The Conjuring of America is a breathtaking, bone-deep testament to the enduring power of Black women’s magic. At once a historical reckoning, a spiritual archive, and a richly layered celebration, this book doesn’t just tell a story — it casts one.

From the first page, readers are drawn into a rhythmic, root-deep current that carries them through 400 years of conjure, healing, and ancestral fire. The mojos — crafted from iron nails, red thread, graveyard dirt, and whispered prayers — pulse with life. The mermaids — from Mami Wata’s shimmering wake to Oshun’s golden laughter — sing to the reader with salt-soaked voices. The medicine — herbal, spiritual, communal — isn’t just for the body. It’s for the soul, the spirit, the bloodline.

What makes The Conjuring of America so potent is its refusal to separate magic from history. Every charm is political. Every prayer is resistance. Every healing balm is an act of revolution. Black women’s bodies, stories, and spirits are the thread that stitches this country together — and this book makes sure we feel that, page after page.

Whether it’s the conjure women who outwitted slave catchers, the hoodoo midwives birthing new generations into freedom, or the everyday mamas and aunties who laced their love with spells and strength, this book lifts them all into the sacred light they deserve. It’s as much about surviving as it is about thriving — reclaiming joy, power, and sovereignty in a world that tried to erase it.

For practitioners, descendants, seekers, and scholars alike, The Conjuring of America is more than a book — it’s an initiation. A call to remember. A reminder that Black women’s magic shaped this nation — and it’s still shaping what comes next.