Blackbird House

In “The Witch of Truro,” Ruth is a resilient young woman connected to nature. She relishes the landscape and adores her animals: “Ruth Blackbird Hill called her cows her babies and hugged them to her breast; she patted their heads and fed them sugar from the palm of her hand, and that may have been why their milk was so sweet” (24). Most content with her cows, she rarely leaves Blackbird Hill and avoids the town until her parents’ deaths and the fire. This care for animals and the natural world, however, doesn’t mean she’s weak or sentimental; in fact, after walking through the town, still sooty from the fire, she settles on the beach with no shelter and subsists on only food she finds there. Her endurance of harsh conditions leads many to believe that “she may have bewitched herself to protect herself from any more pain” (26). So strong is her resolve to survive that folks believe a magical charm must sustain her. This belief underscores Ruth’s strength and resourcefulness to survive amid tragedy and harsh weather conditions.

The notion that Ruth is bewitched stems from the town’s perception of her as a witch. Despite claims that no one believes in magic, people take precautions against her: “When Ruth came into town, the old women tied bits of hemp into witchknots on their sleeves for protection. The old men looked to see if she was wearing red shoes, always the mark of a witch” (24). Their fear manifests as a need for caution and protection. In the town’s reaction to Ruth, Hoffman presents the age-old perception of witches as dangerous and terrifying. Even though over a century has passed since the Salem Witch Trials, the terror of sorcery persists. Even her daughter Garnet feels this fear. In “The Token,” the girl narrates, “Even though she’d brought me up, and kissed me goodnight; even though she was my mother. I understood why people in town had thought she was a witch. There was no difference between her inside and her outside, no barrier, no bone, only blood” (48). Despite Ruth’s nurturing and loving actions toward her children, Garnet still labels her own mother as a witch, reinforcing the negative stereotype.

Despite the perception of others, Hoffman debunks this outdated view and suggests instead that behavior that appears scary and mysterious is actually a manifestation of Ruth’s strength. This surfaces when Garnet shifts her thinking and describes herself akin to her mother: “If someone were to look at me, it would be because I was smart. Because my hair was so red it appeared that my inside was the same as my outside; no barrier, no bone, only blood” (50). The idea that the outside is the same as the inside suggests a person who doesn’t hide emotions or opinions. Society views this as dangerous and wild in a woman, but Garnet comes to see this as an attribute, something that makes her strong and wise. Blood provides life, so being “only blood” connotes power, and the girl finally understands this as a truth for both her mother and herself. Ruth, and Garnet in her likeness, represent the tough, resilient women throughout the novel. Garnet’s evolving first-person perspective is necessary to break down the myth about strong women and reveal Ruth’s characterization.

However, like Coral, Ruth’s resilience isn’t her defining trait, and she proves that strength and love aren’t diametrically opposed. Despite her hardships, Ruth demonstrates compassion and tenderness. While at Lysander farm, she sends buckets of green milk to Susan and Easter, the women who led her to a more stable life. Furthermore, her love for Lysander is implicit in their marriage, their two children, and her immeasurable grief when he dies. Despite her mourning, Ruth agrees to leave with her daughters if she can bring along the two things she cares about most. When Garnet worries that she might have to dig up her father’s necklace, she notes that “instead my mother took my two hands in hers, and then she was ready to go” (50). The woman who nurtured Garnet as a baby and offered her kisses at bedtime is still there. She values her daughter more than any possession, which shows the depth of love that lives alongside her resilience.

Ambition and stubborn desires characterize Violet West (nee Cross). In the wake of the women of Blackbird House before her, she goes after what she wants and rarely backs down. She describes herself as a girl: “I was the one who was greedy. I wanted things I never should have begun to imagine” (73). Although Violet refers here to her insatiable desire to read, her statement also applies to her relentless pursuit of Ewan Perkins. Her desire to keep the man in town leads to her fabricating evidence of a sea monster. This stubborn ambition, however, isn’t just a phase but a trait that threads throughout her entire life. She pushes her son Lion to apply for a scholarship to Harvard despite his reservations; ultimately, the boy bends to her whim. Even after he dies, Violet asserts her will by retrieving his son in England: “No one could make such a far journey with this child, except for her. Not as long as she had anything to say about it” (107). Violet’s insistence demonstrates her stubborn refusal to bend to anyone: She alone must gather her grandson. This headstrong determination continues when years later, Lion Jr. brings his wife Dorey to the Cape. Refusing to relinquish her grandson to another woman, Violet sets out to drive Dorey away, showing that her resolve is a persistent part of her identity.

Along with her stubborn ambition, Violet loves fiercely and exemplifies the emotion’s power to motivate. Believing she’s in love with Ewan Perkins, she manufactures evidence of a sea monster (singed scales and whiskers, serpent-like tracks, etc.) to keep him in town. Her love is so blinding that she’ll do anything to have it reciprocated. The ferocity of her care is even more apparent in her dedication to both her son and grandson. In “The Conjurer’s Handbook,” Violet tries to drive Dorey away, using various tactics such as terrible food, stones in her teacup, and a beehive in her bedroom. However, love for her grandson is what motivates her:

Violet West did all this because she loved Lion in a way she loved no one else in the world, save for Lion’s dead father, whom she had loved just as fiercely. She wanted everything for him, and no one could convince her that he wasn’t entitled to all that was good in this world (118).

Love for her grandson, not hatred for Dorey, is what drives Violet’s actions. Thus, Violet helps develop the theme of Love as Motivation. Despite Violet’s love and stubbornness, however, she’s not blind to her flaws and demonstrates an ability to reflect and change. As a young woman, she admits that “what happened was [her] fault, of course” (83). Notable in this moment is her unadulterated admission of guilt. Often, confessions are tinged with excuses, but Violet’s isn’t. She not only acknowledges her error but fully owns it as well. This ability to reflect is evident later, after her son Lion leaves for Harvard. Seeing the white blackbird flit across the sky, she asks George, “‘Do you think I made a mistake?’” (104). Given her unwavering certainty that Lion must attend Harvard, this inquiry suggests a vulnerability that allows Violet to reflect on her choices. Without this, her stubborn, ambitious love would go unchecked. Despite these hints of self-reflection, Violet doesn’t truly change and act on these musings until the end of “The Conjurer’s Handbook.” After trying to best Dorey, Violet realizes that she has met her match. Instead of continuing her battle with Lion’s wife, Violet relents, packing her belongings to move in with him. This act signifies an understanding that she can’t always get what she wants and that compromise is possible. By moving in with them, she agrees to share her grandson with Dorey and to relinquish her control.

In many ways, George West juxtaposes his wife, Violet, but especially in his quiet, unassuming behavior and his unselfish love. When the two are young and George spies Violet collecting and burning bluefish scales, she demands that he not say a word, and George complies. His quiet acquiescence is enough for Violet to know that her secret is safe with him. Furthermore, when Violet shuts herself up in her room after realizing that the professor loves her sister, George visits. Violet notes, “I looked at him then, and he quickly looked away […] I saw what he’d brought me: three bluefish scales, perfect, larger than any I’d seen before, already singed at the edges, sulfury and brown” (89). George can’t look at Violet in this moment because the gift he bears demonstrates just how much he cares for her: The burned scales, invented evidence of the sea monster, indicate that he wants Violet to get her heart’s desire, even if it means that desire is another man. An act of love, this gift spotlights George’s selflessness, which he underscores by quietly slipping from the room. Later, when Violet sees an insect walking on the water, she thinks of George, not Ewan. George’s quiet, chivalrous gesture shows that love needn’t be loud and conspicuous to be powerful.

In addition to compassion, George shows an adept understanding of the complexities of family. First, he’s capable of truly seeing his son, not just as someone who has accolades and accomplishments but as a dynamic person. Lion acknowledges this when they hunt muskrats together. Talking about his mother, the boy says, “‘She doesn’t know me the way you do, Dad’” (103). In this moment, Lion articulates a deep-seated feeling that he doesn’t belong. Although he’s talking about his mother not understanding him, the emphasis is on George’s grasp of the boy. Everyone expects Lion to apply for the scholarship and get it, but only his father knows what truly makes him happy. Lion’s statement, along with the fact that he speaks this truth to his father, suggests that George is perceptive and understanding. After this, George considers telling Lion that he isn’t his biological son, but instinct holds him back: “If George West was anything he was honest, honest to a fault. To say Lion wasn’t his son felt like a lie” (103). George recognizes his son’s admission to him and understands that blood alone doesn’t make someone family. To tell the boy the truth of his birth would sever the strong connection they have and potentially invalidate all that makes them family, so George elects not to say anything. Although this motivation may appear selfish, keeping the secret is George’s way of acknowledging the nuance and complexity of his son, their relationship, and family in general.

Although some may view George as weak, he’s one of several male characters that Hoffman depicts as foils to the stereotypical controlling, insensitive husband, thus dismantling gender roles further. When discussing Lion’s future with Violet, he doesn’t steamroll her with his opinion or avoid the conversation altogether. Instead, he supports her: “They had been married for twenty years, enough time for him to know that, although her back was to him, she wanted to talk about this. George slipped his arms around her waist. His love for her felt heavy in his chest” (100). George’s perceptive nature is on display when he understands his wife’s body language, so he hugs her in encouragement and support. She wants Lion to apply for the scholarship, and even though he disagrees, he supports the idea and gently pushes his son to apply. In George’s actions, Hoffman crafts a man that defies societal gender expectations in his sensitive and compassionate support for his wife. George highlights traits possessed by other men of Blackbird House, specifically Lysander Wynne, Larkin Howard, and John Farrell. Thus, in addition to deftly unravelling of stereotypes surrounding strong women, Hoffman disassembles the narrative that men must be unemotional and controlling.