Laura Willowes is in her later twenties and still not married. In turn-of-the-century vocabulary, that makes her at the disposal of her family, going from her father’s tutelage to her brother’s when the father dies. From her family estate in the countryside she finds herself in the spare room of a rich London house where she basically becomes her nieces’ “Aunt Lolly” full-time nanny. But that’s not what Laura wants from life. She doesn’t exactly knows what that is, but after years and years of complying to society’s expectations of a spinster she’s had enough and picks a small village far from London to live there, discover who she is when not surrounded with well-meaning but stifling relatives, and who knows, maybe become a witch.

As Alison Lurie notes in her introduction to Lolly Willowes, Sylvia Townsend Warner advocates for women to be given space three years before Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One's Own”. Not that it’s a race, of course, but it’s a good way to put this book back in its context. I thought Lolly Willowes was a delightful classic, and I don’t often say that. Sure, there is zero talk about Laura’s privilege as an upper-class woman, but there is still a strong feminist vibe, delightful irony and a main character that refuses to fit in the box society in general and her family in particular have decided to put her in. It is also very atmospheric and perfect for autumn with its descriptions of the quaint English village Laura settles in when she’s tired of London. Despite not being overtly queer, Laura’s total disinterest in marriage and men in general made me read her as aro/ace, and the book never told me otherwise. Add to that a sprinkle of witches, and here’s a lovely short read for the autumn season.