The Last Witch
C. J. Cooke’s The Last Witch takes readers to late medieval Austria amid one of the era’s witch hunts, the Innsbruck trial of 1485. Helena Scheuberin, a sometimes recklessly outspoken woman, is accused of witchcraft after defending her friend who’d been unjustly executed. Unfortunately, the man she rebukes is Heinrich Kramer, the Dominican inquisitor and author of the infamous Malleus Maleficarum, whose obsession with punishing “evil” women shaped centuries of persecution. When Helena challenges him, her arrest for witchcraft is all but assured.
Cooke’s portrayal of the Innsbruck trial is immersive. She captures the claustrophobia of Helena’s imprisonment, giving descriptions of the dark dungeon, the terror of interrogation, and the solidarity among the accused. Even in their desperate circumstances, the women endure through small acts of care and defiance. Cooke’s attention to period detail makes the world tangible and immediate. She brings historical suffering to life without losing compassion.
Helena, based on the actual woman tried by Kramer, is drawn with depth and sympathy. She is fiercely intelligent and morally grounded, refusing to be silenced despite her ordeal. Through her, Cooke restores a voice history nearly erased. Heinrich Kramer, by contrast, is portrayed with unflinching disgust. He is a petty, cruel man whose fanaticism masks insecurity. Modern readers have called him a medieval incel, and the description fits remarkably well.
At its heart, this is a story about courage and the power of words. In one moving scene, an imprisoned woman asks the others to teach her how to pronounce their names correctly. This act helps them retain their humanity in a world determined to erase it. After all, words are magic.
Also, I love the dedication: “To Gisèle Pelicot.” To which I say, “YES, witch.” An engrossing and unforgettable novel.
