The witch hunts of the Early Modern period (1500–1789) are among the darkest periods of women’s history. Tens of thousands were accused of, and executed for, practising magic and worshipping the Devil. Approximately 85% of those were women. Europe’s and North America’s descent into paranoia and fear around the role of women, and their connection to the devil, is still not entirely understood. Yet, we continue to be fascinated by it.This fascination has led to a strong legacy of books on the topic, all trying to understand how and why the witch hunts occurred. The newest addition is by journalist Lucianne Tonti, fashion editor of the Saturday Paper and sustainability editor at large for Elle Australia. Review: Good Witch: In Search of Our Lost Feminine Power by Lucianne Tonti (Summit Books)Good Witch: In Search of Our Lost Feminine Power is a deeply personal examination of witch hunts in Europe and North America. Through her own exploration of locations associated with witch hunts, Tonti offers a perspective grounded in eco-feminism and sustainable practice. Lucianne Tonti’s book, part case study, part travel diary, is grounded in eco-feminism and sustainable practice. Anne Peters The book is broken into five sections: Gardener, Gossip, Spinster, Healer, and Nymph. Each explores some aspect of the everyday life of contemporary women, including traditionally women’s work such as food gathering, textile production, and caring – or more social aspects, like community and sexuality. Part case study, part travel diary, Tonti’s work explores history’s witch hunts alongside the physical and social landscapes they occurred in. Each case study is matched to Tonti’s own exploration of the towns these women lived in – and where possible, the location of their execution. Each setting and each trial are reconstructed (where possible) around a presumption of innocence. She forces us to ask: what was it about these women that led to an accusation of witchcraft?Masterful historical empathyTonti explores a range of reasons why a woman might be put on trial: sudden deaths, illness, even persistent bad weather. There is, however, a common theme. All these women considered were outspoken. Often, they displayed levels of social or economic power that threatened community leaders. These leaders seized the opportunity of an accusation of witchcraft provided to prosecute, and often execute, women they disapproved of. An excellent example is Katherine Harrison of Wethersfield, Conneticut, who was made independently wealthy following the death of her husband in 1666. Reportedly pushy and fond of suing people, Katherine was accused of predicting the future, making bad healing spells and asking the devil for help running her farm. After introducing us to each of her witches, Tonti takes us on a tour of the places they lived and died. Through her own experience of the landscape, she puts us in the shoes of these women, encouraging us to feel as they did. England’s Pendle witches are her best – and one of her most famous examples. The case follows one of the families at the centre of this case, the Demdikes: Poor, elderly widow Elizabeth Southerns, her daughter Elizabeth Device, and grandchildren Alizon and James. The family may have made a living selling folk remedies and charms. They, alongside a number of their neighbours (including a rival family, also headed by a poor elderly widow), were accused in 1612 of murdering ten people through witchcraft. In total, 12 people were sent to trial, ten were executed, and one died in prison. Only one was declared to be innocent. The Heritage Centre in Pendle sits at the beginning of the Lancaster Witches Walk, a 51-mile (82 km) path that follows the route the Pendle witches took to Lancaster, where they were tried. England’s Pendle witches had to walk to Lancaster, where they were tried. Thomas Hearne/Picryl Tonti follows the path, bringing us with her as she explores the landscape. We are taken through forest and farmland, before we head down a steep, narrow road troubled by strong winds. Her palpable anxiety calls on a common experience of driving on tight, windy roads, white-knuckled and hoping the wind doesn’t blow us too far in one direction or the other. She asks: if this is what we feel, simply driving through the area, what must the Pendle witches have felt walking to Lancaster, knowing they were not likely to return?Tonti’s masterful creation of historical empathy continues throughout the work. Over and over, we are confronted with the idea that these women could have been our friends, our neighbours. They could have been us. Underlying moral superiorityThis book has some limitations, too, though. Tonti writes off many of the changes in women’s social and economic roles in late medieval Europe as the result of misogyny. For example, she argues that weaving – a traditionally female occupation that was done in family or social groups – became associated with sex work, then witchcraft, in an attempt to “restrict women to lives of domesticity under the authority of a man”. Albrecht Dürer’s woodcarvings infamously depict naked women in conjunction with the Devil and spinning tools. National Gallery of Art/Wikimedia Commons Tonti refers to the work of Albrecht Dürer, whose woodcarvings infamously depict naked women in conjunction with the Devil. Certainly, there was some element of misogyny involved. However, in his 2007 book The Appearance of Witchcraft, cultural historian Charles Zika notes that Dürer’s work appeared approximately when guilds were becoming economic powers in Europe. He argues the connection of spinning tools to witchcraft was not misogyny, but a deliberate and overt attempt at increasing the economic power of the guilds. By connecting already poorly paid female weavers, who were barred from guild membership, to witchcraft, guilds were able to consolidate a strong economic hold on the production of textiles. There are a number of other occasions where the complexities of the environment where these accusations occurred are simply blamed on misogyny. While there is often some truth to this, it’s an oversimplification. Underlying causes of the witch hunts such as disease, war, even the Reformation are discarded, in favour of the idea that powerful men wanted to oppress women. Perhaps the most problematic part of Good Witch is the underlying sense of moral superiority pervading it. We see this in an early incident where Tonti cries after an interview with “an older male historian”, implying he was mansplaining to her. She goes further, suggesting the academic work (heavily implied to be done by men) on the witch hunts is “clinical” and “nitpicky”. Even what little evidence we have of trial records is questioned and denigrated as “records written by men”.Once again, there is some truth to what she is saying – reading research done on the witch trials can be both emotionally confronting and incredibly dry. But the implication that male contributions to witchcraft history are worth less because they are not as empathetic as her own is extremely problematic. The message: men are the problemPerhaps the most worrisome example is her account of a family farm in Italy. The farm is run by siblings: an elder sister and her twin brothers. Here we get the only positive description of the men who Tonti has met on her travels – the brothers are handsome and tan, and spend most of their time outside. The farm uses a combination of “ancient practises and cutting edge techniques”. It is entirely organic and “one of the most bio diverse farms in the world”.Tonti writes: “Although some of the work is done by men, the approach at Quintosapore is distinctly feminine.” The feminine aspect she describes is its embrace of the natural ecosystem of the soil. Saving seeds, planting and harvesting, Tonti declares, is the traditional work of women. Unintentional or not, Tonti’s message is clear: men are the problem. It is not until they embrace what Tonti deems feminine that their contribution is valuable. Ironically, this is tied to the attitudes Tonti argues led to men supporting the witch hunts. Women whose behaviour did not match what was approved were targeted – and in one form or another, silenced. There is value in Tonti’s work. Thought provoking and at times challenging, it is sure to appeal to feminists and witchcraft historians alike. Her perspective forces us to confront aspects of the witch hunts we find uncomfortable. It challenges us to put ourselves in the shoes of these women. To imagine what they felt and empathise with their fear and pain. But there are also other lessons to be learned here. Witchcraft accusations happened because influential people were intolerant of people they didn’t like, envied, or disapproved of. When we study them, we need to be careful not to perpetuate these attitudes.Nicole Kimball is the Secondary School Liason for the Australasian Society for Classical Studies.