I'm terrible at choosing favorite characters, especially when there are so many I absolutely love, but for quite a while I've set my top 3 in Rowling's world as Hagrid, Dumbledore and Fred and George. I say Fred and George are tied for third place, but really, the two of them together are like one entity. We almost never see them apart from one another. They occupy the same position on the Quidditch team, they go into business with each other, they finish each other's thoughts... everything they do seems to be together. Are there any distinguishing characteristics between them? I've never noticed any; it seems it could always just as easily one talking as the other. I'd say these are brothers who certainly revel in their twin-ness. We've seen them with dates (I think?) but it's kind of hard to imagine them ever getting married because they're so attached at the hip to each other...
They're such scallawags, always into some sort of mischief, but as troublesome as they are, they're never malicious. There's always a twinkle in their eyes and a grin on their faces. No matter how grim the situation, things seem a lot less dismal when they're around; without their presence, Order of the Phoenix would have been very dreary indeed most of the time. Along with their pranks, they're marvelously quick-witted, always with a smart remark at the ready. Their banter reminds me a lot of Hawkeye and Trapper on M*A*S*H. It's just so much fun to read. If only I could tell them apart...
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Previously On LOST...
The LOST folks are way more recap-happy than Rowling, and it makes pretty good sense for the show since it allows people who may not have seen all of the especialy relevant previous episodes to be somewhat up to speed. The highly recommended thing is to watch all the episodes, in order, but that can be really hard to manage (says the girl who just got caught up in January). Of course, it's also nice to have a little reminder, since some of the relevant stuff happened weeks ago.
But with Harry Potter, the previous books are readily available, and there have only been six, so I really wouldn't think that very many people would start on a later volume in the series. If you want to read Harry Potter, you start from the beginning. I'm thinking she doesn't do this much in the fifth and sixth books, but there's quite a bit of recapping in the first four, and most of it is basic stuff that seems to be there just for the purpose of readers starting with a later installment. We certainly aren't going to forget that Harry's an orphan, that he's been forced to live with his dreadful aunt, uncle and cousin, that he survived a direct attack by the evil Voldemort... and on and on. I can understand reading out of order with a lot series, especially that encompass many books or are mostly episodic and stand-alone, but practically from the beginning we have known that this was a seven-part series, that it was one massive saga broken down into seven years. So are there really that many people who pick up the series halfway through, or is all the recapping a little superfluous? I don't really mind, because it's still very well written, and it's not like it's written the exact same way time after time. I just wonder if it's really necessary...
But with Harry Potter, the previous books are readily available, and there have only been six, so I really wouldn't think that very many people would start on a later volume in the series. If you want to read Harry Potter, you start from the beginning. I'm thinking she doesn't do this much in the fifth and sixth books, but there's quite a bit of recapping in the first four, and most of it is basic stuff that seems to be there just for the purpose of readers starting with a later installment. We certainly aren't going to forget that Harry's an orphan, that he's been forced to live with his dreadful aunt, uncle and cousin, that he survived a direct attack by the evil Voldemort... and on and on. I can understand reading out of order with a lot series, especially that encompass many books or are mostly episodic and stand-alone, but practically from the beginning we have known that this was a seven-part series, that it was one massive saga broken down into seven years. So are there really that many people who pick up the series halfway through, or is all the recapping a little superfluous? I don't really mind, because it's still very well written, and it's not like it's written the exact same way time after time. I just wonder if it's really necessary...
"Your Hair's Getting Silly, Dear..."
When I first read this (62), in the car on vacation in Ocean City, I cracked up helplessly. When I tried reading it aloud to Nathan, I could barely spit it out; Re-reading Goblet of Fire this time around, I started hopping up and down in my seat when I realized that it was coming up. As totally inconsequential as it is, I think it's my favorite single line in the book. Why, oh why?
I adore Mrs. Weasley. She's probably my favorite female character in the books, though Professor McGonagall gives her a major run for her money. Anyway, this is just such a motherly moment. Here's Bill, who she's barely seen since he graduated from Hogwarts, and she has to comment on his personal grooming. Her reaction to the earring is great too, and oh so reminiscent of how my mom reacted when my brother came home one day in high school wearing a magnetic earring to freak her out. He did eventually get a real one but by then I guess she'd gotten rather used to the idea, and he was old enough that she didn't feel she had much say. Bill may be in his mid-20s, but once he's under his old roof again, he's also under his mother's scrutiny. Riled up as she is over Fred and George's antics, I imagine she's kind of on the warpath anyway when they sit down to dinner, so Bill's earring becomes the target. But I just love the hair. What is it about mothers and long hair?
My mom actually doesn't have an objection, but both of my grandmas hate long hair on men. Actually, they're not too crazy about long hair on women either. It's partly a generational thing, I suppose. But it's just like a mom to welcome her son home with, "You need a haircut!" What I really love about this line is the way she says it. She could have used any number of words in that sentence: long, ratty, unkempt, ridiculous... All sorts of adjectives to indicate her disapproval. But the word "silly" is so incredibly gentle, especially when coupled with the "dear" and her "fingering her wand lovingly"; it's more of a perfunctory protest than any kind of real objection. She knows Bill isn't going to let her cut his hair; she just wants to do her motherly duty by mildly expressing her own notion of what constitutes an appropriate hairstyle. Good ol' Molly...
I adore Mrs. Weasley. She's probably my favorite female character in the books, though Professor McGonagall gives her a major run for her money. Anyway, this is just such a motherly moment. Here's Bill, who she's barely seen since he graduated from Hogwarts, and she has to comment on his personal grooming. Her reaction to the earring is great too, and oh so reminiscent of how my mom reacted when my brother came home one day in high school wearing a magnetic earring to freak her out. He did eventually get a real one but by then I guess she'd gotten rather used to the idea, and he was old enough that she didn't feel she had much say. Bill may be in his mid-20s, but once he's under his old roof again, he's also under his mother's scrutiny. Riled up as she is over Fred and George's antics, I imagine she's kind of on the warpath anyway when they sit down to dinner, so Bill's earring becomes the target. But I just love the hair. What is it about mothers and long hair?
My mom actually doesn't have an objection, but both of my grandmas hate long hair on men. Actually, they're not too crazy about long hair on women either. It's partly a generational thing, I suppose. But it's just like a mom to welcome her son home with, "You need a haircut!" What I really love about this line is the way she says it. She could have used any number of words in that sentence: long, ratty, unkempt, ridiculous... All sorts of adjectives to indicate her disapproval. But the word "silly" is so incredibly gentle, especially when coupled with the "dear" and her "fingering her wand lovingly"; it's more of a perfunctory protest than any kind of real objection. She knows Bill isn't going to let her cut his hair; she just wants to do her motherly duty by mildly expressing her own notion of what constitutes an appropriate hairstyle. Good ol' Molly...
Friday, April 27, 2007
Does Snape Suspect That Harry Is a Parselmouth?
Reading The Great Snape Debate, the mention of Harry's fateful duel with Malfoy in CoS (193-195) got me wondering... Did Snape have suspicions about Harry's abilities? Of all the spells he could have whispered into Malfoy's ear, it's just interesting that he chose the one that led to Harry being ostracized by most of the student body for a good portion of the year, getting a taste of how Snape felt throughout his whole time at Hogwarts. It's not as though Harry has an especially strong revulsion to snakes, a la Ron's fear of spiders; I don't think Snape was really expecting Harry to jump out of his skin in fright at the sight of the creature. And once it shows up, he "lazily" offers to take care of it, acting slowly enough that Gilderoy has ample opportunity to blunder his way in and attempt some flashy, inevitably inept heroics, leading Harry to take matters into his own hands, or rather, tongue, after which Snape graces him with a "shrewd and calculating look".
Dumbledore tells Harry that he suspects some of Voldemort's powers rubbed off on him when he gave him his lightning-bolt scar (333); mightn't someone of Snape's intimate familiarity with the Dark Arts suspect such a thing could happen? Interestingly, if he did have an inkling beforehand, then exposing Harry could be both be evidence of "bad Snape" and "good Snape"; for the former, he's being vindictive, turning students against Harry and making him miserable, but for the latter, he's arming him with knowledge of which he was previously unaware, and which turns out to be a very important tool as the book progresses.
Dumbledore tells Harry that he suspects some of Voldemort's powers rubbed off on him when he gave him his lightning-bolt scar (333); mightn't someone of Snape's intimate familiarity with the Dark Arts suspect such a thing could happen? Interestingly, if he did have an inkling beforehand, then exposing Harry could be both be evidence of "bad Snape" and "good Snape"; for the former, he's being vindictive, turning students against Harry and making him miserable, but for the latter, he's arming him with knowledge of which he was previously unaware, and which turns out to be a very important tool as the book progresses.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Snape's Got to Stop Lurking at Half-Open Doors
Since I've been reading "The Great Snape Debate," I've got Snape on the brain. So much of the argument for Snape being ultimately on the side of right can hinge on one's interpretation of his character at various points in the series. Although he appears stern, unfair and unlikeable almost all the time (though remember we almost always see him through Harry's eyes, except for the "Spinner's End" chapter in HBP) most of his actions can be viewed in such a way that you can make a fairly simple case for the goodness of his ultimate loyalties, even if you have to look hard underneath the surface.
The one scene where I sometimes feel like this is a stretch is in the shrieking shack at the end of PoA. He's so awful to both Lupin and Black in this scene that it's hard to feel sympathy for Snape, even when you're in possession of the knowledge (not gained until OotP) that Lupin, Black and James Potter treated him terribly when they were all at school together.
What does Snape know? How much does he know, and when does he know it? He CANNOT know, simply cannot know, that Pettigrew is still alive, or the whole argument on Snape's behalf falls apart. We know he goes to Lupin's office with the wolfsbane potion, finds Lupin missing, and sees the Marauder's Map. Apparently he can see Lupin on the map, heading for the shrieking shack: "I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight..."
That "out of sight" comment is important. The Marauder's Map shows the Hogwarts grounds, and apparently the underground tunnels, but once you come out of those hidden passageways and into Hogsmeade, I don't think you can be visible on the map anymore. If you were, then Snape would have seen who was in the shack as well as Lupin running along toward it. I don't think he was able to see who was in the shack, or he might have given credence to the possibility of Pettigrew still being alive. As it is, I don't think Snape even hears about that possibility. He's enraged when he finds them all, and has his mindset on turning in Lupin and Black. Sirius' hoarse plea for him to look at the rat falls on deaf ears -- I don't even think Snape notices it. And if you note where Snape seems to begin eavesdropping (he's wearing the invisibility cloak, and there's a moment when everyone in the room hears the door creak and looks toward it) then it appears he misses the first part of the conversation when Sirius and Lupin are telling the trio that Pettigrew is Scabbers, and only hears the part of the story where Lupin is explaining how they were all illegal animagi.
I think this is really important -- what Snape hears, and what he doesn't. Because if he has a clue, an inkling, that Pettigrew is still alive and masquerading as Ron's rat, then his behavior to Sirius in particular is shocking. You'd have to believe for the sake of a grudge, for wanting vengenance on an old enemy (and one who has already suffered terribly for a crime he didn't commit) he'd be willing to let the real criminal go free. That's almost impossible to believe, unless he really is Voldermort's guy, and I'm just not ready to believe that.
What's painful about this chapter, however, is just how buried in hatred and hurt Snape is. I don't want my hopes about his ultimate loyalties and redemption to blind me to that fact. This is a wounded man, any way you look at him (even if it's just through Harry's eyes). There is such a terrible glee in Snape's demeanor when he talks about giving Sirius over to the dementors; such a roughness and coldness when he refers to Lupin as "the werewolf." This is a man who has not learned to forgive as he's been forgiven.
And it's possible, if we're guessing right about his loyalties, then he may have even more to forgive here than we think:
-- He's angry at Sirius and Lupin for their treatment of him at school, and for their "practical joke" that almost got him killed when he was sixteen
-- He's livid that Lupin, outcast and scum of wizarding society, still got ahead of him for DADA job he's yearned for (and perhaps is feeling frustrated that Dumbledore trusts Lupin when he doesn't think Lupin is trustworthy...isn't THAT fascinating, considering Dumbledore's trust in him when he's been far worse? Lupin didn't choose to be a werewolf, but presumably Severus chose to be a Death Eater at some point)
--If he really believes in Sirius' guilt, believes that Sirius betrayed the Potters -- then his own guilt is bound up tightly in Sirius'. He must be feeling at some deep level that he and Sirius delivered the one-two punch that got James and Lily killed. Severus heard half the prophecy and told Voldemort; Voldemort made the choice to go after the Potters; and someone (Pettigrew really, but Snape believes it's Sirius) betrayed the Potters' whereabouts to Voldemort. If Snape's remorse for the Potters' death is real...and Dumbledore thinks it is, and most of HP fandom believes on some level that Snape liked/loved/admired Lily Potter, which certainly seems plausible...then Snape must loathe Sirius because he thinks Sirius' duplicity capitalized on his own terrible mistake and made it an irrevocable one.
Makes you wonder if Snape's loathing of Sirius isn't, at some level, a reflection of his own self-loathing.
So I'm back to sympathizing with the git. I just can't seem to help it.
But one thing I'm sure of is that he's got to stop listening at half-open doors. This is twice now he has acted on "half" information, on knowing only part of the story. Snape needs to learn to listen to the whole story and not just jump to conclusions and act rashly based on what he thinks he knows.
Hmm...sound familiar? Are you listening, Harry?
The one scene where I sometimes feel like this is a stretch is in the shrieking shack at the end of PoA. He's so awful to both Lupin and Black in this scene that it's hard to feel sympathy for Snape, even when you're in possession of the knowledge (not gained until OotP) that Lupin, Black and James Potter treated him terribly when they were all at school together.
What does Snape know? How much does he know, and when does he know it? He CANNOT know, simply cannot know, that Pettigrew is still alive, or the whole argument on Snape's behalf falls apart. We know he goes to Lupin's office with the wolfsbane potion, finds Lupin missing, and sees the Marauder's Map. Apparently he can see Lupin on the map, heading for the shrieking shack: "I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight..."
That "out of sight" comment is important. The Marauder's Map shows the Hogwarts grounds, and apparently the underground tunnels, but once you come out of those hidden passageways and into Hogsmeade, I don't think you can be visible on the map anymore. If you were, then Snape would have seen who was in the shack as well as Lupin running along toward it. I don't think he was able to see who was in the shack, or he might have given credence to the possibility of Pettigrew still being alive. As it is, I don't think Snape even hears about that possibility. He's enraged when he finds them all, and has his mindset on turning in Lupin and Black. Sirius' hoarse plea for him to look at the rat falls on deaf ears -- I don't even think Snape notices it. And if you note where Snape seems to begin eavesdropping (he's wearing the invisibility cloak, and there's a moment when everyone in the room hears the door creak and looks toward it) then it appears he misses the first part of the conversation when Sirius and Lupin are telling the trio that Pettigrew is Scabbers, and only hears the part of the story where Lupin is explaining how they were all illegal animagi.
I think this is really important -- what Snape hears, and what he doesn't. Because if he has a clue, an inkling, that Pettigrew is still alive and masquerading as Ron's rat, then his behavior to Sirius in particular is shocking. You'd have to believe for the sake of a grudge, for wanting vengenance on an old enemy (and one who has already suffered terribly for a crime he didn't commit) he'd be willing to let the real criminal go free. That's almost impossible to believe, unless he really is Voldermort's guy, and I'm just not ready to believe that.
What's painful about this chapter, however, is just how buried in hatred and hurt Snape is. I don't want my hopes about his ultimate loyalties and redemption to blind me to that fact. This is a wounded man, any way you look at him (even if it's just through Harry's eyes). There is such a terrible glee in Snape's demeanor when he talks about giving Sirius over to the dementors; such a roughness and coldness when he refers to Lupin as "the werewolf." This is a man who has not learned to forgive as he's been forgiven.
And it's possible, if we're guessing right about his loyalties, then he may have even more to forgive here than we think:
-- He's angry at Sirius and Lupin for their treatment of him at school, and for their "practical joke" that almost got him killed when he was sixteen
-- He's livid that Lupin, outcast and scum of wizarding society, still got ahead of him for DADA job he's yearned for (and perhaps is feeling frustrated that Dumbledore trusts Lupin when he doesn't think Lupin is trustworthy...isn't THAT fascinating, considering Dumbledore's trust in him when he's been far worse? Lupin didn't choose to be a werewolf, but presumably Severus chose to be a Death Eater at some point)
--If he really believes in Sirius' guilt, believes that Sirius betrayed the Potters -- then his own guilt is bound up tightly in Sirius'. He must be feeling at some deep level that he and Sirius delivered the one-two punch that got James and Lily killed. Severus heard half the prophecy and told Voldemort; Voldemort made the choice to go after the Potters; and someone (Pettigrew really, but Snape believes it's Sirius) betrayed the Potters' whereabouts to Voldemort. If Snape's remorse for the Potters' death is real...and Dumbledore thinks it is, and most of HP fandom believes on some level that Snape liked/loved/admired Lily Potter, which certainly seems plausible...then Snape must loathe Sirius because he thinks Sirius' duplicity capitalized on his own terrible mistake and made it an irrevocable one.
Makes you wonder if Snape's loathing of Sirius isn't, at some level, a reflection of his own self-loathing.
So I'm back to sympathizing with the git. I just can't seem to help it.
But one thing I'm sure of is that he's got to stop listening at half-open doors. This is twice now he has acted on "half" information, on knowing only part of the story. Snape needs to learn to listen to the whole story and not just jump to conclusions and act rashly based on what he thinks he knows.
Hmm...sound familiar? Are you listening, Harry?
Minerva McGonagall, Quidditch Enthusiast
I really do love Professor McGonagall. She's such a fantastic teacher: no-nonsense, strict, but compassionate and sometimes even a little mischievous despite the hard line she usually takes with students. I especially enjoy her enthusiasm for Quidditch. Part of it, I'm sure, stems from her deep pride in Gryffindor as the head of the house, but her fondness for the game goes beyond just wanting to see her students succeed, I think. She has a keen understanding of the rules; it seems she's always the one overseeing the commetation. It would be interesting to hear her commentate a match herself. I wonder if she could show the restraint she tries to coax out of Lee Jordan?
The moment when she plucks Harry out of flying class and whisks him down the hall with her is so marvelous. It certainly seems at that point that she is going to severely reprimand him for unauthorized flying. She does nothing to demonstrate to Harry that she has other intentions until after she finds Wood; I imagine she wanted to make him sweat a bit, as much to ease her own conscience for bending the rules as to punish him. She's usually so composed, but her dander's up when she recalls their defeat the year before. "Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." (152) She's obviously been preoccupied by the thought of finding a Seeker, and when she glimpses Harry's stunt that's where her mind immediately goes.
McGonagall continually chides Lee for making favoritist remarks during his commentaries, but she doesn't deny him the job. As heartily as she protests, I think she agrees with him much of the time, particularly when Gryffindor is playing Slytherin and the latter is using particularly unfair tactics. She's especially furious at Malfoy's tactics in the final Quidditch match in Prisoner of Azkaban, (311) losing all her cool to shout ferociously at him. This, of course, is due as much to the threat to Harry's safety as to the potential loss for Gryffindor. She is similarly livid when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle attempt to cause Harry to have another fainting spell when they dress up as dementors (263). As much as she wants Gryffindor to win, she is much more concerned about her students' well-being, grimly announcing the cancellation the final Quidditch match in Chamber of Secrets after Hermione and Penelope are attacked (257), gently but firmly refusing to give Harry his Firebolt until it has been searched exhaustively for curses in Prisoner of Azkaban.
When she finally does give the Firebolt back, though, she's obviously very pleased about it. As much as she respects her fellow teachers (with the exception of the egotistical Lockhart, the vindictive Umbridge and to some extent the eccentic Trelawney, all of whom are pretty useless as instructors), she and Snape obviously have a bit of a feud going as Heads of House, and she'd like to put his gloating to rest. "Do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night..." (248)
And when Gryffindor finally manages the long-awaited victory, nobody is more ecstatic than her. "Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag." (313) That's just in the first three books, but this is probably the most shining Quidditch moment, and it's really nice to see this prim and proper teacher completely lose her composure for a moment of unguarded euphoria.
The moment when she plucks Harry out of flying class and whisks him down the hall with her is so marvelous. It certainly seems at that point that she is going to severely reprimand him for unauthorized flying. She does nothing to demonstrate to Harry that she has other intentions until after she finds Wood; I imagine she wanted to make him sweat a bit, as much to ease her own conscience for bending the rules as to punish him. She's usually so composed, but her dander's up when she recalls their defeat the year before. "Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." (152) She's obviously been preoccupied by the thought of finding a Seeker, and when she glimpses Harry's stunt that's where her mind immediately goes.
McGonagall continually chides Lee for making favoritist remarks during his commentaries, but she doesn't deny him the job. As heartily as she protests, I think she agrees with him much of the time, particularly when Gryffindor is playing Slytherin and the latter is using particularly unfair tactics. She's especially furious at Malfoy's tactics in the final Quidditch match in Prisoner of Azkaban, (311) losing all her cool to shout ferociously at him. This, of course, is due as much to the threat to Harry's safety as to the potential loss for Gryffindor. She is similarly livid when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle attempt to cause Harry to have another fainting spell when they dress up as dementors (263). As much as she wants Gryffindor to win, she is much more concerned about her students' well-being, grimly announcing the cancellation the final Quidditch match in Chamber of Secrets after Hermione and Penelope are attacked (257), gently but firmly refusing to give Harry his Firebolt until it has been searched exhaustively for curses in Prisoner of Azkaban.
When she finally does give the Firebolt back, though, she's obviously very pleased about it. As much as she respects her fellow teachers (with the exception of the egotistical Lockhart, the vindictive Umbridge and to some extent the eccentic Trelawney, all of whom are pretty useless as instructors), she and Snape obviously have a bit of a feud going as Heads of House, and she'd like to put his gloating to rest. "Do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night..." (248)
And when Gryffindor finally manages the long-awaited victory, nobody is more ecstatic than her. "Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag." (313) That's just in the first three books, but this is probably the most shining Quidditch moment, and it's really nice to see this prim and proper teacher completely lose her composure for a moment of unguarded euphoria.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Hermione: Defender of the Downtrodden
Having just finished Prisoner of Azkaban, I'm struck once more by the way Hermione leaps to the defense of those in trouble. She is the one who really works tirelessly to put together a defense for Buckbeak; Ron and Harry pitch in, but she definitely takes the lion's share of the work. All three are horrified at the thought of him being executed, but she seems to be the most intensely invested in Hagrid's plight, to the point of smacking Malfoy heartily when she hears him gloating yet again over Hagrid's misfortune. In Goblet of Fire, she's the one advocating on behalf of the house elves, trying to give them fairer working conditions. And of course, her skills as a researcher have helped her solve many of the mysteries floating around Hogwarts over the years. I can't recall now if she's said what she wants to do after Hogwarts, but it seems like she would do very well as a defense attorney or something along those lines, allowing her to use her intellect to help those who aren't really in a position to speak for themselves...
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Animagus Forms: a Choice, or a Given?
I’m finding myself fascinated by the realization of how many different and creative ways Rowling gives us in the series to see “inside” characters, and to understand who they are at the deepest core.
The Sorting Hat “sorts” the students at Hogwarts, discerning the personality traits, strengths and weaknesses that make them most suited to one of the four houses.
Meeting up with a dementor uncovers, though only inwardly to the person directly affected, a person’s worst memories.
But then we have patronuses and animagi. They too seem to reveal something deep about a person, but they’re a little different.
Patronuses are conjured, and only wizards of a certain skill and/or power level are capable of conjuring a patronus. Lupin calls it very advanced magic; Harry (even after considerable effort) can only conjur a misty, amorphous patronus at first. When he does finally manage to call forth a full patronus, even he is surprised (and deeply moved) at the shape of that patronus – the stag animagus form of his late father. Hermione is amazed to find out Harry did the conjuring, not only because of the time conundrum but because she’s already stated that it would take a very powerful wizard to call forth a patronus able to dispel so many dementors. Dumbledore says that Harry has discovered his father in himself.
So it would appear that, though the wizard is fully involved in calling forth a patronus, the form that patronus takes is not a choice, at least not a conscious choice. Instead it takes the shape of something deep and precious and strong, something in which one believes one can take refuge or stand behind and be protected. I don’t even know if we can say (at least entirely) that the form is shaped by the conjuring wizard’s unconscious, since Harry doesn’t yet know his father’s animagus form the first time he conjures his patronus. Dumbledore indicates that he could see at least the rudimentary shape of Harry’s patronus at the quidditch match, and certainly Harry didn’t know about Prongs then. And at the end of Azkaban, when he conjures the patronus fully, he has learned that James was an animagus whose form was called “Prongs” but no one has specifically told him yet that Prongs was a stag.
I think we do have evidence in later books, when we hear about the shape of Tonks’ patronus changing, that inward changes in the conjuring wizard – in their relationships, emotions, loves – can affect or change the shape of the patronus.
But what about animagi? I’m fascinated with them in part because of what Rowling doesn’t tell us, at least not straight out. Mostly I am wondering, is an animagus form a choice, or a given?
There are supposedly not many animagi in the wizarding world. Presumably it’s also very advanced magic, to be able to transform oneself into an animal. Hermione, with her usual thorough researching, informs us in Azkaban that there have been only seven “legally registered” animagi in the past century. Professor McGonagall is one of them; presumably one reason she got the job she has as transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts.
However it’s clear that a number of wizards can change into animals and haven’t bothered (for whatever reasons) to register their ability and their form with the Ministry of Magic. We know of four so far: James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Rita Skeeter.
Remus Lupin doesn’t count, because his monthly transformations into a wolf come about because of a werewolf bite. He didn’t choose that, wouldn’t have chosen it, and can’t control when it happens (except that the Wolfsbane potion, developed during his adulthood, enables him to remain “sane” even though he still changes into a wolf at each full moon).
James, Sirius and Peter learn to change into animals in order to keep Remus company, and probably for the sheer joy of learning how to do something difficult and keep it secret. Incidentally, it strikes me that we may be underestimating Peter’s abilities a bit – if he could learn to do this, even though he needed lots of “help” from brilliant James and Sirius, then he must not be too shabby of a wizard.
We don’t know Rita Skeeter’s motivation, but it’s a good bet that she decided to turn her transfiguration talents toward something that would help her hide easily and snoop around – skills I’m sure most tabloid journalists would love to have.
But all of this doesn’t really answer the question: did these people choose the animal they turned into? Lupin, who explains the whole concept to the trio, doesn’t really say. He mentions that Peter, “as the smallest” is the one who can touch the root to open up the passageway under the Whomping Willow, and the other two change into big enough animals (the bear-like dog and the stag) to help keep a wolf in check. All of that would lead one to believe that perhaps the trio of marauders had some say into what they changed themselves into. From what we’ve seen of transfiguration classes, the wizard usually knows what they’re changing…the students are often set tasks, it sounds like, to change one thing into something else specifically. Rita certainly would have some wish to turn into something very small to aid in her snooping habits, and her last name might have given her the idea!
Of course, Rita’s last name lets us know that Rowling at least has a lot to say about what each of these people turns into! Rita is so “skeeter” like – shrill, buzzing, and oh yes, blood sucking. Peter is definitely a rat. In fact, Peter is the biggest evidence we might have to the contrary, that a wizard doesn’t have entire control over what he turns into – why would someone choose to be a rat, unless it was just such a major part of his inner nature? There are plenty of other small animals that Wormtail could have chosen to be if he could have chosen. I think the bear-dog is an interesting choice for Sirius, because of his name (why didn’t she just make him a bear? perhaps because it would have been decidedly odd to see a bear wandering around Hogwarts, whereas a stray dog looks so ordinary no one would think twice). And the stag for James is the most interesting choice of all. It’s a Christ-symbol (perhaps doubly so when the form we meet him in is pure light). And the symbol also has deep roots in Lewis and Goudge – two of the authors who have influenced Rowling at a deep heart level, it would seem.
Edited to add: I just went over to Accio Quote! and prowled around a bit to see if Rowling ever specifically addressed this question (choice or given) in an interview. She has, of course. :-)
Here's the relevant bit from a 2005 interview. I've bolded the part that answered my musings (and which also makes me laugh!). I also find it a bit odd that she said Hermione's animagus form was an otter...that's clearly a slip of the tongue, since we know that an otter is Hermione's patronus, and we've never been given any indication that Hermione is an animagus, though she certainly seems skilled enough to try. It's good to know that even Rowling confuses things in her own fictional world sometimes!
*******
Robert Dawson for Asda - If you were an animagus what would you like to be?
JK Rowling: This always amuses me this idea. You see, you do not know what you are going to be until you have done it, so you might spend half a decade trying to turn into an animal and then find out you were a slug or something, which would be most unpleasant.
I gave Hermione my favourite animal, which is an otter. If you wanted to be something impressive, you would probably be something like a stag or a tiger, would you not, I just suspect I might be a guinea pig or something which would be so embarrassing.
********
Friday, April 20, 2007
Harry's Christening
Here's the actual quote from JKR -- this is taken from the Leaky Cauldron/Mugglenet interview she did in summer 2005, right around the time Half-Blood Prince was released. I found this little exchange so tantalizing, especially where she says "I can't say much more." Obviously there is more she could say on this subject!
ES: Who is Harry's godmother?
JKR: Didn't have one.
ES: Really?
JKR:Well, Sirius never had time to get a girlfriend, let alone marry.
ES: They could have just picked some other close friend of the family.
JKR: At the time that they christened Harry, they were in hiding. This was not going to be a widely attended christening, because he was already in danger. So this is something they were going to do very quietly, with as few people as possible, that they wanted to make this commitment with Sirius. And — yeah. Can’t say much more.
ES: Who is Harry's godmother?
JKR: Didn't have one.
ES: Really?
JKR:Well, Sirius never had time to get a girlfriend, let alone marry.
ES: They could have just picked some other close friend of the family.
JKR: At the time that they christened Harry, they were in hiding. This was not going to be a widely attended christening, because he was already in danger. So this is something they were going to do very quietly, with as few people as possible, that they wanted to make this commitment with Sirius. And — yeah. Can’t say much more.
"'Ow Come You Di'n't Tell Us 'oo You Are, Eh, Neville?"
Re-reading The Knight Bus (chapter three of Prisoner of Azkaban), I found it interesting that the pseudonym Harry adopts for his unexpected journey is Neville Longbottom. It was "the first name that popped into his head" (34), which surprised me, unless he was afraid using Ron's name might get his dad into trouble, something he's probably extra wary about after the fiasco with the car a year before. At any rate, this seems to support the notion of Neville being a shadow member of Harry's little group, since he thought of him so quickly. As far as Stan knows for the duration of the trip, Harry is Neville. In Order of the Phoenix, we learn that Neville could have been "the Chosen one", occupying Harry's role in Voldemort's mind. Was Harry's adoption of the name a little hint of things to come?
Musings on the Symbolism of Harry's Scar
After reading Erin's poem the other day, especially the last stanza, I remembered some scattered thoughts I'd tried to put together when discussing Harry's scar during a Barnes & Noble online forum in 2005. (It was an excellent reader's group moderated by John Granger right after the publication of Half-Blood Prince.)
I saved a lot of the longer comments I made to that class, wanting to preserve some of my HP musings, and yesterday I went back and found the ones I was thinking of. I'm going to paste them in below, with only slight editing for clarity (and to cut references to the ongoing discussion from two years ago). Here goes...
********
I've been contemplating Harry's scar -- not just recently, but for the past couple of years, as I've read and re-read the HP books. I've been struck many times by the fact that, whatever else it may symbolize and however it functions, Harry's lightning-bolt scar could be looked at as an echo of Christian baptism.
We know that Harry has been marked, practically from birth, by the reality of death. At the age of one, he is marked inwardly in the sense that he experiences the loss of both parents, and he is literally marked by Voldemort, whose killing curse directed at the young baby rebounds and almost mortally wounds the dark wizard instead, sending him into exile as a wraith awaiting a comeback when Harry is older. Harry will carry the lightning bolt scar of this encounter for the rest of his life, a scar that continues to cause him physical and mental anguish as Voldemort plots his return to power.
I find it interesting that JKR chose to place this important symbolic mark on Harry’s forehead. In most historic Christian traditions, the forehead is marked with the sign of the cross at baptism (showing one is sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own) and then annually marked with the sign of the cross in ashes at the beginning of each Lent, to remind of one’s fragile mortality. The sign of the cross, a symbol of great power and love, given as blessing, is very different of course from the unintended sign “given” to Harry by the curse of the evil Voldemort, but they seem to share some connections.
We are so used to the cross as a symbol of suffering love and ultimate victory that we forget it too was originally a symbol of great fear and death, a sign of one of the worst methods of killing theRoman empire could devise. A sign of shame intended to cause fear and pain in those who saw it was ultimately turned inside out and redeemed by Jesus, who took on fragile, mortal flesh and redeemed humanity through his sacrifice. Thus we can take this sign now as one of hope because of His great love for us.
Could we not say that in JKR's fictional world, Harry’s scar is both a painful reminder of the power of evil and death and their ability to wound us, and the sign to his community that there is still hope that evil can be overcome? (Recall the early Ron's fascination with and admiration of Harry's scar, and Scrimgeour's blunt and offensive but nonetheless partially true idea that the wizarding community is in need of hope that someone might be destined to defeat Voldemort.)
It is interesting to note that Harry, marked and scarred by sin and death, and still vulnerable to their powers, is NOT marked with the mark of evil’s choosing – if Voldemort had planned to give him a scar, he would undoubtedly have used the “dark mark” associated with his reign of terror, the skull and crossbones that he usually leaves as a calling card for his murders. Instead, Harry is marked with a lightning bolt – a complex symbol that could in turn be read in two ways. Lightning can be sudden and violent, and it can cause fiery devastation, but it can also be beautiful, a power harnessed for good. It is, after all, a symbol of light – jagged, painful light, yes, but light nonetheless, that tears the darkness asunder.
JKR certainly shows the terrible sense of lightning when she references the "lightning struck tower" in HBP as a sign of calamity. However, outside of HP, there are ways in which lightning can be thought of in positive ways, such as "lightning doesn't strike twice" to connote that one doesn't expect to come across good fortune more than once.
I know of course that the lightning-bolt scar, Harry's "baptism by fire" into the reality of death, if you will, is not Harry's actual baptism. I've written elsewhere about some of the ways in which I think JKR has showed us parallels to Christian initiation in Harry's life. And interestingly, JKR has also let us know that Harry has been christened -- he has a godfather (and she confirmed the fact of the christening in an interview) -- which is one of the few instances I can recall of any reference to the actual church within the HP series. It's also interesting (and perhaps significant?) that she would bother to have him christened, as I understand that is not necessarily a given in the strongly secularUK
Are there ways in which we can view Harry's scar as a sign of hope and healing, and not just devastation and death? I think so. What Voldemort meant for evil has, in some deep Providential sense, been turned to Harry's (and his community's) good.
Sometimes scars make us stronger. And sometimes we need the sobering reminder how precious and costly our lives are.
******
I saved a lot of the longer comments I made to that class, wanting to preserve some of my HP musings, and yesterday I went back and found the ones I was thinking of. I'm going to paste them in below, with only slight editing for clarity (and to cut references to the ongoing discussion from two years ago). Here goes...
********
I've been contemplating Harry's scar -- not just recently, but for the past couple of years, as I've read and re-read the HP books. I've been struck many times by the fact that, whatever else it may symbolize and however it functions, Harry's lightning-bolt scar could be looked at as an echo of Christian baptism.
We know that Harry has been marked, practically from birth, by the reality of death. At the age of one, he is marked inwardly in the sense that he experiences the loss of both parents, and he is literally marked by Voldemort, whose killing curse directed at the young baby rebounds and almost mortally wounds the dark wizard instead, sending him into exile as a wraith awaiting a comeback when Harry is older. Harry will carry the lightning bolt scar of this encounter for the rest of his life, a scar that continues to cause him physical and mental anguish as Voldemort plots his return to power.
I find it interesting that JKR chose to place this important symbolic mark on Harry’s forehead. In most historic Christian traditions, the forehead is marked with the sign of the cross at baptism (showing one is sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own) and then annually marked with the sign of the cross in ashes at the beginning of each Lent, to remind of one’s fragile mortality. The sign of the cross, a symbol of great power and love, given as blessing, is very different of course from the unintended sign “given” to Harry by the curse of the evil Voldemort, but they seem to share some connections.
We are so used to the cross as a symbol of suffering love and ultimate victory that we forget it too was originally a symbol of great fear and death, a sign of one of the worst methods of killing the
Could we not say that in JKR's fictional world, Harry’s scar is both a painful reminder of the power of evil and death and their ability to wound us, and the sign to his community that there is still hope that evil can be overcome? (Recall the early Ron's fascination with and admiration of Harry's scar, and Scrimgeour's blunt and offensive but nonetheless partially true idea that the wizarding community is in need of hope that someone might be destined to defeat Voldemort.)
It is interesting to note that Harry, marked and scarred by sin and death, and still vulnerable to their powers, is NOT marked with the mark of evil’s choosing – if Voldemort had planned to give him a scar, he would undoubtedly have used the “dark mark” associated with his reign of terror, the skull and crossbones that he usually leaves as a calling card for his murders. Instead, Harry is marked with a lightning bolt – a complex symbol that could in turn be read in two ways. Lightning can be sudden and violent, and it can cause fiery devastation, but it can also be beautiful, a power harnessed for good. It is, after all, a symbol of light – jagged, painful light, yes, but light nonetheless, that tears the darkness asunder.
JKR certainly shows the terrible sense of lightning when she references the "lightning struck tower" in HBP as a sign of calamity. However, outside of HP, there are ways in which lightning can be thought of in positive ways, such as "lightning doesn't strike twice" to connote that one doesn't expect to come across good fortune more than once.
I know of course that the lightning-bolt scar, Harry's "baptism by fire" into the reality of death, if you will, is not Harry's actual baptism. I've written elsewhere about some of the ways in which I think JKR has showed us parallels to Christian initiation in Harry's life. And interestingly, JKR has also let us know that Harry has been christened -- he has a godfather (and she confirmed the fact of the christening in an interview) -- which is one of the few instances I can recall of any reference to the actual church within the HP series. It's also interesting (and perhaps significant?) that she would bother to have him christened, as I understand that is not necessarily a given in the strongly secular
Are there ways in which we can view Harry's scar as a sign of hope and healing, and not just devastation and death? I think so. What Voldemort meant for evil has, in some deep Providential sense, been turned to Harry's (and his community's) good.
Sometimes scars make us stronger. And sometimes we need the sobering reminder how precious and costly our lives are.
******
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Harry's Really Not So Bad...
I came upon this poem I wrote a few months ago, probably after reading some article or another talking about how good Christian parents should keep their kids away from Harry Potter. I've read many such articles over the years, and I confess I've found them a bit distressing, since I consider myself both a devoted Christian and a huge Harry Potter fan. It's nice to know there are many others out there who find Harry to not only not be anti-Christian, but to be richly steeped in Christian ideals and a springboard for all sorts of thoughtful discussion. Anyway, here's my little "be nice to Harry" rant...
In Defense of Harry
I'm never sure how to respond
When I hear people denigrate Harry.
They've been blasting him since
Long before Half-Blood Prince
And warning parents to be wary.
This boy with a broom and a wand
Has caused such an unholy commotion,
And some people think
He leads kids to the brink
Away from good Christian devotion.
For "witch" is a word that is cursed
By the pious and God-fearing masses
Who aren't sure if they should
Even look for the good
In a book touting wizarding classes.
But I ponder which message is worse:
That the boy with the scar must be hated
Or that in stories of
Moral fiber and love,
Some magic should be tolerated.
I don't have to wonder for long.
My thoughts on this couldn't be clearer
If they leaped from the haze
As I patiently gazed
With intent into Erised's mirror.
It is possible that I am wrong,
But whenever I sift through the noise,
I am sure God is love
And that He is above
Flinging lightning bolts at orphan boys.
In Defense of Harry
I'm never sure how to respond
When I hear people denigrate Harry.
They've been blasting him since
Long before Half-Blood Prince
And warning parents to be wary.
This boy with a broom and a wand
Has caused such an unholy commotion,
And some people think
He leads kids to the brink
Away from good Christian devotion.
For "witch" is a word that is cursed
By the pious and God-fearing masses
Who aren't sure if they should
Even look for the good
In a book touting wizarding classes.
But I ponder which message is worse:
That the boy with the scar must be hated
Or that in stories of
Moral fiber and love,
Some magic should be tolerated.
I don't have to wonder for long.
My thoughts on this couldn't be clearer
If they leaped from the haze
As I patiently gazed
With intent into Erised's mirror.
It is possible that I am wrong,
But whenever I sift through the noise,
I am sure God is love
And that He is above
Flinging lightning bolts at orphan boys.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Echoes from the Chamber
Ounce for ounce, pound for pound, I think Chamber of Secrets may be the best book in the series so far.
Let me explain. I love them all, of course, and enjoy re-reading each one of them for different reasons. I have sentimental feelings about Sorcerer's Stone because it's the first book and introduces us to Harry's world; I still shiver whenever we get anywhere near the denouement of Prisoner of Azkaban because the strongest, most-long-lasting emotional/spiritual image for me in the entire series is Prongs; I admire the complexity of the plot of Goblet of Fire and think the graveyard scene remains the most harrowing scene in the series, with the shades of Harry's parents running a close second to Prongs for emotional impact for me. I think the dance of despair and life-giving humor in Order of the Phoenix is very well done, and necessary, and I have a special feeling for that book because I think it will always be the most misunderstood. And when it comes to Half-Blood Prince, I am in awe of the mysterious, brilliant finish that sets us up so well for the finale.
But Chamber of Secrets, of all the books, just feels like the best-told story in and of itself. If there had never been another book, yes, I would have had millions of questions, but I think I still would have been satisfied in some odd way with this story all by itself. It's got some of the funniest scenes and moments in the series (singing Valentines! flying Ford Anglia! Moaning Myrtle! Gilderoy Lockhart's pictures in hairnets! The headless hunt!) and some of the sweetest and most powerful moments at deep symbolic levels (Fawkes; the sorting hat; Gryffindor's sword).
But although I think this is possibly the most tightly-written and best told story of the bunch, I'm glad it wasn't a stand-alone. I think it packs such a wallop for most of us now because of all we know that comes after it. The foreshadowings and echoes are so thick in Chamber of Secrets, you can practically cut them with a butterknife. (You know, the one next to the butterdish that Ginny Weasley sticks her elbow in.)
I was lying sick in bed this afternoon while reading the finale. It's so well-done that it still leaves me a bit breathless even when I know what's coming. But in addition to just enjoying the ride ("Amazing! This is just like magic!") I found myself noting several places that felt extra-heavy with meaning because of the unfolding of later events.
Just a few things I noticed:
"Ginny -- don't be dead -- please don't be dead -- " He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over." ("The Heir of Slytherin," p. 389)
Beyond the obvious here -- that Harry will one day fall in love with Ginny and come to feel even more protective about her life -- what I found dripping with meaning and hope in this line was "He flung his wand aside..."
It had never struck me before with such force how foolish and dear Harry can be, especially at this stage of the game. He is completely vulnerable. He doesn't know Tom Riddle is down there, I know, and doesn't even suspect him once he first sees him. He cares less about keeping up his guard, even in a very dangerous situation fraught with peril, than he does about caring for the wounded girl lying at his feet. I love his character for just this reason. And I think the flinging of the wand here is in some ways a foreshadowing of what's to come. We know Harry can't best Riddle/Voldemort with a wand in the end. We know that he has to defeat him, somehow, with love. This is Harry, open and vulnerable and loving. Despite the fact that he does what looks foolish and surrenders his wand (Riddle spends the next few minutes taunting him with it and rolling it in his fingers while he explains to Harry who he is; he even uses Harry's wand to write his name in the air, so chilling!) it is Harry who emerges victorious in the chamber.
And then there's this:
"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him..." (p. 402)
Shivers. What have we been seeing in the past four books since CoS? Dumbledore, arming Harry with the "best weapons" he can give him...knowledge of the enemy, yes, but more than that, wisdom, humility, vulnerability, the joy of being human, LOVE.
A few paragraphs earlier, Riddle had derided the "weapons" or one might more accurately say "gifts" sent by Dumbledore: Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once -- "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" (p. 400)
And oddly enough, Harry feels his courage mounting, even though he can't immediately see the use of the gifts. I love how the gifts are disguised, and look so "foolish to the wise" (who really aren't as wise as they think). I also got some shivers over the "ten Riddles" comment. Such a throwaway little moment, and yet when you begin to consider the "split soul" or split personality of Riddle as we've come to understand it, not so throwaway after all.
Riddle is revealed as the liar he really is throughout this scene, perhaps nowhere more powerfully as when he taunts the wounded Harry, whom he believes is dying. (He doesn't yet realize that Fawkes' pearly tears have the power to heal even a mortal wound like this one.) "So ends the famous Harry Potter...Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends..." (p. 407)
But if there is one thing Harry is not in this moment, it's forsaken. Fawkes crying on his wound is the evidence of that, and the evidence of grace and resurrection. Harry's not deserted and never has been, not even the night his parents died. Perhaps one reason Riddle harps on desertion so much is because he himself understands it at a deep soul level.
I can't wait to read the end of Deathly Hallows and find all the echoes there that were first planted here in Chamber of Secrets. I think there will be far more than we expect.
Let me explain. I love them all, of course, and enjoy re-reading each one of them for different reasons. I have sentimental feelings about Sorcerer's Stone because it's the first book and introduces us to Harry's world; I still shiver whenever we get anywhere near the denouement of Prisoner of Azkaban because the strongest, most-long-lasting emotional/spiritual image for me in the entire series is Prongs; I admire the complexity of the plot of Goblet of Fire and think the graveyard scene remains the most harrowing scene in the series, with the shades of Harry's parents running a close second to Prongs for emotional impact for me. I think the dance of despair and life-giving humor in Order of the Phoenix is very well done, and necessary, and I have a special feeling for that book because I think it will always be the most misunderstood. And when it comes to Half-Blood Prince, I am in awe of the mysterious, brilliant finish that sets us up so well for the finale.
But Chamber of Secrets, of all the books, just feels like the best-told story in and of itself. If there had never been another book, yes, I would have had millions of questions, but I think I still would have been satisfied in some odd way with this story all by itself. It's got some of the funniest scenes and moments in the series (singing Valentines! flying Ford Anglia! Moaning Myrtle! Gilderoy Lockhart's pictures in hairnets! The headless hunt!) and some of the sweetest and most powerful moments at deep symbolic levels (Fawkes; the sorting hat; Gryffindor's sword).
But although I think this is possibly the most tightly-written and best told story of the bunch, I'm glad it wasn't a stand-alone. I think it packs such a wallop for most of us now because of all we know that comes after it. The foreshadowings and echoes are so thick in Chamber of Secrets, you can practically cut them with a butterknife. (You know, the one next to the butterdish that Ginny Weasley sticks her elbow in.)
I was lying sick in bed this afternoon while reading the finale. It's so well-done that it still leaves me a bit breathless even when I know what's coming. But in addition to just enjoying the ride ("Amazing! This is just like magic!") I found myself noting several places that felt extra-heavy with meaning because of the unfolding of later events.
Just a few things I noticed:
"Ginny -- don't be dead -- please don't be dead -- " He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over." ("The Heir of Slytherin," p. 389)
Beyond the obvious here -- that Harry will one day fall in love with Ginny and come to feel even more protective about her life -- what I found dripping with meaning and hope in this line was "He flung his wand aside..."
It had never struck me before with such force how foolish and dear Harry can be, especially at this stage of the game. He is completely vulnerable. He doesn't know Tom Riddle is down there, I know, and doesn't even suspect him once he first sees him. He cares less about keeping up his guard, even in a very dangerous situation fraught with peril, than he does about caring for the wounded girl lying at his feet. I love his character for just this reason. And I think the flinging of the wand here is in some ways a foreshadowing of what's to come. We know Harry can't best Riddle/Voldemort with a wand in the end. We know that he has to defeat him, somehow, with love. This is Harry, open and vulnerable and loving. Despite the fact that he does what looks foolish and surrenders his wand (Riddle spends the next few minutes taunting him with it and rolling it in his fingers while he explains to Harry who he is; he even uses Harry's wand to write his name in the air, so chilling!) it is Harry who emerges victorious in the chamber.
And then there's this:
"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him..." (p. 402)
Shivers. What have we been seeing in the past four books since CoS? Dumbledore, arming Harry with the "best weapons" he can give him...knowledge of the enemy, yes, but more than that, wisdom, humility, vulnerability, the joy of being human, LOVE.
A few paragraphs earlier, Riddle had derided the "weapons" or one might more accurately say "gifts" sent by Dumbledore: Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once -- "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" (p. 400)
And oddly enough, Harry feels his courage mounting, even though he can't immediately see the use of the gifts. I love how the gifts are disguised, and look so "foolish to the wise" (who really aren't as wise as they think). I also got some shivers over the "ten Riddles" comment. Such a throwaway little moment, and yet when you begin to consider the "split soul" or split personality of Riddle as we've come to understand it, not so throwaway after all.
Riddle is revealed as the liar he really is throughout this scene, perhaps nowhere more powerfully as when he taunts the wounded Harry, whom he believes is dying. (He doesn't yet realize that Fawkes' pearly tears have the power to heal even a mortal wound like this one.) "So ends the famous Harry Potter...Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends..." (p. 407)
But if there is one thing Harry is not in this moment, it's forsaken. Fawkes crying on his wound is the evidence of that, and the evidence of grace and resurrection. Harry's not deserted and never has been, not even the night his parents died. Perhaps one reason Riddle harps on desertion so much is because he himself understands it at a deep soul level.
I can't wait to read the end of Deathly Hallows and find all the echoes there that were first planted here in Chamber of Secrets. I think there will be far more than we expect.
Dumbledore's Socks
One of my very favorite little moments in the entire Harry Potter series occurs at the tail end of The Mirror of Erised. Of course, that entire chapter is fantastic: Harry's first actually enjoyable Christmas, our introduction to Christmas in the wizarding world, the grand debut of the invisibility cloak, and Harry's haunting encounters with the titular mirror. But I just love that little nugget at the end, on page 214, when Harry asks Dumbledore what he sees when he looks into the mirror.
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared.
"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
I love it first because it so gently and beautifully eases Harry - and us - out of an incredibly solemn, melancholy moment. It breaks the tension, leaving Harry puzzling over Dumbledore's curious response as he goes to bed rather than brooding over the desire to see his parents once more. (Incidentally, there was an episode of Smallville that reminds me a lot of this chapter, in which Lana - orphaned at the age of three when her parents were killed by the meteor shower accompanying Clark's arrival - takes drugs that cause her to flat-line for a couple moments at a time, in the hopes of seeing her parents again, nearly leading to her complete self-destruction.) It allows the chapter to end much less drearily than it could have, since this is a vision Harry craves so deepy.
Second, it's such a ridiculous image, this ancient, highly respected wizard standing forlornly amidst a pile of freshly unwrapped books, tut-tutting to himself that he's going to have to put up with cold feet for another January. It's silly because socks are the stereotypical gift that no one wants to get for Christmas, and Dumbledore certainly shouldn't need anyone to get socks for him; I'm sure he can afford as many as his heart desires. 2
But third, while I think this was partly just a way to lighten the atmosphere, I do think there is truth in what he says. Dumbledore is viewed by everyone, even McGonagall, as just a bit unapproachable. He's marvelously down-to-earth, but he's so highly regarded that it's hard for people to think of him as a regular guy who is plagued and comforted by the same things they are, and I think sometimes he'd rather be just plain Albus instead of high-and-mighty Professor Dumbledore. I think he shows that again on 301 when he samples Harry's Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He's not too good for the simple things in life. He wants Harry to realize that, noble, wise and wonderful as he is, he puts his socks on one leg at a time like everybody else.
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared.
"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
I love it first because it so gently and beautifully eases Harry - and us - out of an incredibly solemn, melancholy moment. It breaks the tension, leaving Harry puzzling over Dumbledore's curious response as he goes to bed rather than brooding over the desire to see his parents once more. (Incidentally, there was an episode of Smallville that reminds me a lot of this chapter, in which Lana - orphaned at the age of three when her parents were killed by the meteor shower accompanying Clark's arrival - takes drugs that cause her to flat-line for a couple moments at a time, in the hopes of seeing her parents again, nearly leading to her complete self-destruction.) It allows the chapter to end much less drearily than it could have, since this is a vision Harry craves so deepy.
Second, it's such a ridiculous image, this ancient, highly respected wizard standing forlornly amidst a pile of freshly unwrapped books, tut-tutting to himself that he's going to have to put up with cold feet for another January. It's silly because socks are the stereotypical gift that no one wants to get for Christmas, and Dumbledore certainly shouldn't need anyone to get socks for him; I'm sure he can afford as many as his heart desires. 2
But third, while I think this was partly just a way to lighten the atmosphere, I do think there is truth in what he says. Dumbledore is viewed by everyone, even McGonagall, as just a bit unapproachable. He's marvelously down-to-earth, but he's so highly regarded that it's hard for people to think of him as a regular guy who is plagued and comforted by the same things they are, and I think sometimes he'd rather be just plain Albus instead of high-and-mighty Professor Dumbledore. I think he shows that again on 301 when he samples Harry's Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He's not too good for the simple things in life. He wants Harry to realize that, noble, wise and wonderful as he is, he puts his socks on one leg at a time like everybody else.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Muggle-baiting
"All I got were a few shrinking door keys..." yawned Mr. Weasley....
"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.
"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it...Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking -- they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face..."
(Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 3, "The Burrow," p. 48)
So I've finally figured out why I keep losing my library card. Twice in the past two weeks, I've been sure that I've known exactly where it was, only to have to hunt madly for it and end up finding it somewhere else. I've decided I prefer the magic reason to the other possible reason, which is simply that I'm getting older and losing my memory. :-) Much more fun to assume that one or more of the librarians at the little library down the road actually hails from the wizarding world and has an offbeat sense of humor. I have my guesses as to which one(s) it might be!
"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.
"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it...Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking -- they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face..."
(Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 3, "The Burrow," p. 48)
So I've finally figured out why I keep losing my library card. Twice in the past two weeks, I've been sure that I've known exactly where it was, only to have to hunt madly for it and end up finding it somewhere else. I've decided I prefer the magic reason to the other possible reason, which is simply that I'm getting older and losing my memory. :-) Much more fun to assume that one or more of the librarians at the little library down the road actually hails from the wizarding world and has an offbeat sense of humor. I have my guesses as to which one(s) it might be!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The Significance of Lily's Name
This morning I had a few more minutes to read in Sorcerer's Stone and got up to the chapter with the "Mirror of Erised." I always find the moment when Harry first realizes he can see his long-dead family in the glass to be very moving. The hunger with which he stares at their images, and how we come to find out that the mirror shows nothing more, nothing less than the deepest desires and longings of one's heart -- I still get a bit choked up even though I've read the scene countless times.
So I had that image in the back of my mind as I worked this morning. And one of the things I had to do at the office today was compile a list of people in our congregation who bought Easter lilies in honor or memory of loved ones, to beautify the church sanctuary this coming Sunday.
I got to thinking about the significance of Easter Lilies -- why we decorate with them on Easter, and what they mean -- innocence, purity, resurrection, remembrance -- and it suddenly dawned on me that JKR, who chooses her character's names oh so wisely, did not pick Lily accidentally. That's probably a "duh" kind of moment, but I still thought I'd share it.
I did a bit of google research to find out more about the Easter Lily tradition. Purity, virtue, life, hope -- those are some of the other words I found associated with the lily, besides the ones I already mentioned. There's also an old tradition that says lilies sprang up and bloomed in the Garden of Gethsamene from the drops of blood that Jesus sweated during his night of agony.
Interestingly, lilies also have significance in non-Christian legends and fables. In Greek mythology, apparently the milk-white lilies are associated with milk from Juno's breasts, hence with motherhood. The lilies were supposed to spring up from droplets of milk (although some of the milk also formed clusters of stars -- hence the name of our galaxy, the Milky Way).
The lily also has a long association with the Virgin Mary. Think of all the annunciation pictures where Mary is holding a lily!
I got most of this, by the way, from the following website: http://www.appleseeds.org/easter-lily.htm
I find all of this very apt for the character of Lily Potter. A loving, courageous mother who sacrifices herself at great cost for the life of her infant son. A woman whose blood plants, if you will, seeds of hope and life. It's her blood flowing in Harry's veins that grants him protection from evil while he is a child. One wonders if that blood, and the life-giving act that shaped him so profoundly before he could even consciously remember, is not what has kept Harry "pure in heart," open and vulnerable to keep loving even in the fact of great suffering. It's that purity, that love, that vulnerability, Dumbledore insists, that are Harry's chief weapons in the war against evil.
And isn't it interesting that Dumbledore himself, Harry's protector and mentor and one of the people who becomes a de-facto parent for Harry when the boy is orphaned, is named Albus? Albus, which means "white." I know the alchemical imagery is an important factor in his name, but it strikes me that it also gives him a deep kinship with Lily.
Now what we're to make of the name Petunia, I'm not sure. It's a much more common, garden variety flower, true...I did a quick look-up of "flower meanings" and discovered that Petunia is associated with anger and resentment. Though apparently sending petunias to someone can indicate to them that you find their presence soothing or calming. Hmm...
So I had that image in the back of my mind as I worked this morning. And one of the things I had to do at the office today was compile a list of people in our congregation who bought Easter lilies in honor or memory of loved ones, to beautify the church sanctuary this coming Sunday.
I got to thinking about the significance of Easter Lilies -- why we decorate with them on Easter, and what they mean -- innocence, purity, resurrection, remembrance -- and it suddenly dawned on me that JKR, who chooses her character's names oh so wisely, did not pick Lily accidentally. That's probably a "duh" kind of moment, but I still thought I'd share it.
I did a bit of google research to find out more about the Easter Lily tradition. Purity, virtue, life, hope -- those are some of the other words I found associated with the lily, besides the ones I already mentioned. There's also an old tradition that says lilies sprang up and bloomed in the Garden of Gethsamene from the drops of blood that Jesus sweated during his night of agony.
Interestingly, lilies also have significance in non-Christian legends and fables. In Greek mythology, apparently the milk-white lilies are associated with milk from Juno's breasts, hence with motherhood. The lilies were supposed to spring up from droplets of milk (although some of the milk also formed clusters of stars -- hence the name of our galaxy, the Milky Way).
The lily also has a long association with the Virgin Mary. Think of all the annunciation pictures where Mary is holding a lily!
I got most of this, by the way, from the following website: http://www.appleseeds.org/easter-lily.htm
I find all of this very apt for the character of Lily Potter. A loving, courageous mother who sacrifices herself at great cost for the life of her infant son. A woman whose blood plants, if you will, seeds of hope and life. It's her blood flowing in Harry's veins that grants him protection from evil while he is a child. One wonders if that blood, and the life-giving act that shaped him so profoundly before he could even consciously remember, is not what has kept Harry "pure in heart," open and vulnerable to keep loving even in the fact of great suffering. It's that purity, that love, that vulnerability, Dumbledore insists, that are Harry's chief weapons in the war against evil.
And isn't it interesting that Dumbledore himself, Harry's protector and mentor and one of the people who becomes a de-facto parent for Harry when the boy is orphaned, is named Albus? Albus, which means "white." I know the alchemical imagery is an important factor in his name, but it strikes me that it also gives him a deep kinship with Lily.
Now what we're to make of the name Petunia, I'm not sure. It's a much more common, garden variety flower, true...I did a quick look-up of "flower meanings" and discovered that Petunia is associated with anger and resentment. Though apparently sending petunias to someone can indicate to them that you find their presence soothing or calming. Hmm...
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Dear Harry
My dear Harry,
I hope you don't mind if I drop you a note from time to time over the next few months. You see, while I'm awaiting the final installment of your saga, I'm re-reading the first six books. And the more I read, the more I find myself wishing I could impart a few well-chosen words of advice. I'm not as old nor as wise as Dumbledore (in fact, I'm probably closest in age to Molly Weasley...and yes, I'm a Mom) but I can't shake the feeling that you need all the help you can get.
I just finished reading the chapter in Sorcerer's Stone where you and Ron knock out the 12-foot mountain troll that you accidentally locked in the girl's bathroom where Hermione was crying. I have always loved the action in this chapter for the way it began to cement the bonds of friendship between you, Ron and Hermione. And that's my first word of advice to you this evening: remember them. Be grateful for them. And let them help you.
I know from the end of Half-Blood Prince that you already feel grateful beyond words for their offer to go with you on your horcrux hunt. But there's a tiny bit of me that's worried you'll think twice about their offer and try to talk them out of it. Don't. It won't do a bit of good, because they'll just come anyway. Have you noticed how stubborn they both are? And how much they love you? A guy never had better friends, Harry, and you need your friends now.
Notice too, how their skills complement your's. You would never have gotten through many of the things you've had to do over the years without Ron and Hermione. Ron may act a bit daft at times, but when it comes to courage, the well runs deep in that boy (and in his whole family). He's also pretty good at thinking on his feet. Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge and incredible memory are also traits you're going to need. Frankly, you don't have much time to be looking things up in the Hogwarts library anymore...but with Hermione around, you won't need to. She's spent the last six years absorbing it all.
My second bit of advice: Don't judge a book by its cover. I could mean that literally, you know... you've had plenty of practice in mis-judging books. Tom Riddle's diary and the Half-Blood Prince's potions book both leap to mind. But in this case, I'm talking about people. I think you have become a fairly good judge of character over the years, but you've always tended to make snap judgments and to stick by some of your understandings or impressions of who people are -- sometimes longer than merited. You've got to let yourself look deeper than surface impressions. Remember how Neville just looked like a forgetful, scaredy-cat at the beginning? He's turned out to have the courage of a lion -- there's a reason he got put into Griffyndor! (You're going to need Neville!!!) Remember how looney and dreamy Luna seemed? Recall that she outlasted almost everyone in the battle at the DoM, and that her compassion shows acute understanding of the needs and feelings of others.
I'm heartened by your growing sense of pity (if not downright empathy) for your schoolboy nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Even Malfoy can change, Harry. Remember how he wavered and lowered his wand on the tower with Dumbledore? Don't underestimate the possibility that even some of the people you've thought of as enemies may turn out, in the end, to want to help you fight your much larger enemy. That's all I'll say about that -- for the moment.
If love is the power you have that Tom doesn't -- and I'd take Dumbledore's word to the bank on that one -- then look around and see who loves you. Lean on those folks, and don't underestimate their desire to help you in your darkest hour. You need them, not only the strength of their love, but their accumulated grit and wisdom and humor and stubbornness.
I hope you don't mind if I drop you a note from time to time over the next few months. You see, while I'm awaiting the final installment of your saga, I'm re-reading the first six books. And the more I read, the more I find myself wishing I could impart a few well-chosen words of advice. I'm not as old nor as wise as Dumbledore (in fact, I'm probably closest in age to Molly Weasley...and yes, I'm a Mom) but I can't shake the feeling that you need all the help you can get.
I just finished reading the chapter in Sorcerer's Stone where you and Ron knock out the 12-foot mountain troll that you accidentally locked in the girl's bathroom where Hermione was crying. I have always loved the action in this chapter for the way it began to cement the bonds of friendship between you, Ron and Hermione. And that's my first word of advice to you this evening: remember them. Be grateful for them. And let them help you.
I know from the end of Half-Blood Prince that you already feel grateful beyond words for their offer to go with you on your horcrux hunt. But there's a tiny bit of me that's worried you'll think twice about their offer and try to talk them out of it. Don't. It won't do a bit of good, because they'll just come anyway. Have you noticed how stubborn they both are? And how much they love you? A guy never had better friends, Harry, and you need your friends now.
Notice too, how their skills complement your's. You would never have gotten through many of the things you've had to do over the years without Ron and Hermione. Ron may act a bit daft at times, but when it comes to courage, the well runs deep in that boy (and in his whole family). He's also pretty good at thinking on his feet. Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge and incredible memory are also traits you're going to need. Frankly, you don't have much time to be looking things up in the Hogwarts library anymore...but with Hermione around, you won't need to. She's spent the last six years absorbing it all.
My second bit of advice: Don't judge a book by its cover. I could mean that literally, you know... you've had plenty of practice in mis-judging books. Tom Riddle's diary and the Half-Blood Prince's potions book both leap to mind. But in this case, I'm talking about people. I think you have become a fairly good judge of character over the years, but you've always tended to make snap judgments and to stick by some of your understandings or impressions of who people are -- sometimes longer than merited. You've got to let yourself look deeper than surface impressions. Remember how Neville just looked like a forgetful, scaredy-cat at the beginning? He's turned out to have the courage of a lion -- there's a reason he got put into Griffyndor! (You're going to need Neville!!!) Remember how looney and dreamy Luna seemed? Recall that she outlasted almost everyone in the battle at the DoM, and that her compassion shows acute understanding of the needs and feelings of others.
I'm heartened by your growing sense of pity (if not downright empathy) for your schoolboy nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Even Malfoy can change, Harry. Remember how he wavered and lowered his wand on the tower with Dumbledore? Don't underestimate the possibility that even some of the people you've thought of as enemies may turn out, in the end, to want to help you fight your much larger enemy. That's all I'll say about that -- for the moment.
If love is the power you have that Tom doesn't -- and I'd take Dumbledore's word to the bank on that one -- then look around and see who loves you. Lean on those folks, and don't underestimate their desire to help you in your darkest hour. You need them, not only the strength of their love, but their accumulated grit and wisdom and humor and stubbornness.
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