Spells For Forgetting
Spells for Forgetting unfolds on Saoirse Island — a ferry ride from Seattle. The residents on Saoirse are suspicious of outsiders, though they rely on tourism for their economic survival. The island holds magical powers that the women can tap into.
When Emery wakes up to find that the island has moved from summer to fall in one night, she worries the island is trying to send her a warning. Later that morning a starling bird flies through the window of her tea shop, deepening the feeling that something is not right. “Sometimes the signs were subtle, like a fleeting shadow or an echo in the trees. Other times, the island wasn’t gentle with her words.”
August Salt hadn’t been to Saoirse Island in 14 years when he returns to lay his mother’s ashes to rest according to her wishes. August brings with him the memories of the night the town’s beloved orchard caught fire and Emery’s best friend Lily was found dead deep in the woods. Suspicion turned towards August the night Lily died, but the limited evidence allowed Emery and Dutch - another friend from childhood - to continue to doubt what really happened that night.
“I had never believed it. Not when the first whispers about August not being at the party began. Not when everyone on Saoirse began to wonder. One by one, everyone we’d known became convinced, but I’d never believed”
Emery doesn’t know who to trust as she starts questioning what happened that night, finding that everyone on the island is hiding something. As much as Emery tries to forget the night when everything went wrong and see past the cloud of loyalty she had for August, she finds that “there are spells for breaking and spells for mending. But there are no spells for forgetting.”
I read this book in just a weekend because the plot was engaging and I enjoyed the writing style. I wish some of the secondary characters could have been more developed, but I still felt embedded in the town’s lore and mystery. Plus, the ending wasn’t predictable which was a nice surprise to me because a murder mystery usually starts to reveal the “who done it” to me.
“I’d been in love with August Salt since before I knew what the words meant. I don’t know when it happened — the narrow space between seconds, when a spark like the birth of a hundred stars found a home in my blood. Since then, every day had been colored with the glittering light of it dragging me in it’s wake, pulling me beneath its surface. And I didn’t care. If this was what it was like to drown, then for the rest of my life, I didn’t want to take another sip of air.”
