The Girl with No Shadow (Chocolat, #2)

by Joanne Harris

I found that most magic—when it’s there at all—is hidden beneath a suffocating drift of ritual, drama, fasting, and time-consuming disciplines devised to give a sense of mystery to what is basically just a matter of finding what works. My mother loved the ritual—I just wanted the recipe book.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” I said. “Then call it something else.” She shrugged. “Call it attitude, if you like. Call it charisma, or chutzpah, or glamour, or charm. Because basically it’s just about standing straight, looking people in the eye, shooting them a killer smile, and saying, fuck off, I’m fabulous.”