Spellbound

This may sound strange, but over the past few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about magic.

Quite a statement, I know. But bear with me.

When you or I consider magic, I imagine the first images conjured in your head consist of witches hats, wizards robes and almost anything that features in Harry Potter.

Put simply, the idea of magic as being a mysterious, supernatural power would likely be that which comes to mind.

However, in this instance, I’m much more entranced by the notion of certain objects and places possessing a quality that can only be described as ‘magical’.

Despite the term’s positive connotations, ultimately it’s a word that’s a law unto itself. Like everything, it has a definition, but unlike so many words, it carries vast historical weight and continues to be interpreted in a whole host of disparate ways.

At risk of adopting the tone of a painfully structured undergraduate essay, the reason I’ve been newly intrigued by the notion of magic is because I’ve been thinking of it as a way to refer to anything ‘unexpectedly transformatory’.

Whilst that appears rather grandiose, I suppose I’ve only realised what countless others already have; that it’s interesting to pay attention to magic in the sense of it changing the way you think, or indeed altering the way you feel.

Embracing the essay theme, now feels like an appropriate time to add some context.

Two recent happenings have led me to this point.

One has been reading The Girl with the Lounding Voice by Abi Daré, a brilliant book that follows the story of Adunni, a 14-year-old girl growing up in Nigeria who simply wants her voice to be heard.

I have yet to finish the novel, but from the very first page I knew I held something possessing extraordinary power in my hands.

It’s forced me to confront a world that I know exists, but one that I too regularly elect to avoid seeing.

It’s magical because it beautifully illustrates how much more wondrous the world would be if everyone had the opportunity to reach their potential.

It’s magical because it’s totally transformed the way I approach everything.

It’s magical because it’s altered my perceptions. It’s made me want to read more, understand more, do more.

It’s not everyday you encounter a voice that does that. But Adunni’s does. Abi Daré’s does.

Her incantation will remain with me for the rest of my life, as will the enchantment of Pembrokeshire.

All too often now we refer to destinations as being ‘magical’ to simply communicate how gorgeous they are.

Whilst beauty may well contribute to the magnetism of a place, there’s far more to it than that.

Think how much more enthralling our discussions of the spots and scenes we’ve seen would be if we reserved referring to a compass point as ‘magical’ only when it’s stirred something in our souls.

Something mystical was at work in the woodland I wandered through on the Welsh coast.

Despite possessing no prior connection to this particular locale, I sensed something fantastical, an inkling that here a thousand lives had been lived before; that we coexist with a world we cannot see but can most certainly feel.

If you’re still with me you’ve probably realised there’s no great point to be made by my latest rambling.

But if you’re looking for one, perhaps it is only that whilst our footing in time and space may be small, that’s all the more reason to sporadically succumb to the occasional spell.