We've all had this conversation:
"You're a Harry Potter fan?" someone says to us. "So am I! I must have seen each of the movies a dozen times!"
You: "What about the books?"
Someone: "Oh, I haven't read the books. But I'm a HUGE fan!"
Doesn't that make you want to scream? Can we not all agree that, if you have not actually read J.K. Rowling's original Harry Potter novels, then...
YOU'RE NOT A HARRY POTTER FAN!
I don't care how many times you've watched those ridiculous movies. I don't care that you know the film dialogue off by heart and that you can name the actor who played the auror who is standing at the gates of Hogwarts when Harry trudges up, his face bloodied, near the start of the film version of The Half-Blood Prince, or that you think the portrayal of Draco Malfoy is simply dreamy.
If you have not read the books, even once, you are not a real Harry Potter fan.
That's why I can't stand Harry Potter trivia events these days. In North America, at least, the organisers' idea of a show stopper, a stumper, a question that separates the fans from the wannabes, is something ridiculous like: Who was the gaffer on the second movie? I don't know and I don't care. I can barely watch the films at all, not to mention studying their ludicrously long credits to prepare for a trivia contest. Ask me about Rowling's world, her characters, her plots, her details... don't ask me about the movies.
What is happening in American society is that the movies are replacing the original books as the canon of Harry Potter. This is ridiculous. The movies are fine as stand alone projects -- some of them are even mildly entertaining -- but they cannot and must not replace Rowling's works as the foundation of Harry Potter fandom.
Not only are the film versions significantly inferior to the books as stories, as narratives, as world-builders -- they are flawed even as films. They are internally inconsistent and self-contradictory. They have plot and character-development gaps through which you could fly a hippogriff and they undermine many of the most praiseworthy of the themes, of the creative decisions, of the original books.
I have described many of what I perceive to be the films' shortcomings in other blog posts so I won't rehash all of that now. Suffice it to say, in my Harry Potter fandom, if you haven't read the books, you're not a Harry Potter fan. Okay?
Showing posts with label Draco Malfoy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Draco Malfoy. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
Thursday, May 31, 2018
What is Harry's crime in the Half-Blood Prince?
There is something that has always bothered my about one of the key scenes in The Half-Blood Prince.
As you will no doubt recall, in the later stages of the novel, Harry sees on the Marauders Map that Malfoy is in a boys bathroom with Moaning Myrtle. Harry enters the bathroom and finds Malfoy leaning over a sink, crying, while Myrtle attempts to soothe him.
Harry takes no action, other than to stand looking at Malfoy. Malfoy pulls himself together and looks up into the mirror. He sees Harry standing behind him, draws his wand and casts a spell at Harry. That spell misses and a duel ensues.
The two are well-matched (surprisingly so, considering Harry's experience and training, but I wrote about that in an earlier post). After several shots back and forth, Malfoy attempts to cast the Cruciatus curse on Harry but Harry is a shade quicker, hitting Malfoy with the mysterious Sectum Sempra spell that he found in his potions text.
Malfoy collapses to the floor, bleeding profusely and dropping his wand. The duel is over. Harry takes no further offensive action but merely stands by as Myrtle screams and Snape thunders into the room to render aid to the bleeding Malfoy.
From what I can tell, Harry did nothing wrong. He walked into a public bathroom. He watched a schoolmate cry. He responded to an attack by that schoolmate. He avoided being tortured by that schoolmate (who was attempting to use an Unforgiveable Curse on him). He took effective action to render his attacker incapable of continuing the attack, without actually killing his attacker. He took no further aggressive steps once his attacker was incapacitated.
Where is the crime? Why is he punished? Why is he subjected to such significant vilification from Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and even Hermione?
Malfoy cast the first spell and started the duel with no more provocation than that Harry happened to be standing there watching him cry. Malfoy escalated the duel by attempting to cast an Unforgiveable Curse. Harry defended himself once attacked and stopped once he had rendered his attacker incapable of continuing to attack.
Malfoy was forgiven for attacking Harry and forgiven for casting an Unforgiveable Curse.
Harry was found guilty of defending himself effectively from an unprovoked, serious, perhaps deadly attack.
Okay, I can understand that Snape, who hates Harry immensely for a variety of perhaps understandable reasons, might see this an opportunity to get at Harry. Fine.
But McGonagall? Once she heard Harry's story and interviewed Myrtle, wouldn't she intervene in support of Harry? Wouldn't she demand that Malfoy, once recovered, be punished (and likely expelled) for launching an unprovoked attack on a schoolmate and for attempting to hit that schoolmate with an Unforgiveable Curse?
And Hermione? Sure, she doesn't like the Half-Blood Prince's book. And sure, she quite properly chastises Harry for using an untried curse on someone like this. But why does she so thoroughly condemn Harry for his actions?
From a narrative perspective, on the other hand, I can understand this scene and its outcome. It provides action in the middle of a fairly static plot. It permits the duel between Malfoy and Potter that we have been hoping for since book one. It creates a reason for Harry to be forced to miss the final Quidditch match and sets up the climax of the Harry-Ginny romantic build up.
And, of course, if Malfoy were punished or expelled at this point, the climax of the entire novel would be impossible -- with Malfoy kicked out of school, there would be no way for Dumbledore to be trapped by Death Eaters on the top of the tower that fateful night.
So I see the value in the duel and Harry's punishment to Rowling as a writer but... the outcome of the duel still does not make any sense in the world of the novels.
Rowling would likely have been better to have the duel start less decisively -- Malfoy and Harry square off, trade words, then begin to duel together. And she should never have had Malfoy attempt an Unforgiveable Curse. It doesn't have much impact in the course of the action scene, it is unsuccessful and it creates the problem of Malfoy getting away with attempting to cast it.
Then, Harry could legitimately face punishment for using a curse without knowing what it did and, perhaps, for responding to Malfoy's less nasty attack with a ferocious spell that endangered the life of a schoolmate.
These are not major changes I am suggesting but I think they would make the outcome make much more sense and not seem so contrived.
As you will no doubt recall, in the later stages of the novel, Harry sees on the Marauders Map that Malfoy is in a boys bathroom with Moaning Myrtle. Harry enters the bathroom and finds Malfoy leaning over a sink, crying, while Myrtle attempts to soothe him.
Harry takes no action, other than to stand looking at Malfoy. Malfoy pulls himself together and looks up into the mirror. He sees Harry standing behind him, draws his wand and casts a spell at Harry. That spell misses and a duel ensues.
The two are well-matched (surprisingly so, considering Harry's experience and training, but I wrote about that in an earlier post). After several shots back and forth, Malfoy attempts to cast the Cruciatus curse on Harry but Harry is a shade quicker, hitting Malfoy with the mysterious Sectum Sempra spell that he found in his potions text.
Malfoy collapses to the floor, bleeding profusely and dropping his wand. The duel is over. Harry takes no further offensive action but merely stands by as Myrtle screams and Snape thunders into the room to render aid to the bleeding Malfoy.
From what I can tell, Harry did nothing wrong. He walked into a public bathroom. He watched a schoolmate cry. He responded to an attack by that schoolmate. He avoided being tortured by that schoolmate (who was attempting to use an Unforgiveable Curse on him). He took effective action to render his attacker incapable of continuing the attack, without actually killing his attacker. He took no further aggressive steps once his attacker was incapacitated.
Where is the crime? Why is he punished? Why is he subjected to such significant vilification from Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and even Hermione?
Malfoy cast the first spell and started the duel with no more provocation than that Harry happened to be standing there watching him cry. Malfoy escalated the duel by attempting to cast an Unforgiveable Curse. Harry defended himself once attacked and stopped once he had rendered his attacker incapable of continuing to attack.
Malfoy was forgiven for attacking Harry and forgiven for casting an Unforgiveable Curse.
Harry was found guilty of defending himself effectively from an unprovoked, serious, perhaps deadly attack.
Okay, I can understand that Snape, who hates Harry immensely for a variety of perhaps understandable reasons, might see this an opportunity to get at Harry. Fine.
But McGonagall? Once she heard Harry's story and interviewed Myrtle, wouldn't she intervene in support of Harry? Wouldn't she demand that Malfoy, once recovered, be punished (and likely expelled) for launching an unprovoked attack on a schoolmate and for attempting to hit that schoolmate with an Unforgiveable Curse?
And Hermione? Sure, she doesn't like the Half-Blood Prince's book. And sure, she quite properly chastises Harry for using an untried curse on someone like this. But why does she so thoroughly condemn Harry for his actions?
From a narrative perspective, on the other hand, I can understand this scene and its outcome. It provides action in the middle of a fairly static plot. It permits the duel between Malfoy and Potter that we have been hoping for since book one. It creates a reason for Harry to be forced to miss the final Quidditch match and sets up the climax of the Harry-Ginny romantic build up.
And, of course, if Malfoy were punished or expelled at this point, the climax of the entire novel would be impossible -- with Malfoy kicked out of school, there would be no way for Dumbledore to be trapped by Death Eaters on the top of the tower that fateful night.
So I see the value in the duel and Harry's punishment to Rowling as a writer but... the outcome of the duel still does not make any sense in the world of the novels.
Rowling would likely have been better to have the duel start less decisively -- Malfoy and Harry square off, trade words, then begin to duel together. And she should never have had Malfoy attempt an Unforgiveable Curse. It doesn't have much impact in the course of the action scene, it is unsuccessful and it creates the problem of Malfoy getting away with attempting to cast it.
Then, Harry could legitimately face punishment for using a curse without knowing what it did and, perhaps, for responding to Malfoy's less nasty attack with a ferocious spell that endangered the life of a schoolmate.
These are not major changes I am suggesting but I think they would make the outcome make much more sense and not seem so contrived.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
The imperfect choice for Prefect
Help me figure something out. I'm re-reading The Order of the Phoenix and I've just come to the part where Ron and Hermione receive their Prefect badges from Hogwarts.
A big deal is made about the fact that Harry was not chosen instead of Ron -- everyone thought he would be -- and, if I recall correctly, Dumbledore will eventually explain to Harry, at the end of the book, that he didn't want to put any more pressure on our hero than he was already facing.
Good enough.
But tell me why Dumbledore would name Draco Malfoy a prefect for Slytherin. The headmaster is well aware that Draco's dad is a confirmed Death Eater. He knows that Draco is Harry's nemesis and that, with the powers of a Prefect, Draco would have a great deal more power to bother, upset and harass Harry throughout the year.
So why, if Dumbledore is worried about putting too much additional pressure on Harry, does he name Draco a Prefect? Why not someone else? Even Crabbe or Goyle would be a better choice, since they are too stupid to be really harmful to Harry. Even if Draco is telling them what to do, their thickness would provide something of a buffer and the fact that Dumbledore refused to recognize Draco as a Prefect should make Harry feel a little bit better about being passed over.
The only think I can think of is that the Ministry intervened in these choices as well. Maybe Lucius paid Fudge to force Dumbledore to name Draco as Prefect. We see Draco's dad and the Minister of Magic together at the start of the book -- perhaps that's when the demand was made and granted.
I simply cannot believe Dumbledore would make this choice on his own.
A big deal is made about the fact that Harry was not chosen instead of Ron -- everyone thought he would be -- and, if I recall correctly, Dumbledore will eventually explain to Harry, at the end of the book, that he didn't want to put any more pressure on our hero than he was already facing.
Good enough.
But tell me why Dumbledore would name Draco Malfoy a prefect for Slytherin. The headmaster is well aware that Draco's dad is a confirmed Death Eater. He knows that Draco is Harry's nemesis and that, with the powers of a Prefect, Draco would have a great deal more power to bother, upset and harass Harry throughout the year.
So why, if Dumbledore is worried about putting too much additional pressure on Harry, does he name Draco a Prefect? Why not someone else? Even Crabbe or Goyle would be a better choice, since they are too stupid to be really harmful to Harry. Even if Draco is telling them what to do, their thickness would provide something of a buffer and the fact that Dumbledore refused to recognize Draco as a Prefect should make Harry feel a little bit better about being passed over.
The only think I can think of is that the Ministry intervened in these choices as well. Maybe Lucius paid Fudge to force Dumbledore to name Draco as Prefect. We see Draco's dad and the Minister of Magic together at the start of the book -- perhaps that's when the demand was made and granted.
I simply cannot believe Dumbledore would make this choice on his own.
Monday, February 29, 2016
If it's French in the original English, how does it translate?
I am reading and enjoying the French translations of the Harry Potter novels, published by Folio Junior. Through this experience, I am seeing the Potter stories in a new light, improving on my French comprehension and learning a thing or two about the practice of translating literature from one language into another.
Translator Jean-Francois Ménard seems, to my untrained eye, to have done a wonderful job translating Rowling's prose, remaining true to her intent but exercising enough creative/translator's license to ensure that the writing is as lively, accurate and interesting in French as it is in the original English.
After all, sometimes a literal translation just doesn't work. Especially with language as idiomatic as that used by J.K. in these books.
As I started the fourth novel, Harry Potter et la Coupe de Feu, I was quite interested to see how Ménard would deal in his translation with the fact that the English-speaking main characters encounter and interact with French-speaking people from Beauxbatons.
The first encounter between English and French speakers in Rowling's fourth book takes place in the wooded area that offers refuge for Quidditch World Cup fans who want to get away from the frightening march of the masked Death Eaters through the camp ground.
Harry, Hermione and Ron have encountered Draco Malfoy and are just starting to search for the rest of the Weasley kids when they hear a group of young people speaking loudly to each other.
This group is, of course, made up of Beauxbatons students, who are frightened and looking for Madame Maxime,their head master.
In the original English novel, Harry and his pals speak English, the Beauxbatons students speak French, and no one understands each other so they just move on.
But in the French translation, everybody speaks French. Yet, the two groups still don't seem to understand each other and so they just move on. When a French reader reads an English book in translation that involves French characters, does she keep in mind the fact that two different languages are at play, even though everyone is speaking French?
I have to admit, this has gotten me all turned around inside my head.
When I read a French novel in translation (into English), what language do English speaking characters speak in the English translation?
It's a strange moment. One of the French students says something to Ron, he says "Pardon" and the French student says, "Il ne comprend rien, celui la." ("He doesn't understand anything, that one there") As the French students move off, the English students hear clearly a mention of "Potdelard", which of course is a mispronunciation of the French version of the name of the English school of witchcraft and wizardry -- Poudlard.
In some ways, the translation is wonderfully written with fun plays on the language. For example, Ron says "Pardon", which means the same thing in French and in English, only the pronunciation is different.
As a native English speaker, I heard in my head Ron say "Pardon" in English, to remind me that there is a language barrier here. But would a native French speaker read this, hear Ron pronounce "Pardon" in the French manner, and get confused as to why Ron and the Beauxbaton student cannot communicate?
Would a native French speaker think that the Beauxbaton student is implying that Ron is not smart enough to understand her, or has a development disability of some kind, since both characters were speaking the same language prior to this exchange?
And I wonder if I read "Potdelard" differently than would a native French speaker. I read it immediately as pot (rhyming with "hot") -de-lard. Would a French speaker read it is Poh (rhyming with the French word "mot") -de-lard?
I am very interested to read how Ménard approaches these questions as the story goes along. How will he deal with the heavily accented English that characters like Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour employ in J.K.'s prose? Will they speak an accented version of French?
Another interesting note on the translation of this scene: in the original English, Rowling merely mentions that Harry and the gang notice a group of young people talking in loud voices nearby.
Ménard, the translator, actually inserts some extra dialogue to capture what the Beauxbatons students were saying. "Enfin, c'est incroyable!" the one French student says. "Qu'est-ce que c'est que cette organization?" (I'm no translators but I read that as, "Finally, it is incredible. What is this organization?")
These quoted lines, in which the Beauxbaton student appears to be critical of the security at the World Cup, do not appear in the original Rowling novel. Ménard has invented them for the purposes of his translation.
I will have to watch for more such creative indulgences in this book!
Translator Jean-Francois Ménard seems, to my untrained eye, to have done a wonderful job translating Rowling's prose, remaining true to her intent but exercising enough creative/translator's license to ensure that the writing is as lively, accurate and interesting in French as it is in the original English.
After all, sometimes a literal translation just doesn't work. Especially with language as idiomatic as that used by J.K. in these books.
As I started the fourth novel, Harry Potter et la Coupe de Feu, I was quite interested to see how Ménard would deal in his translation with the fact that the English-speaking main characters encounter and interact with French-speaking people from Beauxbatons.
The first encounter between English and French speakers in Rowling's fourth book takes place in the wooded area that offers refuge for Quidditch World Cup fans who want to get away from the frightening march of the masked Death Eaters through the camp ground.
Harry, Hermione and Ron have encountered Draco Malfoy and are just starting to search for the rest of the Weasley kids when they hear a group of young people speaking loudly to each other.
This group is, of course, made up of Beauxbatons students, who are frightened and looking for Madame Maxime,their head master.
In the original English novel, Harry and his pals speak English, the Beauxbatons students speak French, and no one understands each other so they just move on.
But in the French translation, everybody speaks French. Yet, the two groups still don't seem to understand each other and so they just move on. When a French reader reads an English book in translation that involves French characters, does she keep in mind the fact that two different languages are at play, even though everyone is speaking French?
I have to admit, this has gotten me all turned around inside my head.
When I read a French novel in translation (into English), what language do English speaking characters speak in the English translation?
It's a strange moment. One of the French students says something to Ron, he says "Pardon" and the French student says, "Il ne comprend rien, celui la." ("He doesn't understand anything, that one there") As the French students move off, the English students hear clearly a mention of "Potdelard", which of course is a mispronunciation of the French version of the name of the English school of witchcraft and wizardry -- Poudlard.
In some ways, the translation is wonderfully written with fun plays on the language. For example, Ron says "Pardon", which means the same thing in French and in English, only the pronunciation is different.
As a native English speaker, I heard in my head Ron say "Pardon" in English, to remind me that there is a language barrier here. But would a native French speaker read this, hear Ron pronounce "Pardon" in the French manner, and get confused as to why Ron and the Beauxbaton student cannot communicate?
Would a native French speaker think that the Beauxbaton student is implying that Ron is not smart enough to understand her, or has a development disability of some kind, since both characters were speaking the same language prior to this exchange?
And I wonder if I read "Potdelard" differently than would a native French speaker. I read it immediately as pot (rhyming with "hot") -de-lard. Would a French speaker read it is Poh (rhyming with the French word "mot") -de-lard?
I am very interested to read how Ménard approaches these questions as the story goes along. How will he deal with the heavily accented English that characters like Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour employ in J.K.'s prose? Will they speak an accented version of French?
Another interesting note on the translation of this scene: in the original English, Rowling merely mentions that Harry and the gang notice a group of young people talking in loud voices nearby.
Ménard, the translator, actually inserts some extra dialogue to capture what the Beauxbatons students were saying. "Enfin, c'est incroyable!" the one French student says. "Qu'est-ce que c'est que cette organization?" (I'm no translators but I read that as, "Finally, it is incredible. What is this organization?")
These quoted lines, in which the Beauxbaton student appears to be critical of the security at the World Cup, do not appear in the original Rowling novel. Ménard has invented them for the purposes of his translation.
I will have to watch for more such creative indulgences in this book!
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Draco's wand chose his mother (apparently)
I am writing this in the middle of the night and without my books in front of me but, as I was reading the French version of The Philosopher's Stone (A L'ecole de sorciers), two issues came to mind, one minor and one fairly major.
The minor one is simply this: at the time the translation of The Philosopher's Stone was undertaken, J.K. Rowling and her publisher had already amended the book so that Adalbert Waffling was NOT listed as the author of A History of Magic on Harry's first year book list. As we all know, Bathilda Bagshot (or, as she is known in the French-speaking world, Bathilda Tourdesac) penned this all important tome.
The translation was done, however, before Rowling corrected the little addition error where she has a woman complain that an item in Diagon Alley costs 17 Sickles (or "dix-sept Mornilles") which, we find out later, is the equivalent of one Galleon ("Gallion"), leading to the question: why wouldn't the woman complain that the item costs a Galleon?
The more major issue that arises in the early part of the first book is related to the subject of wand lore that becomes so important and oft-discussed in the later books.
It is a well-known fact among Potter fans that "The Wand chooses the Wizard". The scene where Harry first vista Ollivanders' to purchase his wand is a classic, in fact, and the allegiance of a wand, how it can be won and lost, and how a wand both learns from and teaches its chosen witch or wizard, are all wonderful aspects of wand lore that we cherish in the Potter world.
What has really jumped out at me in reading the first book in French, however, is the reality that Jo had not really developed her detailed theories of wand lore when she wrote The Philosopher's Stone. These ideas that the Wand chooses the Wizard and that, once that choice is made, a genuine, intimate relationship develops between the two simply do not seem to exist in her mind at that point in time.
Why do I write this?
First, even before Harry visits Ollivanders', he meets a young Draco Malfoy at Madam Malkin's, being fitted for his school robes. What does Malfoy say to Harry? To paraphrase, he says: "My mother is off buying my wand". Yikes! No wand is choosing Draco -- his mother is picking one up for him as she might a new pair of socks or a telescope.
And second, Ron later complains to Harry that he has a "hand-me-down" wand, that used to be his brother's. Wait a minute: that single sentence implies first that a Wizard might decide, after being chosen by his Wand at age 11, that he simply feels like going out and buying a new one. What about he relationship, the teaching and learning? Second, it means that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have no concerns about their youngest son using a Wand that has not chosen him. Wow. I know they're poor but...
I am smiling, of course, as I write this. I know that it is much too much to expect that Rowling had every detail of her incredibly complex magical world nailed down when she sat down to write that first book. But it is interesting to be able to trace the development of some of the more important details and themes in the books themselves.
The minor one is simply this: at the time the translation of The Philosopher's Stone was undertaken, J.K. Rowling and her publisher had already amended the book so that Adalbert Waffling was NOT listed as the author of A History of Magic on Harry's first year book list. As we all know, Bathilda Bagshot (or, as she is known in the French-speaking world, Bathilda Tourdesac) penned this all important tome.
The translation was done, however, before Rowling corrected the little addition error where she has a woman complain that an item in Diagon Alley costs 17 Sickles (or "dix-sept Mornilles") which, we find out later, is the equivalent of one Galleon ("Gallion"), leading to the question: why wouldn't the woman complain that the item costs a Galleon?
The more major issue that arises in the early part of the first book is related to the subject of wand lore that becomes so important and oft-discussed in the later books.
It is a well-known fact among Potter fans that "The Wand chooses the Wizard". The scene where Harry first vista Ollivanders' to purchase his wand is a classic, in fact, and the allegiance of a wand, how it can be won and lost, and how a wand both learns from and teaches its chosen witch or wizard, are all wonderful aspects of wand lore that we cherish in the Potter world.
What has really jumped out at me in reading the first book in French, however, is the reality that Jo had not really developed her detailed theories of wand lore when she wrote The Philosopher's Stone. These ideas that the Wand chooses the Wizard and that, once that choice is made, a genuine, intimate relationship develops between the two simply do not seem to exist in her mind at that point in time.
Why do I write this?
First, even before Harry visits Ollivanders', he meets a young Draco Malfoy at Madam Malkin's, being fitted for his school robes. What does Malfoy say to Harry? To paraphrase, he says: "My mother is off buying my wand". Yikes! No wand is choosing Draco -- his mother is picking one up for him as she might a new pair of socks or a telescope.
And second, Ron later complains to Harry that he has a "hand-me-down" wand, that used to be his brother's. Wait a minute: that single sentence implies first that a Wizard might decide, after being chosen by his Wand at age 11, that he simply feels like going out and buying a new one. What about he relationship, the teaching and learning? Second, it means that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have no concerns about their youngest son using a Wand that has not chosen him. Wow. I know they're poor but...
I am smiling, of course, as I write this. I know that it is much too much to expect that Rowling had every detail of her incredibly complex magical world nailed down when she sat down to write that first book. But it is interesting to be able to trace the development of some of the more important details and themes in the books themselves.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Is Draco a better wizard than Harry? It seems so
It is made very clear throughout the Harry Potter novels just how clever Hermione Granger is. From brewing Polyjuice Potion in second year, to answers all the questions in every lesson, to figuring out before anyone else that Lupin is a Werewolf, to mastering spells and charms before any other student, to earning "Outstanding" in every one of her OWL courses (and, remember, she took more courses than anyone else) except one (where she accepted an "Exceeds Expectations" in Defence Against the Dark Arts), to successfully performing a Protean Charm in fifth year, Hermione proves time and again that she is the brightest student at Hogwarts.
But what about Draco Malfoy?
We rarely, if ever, get even a hint of how clever he is. And yet, from the small hints that appear every now and again throughout the seven novels, it would appear that Draco is a pretty smart kid. Probably smarter, and a better wizard, than Harry himself.
Evidence?
Five pieces of evidence spring to mind:
1. Draco did well enough on his OWL examinations to appear in NEWT classes with Harry, Hermoine and Ron -- note, it would appear that Crabbe and Goyle were not so successful;
2. Draco is clever enough to figure out, from Montague's adventure in the Vanishing Cabinet, that there is a mate for the Hogwarts cabinet at Borgin and Burkes and that they form a passage between the school and shop, sufficient to allow Draco to introduce Death Eaters to the castle in Book Six -- note, not even Dumbledore appears to have figured this out, although he might not have heard Montague's full story;
3. Draco is clever enough to mend the broken cabinet in the Room of Requirement;
4. Draco holds his own in his duel with Harry in the bathroom on The Half-Blood Prince -- Harry, with all of his experience battling dark forces, teaches a big group of students (including older students) in the DA and yet Draco is able to trade hexes with him for several minutes, including blocking Harry quite adeptly with nonverbal spells; and
5. Draco performs a Protean Charm in sixth year to mimic Hermione's trick with the Galleons for passing messages. As Terry Boot says weakly after Hermione mentions having performed her own Protean Charm a year earlier, 'But that's... that's NEWT standard, that is". When Draco performs the same charm the following year, he is only beginning his NEWT studies so his feat is almost as impressive as Hermione's was.
So, although we don't have his OWL results, we have some pretty strong evidence that Draco Malfoy is one heckuva a smart young wizard, with capabilities that rival, if not outstrip, Harry's.
But what about Draco Malfoy?
We rarely, if ever, get even a hint of how clever he is. And yet, from the small hints that appear every now and again throughout the seven novels, it would appear that Draco is a pretty smart kid. Probably smarter, and a better wizard, than Harry himself.
Evidence?
Five pieces of evidence spring to mind:
1. Draco did well enough on his OWL examinations to appear in NEWT classes with Harry, Hermoine and Ron -- note, it would appear that Crabbe and Goyle were not so successful;
2. Draco is clever enough to figure out, from Montague's adventure in the Vanishing Cabinet, that there is a mate for the Hogwarts cabinet at Borgin and Burkes and that they form a passage between the school and shop, sufficient to allow Draco to introduce Death Eaters to the castle in Book Six -- note, not even Dumbledore appears to have figured this out, although he might not have heard Montague's full story;
3. Draco is clever enough to mend the broken cabinet in the Room of Requirement;
4. Draco holds his own in his duel with Harry in the bathroom on The Half-Blood Prince -- Harry, with all of his experience battling dark forces, teaches a big group of students (including older students) in the DA and yet Draco is able to trade hexes with him for several minutes, including blocking Harry quite adeptly with nonverbal spells; and
5. Draco performs a Protean Charm in sixth year to mimic Hermione's trick with the Galleons for passing messages. As Terry Boot says weakly after Hermione mentions having performed her own Protean Charm a year earlier, 'But that's... that's NEWT standard, that is". When Draco performs the same charm the following year, he is only beginning his NEWT studies so his feat is almost as impressive as Hermione's was.
So, although we don't have his OWL results, we have some pretty strong evidence that Draco Malfoy is one heckuva a smart young wizard, with capabilities that rival, if not outstrip, Harry's.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Should we call her "Moaning Michaud"?
In my last post, I wrote about how certain names and words have, for me, come to be associated so closely with the Harry Potter books that I cannot encounter them without thinking immediately of my favourite wizard.
What I discovered, again, last night is that there are also certain voices that have a similar effect: when I hear them, I think immediately of the Harry Potter films.
Take the 2013 film, In Secret, for example. I watched it last night on Netflix, drawn I have to admit by the fact that it features Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies) as well as Jessica Lange, one of my favourite stars from the 1980s.
Despite the fact that the 19th century costumes in the film reminded me strongly of the Potter world, Felton plays as un-Draco a character as you could possibly find -- a bright, happy, optimistic, somewhat simplistic young man who is remarkably oblivious to the way he is being used and manipulated by just about everyone in his life -- and does an excellent job of it.
But the shock for me came about a half hour into the movie, in a parlour scene in which a large group of people gather to play dominoes (it is a period drama, after all). A nice little interplay develops between a police detective and his wife -- he makes a seemingly banal comment about the game or life or anything and his disgruntled partner responds with a derisive snort or a sharp retort -- and I knew in an instant that the wife, a character by the name of Suzanne Michaud, is played by the same actor who played Moaning Myrtle in the Harry Potter films.
The voice is absolutely distinctive.
A little research online proved me right: Shirley Henderson, Moaning Myrtle from several of the Harry Potter movies, also plays Suzanne Michaud in the later film, In Secret.
I find it quite amazing, actually, that my memory for some of these Potterworld voices is so vivid that I can pick them out of other movies and TV series, even when I don't recognize the actors' faces.
Shirley Henderson, by the way, seems to be quite a talented person, with significant film and television credits as well as contributions to productions in a variety of other ways. I shall watch for her from now on... or perhaps "listen" for her is more accurate!
What I discovered, again, last night is that there are also certain voices that have a similar effect: when I hear them, I think immediately of the Harry Potter films.
Take the 2013 film, In Secret, for example. I watched it last night on Netflix, drawn I have to admit by the fact that it features Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies) as well as Jessica Lange, one of my favourite stars from the 1980s.
Despite the fact that the 19th century costumes in the film reminded me strongly of the Potter world, Felton plays as un-Draco a character as you could possibly find -- a bright, happy, optimistic, somewhat simplistic young man who is remarkably oblivious to the way he is being used and manipulated by just about everyone in his life -- and does an excellent job of it.
But the shock for me came about a half hour into the movie, in a parlour scene in which a large group of people gather to play dominoes (it is a period drama, after all). A nice little interplay develops between a police detective and his wife -- he makes a seemingly banal comment about the game or life or anything and his disgruntled partner responds with a derisive snort or a sharp retort -- and I knew in an instant that the wife, a character by the name of Suzanne Michaud, is played by the same actor who played Moaning Myrtle in the Harry Potter films.
The voice is absolutely distinctive.
A little research online proved me right: Shirley Henderson, Moaning Myrtle from several of the Harry Potter movies, also plays Suzanne Michaud in the later film, In Secret.
I find it quite amazing, actually, that my memory for some of these Potterworld voices is so vivid that I can pick them out of other movies and TV series, even when I don't recognize the actors' faces.
Shirley Henderson, by the way, seems to be quite a talented person, with significant film and television credits as well as contributions to productions in a variety of other ways. I shall watch for her from now on... or perhaps "listen" for her is more accurate!
Friday, July 18, 2014
The most magical of magic potions was a dramatic mistake
Sometimes I feel like I have to start a post with a reminder to everyone of how much I love the Harry Potter novels and how much I respect J.K. Rowling as a writer.
Her seven-novel sequence is a triumph, both from a dramatic standpoint and from the standpoint of outstanding writing in a technical sense.
I think all of us wannabe writers out here can learn a great deal from Rowling and her works because they are so outstanding. But, if we can learn from the strengths of the Potter novels, we can also learn from some of the less successful stuff in them as well.
And, as I mentioned in my last post, I think Rowling fell into traps on several occasions, introducing an element into her magical world that might work very well dramatically in the story in which it is introduced but that can become a bit of a problem over the course of the entire story line.
I think the issue of time travel is one of those traps, as I discussed last time.
And I think the introduction of Felix Felicis (liquid luck) in the sixth book is another such trap.
Here's an edited version of the passage wherein Rowling (through Professor Slughorn) introduces us and her characters to this most magical of magic potions:
...a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn’s desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled...
“It’s liquid luck,” said Hermione excitedly. “It makes you lucky.”...
“It’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. “desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed… at least until the effects wear off.” ...
“…if taken to excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness and dangerous overconfidence,” said Slughorn. “Too much of a good thing, you know… highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally…”
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn, taking out a minuscule glass bottle… “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn to dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.
“Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions … sporting events, for instance, examinations or elections."We are then treated to two stirring examples of how effective Felix is in the real world: Harry's success at finding Slughorn and convincing him to give up the key Horcrux memory and the survival of all members of Dumbledore's Army after the battle with the Death Eaters that leads to Dumbledore's death.
In the context of The Half-Blood Prince, Felix is a fun, effective dramatic tool. It works (both literally and as a dramatic device).
But what are its larger implications?
I would argue that the very existence and potency of Felix Felicis raise serious questions that tend to undermine the realism and effectiveness of every other plot, every tense situation in the whole seven-book adventure.
If Felix exists, why don't more people use it more often? Sure, it's hard to brew and, sure, you can't take it too often without risking negative consequences (which, to be honest, appear fairly trivial when compared to the alternative -- death) but it does exist and it does work extremely effectively.
And, if Slughorn can brew it successfully, then certainly Snape and Dumbledore could brew it as well. I wouldn't put it past Hermione either, since she was successfully brewing the incredibly complicated Polyjuice Potion in only her second year at Hogwarts.
If a substance like Felix exists, I would expect that we would see it used more than twice in the entire Harry Potter tale. I would think that Dumbledore, Slughorn, Snape and even Hermione would all brew up a batch from time to time and dispense it (albeit with discretion) to themselves and their loved ones whenever a particularly serious, potentially life threatening challenge is looming.
Wouldn't, for example, Dumbledore use a little taste of it before setting off for the cave in search of the locket Horcrux?
Wouldn't Snape use it any number of times throughout the course of his very dangerous mission?
Wouldn't Slughorn be distributing it to all and sundry as the defenders of Hogwarts prepared to do battle with Voldemort and his minions in the final book?
Wouldn't Hermione have used some for their invasion of the Ministry, their break-in to Gringotts, their search of Hogwarts in Book Seven?
My point is, the very existence of liquid luck allows these questions to be posed and, as a result, undermines the effectiveness of these exciting scenes. It makes absolutely no sense to me that no one tried to use Felix at least once more in the books.
To make matters worse, I honestly don't think it was necessary at all for Rowling to introduce Felix in book six. Sure, it's fun and effective and it irons out certain plot difficulties.
But she could have written both scenes in which Felix is used in The Half-Blood Prince (Harry's approach to Slughorn and the battle between Dumbledore's Army and the Death Eaters) without resorting to this magical potion. Felix wasn't absolutely necessary to either.
Harry could have run into Slughorn on his way to Hagrid's house and convinced the Potions master to accompany him to Aragog's funeral without Felix. Slughorn's interest in the giant spider's venom would have been sufficient to get him to come. Slughorn would likely have gotten involved in his drinking spree with Hagrid without any help, if only to get his hands on the other valuable magical substances that Hagrid has lying about. And the alcohol, plus Harry's clever emotional plea, could plausibly have driven Slughorn to disclose the memory, even if Harry had not taken any liquid luck.
Further, the survival of fighters in any battle depends on a number of factors. We have already accepted that Harry survived his encounter with Quirrell in book two, that Harry, Ron and Hermione survived werewolves and Dementors in book three, that Dumbledore's Army survived their battle with Death Eaters at the Ministry in book five: why wouldn't we accept that Ginny, Luna, Neville et al could survive the fight in book six even without Felix?
My feeling is that J.K. created all of the problems I identify above by introducing Felix to her world when she really didn't need to do so. Felix was fun but not necessary to the outcome of the sixth book.
And, finally, if Slughorn had a stock of Felix with him, why didn't Draco steal some of it when he was apparently stealing Polyjuice Potion from the new Potions master?
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Rowling's missed opportunity in The Half-Blood Prince
I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why I think that The Half-Blood Prince is the weakest of the seven Harry Potter novels. What is it about this book that simply does not work?
Sure, I've read the critics who disregard THBP as merely a set-up for the grand finale. And I think there's some merit to that argument.
But I think there's something more.
And I also think that, despite its limitations, THBP also has a lot to offer, a lot of really interesting scenes and great writing.
My analysis is by no means complete at this point but, if I had to say today what most concerns me about this novels, I'd have to say that it's the fact that, for the first and only time in the Harry Potter series, the main line of action in the book does not involve Harry, Hermione and Ron directly. In fact, the novel's central plot -- Draco Malfoy's desperate attempt to kill Dumbledore and redeem his family in the eyes of the Dark Lord -- happens almost entirely "off stage", so to speak.
It's an odd choice for Rowling and, in my opinion, a missed opportunity.
J.K. shows, in the first two chapters, that she is willing to permit her narrative voice to venture far away from our hero, Harry. In fact, Harry does not even appear in "The Other Minister" and "Spinner's End" -- in these opening chapters, Rowling presents the story from the perspective of the Muggle Prime Minister and of Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape.
What I don't understand is why she then commits herself so firmly and irrevocably to Harry's point of view from the third chapter onward. Especially when the central tale is with Draco, an interesting and enigmatic character who finds himself facing an extremely difficult challenge.
Wouldn't you have loved to have experienced the entire main plot of the sixth book through the eyes of Draco Malfoy, to understand the pressures he is under, the mixture of fear, anger, and desperation he must feel as he tries to figure out a way to accomplish the task set before him?
Wouldn't that have been a fascinating way to see the magical world in the Harry Potter series?
And wouldn't you have been much more caught up in the building suspense of the main plot of the book?
My point is that Rowling set herself a very difficult task in THBP: to try to keep her reader enthralled in the story without actually permitting us to experience in any real, ongoing way the development of that story.
And I think she, for the most part, failed.
I don't think the brief glimpses we see of Draco, the tiny hints to which we become privy throughout the novel, the suspicions of Harry that are brought to our attention but dismissed by everyone else are sufficient to keep us riveted by that story line.
And I don't think that other things Rowling offers in THBP -- the quidditch subplot, the romantic story lines, even the investigation of Voldemort's childhood -- are sufficient to make up for the lack of a gripping main plot.
Sure, I've read the critics who disregard THBP as merely a set-up for the grand finale. And I think there's some merit to that argument.
But I think there's something more.
And I also think that, despite its limitations, THBP also has a lot to offer, a lot of really interesting scenes and great writing.
My analysis is by no means complete at this point but, if I had to say today what most concerns me about this novels, I'd have to say that it's the fact that, for the first and only time in the Harry Potter series, the main line of action in the book does not involve Harry, Hermione and Ron directly. In fact, the novel's central plot -- Draco Malfoy's desperate attempt to kill Dumbledore and redeem his family in the eyes of the Dark Lord -- happens almost entirely "off stage", so to speak.
It's an odd choice for Rowling and, in my opinion, a missed opportunity.
J.K. shows, in the first two chapters, that she is willing to permit her narrative voice to venture far away from our hero, Harry. In fact, Harry does not even appear in "The Other Minister" and "Spinner's End" -- in these opening chapters, Rowling presents the story from the perspective of the Muggle Prime Minister and of Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape.
What I don't understand is why she then commits herself so firmly and irrevocably to Harry's point of view from the third chapter onward. Especially when the central tale is with Draco, an interesting and enigmatic character who finds himself facing an extremely difficult challenge.
Wouldn't you have loved to have experienced the entire main plot of the sixth book through the eyes of Draco Malfoy, to understand the pressures he is under, the mixture of fear, anger, and desperation he must feel as he tries to figure out a way to accomplish the task set before him?
Wouldn't that have been a fascinating way to see the magical world in the Harry Potter series?
And wouldn't you have been much more caught up in the building suspense of the main plot of the book?
My point is that Rowling set herself a very difficult task in THBP: to try to keep her reader enthralled in the story without actually permitting us to experience in any real, ongoing way the development of that story.
And I think she, for the most part, failed.
I don't think the brief glimpses we see of Draco, the tiny hints to which we become privy throughout the novel, the suspicions of Harry that are brought to our attention but dismissed by everyone else are sufficient to keep us riveted by that story line.
And I don't think that other things Rowling offers in THBP -- the quidditch subplot, the romantic story lines, even the investigation of Voldemort's childhood -- are sufficient to make up for the lack of a gripping main plot.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
"Diagon Alley' is a breathtaking introduction to so many important things
Having taken a brief break to read some Jane Austen (which I thoroughly enjoyed, by the way), I am back to Harry Potter again and reading Book 1, The Philosopher's Stone, for the umteenth time.
I love coming back to this book after some time away from the whole Harry Potter world. It's so fresh and lively and exciting. I even find myself getting a slight taste of how it felt to read it for the very first time, when everything was completely new, but in some ways re-reading is an even more satisfying experience.
Chapter Five, 'Diagon Alley', is a particular gem in this book, especially when the reader knows what's to come in the entire series of novels. That's not to say that this first glimpse of the magical world wasn't enthralling on first reading! I felt just like Harry way back then: I wished I had eight extra eyes to take it all in.
Now that I know the rest of the books so well, however, I can appreciate how important this first visit to the Leaky Cauldron and the world beyond it is to the development not just of this first novel but of the entire Harry Potter saga.
Any number of characters who would play ongoing and even important roles are introduced in this chapter: Tom, the barman, Dedalus Diggle, Ollivander, Madam Malkin and, of course, Draco Malfoy all make their first appearances as Harry discovers his own magical world and his importance to its people.
Interestingly, we don't learn Draco's name until later, just as we have to wait to find out what Harry plans to call his new snowy owl, a birthday gift from Hagrid.
J.K. also uses this chapter to lay down several important (and perhaps not so important) rules for the magical world, rules which would have particular resonance in later books and particularly in Book Seven, The Deathly Hallows:
In just 17 short pages, 'Diagon Alley' sets the stage for what is to come, both in the novel itself and across the entire series. It's no wonder we readers almost fail to notice that Rowling has also introduced us, and Harry, to the villain of that first book, Professor Quirrell, who comes across merely as another Harry Potter fan in the Leaky Cauldron.
I found this chapter so impressive that I had to stop and read it again. Great writing. Fabulous introduction to so many important things!
I love coming back to this book after some time away from the whole Harry Potter world. It's so fresh and lively and exciting. I even find myself getting a slight taste of how it felt to read it for the very first time, when everything was completely new, but in some ways re-reading is an even more satisfying experience.
Chapter Five, 'Diagon Alley', is a particular gem in this book, especially when the reader knows what's to come in the entire series of novels. That's not to say that this first glimpse of the magical world wasn't enthralling on first reading! I felt just like Harry way back then: I wished I had eight extra eyes to take it all in.
Now that I know the rest of the books so well, however, I can appreciate how important this first visit to the Leaky Cauldron and the world beyond it is to the development not just of this first novel but of the entire Harry Potter saga.
Any number of characters who would play ongoing and even important roles are introduced in this chapter: Tom, the barman, Dedalus Diggle, Ollivander, Madam Malkin and, of course, Draco Malfoy all make their first appearances as Harry discovers his own magical world and his importance to its people.
Interestingly, we don't learn Draco's name until later, just as we have to wait to find out what Harry plans to call his new snowy owl, a birthday gift from Hagrid.
J.K. also uses this chapter to lay down several important (and perhaps not so important) rules for the magical world, rules which would have particular resonance in later books and particularly in Book Seven, The Deathly Hallows:
- from Hagrid, Harry learns that toads are no longer considered to be cool pets by the students at Hogwarts, which later gives us a very quick insight into the character and circumstances of Neville Longbottom, owner of the infamous toad Trevor;
- from our visit to Gringott's bank, we learn how dangerous it would be to attempt to break in, something Hagrid reinforces on several occasions in the chapter; isn't it ironic that, as the saga comes to a close, Harry and his friends actually do try to break into Gringott's and, with a little help from a freedom-seeking dragon, actually survive to tell the tale; and
- from Ollivander, we learn four important lessons which will play key roles in later novels: first, that the wand chooses the wizard; second, that a borrowed wand will never perform so well as a wizard's own wand; third, that the holly wand that chooses Harry has, as its core, a tail feather from the same Phoenix that provided the tail feather inside Voldemort's wand; and fourth, that the Phoenix in question (which turns out to be Fawkes, Dumbledore's own bird) gave up only those two tail feathers.
In just 17 short pages, 'Diagon Alley' sets the stage for what is to come, both in the novel itself and across the entire series. It's no wonder we readers almost fail to notice that Rowling has also introduced us, and Harry, to the villain of that first book, Professor Quirrell, who comes across merely as another Harry Potter fan in the Leaky Cauldron.
I found this chapter so impressive that I had to stop and read it again. Great writing. Fabulous introduction to so many important things!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Rowling tells us stuff but doesn't let us register that we know it
I finished my Christmas reading. 13 books in seven weeks. Not bad.
Now back to Harry Potter. When the gift books started flowing in back in December, I was about 100 pages into The Goblet of Fire, the fourth novel in the series and the first of the really long books. This morning, I plunged back in.
And the first thing that struck me was how skillfully J.K. slips Barty Crouch Jr.'s attack on Mad-Eye Moody, a key plot point, into the novel without the reader realising that something major has happened.
We are first made aware of the incident when Malfoy reads out Rita Skeeter's article describing the attack in the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. Malfoy uses the article to tease Ron, focusing not on the attack itself and its possible significance to the story but, instead, on the fact that Ron's dad was sent to investigate it.
The passage of the book is even more tricky because Rowling then has Moody himself enter the scene and intervene in the wand duel between Harry and Malfoy that ensues. By burying the revelation that Moody had been attacked deep within a very exciting, action-packed scene (after all, Moody transforms Malfoy into a ferret to punish him, then McGonagall arrives to chastise Moody), Rowling gives us key information but immediately draws our attention away from it.
I remember reading this book for the first time and, when it was revealed that Crouch had actually trapped Moody in his own box and taken on his identity, I felt tricked. How was I supposed to have guessed that?
Then I re-read the book and found out that Rowling had, in fact, played fair with her reader by telling us about the attack early on in the novel. I simply wasn't attentive enough to notice it.
And neither was the hero trio. Instead of asking Moody what happened, they get caught up in the drama that follows and thoughts of the attack itself disappear.
Fab writing. She gives us loads of information that could help us figure out the plot but distracts us from it almost immediately, so that we don't, in fact, catch on.
Now back to Harry Potter. When the gift books started flowing in back in December, I was about 100 pages into The Goblet of Fire, the fourth novel in the series and the first of the really long books. This morning, I plunged back in.
And the first thing that struck me was how skillfully J.K. slips Barty Crouch Jr.'s attack on Mad-Eye Moody, a key plot point, into the novel without the reader realising that something major has happened.
We are first made aware of the incident when Malfoy reads out Rita Skeeter's article describing the attack in the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. Malfoy uses the article to tease Ron, focusing not on the attack itself and its possible significance to the story but, instead, on the fact that Ron's dad was sent to investigate it.
The passage of the book is even more tricky because Rowling then has Moody himself enter the scene and intervene in the wand duel between Harry and Malfoy that ensues. By burying the revelation that Moody had been attacked deep within a very exciting, action-packed scene (after all, Moody transforms Malfoy into a ferret to punish him, then McGonagall arrives to chastise Moody), Rowling gives us key information but immediately draws our attention away from it.
I remember reading this book for the first time and, when it was revealed that Crouch had actually trapped Moody in his own box and taken on his identity, I felt tricked. How was I supposed to have guessed that?
Then I re-read the book and found out that Rowling had, in fact, played fair with her reader by telling us about the attack early on in the novel. I simply wasn't attentive enough to notice it.
And neither was the hero trio. Instead of asking Moody what happened, they get caught up in the drama that follows and thoughts of the attack itself disappear.
Fab writing. She gives us loads of information that could help us figure out the plot but distracts us from it almost immediately, so that we don't, in fact, catch on.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Is it possible to forgive Lucius Malfoy? Twice?
So what do we think of the Malfoy family?
J.K seems to go to some lengths to ensure that we know they survive the war and become a part of the post-Voldemort world:
- After the great war is over and Voldemort has been killed, we find Draco and his parents, Narcissa and Lucius, sitting in the Great Hall at Hogwarts with the rest of the war survivors, "huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there";
- And Draco even appears in the Epilogue to Book Seven, 19 years later with his wife and young son, Scorpius.
What is Rowling trying to tell us?
At one point or another in the seven books, Lucius and Draco tried to kill Harry at least once each. As one of the lead Death Eaters, Lucius was likely responsible for the deaths of any number of people.
And yet, after all that, through no great act of contrition whatsoever, there they are at the end, alive and well.
What do we make of that? What is Rowling trying to say?
That, after any war, we all must find a way to co-exist, get along with our former enemies? That, in a war, our behaviour is not necessarily a true indication of our character?
Voldemort rose, gathered followers and did enormous harm to his society, killing hundreds of people along the way. After the Dark Lord's power collapsed in his confrontation with baby Harry, society attempted to heal itself by putting the worst of Voldemort's followers in prison but also by repatriating the vast majority of the Death Eaters into the community.
The magical world forgave most of the enemy.
Imagine the feelings of anger and betrayal when, less than two decades later, those same people to whom society once offered forgiveness and a new chance rejoined the forces of evil and attempted once again to destroy the society entirely.
I can't imagine that Lucius Malfoy was so easily forgiven this time.
Is it possible that Rowling expects us to assume that Lucius was sent to prison again for his repeated crimes and that Draco alone, as a result of his several somewhat noble acts (like refusing to kill Dumbledore, failing to identify Harry to Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor) was himself forgiven and welcomed back into magical society?
J.K seems to go to some lengths to ensure that we know they survive the war and become a part of the post-Voldemort world:
- After the great war is over and Voldemort has been killed, we find Draco and his parents, Narcissa and Lucius, sitting in the Great Hall at Hogwarts with the rest of the war survivors, "huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there";
- And Draco even appears in the Epilogue to Book Seven, 19 years later with his wife and young son, Scorpius.
What is Rowling trying to tell us?
At one point or another in the seven books, Lucius and Draco tried to kill Harry at least once each. As one of the lead Death Eaters, Lucius was likely responsible for the deaths of any number of people.
And yet, after all that, through no great act of contrition whatsoever, there they are at the end, alive and well.
What do we make of that? What is Rowling trying to say?
That, after any war, we all must find a way to co-exist, get along with our former enemies? That, in a war, our behaviour is not necessarily a true indication of our character?
Voldemort rose, gathered followers and did enormous harm to his society, killing hundreds of people along the way. After the Dark Lord's power collapsed in his confrontation with baby Harry, society attempted to heal itself by putting the worst of Voldemort's followers in prison but also by repatriating the vast majority of the Death Eaters into the community.
The magical world forgave most of the enemy.
Imagine the feelings of anger and betrayal when, less than two decades later, those same people to whom society once offered forgiveness and a new chance rejoined the forces of evil and attempted once again to destroy the society entirely.
I can't imagine that Lucius Malfoy was so easily forgiven this time.
Is it possible that Rowling expects us to assume that Lucius was sent to prison again for his repeated crimes and that Draco alone, as a result of his several somewhat noble acts (like refusing to kill Dumbledore, failing to identify Harry to Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor) was himself forgiven and welcomed back into magical society?
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Harry Potter and the Deathly Sketch-Com Show
Is it just me (and maybe that I'm old) or is Saturday Night Live simply not funny any more?
Daniel Radcliffe was the guest host on SNL this past weekend, something I didn't know until a colleague told me yesterday. She also told me that he was in, not surprisingly, a Harry Potter sketch on the show and that it wasn't too bad.
So I found it on the web and watched it. She was right, it wasn't bad. It was a single joke played over and over again but it wasn't bad.
I thought the Snape impersonation was pretty good, in fact, especially the voice, and I liked the Draco Malfoy dude too. And the idea that Harry might find life after Voldemort a bit boring had occured to me too in the past so I didn't mind that the whole four-minute sketch was taken up with character after character confronting the 28-year-old Harry about being unable to move on with his life.
Then I tried to watch the other sketches from the show that featured Radcliffe. I used the term "tried" on purpose. I tried to watch them but I just couldn't force myself to see any of them through to the end. Terrible. Poorly written, poorly acted. Not funny.
Maybe I'm just too old for it now but I seem to recall the Ackroyd, Belushi, Radner years as being a heck of lot funnier, and a great deal clever and more intelligent, than the current version.
Funny, I'm still young enough to appreciate Harry Potter but I'm too old for the modern SNL.
Daniel Radcliffe was the guest host on SNL this past weekend, something I didn't know until a colleague told me yesterday. She also told me that he was in, not surprisingly, a Harry Potter sketch on the show and that it wasn't too bad.
So I found it on the web and watched it. She was right, it wasn't bad. It was a single joke played over and over again but it wasn't bad.
I thought the Snape impersonation was pretty good, in fact, especially the voice, and I liked the Draco Malfoy dude too. And the idea that Harry might find life after Voldemort a bit boring had occured to me too in the past so I didn't mind that the whole four-minute sketch was taken up with character after character confronting the 28-year-old Harry about being unable to move on with his life.
Then I tried to watch the other sketches from the show that featured Radcliffe. I used the term "tried" on purpose. I tried to watch them but I just couldn't force myself to see any of them through to the end. Terrible. Poorly written, poorly acted. Not funny.
Maybe I'm just too old for it now but I seem to recall the Ackroyd, Belushi, Radner years as being a heck of lot funnier, and a great deal clever and more intelligent, than the current version.
Funny, I'm still young enough to appreciate Harry Potter but I'm too old for the modern SNL.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Prefects and House Points
In The Chamber of Secrets, when Percy finds Ron, Harry and Hermione sneaking out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, he takes five points from Gryffindor for their inappropriate behaviour. Interesting: Prefects can deduct points in the House Cup competition.
This raises three questions for me:
1) can Prefects also award points for good behaviour?
2) can Prefects deduct or award points from students in other Houses? and
3) if the answer to questions one or two is "yes", what is to stop a Prefect from deducting (or awarding) points so as to change the result in the House Cup competition?
I don't recall another situation where we see a Prefect awarding or deducting points from other students. I certainly don't recall a situation where a Prefect deducts points from a student in another house. For example, when Percy comes across Draco Malfoy (with the Polyjuiced Harry and Ron) in the basement later in the second book, Percy does not deduct points from Draco as a result of Malfoy's insolence towards him.
The whole House Point system is a bit odd to me, to be honest. But more on that for another time.
This raises three questions for me:
1) can Prefects also award points for good behaviour?
2) can Prefects deduct or award points from students in other Houses? and
3) if the answer to questions one or two is "yes", what is to stop a Prefect from deducting (or awarding) points so as to change the result in the House Cup competition?
I don't recall another situation where we see a Prefect awarding or deducting points from other students. I certainly don't recall a situation where a Prefect deducts points from a student in another house. For example, when Percy comes across Draco Malfoy (with the Polyjuiced Harry and Ron) in the basement later in the second book, Percy does not deduct points from Draco as a result of Malfoy's insolence towards him.
The whole House Point system is a bit odd to me, to be honest. But more on that for another time.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Raised to be evil, grown to resist it
Is Draco evil? Or just a product of his upbringing?
I've often wondered about this question, not just in the context of Harry Potter but also as it might apply to children in the real world too.
Draco Malfoy is raised in a family where allegiance to the Dark Lord is a way of life, where brutality to house elves is normal behaviour, where intense malevolence toward people who are not of pure blood families is commonplace. Should we then see Draco as evil simply for following the beliefs with which he was raised?
Especially when he is still a young kid, perhaps too young to question those beliefs?
This is why I find the movie portrayal of Draco Malfoy to be so interesting, almost more so than the original literary character. In the films, it becomes very clear that Draco, at 16 and 17, is starting to question his parents' behaviours and beliefs that were so much a part of his upbringing.
He can't bring himself to kill an unarmed Dumbledore, even though he knows he will be punished for his failure. He refuses to identify Harry to Bellatrix when Harry is dragged to Malfoy Manor by the Snatchers. He weeps over the death of his friend in the all-consuming Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.
And, when push comes to shove in the final battle of Hogwarts, he and his parents walk away from Voldemort and his army.
As I've written before, Draco is redeemed by his own refusal to commit the most egregious acts of evil that are demanded of him as he approaches adulthood.
In an interesting parallel, Dudley Dursley also gets a brief moment of redemption, at least in the book version of The Deathly Hallows, when he says he doesn't feel that Harry is a waste of space and actually comes over to say a proper goodbye to his cousin. Dudley, raised in a household where Harry-hating is an accepted form of behaviour, actually comes to recognise some value in his cousin. As he grows up, he is able to set aside the prejudices his parents have fed him for his entire life and redeem himself. (Oddly, this scene was shot for the film but left on the cutting room floor. You can see it as part of the "Deleted Scenes" section of the DVD/Blu Ray).
My point is that, although J.K. presents both Dudley and Draco as the epitome of evil to the young Harry in the early novels, she recognises that, as they grow up, they gain the ability to question the beliefs among which they have been raised. They are only truly evil if, once they reach an age of awareness, discernment and decision, they choose to embrace their parents' evil teachings.
And both choose a different path in the end.
And I think the filmmakers go even further to bring that point home in the case of Draco Malfoy.
I've often wondered about this question, not just in the context of Harry Potter but also as it might apply to children in the real world too.
Draco Malfoy is raised in a family where allegiance to the Dark Lord is a way of life, where brutality to house elves is normal behaviour, where intense malevolence toward people who are not of pure blood families is commonplace. Should we then see Draco as evil simply for following the beliefs with which he was raised?
Especially when he is still a young kid, perhaps too young to question those beliefs?
This is why I find the movie portrayal of Draco Malfoy to be so interesting, almost more so than the original literary character. In the films, it becomes very clear that Draco, at 16 and 17, is starting to question his parents' behaviours and beliefs that were so much a part of his upbringing.
He can't bring himself to kill an unarmed Dumbledore, even though he knows he will be punished for his failure. He refuses to identify Harry to Bellatrix when Harry is dragged to Malfoy Manor by the Snatchers. He weeps over the death of his friend in the all-consuming Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.
And, when push comes to shove in the final battle of Hogwarts, he and his parents walk away from Voldemort and his army.
As I've written before, Draco is redeemed by his own refusal to commit the most egregious acts of evil that are demanded of him as he approaches adulthood.
In an interesting parallel, Dudley Dursley also gets a brief moment of redemption, at least in the book version of The Deathly Hallows, when he says he doesn't feel that Harry is a waste of space and actually comes over to say a proper goodbye to his cousin. Dudley, raised in a household where Harry-hating is an accepted form of behaviour, actually comes to recognise some value in his cousin. As he grows up, he is able to set aside the prejudices his parents have fed him for his entire life and redeem himself. (Oddly, this scene was shot for the film but left on the cutting room floor. You can see it as part of the "Deleted Scenes" section of the DVD/Blu Ray).
My point is that, although J.K. presents both Dudley and Draco as the epitome of evil to the young Harry in the early novels, she recognises that, as they grow up, they gain the ability to question the beliefs among which they have been raised. They are only truly evil if, once they reach an age of awareness, discernment and decision, they choose to embrace their parents' evil teachings.
And both choose a different path in the end.
And I think the filmmakers go even further to bring that point home in the case of Draco Malfoy.
Friday, September 23, 2011
On Draco's Redemption and Voldemort's humanity
I received some great comments from "Anonymous" on the issues of Draco's Redemption and the portrayal of Voldemort in the final film. As you might recall from some of my earlier posts on these subjects, I was more mystified than anything about the way Draco behaves in the seventh and eighth films and I was very unhappy with the way Stephen Kloves wrote Voldemort for the final movie, turning him, in my opinion, into a bit of a putz.
I think Anonymous makes a great point when she/he says that Draco's behaviour is actually laudable, that Draco's decision to join his mother and father just before the last battle and to leave Hogwarts while the battle still rages fits well with J.K.'s theme that real courage is shown in standing up against your friends. Draco and his family clearly make a decision that, even if Voldemort wins his fight with Harry, they no longer want any part of the Dark Lord and his monstrous ways.
On the issue of the portrayal of Voldemort in the final film, however, Anonymous and I will have to agree to disagree. Anonymous argues that Voldemort is more real, more human in the eighth film than in the final book and Anonymous likes that. I respect that position but I would argue that Rowling intended to make Voldemort less and less real, less and less human, more and more flat and one-dimensional in the later books precisely because of what he had done to his soul.
By splitting his soul into eight pieces, Voldemort filleted himself and his humanity. By the time only two bits of his soul survived (the one in him and the one in Nagini), Voldemort's humanity is paper thin. He is flat and soulless.
I think the movie version betrays what J.K. was trying to do. In the novel, Harry tells Voldemort that he can repair the damage to his soul by showing sincere regret for his evil deeds. By that time, however, Voldemort no longer has enough soul left even to consider being anyone other than his evil self. There is no regret coming because there is no regret possible for such a decimated person.
You can find Anonymous' very interesting and well-thought-out comments attached to the posts of July 28 (Draco's Redemption: How Can he just walk away?) and and July 20 (The film's Voldemort becomes a sad and silly caricature). I'm interested to read what other people think!
I think Anonymous makes a great point when she/he says that Draco's behaviour is actually laudable, that Draco's decision to join his mother and father just before the last battle and to leave Hogwarts while the battle still rages fits well with J.K.'s theme that real courage is shown in standing up against your friends. Draco and his family clearly make a decision that, even if Voldemort wins his fight with Harry, they no longer want any part of the Dark Lord and his monstrous ways.
On the issue of the portrayal of Voldemort in the final film, however, Anonymous and I will have to agree to disagree. Anonymous argues that Voldemort is more real, more human in the eighth film than in the final book and Anonymous likes that. I respect that position but I would argue that Rowling intended to make Voldemort less and less real, less and less human, more and more flat and one-dimensional in the later books precisely because of what he had done to his soul.
By splitting his soul into eight pieces, Voldemort filleted himself and his humanity. By the time only two bits of his soul survived (the one in him and the one in Nagini), Voldemort's humanity is paper thin. He is flat and soulless.
I think the movie version betrays what J.K. was trying to do. In the novel, Harry tells Voldemort that he can repair the damage to his soul by showing sincere regret for his evil deeds. By that time, however, Voldemort no longer has enough soul left even to consider being anyone other than his evil self. There is no regret coming because there is no regret possible for such a decimated person.
You can find Anonymous' very interesting and well-thought-out comments attached to the posts of July 28 (Draco's Redemption: How Can he just walk away?) and and July 20 (The film's Voldemort becomes a sad and silly caricature). I'm interested to read what other people think!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
When Harry Potter was new...
I think I've mentioned my colleague at work before, the one who has seen all of the Harry Potter movies (several times) but had not, at the time of the release of The Deathly Hallows, Part 2, read any of the books.
Well, she tells me now that she's finally taken the plunge into J.K.'s original world, working through the first three novels over the course of a two-week holiday. She says, however, that she finds herself sometimes wishing that she had read the books first, since the movies have robbed the literary plots of much of their suspense. She knows the major events that are coming, even if the novels give so much more depth and character development.
Meanwhile, I envy her that absolute delight of reading the novels for the first time. I don't have much of a recollection of my first readings of novels one through six. All I know is that I roared through each one at breakneck speed the first time, then had to go back to read them over again at a slower pace, with more time to savour the quality of the writing and the intricacies of the story.
I do, however, have a very vivid recollection of the excitement that built up as I, and so many of my friends and colleagues, waited with anxious anticipation for the seventh novel to be released. We would talk about the first six books endlessly and have a seemingly non-stop conversation about what we thought the final novel would bring.
Was Snape truly evil or was Dumbledore right to trust him after all? Would Harry die? What would Draco do in the end? And what about Neville: was it possible that he really was the true Chosen One? Would Hermione and Ron finally get together or would Hermione come to her senses in time?
And when the book finally hit the bookstores, I bought it on the first day and literally disappeared into the world of Rowling for the next forty-eight hours. I galloped through it the first time, slowing only to weep as Harry bravely walked into the Forbidden Forest to face his death. Then I went back and read the last hundred pages or so more slowly, to make sure that I understood, that I recognised the power and beauty of Rowling's writing.
And then I read the novel once more from start to finish. Only then did I feel I could talk about it.
I know my colleague will never be able to feel that level of anticipation, that depth of excitement in the reading. She knows the plots. She has a good idea of the major events.
But I hope she can find a way to immerse herself in the details, find amazement in the ways in which J.K.'s novels are so much better than the films. Enjoy the intense excitement of discovering for the first time just how great these books really are.
And, if she can, I'll envy her every step of the way. My experience of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (both in the anticipation of its release and the intensity of the first couple of readings) was such a rush that I hope I'll find another book someday that will give me something even close to that feeling.
Well, she tells me now that she's finally taken the plunge into J.K.'s original world, working through the first three novels over the course of a two-week holiday. She says, however, that she finds herself sometimes wishing that she had read the books first, since the movies have robbed the literary plots of much of their suspense. She knows the major events that are coming, even if the novels give so much more depth and character development.
Meanwhile, I envy her that absolute delight of reading the novels for the first time. I don't have much of a recollection of my first readings of novels one through six. All I know is that I roared through each one at breakneck speed the first time, then had to go back to read them over again at a slower pace, with more time to savour the quality of the writing and the intricacies of the story.
I do, however, have a very vivid recollection of the excitement that built up as I, and so many of my friends and colleagues, waited with anxious anticipation for the seventh novel to be released. We would talk about the first six books endlessly and have a seemingly non-stop conversation about what we thought the final novel would bring.
Was Snape truly evil or was Dumbledore right to trust him after all? Would Harry die? What would Draco do in the end? And what about Neville: was it possible that he really was the true Chosen One? Would Hermione and Ron finally get together or would Hermione come to her senses in time?
And when the book finally hit the bookstores, I bought it on the first day and literally disappeared into the world of Rowling for the next forty-eight hours. I galloped through it the first time, slowing only to weep as Harry bravely walked into the Forbidden Forest to face his death. Then I went back and read the last hundred pages or so more slowly, to make sure that I understood, that I recognised the power and beauty of Rowling's writing.
And then I read the novel once more from start to finish. Only then did I feel I could talk about it.
I know my colleague will never be able to feel that level of anticipation, that depth of excitement in the reading. She knows the plots. She has a good idea of the major events.
But I hope she can find a way to immerse herself in the details, find amazement in the ways in which J.K.'s novels are so much better than the films. Enjoy the intense excitement of discovering for the first time just how great these books really are.
And, if she can, I'll envy her every step of the way. My experience of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (both in the anticipation of its release and the intensity of the first couple of readings) was such a rush that I hope I'll find another book someday that will give me something even close to that feeling.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Rowling handles evil in brilliant ways
As any reader of this blog will already know, I'm kind of in awe of J.K. Rowling and her story-telling skills. Every time I read one of the Harry Potter novels, I see something new and exciting about how she's structured her series, how she's developed her characters or how she's worked to capture and hold her readers' interest.
Just look at the villains in the Harry Potter series. Voldemort turns out to be, of course, the key villain and yet, when the stories begin, we're not even sure he's still alive. His shadow looms over the entire series and yet Rowling is wise enough to avoid over-using him even in the seventh novel.
We learn about him in so many ways -- through rumour, through his own 16-year-old self in the diary, through people's automatic fearful reactions when he is mentioned (or not mentioned), through his history, through Dumbledore's careful investigation of his life, through Harry's dreams and nightmares and visions -- long before we get a chance to meet him in any significant way in person.
Even by the end of book seven, however, we don't really know him beyond the legend, the image, the fear he instills in people.
We learn about him only as Harry learns about him and Voldemort dies before that knowledge is even close to complete.
And then there are the other villains: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape.
Rowling's use of each of them is nothing short of brilliant.
Draco, for example. He serves early on as Harry's rival, his competition and nemesis at Hogwarts. While Voldemort (and other villains) lurk in the background, Draco becomes the embodiment of evil in young Harry's world. As the two boys grow, so does their rivalry. But, as Harry proves himself worthy of the role of Chosen One that has been thrust upon him, Draco proves himself incapable of committing the truly evil deeds he is asked to perform.
Draco is not so evil as we were lead to believe. He retreats from true evil (at the top of the Astronomy Tower when he has Dumbledore alone and defenseless, at Malfoy Manor when he could give Harry away to Bellatrix, and even at the end of the novel, when he weeps over the death of his friend and withdraws from the battle) and shows a depth of complexity to his character that is rare in novels of this kind.
Draco's father, Lucius, follows a similar path. As Harry grows (both in age and in strength), Lucius Malfoy starts to become the central representation of evil for him. But Lucius, too, begins to falter and Rowling does a wonderful job of showing him as a broken, lost man trying to regain his reputation, his place among Voldemort's minions.
And then there's Snape. What a great character Severus Snape turns out to be. All the way through the first six novels, Dumbledore (the living embodiment of wisdom and intelligence) firmly stands behind and trusts Snape and yet Rowling does a wonderful job of undermining that endorsement, of convincing us that Harry's suspicions are right, that they have to be right. Even when we find out that it's Quirrell who is the problem in the first novel, we still believe Snape is evil.
Why don't we trust Dumbledore's judgement?
And of course, then you have the end of The Half-Blood Prince, which proves to us fully and completely that Dumbledore was wrong, that Snape is truly evil. He kills Dumbledore. We see him do it. He must be evil.
The amazing thing for me is that Rowling, in book seven, continues to provide us with reason after reason to distrust, to hate Snape, to believe Dumbledore to have been mistaken in his trust. She's got us completely and absolutely convinced by the end.
And then she turns it all around. Not only does she make us believe that Snape was, in fact, on the side of good, she also gives us compelling reasons for why Snape, despite his decision to abandon Voldemort and support Dumbldore, could still hate Harry.
What we learn is that Rowling very cleverly misled us to believe that Snape's hatred of Harry absolutely had to be proof that he was evil. We never once considered that perhaps he could be good and still detest our hero.
And yet, in the end, we see that he is both good and perhaps justified in his antagonism toward Harry (as the son of James, his tormentor).
It's brilliant. It's unexpected. It's Rowling at her best.
Just look at the villains in the Harry Potter series. Voldemort turns out to be, of course, the key villain and yet, when the stories begin, we're not even sure he's still alive. His shadow looms over the entire series and yet Rowling is wise enough to avoid over-using him even in the seventh novel.
We learn about him in so many ways -- through rumour, through his own 16-year-old self in the diary, through people's automatic fearful reactions when he is mentioned (or not mentioned), through his history, through Dumbledore's careful investigation of his life, through Harry's dreams and nightmares and visions -- long before we get a chance to meet him in any significant way in person.
Even by the end of book seven, however, we don't really know him beyond the legend, the image, the fear he instills in people.
We learn about him only as Harry learns about him and Voldemort dies before that knowledge is even close to complete.
And then there are the other villains: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape.
Rowling's use of each of them is nothing short of brilliant.
Draco, for example. He serves early on as Harry's rival, his competition and nemesis at Hogwarts. While Voldemort (and other villains) lurk in the background, Draco becomes the embodiment of evil in young Harry's world. As the two boys grow, so does their rivalry. But, as Harry proves himself worthy of the role of Chosen One that has been thrust upon him, Draco proves himself incapable of committing the truly evil deeds he is asked to perform.
Draco is not so evil as we were lead to believe. He retreats from true evil (at the top of the Astronomy Tower when he has Dumbledore alone and defenseless, at Malfoy Manor when he could give Harry away to Bellatrix, and even at the end of the novel, when he weeps over the death of his friend and withdraws from the battle) and shows a depth of complexity to his character that is rare in novels of this kind.
Draco's father, Lucius, follows a similar path. As Harry grows (both in age and in strength), Lucius Malfoy starts to become the central representation of evil for him. But Lucius, too, begins to falter and Rowling does a wonderful job of showing him as a broken, lost man trying to regain his reputation, his place among Voldemort's minions.
And then there's Snape. What a great character Severus Snape turns out to be. All the way through the first six novels, Dumbledore (the living embodiment of wisdom and intelligence) firmly stands behind and trusts Snape and yet Rowling does a wonderful job of undermining that endorsement, of convincing us that Harry's suspicions are right, that they have to be right. Even when we find out that it's Quirrell who is the problem in the first novel, we still believe Snape is evil.
Why don't we trust Dumbledore's judgement?
And of course, then you have the end of The Half-Blood Prince, which proves to us fully and completely that Dumbledore was wrong, that Snape is truly evil. He kills Dumbledore. We see him do it. He must be evil.
The amazing thing for me is that Rowling, in book seven, continues to provide us with reason after reason to distrust, to hate Snape, to believe Dumbledore to have been mistaken in his trust. She's got us completely and absolutely convinced by the end.
And then she turns it all around. Not only does she make us believe that Snape was, in fact, on the side of good, she also gives us compelling reasons for why Snape, despite his decision to abandon Voldemort and support Dumbldore, could still hate Harry.
What we learn is that Rowling very cleverly misled us to believe that Snape's hatred of Harry absolutely had to be proof that he was evil. We never once considered that perhaps he could be good and still detest our hero.
And yet, in the end, we see that he is both good and perhaps justified in his antagonism toward Harry (as the son of James, his tormentor).
It's brilliant. It's unexpected. It's Rowling at her best.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Draco's Redemption? How can he just walk away?
I wrote some time ago about Draco's redemption. I talked about the scene in Part 2 where Draco and two of his cronies (where's Goyle, by the way? or is it Crabbe who's missing? I can never tell them apart) catch Harry as he searches for the Diadem in the Room of Requirement (Room of Hidden Things version). Confronted, Harry asks Draco why Draco didn't identify him to Bellatrix back at Malfoy Manor (you remember, in Part 1).
The discussion makes it clear that Draco recognised Harry but refused to turn him over to the Death Eaters.
I thought perhaps that this was a sign of Draco's redemption. He couldn't kill Dumbledore. He couldn't turn Harry in. He was actually a decent sort after all.
So what do we make of the fact that, in the final confrontation between Death Eaters and Hogwarts defenders, Draco leaves his schoolmates and joins his parents on the side of evil? Is this simply an indication that Draco is evil but lacks guts? Is he only about saving his own skin?
And what about the fact that Draco and his parents actually abandon the scene even before the final battle plays out?
I can't figure it out. What do you think? Use the comments function to tell me how you interpret all this.
The discussion makes it clear that Draco recognised Harry but refused to turn him over to the Death Eaters.
I thought perhaps that this was a sign of Draco's redemption. He couldn't kill Dumbledore. He couldn't turn Harry in. He was actually a decent sort after all.
So what do we make of the fact that, in the final confrontation between Death Eaters and Hogwarts defenders, Draco leaves his schoolmates and joins his parents on the side of evil? Is this simply an indication that Draco is evil but lacks guts? Is he only about saving his own skin?
And what about the fact that Draco and his parents actually abandon the scene even before the final battle plays out?
I can't figure it out. What do you think? Use the comments function to tell me how you interpret all this.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Prisoner is Hermione's film
Next up on my film festival, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azakaban. I have to admit, I am one of the many people who think of this movie as one of the best, and possibly the best, in the series.
I love the direction and editing, the very artistic transitions between scenes and the intense atmosphere the director creates throughout the picture.
But mostly I love this film because, let's face it, Hermione owns it. This is her film. Emma Watson is coming of age and so is Hermione, and both dazzle us in this third movie.
In the first movie, it was mostly Ron and Harry and, even when Hermione gets a chance to shine, she lets herself take a back seat to Harry. I hate it when, as Harry prepares to move on to face Quirrell and Voldemort on his own, Hermione dismisses her own impressive powers as mere "cleverness", telling Harry that he is the true hero. Yuck.
In The Chamber of Secrets, Hermione is petrified for most of the important events, leaving it to her male colleagues to carry the day.
So it's just great that, in The Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. puts Ron on the injured list and leaves it to Hermione and Harry to set things right, with Hermione firmly in the lead. I love the punch (both in the book and in the movie) and I love the fact that Hermione is the one who is in control as things get crazy at the end.
In this film, the kids are starting to grow up and the stakes are getting high. Emma Watson is proving herself to be the best actor of the three leads and it's nice to see that the script gives her a meaty role with which to show off her increasing skills as an actor.
She just continues to get better as the series progresses but it's in The Prisoner of Azkaban that both Emma and Hermione get their real first chance to flex their muscles and take over.
I love the direction and editing, the very artistic transitions between scenes and the intense atmosphere the director creates throughout the picture.
But mostly I love this film because, let's face it, Hermione owns it. This is her film. Emma Watson is coming of age and so is Hermione, and both dazzle us in this third movie.
In the first movie, it was mostly Ron and Harry and, even when Hermione gets a chance to shine, she lets herself take a back seat to Harry. I hate it when, as Harry prepares to move on to face Quirrell and Voldemort on his own, Hermione dismisses her own impressive powers as mere "cleverness", telling Harry that he is the true hero. Yuck.
In The Chamber of Secrets, Hermione is petrified for most of the important events, leaving it to her male colleagues to carry the day.
So it's just great that, in The Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. puts Ron on the injured list and leaves it to Hermione and Harry to set things right, with Hermione firmly in the lead. I love the punch (both in the book and in the movie) and I love the fact that Hermione is the one who is in control as things get crazy at the end.
In this film, the kids are starting to grow up and the stakes are getting high. Emma Watson is proving herself to be the best actor of the three leads and it's nice to see that the script gives her a meaty role with which to show off her increasing skills as an actor.
She just continues to get better as the series progresses but it's in The Prisoner of Azkaban that both Emma and Hermione get their real first chance to flex their muscles and take over.
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