii] Anthem by Leonard Cohen
[iii] Toni Morrison, 2004 Wellesley Commencement Speech
[iv] The Minpins by Roald Dahl
Love this Meredith