The Owens sisters figure out early that a rumor is a kind of weather, and the only thing to do is live inside it. Sally and Gillian grow up in a Massachusetts town that has spent two hundred years blaming their family for its bad luck, in a house that smells of lilac with something bitter underneath, raised by two aunts who never bother to correct anyone. Sally wants a normal life so badly she can taste it. Gillian wants out of the state. One marries, one runs, and Alice Hoffman spends the rest of Practical Magic showing what each of those exits costs.
The novel is stranger and sadder than its reputation. Most of it is domestic. Sally raises two daughters in a tidy house on a street where nothing happens, and Hoffman gives that stretch the same attention she gives the aunts' concoctions: the specific silence of a kitchen at four in the afternoon, a mother listening to her teenager come in and deciding not to ask. The magic never leaves, but it stops being decorative. It shows up as consequence and inheritance, the thing that arrives whether or not you sent for it.
Anyone coming to the book from the 1998 film should know the two are not the same animal, and that difference is worth naming plainly. The movie is a comedy about sisterhood with a dark second act. The novel is magical realism with a genuine mean streak, more interested in what the town's cruelty did to two girls than in any spell. Gillian's arrival on Sally's doorstep, which the film plays for panic and laughs, lands here closer to grief. The margarita scene is not in this book. Fifteen years of Sally performing ordinariness is, and Hoffman makes you feel every one of them. The Owens family gets another turn on screen this month, when Practical Magic 2 opens on September 11 adapting Hoffman's later novel The Book of Magic, and the original is still the right door into the family.
Hoffman's prose is why the book has lasted. She writes weather and gardens and food with a precision that never tips into fussiness, and she is very good on adolescent girls: Antonia beautiful and unbearable, Kylie shooting up too fast and losing her balance in more ways than one. The best passages belong to the aunts, who turn up late in Sally's suburban life like two crows landing on a mailbox, and whose practical advice about love is the least sentimental thing in the novel. I laughed out loud at them twice.
Why you should read
- Magical realism with a real mean streak
- Sister stories where neither one is the good one
- Small-town outsiders and inherited reputations
- Fans of the film who want the darker source
What to expect
- 290 pages, mostly domestic and character-driven
- Magic as consequence rather than spectacle
- A slower middle set in suburban ordinariness
- Sharper and sadder in tone than the 1998 movie
What holds all of it together is the sisters. Hoffman refuses to make either one the good one. Sally's competence curdles into control, Gillian's charm is a way of never being held responsible, and the book keeps putting them in the same room until they run out of ways to avoid the conversation. Magic here is the family's word for everything they cannot outrun: the reputation, the blood, the curse that keeps taking the men who love them. The town never stops talking. By the last page the Owens women have stopped listening, which in this novel is the closest thing to a spell that actually works.