wilting Puritans fell far short of affection," winds up being abducted by Nimacook Indians (Morrow's fictionalized version of the Abenaki, who use the Algonquin language) and winds up married to one of them. She spends several years being known as Waewowesheckmishquashim, and being made to realize that the noblest of scientific principles aren't much use in weaving reed mats or catching salmon.
In another show of narrative brio, Jennet is snatched away from the Indians by a lovestruck postman named Tobias, through whose efforts she winds up in Boston. "Do you perchance enjoy access to the library at Harvard College?" she asks Tobias, while deciding whether to stay with him. Again, she marries. But eventually Jennet realizes that "whilst she would hesitate to call Tobias a man for whom ignorance was bliss, it seemed likely that in matters of bliss this man would always be ignorant."
Now Jennet resumes her dedication to scientific debate. "All flowings and fallings, all flappings and snappings, all swingings and springings, all splittings and fittings know naught of goblins, but only of goodness," she writes in witchcraft-debunking mode. In the interests of having her manifesto published, she winds up in Philadelphia, where Jennet -- now middle-aged -- encounters the 19-year-old printer Benjamin Franklin. Another of the novel's feats of comic audacity has these two setting off sparks, and not the kind obtained by flying a kite. "A dozen articles of clothing tumbled to the floor at uniform Galilean velocities," Morrow writes, describing Jennet and Franklin's first meeting of the minds. The Principia claims that Jennet is the mother of William Franklin, Benjamin's son, but says that Franklin's "Poor Richard's Almanack" has implored the Principia to be discreet about the boy's parentage.
The above synopsis barely scratches the surface of The Last Witchfinder. It is a book to which Morrow devoted seven years, according to its jacket copy. And that prodigious dedication pays off. Here are storytelling, showmanship and provocative book-club bait (try finding another recent novel that rivals this one for erudite talking points), all rolled into one inventive feat.
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