Sycorax, in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, is mute. Her tale is told by others. Her feelings and motives are property of those who know her and take it upon themselves to decipher her to the audience. Sycorax was not given a voice.
Her daughters—the 33 women of color who contributed these stories—have rich voices that refuse to whisper. Their words lay on the page with strong marks—bold lines that break boundaries.
Their stories are dark and Gothic. Stitched in moments of fear, the authors of Sycorax’s Daughters come together to weave stories of magic, bravery and love… but these are no tender romances.
The tales in Sycorax’s Daughters tap the essence of humanity. They grasp the bitter and ugly by its heels and draw it into the light. They look, unafraid, into demon eyes and smile. The power is in the tale. They catch each shadow, distill it into ink and leave the monsters imprisoned on the page.
I’ve looked forward to reading Sycorax’s Daughters for almost a year, but once I cracked the spine and started delving into these pages I found myself slowing down to chew slowly. Sycorax’s Daughters is a literary feast to be devoured and savored—a meal of words that will satisfy long after the cover has closed.
These are words that, unlike voiceless Sycorax, will not remain silent. They have rung out boldly and will continue to echo for generations.
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