Compendium of the Occult by Liz Williams is a rich and appealing history

In the fourth century BC, an unknown – but clearly disgruntled – schemer from the Greek city of Antioch had a curse tablet made. Inscribed on a thin piece of lead and deposited in a well, the tablet called for a “thunder-and-lightning-hurling” god to “strike, bind, bind together Babylas the greengrocer”.

Around 1,400 years later, an Anglo-Saxon charm advised on how to protect a field. The secret was to take a piece of turf from each corner and anoint it with a mixture of oil, honey, yeast, milk from the animals on the land, pieces of the trees and plants on the land, and water consecrated to the god Thunor.

In 17th-century England, the antiquarian Elias Ashmole hoped an astrological talisman would expel vermin from his house. Meanwhile, the diarist Samuel Pepys cured his upset stomach by purchasing a new hare’s foot. In 19th-century New Orleans, the Louisiana Creole woman Marie Laveau became famous for her healing, clairvoyance and work as a voodoo priestess, which she displayed in public gatherings at Congo Square.

These are among the many fascinating snippets discussed in Liz Williams’s new book, Compendium of the Occult: Arcane Artefacts, Magic Rituals and Sacred Symbolism. Looking at western occult traditions from ancient times to the present day, the book explores how human societies have sought power, protection and insight from gods and stars, spells and amulets, sacred places and seductively enigmatic organisations.

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The book is made up of 65 short articles, grouped into six sections: the origins of western occultism; divination, rituals and rites; charms and talismans; curses and hexes; secret societies; and sites of significance.

Many of the articles cover several centuries, meaning there is no scope for detailed analysis. However, Williams strikes an effective balance between general overview and colourful examples. She is sensitive to differences in perspective, noting the competing explanations for phenomena such as dowsing or Ouija boards.

She also acknowledges the complexities of reconstructing past beliefs and practices from imperfect surviving evidence, although occasionally unreliable source material is not sufficiently interrogated. The book accepts too readily, for example, the questionable story that Louis XIV’s mistress Madame de Montespan arranged “black masses” in which she used the blood of babies to summon the devil.

Magic and maladies

Compendium of the Occult is handsomely bound, pleasingly laid out and beautifully illustrated. There are images of ancient clay tablets crisscrossed with incantations, witch bottles stuffed with nails and urine, voodoo dolls, mummies, skulls, books, statues, artworks and protective amulets in the shape of jaunty phalluses.

Some of the printing causes confusion, however. “Gold dots” on the timelines are difficult to see, as is the introduction’s small white text on black pages. The dating of some entries lacks obvious logic: “palmistry” is dated from the 5th to the 1st century BC, even though the article stretches to the 20th century, and other practices get the vaguer label “ancient times to the present day”. But these are minor quibbles.

More significantly, the book’s geographical remit is limited. The introduction refers to occult traditions in “the west”, but Britain is a particular focal point. Williams discusses eight “sites of significance”, of which three (Glastonbury, Avebury and Stonehenge) can be found within a 75-mile span in England.

She does cover ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia; there is an entry on voodoo; there are references to the influences of Arabic astrologers, and occasional mentions of practices in east Asia. But more engagement with occult traditions from beyond Europe, particularly in modern times, would have enhanced the volume and better justified the ambitious title.

All the same, this is a rich and appealing book. Humankind’s inventiveness in conceptualising the workings of the world emerges with force. Much magic is underpinned by a belief that the everything is interwoven: the earth corresponds to the skies, the microcosm of the human body to the macrocosm of the universe.

Williams quotes the physician and polymath Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535), who described how a square inscribed with numbers, stamped on a silver plate at the right hour, could call on Jupiter to bring the owner wealth and peace. If printed on coral, it could destroy evil spells.

Material objects, plants, numbers and heavenly bodies are drawn into a symbiotic relationship, and invested with the power to reshape human lives. Agrippa’s plates reflect an enduring desire to situate humankind in relation to the environment, and impose meaning and harmony on a chaotic cosmos.

Martha McGill does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.