White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi
White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi is an atmospheric, really unusual kind of horror novel. I wouldn’t call it scary in the traditional sense, but it’s unsettling, eerie, and has this creeping sense of unease that builds throughout. Oyeyemi’s writing is also pretty poetic, which gives the whole thing a kind of dreamlike, surreal quality. It’s definitely not your typical haunted house story.
The House on Dover Street
The main setting is this old, strange house in Dover, England. It’s been in the Silver family for generations, and it’s pretty much a character in itself. The house has its own voice, and it’s possessive, even malevolent at times. It feels like the house is alive, and it has this eerie connection to the women in the Silver family.
That’s where Miranda comes in. She’s the latest in the line of Silver women, and she’s dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. Her mother, Lily, has just died, and it’s kind of thrown her into a downward spiral. Miranda has a twin brother, Eliot, but they’re really different from each other, and he doesn’t seem to fully understand what Miranda’s going through.
Miranda’s relationship with the house is complicated. The house seems to want her, like it’s claiming her in a way it didn’t claim the others. It’s more than just a place where she lives—it’s almost like it’s consuming her.
Miranda’s Struggles
On top of the grief she’s dealing with after losing her mother, Miranda has this eating disorder called pica. It makes her crave non-food items, things like chalk or plastic. It’s a strange, unsettling disorder that fits with the overall weirdness of the novel. Miranda’s body feels foreign to her, and she’s struggling to keep it together—both physically and mentally.
What I found interesting is how Oyeyemi uses Miranda’s disorder as part of the horror. It’s not just about ghosts or a haunted house. The real terror comes from inside her, from her sense of isolation and detachment from reality. It’s like she’s slowly fading away, becoming something not quite human.
Throughout the book, Miranda also experiences these bizarre, almost hallucinatory moments where it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. There are these visions, ghostly encounters, and strange voices that pull you deeper into her fractured mental state.
The Women of the House
The novel shifts perspectives quite a bit, which can be disorienting at first, but it adds to the sense of unease. You get the house’s voice, Miranda’s voice, and the perspectives of other characters like her brother Eliot and her friend Ore. But at its heart, this is a story about women—specifically the women in Miranda’s family.
There’s a kind of curse or legacy that runs through the Silver women. Each generation seems to have its own tragedies, and they’re all tied to the house. Miranda’s mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother all had these difficult, haunted lives, and it feels like Miranda is just the latest in the line to be consumed by the house and whatever forces are controlling it.
Miranda’s mother, Lily, is especially important, even though she’s dead when the novel begins. Her presence lingers in the house, and Miranda feels a constant pull towards her, as if Lily’s ghost or memory is trying to draw her back into the house’s grip.
Ore and the Outside World
While Miranda’s world is mostly confined to the house and her family’s history, there’s one major outside influence: Ore. Ore is a classmate of Miranda’s, and the two of them become close. Their relationship is one of the few connections Miranda has that feels real and not tainted by the house.
Ore is black, and her experiences as a minority in a predominantly white town add another layer to the story. There’s a subtle exploration of race and identity here, especially when it comes to how Ore navigates her relationship with Miranda and the Silver family’s complicated, secretive history.
What’s interesting about Ore is how she offers a different perspective on Miranda and the house. She’s kind of an anchor, someone from the outside who can see what’s happening to Miranda in a way that Miranda herself can’t. But even Ore gets drawn into the house’s strange, suffocating influence as the story progresses.
The House as a Character
I can’t stress enough how much the house itself plays a central role in the story. It’s not just a backdrop for the action—it’s this living, breathing entity that’s as much a part of the plot as any of the characters. The house feeds off the Silver women, and there’s this recurring idea that it demands something from them, something that’s never fully explained but always felt.
There’s a really oppressive feeling throughout the book, like the house is slowly tightening its grip on Miranda, pulling her further into its strange, insular world. The way Oyeyemi writes the house makes it feel almost like a parasite. It’s beautiful in a way, with its secret rooms and old, timeless quality, but there’s also something deeply wrong with it.
Themes of Identity and Legacy
A lot of the horror in White is for Witching comes from the themes of identity and legacy. Miranda is haunted by her family’s past, by the women who came before her and the weight of their histories. The house is a symbol of that legacy—it’s both a refuge and a prison. The Silver women are tied to it, and escaping its influence feels impossible.
Miranda’s struggle with her own identity, especially with her eating disorder and her sense of disconnection from her body, mirrors the larger themes of the novel. She’s not just fighting against the supernatural forces in the house; she’s also fighting against herself and her own sense of who she is. It’s a very internal kind of horror, and that’s what makes it so compelling.
The novel also touches on the idea of belonging—who belongs in the house, who belongs in the family, and who belongs in the world outside. Miranda’s relationships with Eliot, Ore, and her mother all revolve around this idea of trying to find a place where she can exist without being consumed by her family’s legacy or her own internal demons.
A Quiet, Unsettling Horror
White is for Witching isn’t the kind of horror novel with jump scares or overtly terrifying moments. It’s more about the slow, creeping dread that builds as you go deeper into the story. The real horror comes from the sense that something is always lurking just beneath the surface—whether it’s the house, the family history, or Miranda’s own unraveling mind.
It’s the kind of book that leaves you feeling unsettled long after you’ve finished reading it. Oyeyemi’s writing is beautiful but disorienting at times, which adds to the dreamlike quality of the story. There are moments where you’re not quite sure what’s real, which mirrors Miranda’s own experience.
What I appreciate most about the novel is how it blends different kinds of horror—psychological, supernatural, and even a bit of gothic horror. It’s more about mood and atmosphere than plot, and that might not be for everyone, but I found it really effective.
Why It Sticks With Me
I think White is for Witching stays with you because it’s more than just a haunted house story. It’s about loss, family, and the weight of history. The horror isn’t just in the ghosts or the house—it’s in the things that haunt us internally, the things we inherit from our families and can’t shake off.
Oyeyemi has this way of making the ordinary feel otherworldly, and that’s what makes the book so unique. It’s haunting in a quiet, lingering way, and it doesn’t offer easy answers or resolutions. You’re left with a lot of ambiguity, and that’s part of the unsettling feeling the novel leaves behind. It’s definitely one of those books that rewards a second read, where you start to pick up on the little details you might have missed the first time.
If you’re in the mood for something atmospheric, with a touch of the gothic and psychological horror, White is for Witching is worth checking out. It’s not a straightforward read, but it’s definitely one that sticks with you.