{"id":141381,"date":"2019-12-10T09:00:55","date_gmt":"2019-12-10T14:00:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=141381"},"modified":"2019-12-10T15:55:05","modified_gmt":"2019-12-10T20:55:05","slug":"the-silence-of-witches","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/","title":{"rendered":"The Silence of Witches"},"content":{"rendered":"

Sabrina Orah Mark\u2019s monthly column,\u00a0Happily<\/a>, focuses on fairy tales and motherhood.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Edmund DuLac, illustration for The Little Mermaid<\/em>, 1911<\/p><\/div>\n

I have a dream my mother is standing at my front door crying. Her hair is wet and tangled in seashells. She\u2019s read a story I\u2019ve written. \u201cHow could you,\u201d she says. \u201cYour own mother.\u201d She opens her coat and out march my husband, his daughters, my brothers, my sons, my father. I try to run away but they catch me by the collar. \u201cHow could you, how could you, how could you?\u201d they chant. \u201cYour very own mother! Your very own us!\u201d I\u2019ll stop writing. I\u2019m sorry. And I do. I stop forever, and instantly my lips and hands are dotted with mold. White threads spread across my face where mushrooms begin to swell. I grow wild with silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, for god\u2019s sake,\u201d says my mother. \u201cForget it. Enough with the drama.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut my silence is real,\u201d writes Maurice Blanchot. \u201cIf I hid it from you, you would find it again a little farther on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of all the silences in fairy tales, the most pronounced is the Little Mermaid\u2019s. For a potion that will turn her into a human, she pays the sea witch with her tongue. In Hans Christian Andersen\u2019s \u201cThe Little Mermaid\u201d the sea witch lives where no flowers or sea grass grow, where \u201call the trees and bushes were polyps, half animals and half plants.\u201d It\u2019s the sea witch\u2019s silence, her exile, her house built from the bones of shipwrecked humans, the toad feeding out of her mouth, and the snakes sprawled like illegible cursive \u201cabout her great spongy bosom\u201d that is the silence of poets. It\u2019s Blanchot\u2019s silence. It\u2019s the silence of outsiders and mothers. Once kept it will run ahead, and wait for all of us to catch up. And as it waits, it will grow.<\/p>\n

The Little Mermaid\u2019s silence is the silence of children. But the sea witch\u2019s silence is the silence of an old woman with a story no one will ever know. The first silence is soft and lovesick and melancholy like sea foam. The second silence surrounds you like water surrounds a drowning woman, transparent and cruel.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s been a difficult year. My stepdaughter moved in for seven months and then moved out. She left Mavis, her pet tarantula, behind. My husband and I argued more than ever. My grandmother died so I couldn\u2019t call her up to ask her advice. In an act of grief I bought a yellow rotary telephone for my desk. It\u2019s plugged into nothing. Sometimes I just hold the receiver up to my ear and listen. Sometimes I talk.<\/p>\n

As the date of my stepdaughter\u2019s departure grew closer, I practiced politely biting my tongue. There was so much to say, but I said nothing. I bit and I bit. \u201cPeace,\u201d I once wrote in a story about daughters, \u201cis what pain looks like in public.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Like Blanchot promised, my silence returned \u201ca little farther on.\u201d A tree began to grow right in the middle of my house. Instead of seeds, its fruit had sharp little needles. I don\u2019t know what this fruit is called, but it\u2019s no fruit you want. I pushed my thumbs inside and split the flesh. I rinsed the pulp off a sticky needle, and thread it. In my own house I said nothing and then more nothing, and the tree thickened. And now it\u2019s winter and my house has grown a tree, and this tree bares fruit, and with its needle-seeds I begin to sew. I make a sewing. It\u2019s not a dress. Or a shawl. There is nowhere for a body to go inside this sewing. It\u2019s a long and narrow thing. It\u2019s the cold path home if the rest of the fairy tale were missing.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi.\u201d I show the sewing to Mavis, the tarantula, because I probably shouldn\u2019t show it to my husband and my grandmother is dead and my stepdaughter has gone back to her mother\u2019s and my sons should be spared and also it\u2019s imaginary. Mavis is crouched over a live cricket struggling in her web. Mavis is too busy with her own silence to look up. And even if she did look up, she\u2019d probably just blame me for having been left behind.<\/p>\n

I can hardly bear to look at Mavis, and yet I can\u2019t stop looking. \u201cGood morning, Mavis. You okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to hear one word about that tarantula,\u201d says my mother. \u201cNot one word.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI felt it shelter,\u201d writes Emily Dickinson, \u201cto speak to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my god, Sabrina,\u201d says a dear friend. \u201cSet the fucking thing free.\u201d<\/p>\n

I feel for the sea witch. To whom can she talk other than the bottom of the sea? On the flight back from my brother\u2019s home after Thanksgiving, I watch the 1989 Disney animated feature, The Little Mermaid<\/em>. It\u2019s lousy with ideological traps. It\u2019s empty of what makes Hans Christian Andersen\u2019s fairy tales so dark and alluring. No lavish agony disguised as piety. No cultish suffering. In Disney it\u2019s all big, bright eyes and high hopes and too much singing. The sea witch has a name: Ursula, which means \u201clittle bear\u201d even though she seems to be an octopus. She wears a gold nautilus around her neck, and this is where she keeps Ariel\u2019s voice after Ariel signs her voice away with a fishbone. That the sea witch had once ruled the kingdom has been added to the fairy tale. But why she\u2019s been banished remains untold even though she\u2019s marked all over by her banishment. Eli, my six-year-old, begins to watch with me but grows bored and plays a word game instead. There is rough air. My water slides off the tray and spills. Eli keeps asking me to help him unscramble letters to make words, but the plane is shuddering through clouds and I\u2019m holding his hand too tightly. \u201cMama! We\u2019ll either die or we won\u2019t die. Just tell me one word.\u201d And I do. It\u2019s \u201cstop.\u201d<\/p>\n

A student asks me if I ever wonder if I should just stop writing. \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d she asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d I tell her language is what I have, and I think without it I\u2019d grow tentacles, and sharp little teeth would poke through my skull. She laughs. \u201cI\u2019m serious,\u201d I say. \u201cIf I stopped writing I\u2019d go sea witch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut shouldn\u2019t certain things be left sacred?\u201d she asks. \u201cLike your children?\u201d The word \u201cchildren\u201d floats above my head like a magnificent cloud about to burst. And when it bursts I will be drenched by them. All day I am drenched by them. A holy water. Why, I wonder, should the sacred be unsayable? How can I write about motherhood without writing about my children? Who would play their part? The birds in the trees? A stranger? The shadows?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy,\u201d asks my stepdaughter, \u201cdid you write about me?\u201d Another cloud. I look up. It\u2019s in the shape of a heart, no, a mouth. I want to say something about repair. About fixing us. About love, and fear, and hard work. About wanting to help her. But instead I say, \u201cthis is my life, too.\u201d And the cloud thins.<\/p>\n

The nautilus shell Ursula wears around her neck is hollow. The shell is a living fossil, like a fairy tale. Like a fairy tale, it\u2019s an ancient casing that once held a breathing thing in place. A similar spiral is encrypted in the inner ear and hurricanes and spiderwebs and the uterus. It is proof of where a story once lived or tried to live, and marked by the same elliptical orbit that makes it practically impossible to tell where one thing begins and where it ends.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is true,\u201d writes Lucie Brock-Broido, \u201cthat each self keeps a secret self which cannot speak when spoken to.\u201d I\u2019ve been teaching my secret self to speak. It bleats, hungrily. Its legs are spindly and its heart is ancient. It was my husband who once helped me build it a room with stained glass windows, and a bed for waking up and dreaming.<\/p>\n

Many years ago, when I was around my stepdaughter\u2019s age, I burned my arms with cigarettes. I can still count on my arm how many times I did it: twelve. A collection of full, white moons. A lit-up path down my left arm that hasn\u2019t faded. I was twenty and I loved someone who was cruel. I became silent and gaunt, and wrote little down. And so the answer I gave to my student is wrong. If I stopped writing I\u2019d be covered in moons. Their light would be so blinding I\u2019d barely be able to see my children. Or my mother standing at my front door crying.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I was little,\u201d says my six-year old, Eli, \u201cI thought the moon was following me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe, too,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

In 1978 two young scientists studying 500-million-year-old nautilus shells discovered that the number of lines on each chamber was consistent with the time it takes for the moon to revolve around the earth. Today\u2019s shells have thirty lines on each chamber, but shells from 420 million years ago have only nine lines per chamber. Which means the moon once revolved around the earth in nine days. Which means the moon was once closer. Which means silence was once closer, too. We hide and hide our silences. And yet, like the moon, they\u2019re still here. They\u2019re just a little farther on.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Read earlier installments of Happily here.<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n

Sabrina Orah Mark is the author of the poetry collections\u00a0<\/em>The Babies\u00a0and\u00a0<\/em>Tsim Tsum.\u00a0<\/em>Wild Milk, her first book of fiction, is recently out from Dorothy, a publishing project. She lives, writes, and teaches in Athens, Georgia.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1615,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[45325],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-141381","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-happily"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"950\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"680\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Sabrina Orah Mark\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Sabrina Orah Mark\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"8 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Sabrina Orah Mark\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/270cda6e8307fafc721f29708e8f554a\"},\"headline\":\"The Silence of Witches\",\"datePublished\":\"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\"},\"wordCount\":1702,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"Happily\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\",\"name\":\"The Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00\",\"description\":\"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"The Silence of Witches\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"description\":\"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"width\":696,\"height\":696,\"caption\":\"The Paris Review\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\",\"https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview\",\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/270cda6e8307fafc721f29708e8f554a\",\"name\":\"Sabrina Orah Mark\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/95e15df848cf346c0591da87fc41b48a22ab3bb4a4b76c4fc4dc3d8dc401a013?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/95e15df848cf346c0591da87fc41b48a22ab3bb4a4b76c4fc4dc3d8dc401a013?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Sabrina Orah Mark\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/somark\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"The Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark","description":"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"The Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark","og_description":"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d","og_url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/","og_site_name":"The Paris Review","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","article_published_time":"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00","article_modified_time":"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00","og_image":[{"width":950,"height":680,"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Sabrina Orah Mark","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@parisreview","twitter_site":"@parisreview","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Sabrina Orah Mark","Est. reading time":"8 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/"},"author":{"name":"Sabrina Orah Mark","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/270cda6e8307fafc721f29708e8f554a"},"headline":"The Silence of Witches","datePublished":"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00","dateModified":"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/"},"wordCount":1702,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg","articleSection":["Happily"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/","name":"The Silence of Witches by Sabrina Orah Mark","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg","datePublished":"2019-12-10T14:00:55+00:00","dateModified":"2019-12-10T20:55:05+00:00","description":"December 10, 2019 \u2013 \u201cIs it really worth it,\u201d my writing student asks. \u201cAll this vulnerability? All this exposure? Possibly hurting everyone you love?\u201d","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/2011-03-03_002443.jpg"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/12\/10\/the-silence-of-witches\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"The Silence of Witches"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","name":"The Paris Review","description":"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization","name":"The Paris Review","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","width":696,"height":696,"caption":"The Paris Review"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/270cda6e8307fafc721f29708e8f554a","name":"Sabrina Orah Mark","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/95e15df848cf346c0591da87fc41b48a22ab3bb4a4b76c4fc4dc3d8dc401a013?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/95e15df848cf346c0591da87fc41b48a22ab3bb4a4b76c4fc4dc3d8dc401a013?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Sabrina Orah Mark"},"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/somark\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141381","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1615"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=141381"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141381\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":141409,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141381\/revisions\/141409"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=141381"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=141381"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=141381"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}