Wildseed Witch: a Conversation with Marti Dumas

Have you seen the gorgeous cover of Marti Dumas’s latest fantasy novel WILDSEED WITCH? THIS is the sort of book I wish I’d had when I was a tween. I received an advance copy and it came in a beautiful box filled with flowers and a very official-looking invitation to the Belles Demoiselles Academy. Marti and I share a love of dragons and witches (read our previous conversation here) so I asked her to offer some insights into Hasani, the YouTube vlogging wildseed witch from New Orleans.

First of all, congratulations on writing such an appealing and original story! I think a lot of young Black readers have been waiting for a book (and a cover) like this. Can you elaborate on the distinction you made between magic and charm? Hasani has too much of the former and needs to acquire the latter. 

I tried to stick really closely to what would have been Hasani’s experience in the story, and the truth is, Hasani doesn’t quite know yet, so the reader doesn’t either. All Hasani knows is that the belles demoiselles consider charm superior to magic, so when she’s not getting yelled at or frowned upon, she assumes she’s using the former and not the latter. She gets a better (though not perfect) understanding in book 2, but I’m happy to drop a little spoiler now. Charm is using your power to improve yourself. Self-love. Self-care. Self-knowledge. Self-awareness. Self-improvement. All of those things fall in the category of charm, and elevating yourself in that way is something that can and will last a lifetime. Magic, on the other hand, is trying to use your power to change the world around you. It can be done, but not in perpetuity. At the start of the story, Hasani is so focused on changing other people that magic is the main thing that happens.

You seem to be subtly critiquing respectability politics and snobbery in general. Were you a debutante?  In the twenty-first century and in the midst of the #metoo movement, “charm school” seems like an archaic institution. Would it have appealed to you when you were a tween? Would you send your daughter to one? Why or why not?

I was not a debutant, though my older sister did make her debut, in a way. It was one of the ceremonies at the private school she attended. I went to public school, and, at that point, no one would have attempted such niceties on me. More Brienne of Tarth without the athleticism, less Margaery Tyrell, if you’ll forgive the Game of Thrones references. I have two children, neither of whom I have encouraged in that direction. It’s not my thing, but don’t get me wrong. If either of them expressed interest, I would support them 100%. Making a debut is a positive, self-affirming experience for many and results in business and personal connections that last a lifetime. So, not my thing, but definitely someone’s thing, and I think that’s cool.

How did you develop the curriculum for Les Belles Demoiselles Pensionnat des Sorcières and how would these courses prepare young Black witches to operate in the world?

Respectability politics is a thing. Whether we like it or not, it is often easier for young people of color to navigate our colonized world when they can apply the things that one would learn in a traditional finishing school. Do I think that’s cool? Not really. Do I think it’s true? Yes. However, Belles Demoiselles is not a traditional finishing school. While there are many respectability traps all around, the curriculum focuses on things that might seem superficial at first glance, but on deeper examination are all meant to bolster the self. In the end, the best way to navigate the world is by being truly grounded in who you are.

As someone who isn’t a fan of social media, I definitely felt my age reading this novel! But I also marveled at your ability to meet tweens where they are. You’re a parent and an author with a following—how do you use social media personally and professionally, and what’s your opinion on the debate around its negative effects on young people? The novel’s conclusion suggests you feel these platforms can be redeemed or reformed. 

I think that social media is a tool, and, like most tools, there are both helpful and destructive ways to use it. I actually think of you as a skillful social media user, so it’s interesting for me to hear you say that you’re not a fan of it. Oddly, I’m not much of a fan, either. Twitter feels like shouting into a strong wind, and no amount of tutoring has helped me make an image that would do well on Instagram. However, most of the young people I know can create posts that regularly get hundreds of likes—thousands if it strikes just the right note. And a few of those young people have learned to harness that power. It’s not the power of likes or having followers. It’s the power of communicating and feeling that something—anything—you have to say is worth being heard. As a classroom teacher, I spent most of the year trying to help my students get to a place where they felt their lives and experiences were worth writing about. Now kids potentially have more tools to find that power. It doesn’t always work, though. Sometimes social media makes kids feel like they need to imitate and conform. I’m well aware of that, but I’m equally impressed with how much social media has begun to democratize whose voices get amplified.

There are subtle references to Africa in the novel. What, if anything, makes the magic in your story “Black” and/or different from conventional (European) magic?

The simple yet possibly annoyingly straightforward answer is this: I am black. I don’t have to try to be black. I don’t have to reach for or dive into my blackness. It just is. And because I am black, everything I do is black, and that includes the magic in this book. HOWEVER, to be slightly less annoying, I’ll also say this: the magic system in this book comes from a feeling I had the first time I went to Vacherie, Louisiana as an adult. I could literally feel my ancestors in my blood the moment I set foot on the ground. It was like they were welcoming me home to a land surrounded by water. A land they had nurtured both when they wanted to and when they didn’t. That’s why the magic in this story is genetic. That’s why the feeling of it is water-based. That’s why it felt right when I decided to pay homage to Octavia Butler, who used Louisiana land as a refuge for some of her own powerful beings. The witches in this story may not be connected to Anyanwu by blood, but they are at least partially the result of Octavia Butler’s influence and legacy.

I hope readers of Wildseed Witch will reach for Butler’s 1980 novel Wild Seed someday—you’ve definitely planted a seed in young minds that can develop into a further exploration and love of Black speculative fiction. Thanks so much for taking the time to chat with me, Marti!

If you’re looking for inclusive MG fantasy fiction, Marti has some great recommendations—you can find her list over at Embrace Race. Learn more about Marti’s other books for young readers here.

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