Of Her Blood by Rozina Hyland * * * * *
I used to write poetry when I was in high school, as one does, and I suddenly remembered a little four-line poem I wrote back then:
And that, I think, sums up this book remarkably well. There are moments of happiness, kindness, and hope, but they never seem to last. Every time the characters find a little peace, something happens to take it away. As the story progresses, you begin to dread those happy moments because you know that something terrible is probably waiting around the corner.
The story takes place in England in the early seventeenth century, during a period when accusations of witchcraft could destroy lives. Our protagonist, Tilda, was only twelve when her mother was accused of being a witch and hanged. Her father had already died fighting in the war against Spain, leaving her an orphan. Afterwards, she was placed in the care of the Church, although calling what happened to her care would be rather generous. She was subjected to years of physical abuse, supposedly to drive the devil out of her, before eventually being taken into the household of Lord Montclair at Bellham Manor as a maid.
Tilda receives no wages for her work. She is given room and board, and even that is rather inadequate. She is essentially treated as property, with little control over her own life. Lord Montclair is a particularly unpleasant man who has a habit of visiting the female servants at night and sexually assaulting them. When they become pregnant, they are the ones who suffer the consequences. His second wife has even arranged for the female servants to live in a separate hamlet some distance from the main house, making it less convenient for her husband to reach them. Rather than holding him accountable, the women are expected to adapt their lives around his behaviour. That tells you quite a lot about the society in which this story takes place.
Tilda is also an outcast. Because her mother was executed for witchcraft, the people around her assume that she must be a witch as well. They watch her behaviour suspiciously, interpret her differences as evidence of something sinister, and expect her to conform to social rules that she doesn't always understand. In reality, there is no actual witchcraft in this novel. There are no magical powers or supernatural explanations. Tilda is simply an autistic young woman living in a society that has no understanding of neurodivergence and is quick to label anything unfamiliar as evil. This is actually where the author's inspiration becomes particularly interesting. Rozina Hyland is autistic and dyslexic, and she explains that the idea for the novel came from wondering what would have happened to someone like herself during the witch trials. She had joked that she probably would have been accused of witchcraft, and that thought eventually developed into Tilda's story. Tilda's mother also struggled to conform to society's expectations, which adds another layer to the way their family was treated.
I found this premise particularly compelling because it demonstrates how easily people can turn differences they don't understand into something threatening. Tilda isn't dangerous. She doesn't practise witchcraft, and she doesn't even believe in God. Yet the people around her are so convinced of their own beliefs that they cannot imagine another explanation for her behaviour. The real danger comes from their ignorance, superstition, and willingness to punish someone who doesn't fit their idea of normality.
An interesting historical detail is that, although we often associate witch trials with burning at the stake, people convicted of witchcraft in England were generally hanged. Here in Hungary, however, witches really were burned. In fact, in my hometown of Szeged, there is an area historically known as Witches' Island, where people accused of witchcraft were executed. The last witch burning in Hungary also took place in Szeged. We even have a saying about women from Szeged being witches, so this aspect of the story had a rather personal geographical connection for me.
One of the few bright spots in Tilda's early life is Imogen, Lord Montclair's daughter from his first marriage. Imogen is kind, thoughtful, and genuinely cares about Tilda. Their friendship gradually develops into a romantic relationship, but this is the seventeenth century, and two women cannot simply decide to build a life together. Imogen is expected to marry, and Tilda has almost no freedom to make decisions about her own future. Their relationship offers Tilda a glimpse of happiness while also highlighting just how little control either woman has over her circumstances. Another person who enters Tilda's life is Elias, a butcher's apprentice who delivers meat to Bellham Manor and takes a romantic interest in her. He initially appears to offer another possibility of companionship in a life where Tilda has experienced very little kindness. As with so many relationships in this novel, however, appearances don't necessarily tell the whole story.
The novel follows three distinct stages of Tilda's life, and I think that structure works particularly well. We see her circumstances change, new people enter her life, and different possibilities open up before her. Yet the same patterns of prejudice, exploitation, and cruelty keep returning. By the second stage, I had begun to recognise that whenever things appeared to be improving, I probably shouldn't get too comfortable. What makes the story so difficult is how believable much of the cruelty feels. The powerful men can behave appallingly without consequences, while women are punished for things they haven't done. Religious authority is used to justify abuse, and people who consider themselves righteous can be astonishingly cruel. There are good people in this novel, thankfully, but there are also people whose apparent kindness disappears the moment doing the right thing becomes inconvenient. Being pleasant when everything is going well doesn't necessarily make someone a good person. Sometimes you only discover what someone is really like when they have to choose between doing what's right and protecting their own comfort.
The book is described as Gothic historical fiction, and I think the classification fits. There are no ghosts or supernatural monsters, but there is a constant atmosphere of dread. Bellham Manor, the influence of the Church, the lingering consequences of Tilda's mother's execution, and the ever-present threat of another accusation all create a sense that danger is never far away. The most frightening thing about this story is that the monsters are ordinary human beings.
There were moments when I found the audiobook genuinely difficult to listen to. Sometimes I caught myself mentally withdrawing from what was happening because the events were so unpleasant. Yet I kept listening because I cared about Tilda and wanted her to find some kind of happiness. I wanted her to have a place where she could be herself, where she could be loved without conditions, and where she wouldn't constantly have to fight simply to survive. And perhaps that's why the book affected me so strongly. It isn't just about persecution or the historical treatment of women. It's about the exhaustion of struggling through life, finding a moment of happiness, and then having to start all over again when that happiness disappears. There were aspects of that experience that hit very close to home.
I gave Of Her Blood five stars because it made me feel so much. It made me angry, frustrated, hopeful, and ultimately devastated. I can't say that I finished it feeling satisfied or happy, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it to someone looking for a comforting read. But I do recommend it to readers who appreciate emotionally powerful historical fiction that examines prejudice, social injustice, and the consequences of treating people as less than human. I hope to read more from Rozina Hyland in the future. This was a difficult book to finish, and an even more difficult book to talk about, but it's one I won't forget anytime soon. Sometimes happiness really is just a moment in time.
Spoilers
I have to start with the ending because that was what completely broke me. Tilda dies. After everything she survives, everything she endures, and every attempt she makes to build a better life, she is ultimately hanged as a witch, just like her mother. And the particularly devastating thing is that she confesses to something she hasn't done in an attempt to protect the people she loves. She knows what the accusation means, and she knows what is going to happen to her. After spending so much of her life being punished for simply existing, she ends up accepting the very identity that society has forced upon her.
I think what made the ending even more painful was the uncertainty surrounding her daughter, Alice. We never find out what happens to her. We can hope that Imogen takes her in, but we don't know for certain, and after everything that happened to Tilda, I desperately wanted at least that small reassurance. There is actually a possible argument Imogen could use to claim responsibility for Alice. Lord Montclair had used Tilda's supposed obligation to him as justification for keeping her in his household, and Imogen might be able to turn that same reasoning around. Since Tilda killed Lord Montclair, Imogen could argue that she has a responsibility towards Tilda's daughter. Money and social position carry enormous influence in this world, and Imogen has both. I would like to believe she could use them to protect Alice. In fact, I wouldn't mind reading a sequel about Alice. There is certainly enough unresolved material for another story, and I would love to know whether she manages to escape the cycle that destroyed her mother and grandmother. Although, after this book, I would really appreciate it if she could survive the end!
Another character I need to talk about is Elias, Tilda's husband. I absolutely hated what he became. At first, he seems like such a nice young man. He's sweet, attentive, and interested in Tilda despite her reputation. He wants to marry her, and for a while, it looks as though she might finally have found someone who will stand by her. Except that his kindness turns out to be conditional. He's perfectly pleasant when everything is going his way, but when circumstances become difficult, he falls apart. He retreats into religion, takes to drinking, and becomes increasingly unreliable. Instead of supporting Tilda when she needs him most, he leaves her to deal with the consequences.
What particularly frustrated me was his unquestioning faith in the Church. Tilda tells him about the terrible things she experienced at the hands of religious authorities, but he struggles to accept her account because his own experiences were different. He was never a child accused of being the devil's offspring. He was never beaten by clergymen supposedly trying to save his soul. He had suffered losses, certainly, but he had also been taken in by people who cared for him. He simply couldn't understand that the same institution he trusted could be responsible for such cruelty. And when he finally has to confront that reality, he doesn't become a stronger person. He becomes weaker. I've known men like this, men who appear kind and dependable until something goes wrong, at which point you discover that you can't actually rely on them. It's an infuriating kind of weakness because it often hides behind the appearance of goodness.
There were also decisions towards the end that frustrated me because I could imagine alternative ways things might have turned out. When Tilda finally reached Imogen, I thought there was a real possibility that they might all leave the country together. Imogen's husband had travelled extensively, and Isabella came from Italy, so they weren't people who had never experienced life beyond their own little corner of England. Why not go somewhere else? Somewhere nobody knew them, where they could establish a new life under different circumstances? I realise that the seventeenth century wasn't exactly a wonderful time to be a woman anywhere in Europe, but surely there were possibilities worth considering. They had money, connections, and people with experience of travelling abroad. Instead, they remained far too close to the events that had already put Tilda in danger.
I also kept thinking that Tilda should have killed Thomas. I understand why she didn't, and I understand that she wasn't a murderer by nature, but leaving him alive meant leaving someone who could identify her and expose what had happened. From a purely practical perspective, it seemed like an enormous risk. Of course, these are the thoughts of a reader desperately searching for a way to save a character she has grown attached to. I understand that the author wasn't writing a story in which every problem could be solved by making the most practical decision. And I can also understand why the characters might have stayed. They had hope. They believed that if they waited long enough, behaved carefully enough, and allowed the situation to settle, everything might eventually work out. But hope can be dangerous when it encourages people to remain in situations that are fundamentally unsafe.
I was glad that not every man in this story was terrible. Imogen's husband was genuinely decent, and there was also the cook from Tilda's earlier life. Isabella was another welcome character, and I was particularly pleased to encounter an Isabella who wasn't a villain for once! Still, the overwhelming impression is one of cruelty, particularly the cruelty of people who possess power over others and never have to answer for how they use it.
What stayed with me most, however, was the way Tilda's life seemed to follow the same pattern again and again. She survives something terrible, finds a little happiness, begins to believe that things might finally improve, and then loses almost everything once more. By the end, I was desperate for her to escape that cycle, but the novel never offers her that relief. I understand why the author chose such a tragic ending, and it certainly made the book unforgettable. Yet a part of me still wishes Tilda had been allowed to live, if only to prove that her life didn't have to end the same way her mother's did. I think that's what made me cry so much. It wasn't only the loss of Tilda herself, but the loss of everything she might have had. After a lifetime of struggling to survive, she deserved more than another moment of happiness before everything was taken away.
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