Yates finally explains why he didn't trust Rowling's ending

It was quite stunning, really. 

 I have wondered for several years what could possibly have possessed screenwriter Steve Kloves and director David Yates when they decided to change J.K. Rowling's practically perfect ending to The Deathly Hallows.

David Yates: Praying for inspiration

Now, after watching the recent Harry Potter 20^th Anniversary: Return to Hogwarts special, I finally have my answer.

And it only makes me more incensed.

 

As you will recall, Rowling ends the Battle of Hogwarts in epic seventh novel with Harry and Voldemort, circling, circling, while the crowds of Hogwarts defenders and Deatheaters look on, mesmerised.

 

Molly Weasley had finally defeated Bellatrix Lestrange, the wizarding world has risen up to vanquish the Dark Forces and all that remains is for Harry to fulfill his destiny and bring down the Dark Lord once and for all.

It's a wonderfully tense and emotional scene. Harry distracts Voldemort from casting the final curse by telling him of Dumbledore's plans, both those that worked perfectly and those that didn't quite work out the way the Headmaster had intended. And then, as the sun breaks over the horizon, the two wizards cast their best spells and Voldemort, his own killing curse rebounding on him and the Elder Wand declaring its allegiance to Harry, its rightful owner, falls down dead.

Human. Finally and fully human.

All of the themes Rowling had been weaving so carefully through the books come to a point in this final scene, this final moment.

Perfect.

But not good enough for Kloves and Yates. Or, as it turns out, for Yates alone.

In the recent retrospective special, the director takes full credit (or blame, to be honest) for the ultimate filmic insult to Rowling's amazing work.

David Yates says this of the final battle between Harry and Voldemort:

Yates, fumbling the ending

When looking at the book, the final confrontation between Voldemort and Harry takes place in the Great Hall with a huge audience watching. And I really wanted something earthier and more intense and more visceral than that. Because these two adversaries were almost joined spiritually if you like in this strange Horcruxy way. I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Dan just grabbed Raif and pulled him off this tower?

 

As they apparate, they are merged together. That deep connection that we had sort of threaded through the stories and the films you’d visualise in that moment before they tumbled into the courtyard.

 

As well as the physical challenge of making the films, there was that small pressure of thinking: you’re the one who is going to finish this. It has to go out on a high. It has to be meaningful. It has to resonate. It has to deliver.

The problem, Mr. Yates, is that the final battle as written by J.K. Rowling was meaningful, it resonates, it delivers. You should have trusted her. You should have recognised the poet and simply followed the plan she so masterfully set out for you.

In making the ridiculous changes you made, you took the soul out of the ending. You made that final confrontation mano a mano, a macho combat between two individuals rather than the final, almost anti-climactic moment where the common good, the collective society won out and the great monster that had enthralled and terrorised the world for so long was revealed as nothing more than a human being, around much had been built.

Harry didn't defeat Voldemort by himself -- he, Hermione and Ron hunted down the Horcruxes and one by one destroyed them, bringing Voldemort step by step closer to his end; Neville played a role, killing the snake, as did Hagrid, and McGonagall, and Kingsley, the House Elves, the Centaurs, the Weasleys, the families of the Hogwartians, the people of Hogsmeade and so many others.

Mr. Yates, you failed to understand what Rowling had built, so poetically, so artfully, over the course of the seven novels and, in making the final battle between Voldemort and Harry an epic battle, filled with flashes and explosions, fought in front of no one, you proved yourself an exceptional technician but no artist.

 

And you did a disservice to the stories were you entrusted to bring to the screen.

Viktor goes for an icy swim

I am a huge Harry Potter fan (why else would I have this blog?).


I have read each of the seven Harry Potter novels at least 20 times and likely more often. I have listened to the novels on CD several times and am now in the process of reading them again in their French translations. I have watched the eight movies numerous times too.


You would think that, after all that, it would not be possible for me to learn something new about the stories in a subsequent re-reading.


Well, you would be wrong to think that.


I am currently reading The Goblet of Fire in French. It's great. It's fun and face-paced and the first really complicated, more adult of the novels.


I am at the point in the novel where Rita Skeeter has revealed to the wizarding world Hagrid's scandalous secret -- that he is a half-giant. Hagrid is in hiding. Harry decides he wants to go to Hogsmeade on the Saturday in hopes of finding his massive friend and telling him to stop being silly and to come back to work.


As Harry, Hermione and Ron walk across the frigid grounds of Hogwarts towards the gates, they see Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck of the Durmstrang ship, strip down to his bathing suit and dive into the icy waters of the school's lake. In response to Harry's expression of shock at Krum's decision to brave the cold, Hermione explains that Durmstrang is located in a much colder climate and that Krum probably finds the water to be quite temperate.


And off they go to Hogsmeade, Krum's odd behavior drifting from their minds -- and from mine as well.


Did you know that, after all my readings of the novel, this is the first time I made the connection that Krum's decision to go for a swim must be connected to the clue in the golden egg for the second task? That he might just be out for a swim to explore the lake and perhaps scout out the path to the Merpeople's village?


I permitted Hermione (and Rowling) to convince me it was just quirky behavior on the part of the Durmstrang champion and to think nothing further of it.


How clever are they? How stupid am I to be so easily led astray? And what of Harry?


Cedric Diggory has already given him the cryptic clue about taking the egg into the bath, a clue neither Harry nor we as readers are ready to accept as being legitimate and honest.


And here is a second champion making a very strange decision, one that is also directly related to immersing oneself in water.


I can't believe I missed this. I can't believe Harry missed it. If Harry had shared Cedric's hint with Hermione, I am sure she would have connected the dots and pointed out to Harry that Krum's mid-winter swim must be related to the egg and the second task.


So, while I find myself amazed that I have failed to make this connection until now, I am somewhat comforted by the fact that Harry didn't make the connection either.


Once Krum worked out the clue, his ability to swim in the cold winter water of the Hogwart's lake must have given him a distinct advantage over the other champions in that he had months to explore the lake and plan his strategy.


It seems so obvious now...

Did Voldy grow mouldy in the Potter home?

I will admit it: I have not done my research on this so the answer to my question might be set out clearly somewhere in the seven Harry Potter novels. But the question jumped out at me this morning as I listened to Jim Dale reading the duel scene from late in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and I just have to ask it:


Voldemort says that, when his own curse rebounded off the infant Harry and hit him instead, it "ripped me from my body" and he fled. So what happened to his body at that point in time?


Was it left behind in the blasted Potter home? If so, what was done with it afterwards? Was it buried? burned? placed in a museum somewhere? Why wasn't it mentioned anywhere?


Or was it blown to bits by the curse such that there was nothing left of it to recognize, collect, bury even?


My guess is that, since, as Hagrid says in The Philosopher's Stone, some people believed that Voldemort died on that pivotal day but many others believed that he survived in a greatly reduced state, there must not have been any recognizable body left behind in the Potter home.


If there had been a body, after all, I would guess most people would have accepted that as proof the Voldemort was dead and gone for good.


What do you think?

The Taboo should have been taboo for J.K.

Let's talk about the "Taboo" for a moment.

We're introduced to the Taboo mid-way through The Deathly Hallows. Ron explains that Voldemort's name has "been jinxed, Harry, that's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance... Anyone who says it is trackable!"

First of all, I agree with Ron. Voldemort and the Death Eaters make very clever use of the Taboo since they know that only people who are members of the Order of the Phoenix or might otherwise prove a threat to the Dark Lord still use the name "Voldemort". The Death Eaters refer to him as "the Dark Lord", for the most part, while the good guys and innocents all prefer to use "You Know Who" or "He Who Will Not be Named".

So placing the Taboo on the word "Voldemort" will provide excellent results for the Death Eaters: they will be able to track really problematic people with few false alarms.

Clever. Very clever.

But let's look at the Taboo itself. As explained in the book, the Taboo allows me to place a jinx on a word so that if you use that word you lose all magical protection that you have sought to place on yourself and I can track where you are.

Wow. That's a pretty powerful tool. And we see it work very powerfully later in The Deathly Hallows when, despite all of their tried and true protective enchantments, the Taboo exposes Harry and the crew to the clutches of the Snatchers.

So why isn't it used more often? For example, if the Death Eaters were so interested in finding Horace Slughorn prior to the events of Book Six, why didn't they just put a Taboo on his name (or on "candied pineapple") in order to find him? Sure, there might be some false alarms but they'd probably be worth the trouble.

Why would they not put the Taboo on the names of all of the Order members in order to find them and break down the enchantments protecting them.

And remember, at the start of The Deathly Hallows, Snape tells Voldemort that, Harry will be taken to a safe house that has been prepared for him and has been "given every protection that the Order and Ministry together can provide". Snape concludes: "there is little chance of taking him once he is there."

Wait a minute? If capturing Harry is job one and they have a weapon as powerful as the Taboo available to them, why wouldn't they try jinxing a whole bunch of names or words associated with Harry and the Order, accepting that the large number of false alarms they might face would be well worth the possibility that the Taboo would eventually beak all of the protective enchantments the Ministry and the Order have put in place and allow them to track and capture Harry?

Let's just say they Tabooed the word "Hagrid"? Wouldn't that be enough? I mean, not that many people would say Hagrid's name about then but members of the Order are sure to do so. Why not use it to track Harry and strip away his protections?

Again, I think the Taboo is a very interesting idea. And I agree that the Death Eaters were very clever to have used it to expose members of the Order.

But, like the Time Turner and Felix Felicis, I wonder if it wasn't a dramatic mistake for Rowling to introduce the Taboo into her world. Once she establishes that this powerful tool exists, she has to consider when and how it might otherwise be used to effect in the story.

Then she has to account for why it was not used (it is an extremely difficult jinx and a person can only cast one Taboo at a time, for example).

If she doesn't, in my opinion, she undermines the drama of her narrative.

The Chamber of Questions: Talking to the Basilisk...

A couple of questions that came to mind as I finished re-reading The Chamber of Secrets:

1. What would have happened if Harry had spoken to the Basilisk in Parseltongue, telling the giant snake not to attack him, to go to sleep, to take up knitting?

2. Since Hagrid has now been completely cleared of opening up the Chamber of Secrets and causing the death of Myrtle 50 years before, why does he not buy a new wand and take private training to become a fully qualified wizard?

I have often wondered about what the Basilisk would have done had Harry started to give it orders in Parseltongue. Clearly, Tom Riddle has control over it, thanks to his mastery of the serpent language, but wouldn't that mean that Harry, also a Parselmouth, could give it commands as well? It's not like Tom Riddle has spent a lot of time developing a relationship with the Basilisk. Could Harry not have at least confused it by countermanding Riddle's orders and substituting some of his own?

It raises the question of whether the ability to speak Parseltongue gives a person control over snakes or simply the power to speak to them. In Harry's first encounter with a snake, at the beginning of Book One, Harry has a conversation in Parseltongue with the Boa Constrictor in the zoo. Harry doesn't give it orders; he simply chats with it.

In his second encounter with a snake, however, Harry orders the snake Draco Malfo conjures not to attack Justin and it immediately obeys him. All Harry has to say is 'Leave him!' and, to quote JK, "miraculously -- inexplicably -- the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry."

So what would have happened if Harry had said to the Basilisk, "Lie down", or "Leave me alone", or perhaps "Kill Tom Riddle"? Would the Basilisk have responded? Would it have become confused by being given orders by two different people, such that Harry could have escaped?

It's a wonder Harry didn't try to speak to the Basilisk at all.

With regard to Hagrid, it is one of the main pillars of Hagrid's backstory that he was expelled from Hogwarts while he was still young and, further, that his expulsion led to his wand being broken in half such that he could no longer perform magic properly.

We learn in The Chamber of Secrets, of course, that Hagrid was expelled because he was suspected of having opened the Chamber and letting loose the monster within.

Thanks to Dumbledore, he is allowed to remain at the school as the keeper of keys and grounds. But he is not a wizard, nor is he permitted to carry or use a wand.

So, now that Harry has proven that Hagrid is an innocent victim of Tom Riddle's treachery, why would Hagrid not immediately return to training to be a wizard? Why at least would he not buy a new wand and get back to doing magic properly?

I know it would change a great deal in the last five books but it's always bothered me. The man was cleared of the crime: why does he still have to be subject to one aspect of the punishment for that crime?

Did I miss something along the way? Is there any explanation at all for this in the final five Harry Potter novels?

Eagle owls and subtlety in writing

Let's talk about eagle owls for a moment.

I think we all know that the Malfoy family owns an eagle owl. We see it delivering packages of sweets to Draco early in the series and from time to time thereafter.

We also know that, in that pivotal vision that harry has in The Goblet of Fire of Voldemort, Wormtail and Nagini just before the third task, Harry arrives at the Riddle Manor House riding upon the back of an eagle owl.

But did you notice that J.K. mentions an eagle owl one other time, earlier in that same novel?

Having grown tired of Ron and Hermione's squabbling over the plight of house elves, Harry decides to go to the Owlery by himself to send a package of food to Sirius. After seeing Pigwidgeon and a couple of school owls off, he stands, looking out over the school grounds, the Durmstrang ship and the Forbidden Dorest, thinking.

Harry sees Hagrid busily digging a patch of ground outside his home and he also sees something else: an eagle owl that flies through the coil of smoke rising from Hagrid's house.

It's a beautifully written, calming scene, like a landscape painting that draws your eye into the world it depicts.

But it's also a clue. One I had not noticed in all of my previous readings of this novel.

The eagle owl is bringing messages back and forth between Barty Crouch Jr. at Hogwarts and Voldemort at the Riddle Manor House. It has to be. It's the Malfoy eagle and it's being used as part of the plot against Harry.

Harry's subconscious mind recognises it as a clue and inserts the eagle owl into his vision. Instead of a message, the owl brings Harry to Voldemort.

When I finally noticed it, I couldn't help but to be impressed, once again, with Rowling's skills as a writer and the very carefully thought and planning she put into every novel.

I've always been amazed at how subtly she inserted a bug into every scene of this book where Rita Skeeter (whom we later discover to be an animagus) eavesdrops on conversations; I never noticed this lovely and subtle clue which should have told me, at least given me a clue as to who was plotting against Harry at Hogwarts.

Petunia's on the Platform for an "Aha!" Moment

I love those “Aha!” moments. The kind of moments that only come because you know the books so well that you've got the seventh novel running in the back of your brain as you read the first one again.

Not that I want to be aggressively critical of J.K. Rowling. In fact, I think it's because she makes so few “continuity errors” over the course of these seven incredibly complex books that I actually feel joy when I find one. The fact that it's taken me about 20 readings of the novels to spot this one makes it even more amazing.

Take the following passages from Chapter 6 of The Philosopher's Stone:

    [Harry] pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

    “I just take the train from platform nine and three quarters at eleven o'clock,” he read.

    His aunt and uncle stared.

    “Platform what?”

    “Nine and three quarters.”

    “Don't talk rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon, “there's no platform nine and three quarters.”

    “It's on my ticket.”

    “Barking,” said Uncle Vernon, “howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait.”

And later...

    “Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?”

    He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

    “Have a good term,” said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing.

 Reading those two sections, you would believe that Aunt Petunia is as incredulous over Harry's claim that there is actually a platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station as Uncle Vernon is. No, Petunia doesn't actually say anything but she does first “stare” at Harry when he first introduces the idea of platform nine and three quarters and then joins in the derisive laughter when the Dursley family drives away, leaving Harry lost and stranded at King's Cross.

So we are given to believe that Petunia has never heard of platform nine and three quarters and is as skeptical as her husband regarding the possibility of its existence.

Now read this passage from Snape's memory montage in Chapter 33 of The Deathly Hallows:

    And the scene reformed. Harry looked around: he was on platform nine and three quarters., and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him. Snape was staring at a family of four a short distance away. The two girls stood a little apart form their parents. Lily seemed to be pleading with her sister; Harry moved closer to listen.

    “...I'm sorry, Tuney, I'm sorry! Listen -” She caught her sister's hand and held tight to it, even though Petunia tried to pull away.

What's this? Aunt Petunia actually visited platform nine and three quarters with Harry's mother? She's been there and knows it exists? So why is she acting like the idea of a platform called nine and three quarters is ridiculous twenty or so years later?

My colleague suggests that Aunt Petunia might just be acting in The Philosopher's Stone, that she remembers platform nine and three quarters but has trained herself to act like she knows nothing of the magical world, especially when she's around her husband.

Maybe. But I don't think so. I'd be more ready to believe it if Rowling described Aunt Petunia as looking down, glancing away, looking solemn or something like that. But in both cases where Petunia is described in these passages, she is responding exactly the same way Vernon is: first staring, then laughing. When Rowling wrote The Philosopher's Stone, she intended to convey that both Harry's Aunt and Harry's Uncle thought the idea of a platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross was absolutely ridiculous.

And then forgot that when she came to write The Deathly Hallows.

"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:

• 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.

And, as I've mentioned before on this blog, we get a wonderfully written opportunity to understand a little bit more about the characters of Harry Potter and the pale, pointed face boy he encounters in Madam Malkin's robe shop. The unnamed Draco introduces us to the division within the wizarding community over the issue of pure blood versus "Mudblood", while displaying a conceited, haughty character that immediately turns Harry off.

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!

Coming home to Hogwarts in The Half-Blood Prince

Now I know that I’ve probably been horribly inconsistent in this blog, especially on the subject of which Harry Potter novels I like and which I don’t, which are my favourites and which I detest.

I’ve always been that way. I find that I can hate something one moment and then, when I come back to it some time later, absolutely love it. And the other way around. I’m simply an inconsistent person.

I raise this now because I am half-way through a re-reading of The Half-Blood Prince and, much to my surprise, I’m really thoroughly enjoying it. I’ve always considered THBP to be the weakest of the seven novels and my least favourite. For some reason, however, this time around I’m completely enamoured with it.

It must have something to do with my own current situation. I’m tired, I’m not feeling well and I’m a little bored with all the snow and cold weather. So THBP is suiting my mood perfectly. It’s a quiet, introspective, character-driven book which lacks the same high-speed plotting that is featured in all of the others.

I’m enjoying spending time in the Gryffindor Common Room with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. I’m interested in the development of each of their characters but also of their relationships with each other. Ginny is bubbling forth as a feisty young woman and I’m enjoying Harry’s battles with his own feelings for her.

I am also quite interested in the trips into the Penseive Harry has been making with Dumbledore, exploring Voldemort’s past. I think Rowling is doing a great job of presenting this biographical information in an interesting, well-thought-out way. It’s great writing.

I wonder as well if I’m enjoying the book so much because I started reading it almost immediately after closing the cover on The Order of the Phoenix, a much more claustrophobic novel with a galloping plot. In THBP, we find ourselves returning to Dumbledore’s Hogwarts, with Hagrid and Buckbeak back on the scene and classes returning to their normal pattern.

It’s something of a comfort book, I guess. A brief, introspective pause before we launch into the fast-paced drama of the final novel.

So, if I have stated in earlier posts that I don’t like Rowling’s sixth novel, I apologise. It seems the perfect complement to my mood right now and I’m really enjoying reading it again.

17 Sickles equal a Galleon (and an ounce of Dragon liver)

Okay, small thing. Really nit-picky. But J.K. left so few strings untied that it's neat to find one every now and then, isn't it? And this one is even smaller than most.

I'm re-reading The Philosopher's Stone, luxuriating in every word. It's such a fun book, filled with wonder and excitement: wonder at this fabulous new world Harry is discovering, with us readers in tow; excitement because Harry no sooner starts to feel comfortable in this wonderful new world but finds himself caught up in a rather frightening mystery.

So I'm in Chapter Five, "Diagon Alley", getting my first look at a real magical community and, like Harry, wishing I had "about eight more eyes", and we pass a "plump woman outside an Apothecary" who mumbles: "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...". It's clear that Rowling is using this and every other little detail she describes to show us how different, how foreign everything in the Alley is to Harry.

But that's not my point. Two pages later, Griphook has escorted Harry and Hagrid to the Potter vault and Harry has discovered his parents have left him well cared for. Hagrid then explains to Harry the magical money system: "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle." Simple enough.

So, here's my point. If seventeen Sickles equals a Gold Galleon, why wouldn't the plump woman outside the Apothecary be complaining that the price of dragon liver had risen to a full Galleon per ounce? I mean, if something I was used to paying 75 cents for suddenly cost me a dollar, I wouldn't complain, "Coca Cola, a hundred cents a can, they're mad..." I'd say: "Coca Cola, a buck a can, they're mad.."

Wouldn't I?

As I said, a very very very small point but fun nonetheless. Goodness knows I've made enough mistakes like that in my writing: a character sits down in a chair and stands up from a sofa; she puts on a scarf when she leaves her home and takes off a hat when she arrives at the restaurant; she's reading a magazine as she waits for a table but puts a book back in her bag when the waiter comes to seat her.

But it's interesting to see J.K. work things out as she goes along. Clearly, when she wrote the sentence describing the woman outside the Apothecary, she hadn't yet worked out the magical money system. And then, once she did set it as 17 Sickles to a Galleon, she forgot to go back and change the woman's line of dialogue!

Getting to know the Dark Lord

Ever since my online conversation with Anonymous, I've been thinking a lot about Voldemort, his life and his portrayal in both the books and movies in the Harry Potter series.

Just yesterday, I was reading the last part of Harry Potter et La Chambre des Secrets (the French translation of Rowling's second novel) and reviewed, once again, our first meeting with Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord's youthful self. What an interesting presentation that was!

Voldemort's shadow hangs over the early novels, even though his appearances in these books are brief. In The Philosopher's Stone, Harry learns of Voldemort at first from Hagrid and it is Hagrid's fearful, halting explanations of who the Dark Lord is and what he had done to Harry's parents that set the tone for Voldemort's influence on the rest of the series of books.

In the movie version of that first novel, Robbie Coltrane does a great job of capturing the fear and paranoia that continues to grip the magical world, even though ten years have passed since Voldemort disappeared. I am particularly fond of the way Coltrane spits out the word "Codswallop" in that scene. He's just so vehement about it: "Some people say he's dead. Codswallop, I say."

We catch our first glimpse of Voldemort at the end of that first book, a shrivelled face that emerges from the back of Quirrell's head in the final battle over the fabled Stone. But it is only when Harry plunges into the diary in The Chamber of Secrets that J.K. begins the wonderful process of serving up, in tantalising pieces, the story of Voldemort's younger years. The scene in the Chamber provides even more of these morsels.

The Tom Riddle of the second novel is a handsome, well-spoken, seemingly quiet young man. We learn he is an orphan, with a Muggle father and a magical mother, that he desperately hopes to escape the orphanage and that he is a remarkably brilliant student. We also learn that he is a Parselmouth and, oh yes, that he is the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of the Hogwarts School.

This all seems very positive, especially if you can see the Slytherin relationship as merely a sign that Riddle is related to magical royalty rather than a sign that he is associated with a Muggle-hating bigot.

But then we meet the memory of Riddle in the Chamber. This Riddle is portrayed as self-centred, vindictive and judgmental. He brags about his ability to charm people in order to get his way. For the first time, we see his willingness to see others as pawns in his game, as tools to be used and cast aside. His ridicule of the 11-year-old Ginny Weasley for the childishness and banality of her diary entries, for her little girl hopes and fears, confirm him as a hateful, spiteful individual and his complete lack of concern or empathy over her impending death is a telling foreshadowing of his future behaviour.

We also get a glimpse of two weaknesses in Riddle that would continue to plague Voldemort in his adult life. The first is his fear of Dumbledore. Already as a 16 year old, Riddle struggles with the power Dumbledore seems to have over him, with his frustration over his inability to charm the brilliant wizard, to blind Dumbledore to his evil intentions. Even as he brags that Dumbledore was chased from Hogwarts by the mere memory of Voldemort, Riddle reveals his own inability to deal with Dumbledore's unique ability to stand up to him.

The second weakness we encounter is Voldemort's underestimation of the power of things that do not interest him or that he does not understand. It never occurred to Riddle that Lily Potter's decision to sacrifice herself out of love for her son would provide Harry with the protection he needed to survive Voldemort's attack. And when Harry points this fact out, Riddle both recognises and dismisses it, seeing it only as evidence that Harry alone could not have withstood him.

When Fawkes, the Phoenix, arrives to help Harry, bringing with him the Sorting Hat, Riddle mocks Harry and Dumbledore relentlessly. A song bird and a moth-eaten hat, he laughs. This is the help the great Dumbledore sends you? Even as a 16-year-old, Riddle understands only certain types of power, only certain kinds of magic. And he pays for it. The hat provides Harry with the Sword of Gryffindor, the weapon he needs to kill the Basilisk. Meanwhile, Fawkes proves invaluable, first blinding the great snake and then saving Harry from the Basilisk's venom with his healing tears.

We can't forget that one of Voldemort's greatest flaws is his inability to recognise power in forms he cannot or refuses to understand. He is all but destroyed by the power of Lily's love and sacrifice for Harry. He underestimates the power of house elves, never considering that an elf like Kreacher could infiltrate the cave and escape with the locket Horcrux. He dismisses the possibility that Snape's love for Lily Potter might be so strong that Snape would spend much of his adult life working to bring about the defeat of Lily's murderer.

That's a great deal of information to pack into what is, in fact, a relatively short scene in the second novel. It speaks volumes for J.K.'s abilities as a story teller but does it undermine Anonymous' criticism that Voldemort is flat and one-dimensional throughout the books?

I have to admit that I'm not sure it does. I may have to accept that Anonymous is right but credit Rowling with intentionally creating a single-minded, one-dimensionally evil character and leave it at that.

What are your thoughts?

Rowling fools us into suspecting Hagrid

It's interesting the way J.K. gets her readers to believe that Hagrid was guilty of opening the Chamber of Secrets the first time fifty years before the novel of the same name.

She simply shows us Tom Riddle's memory and, despite the fact that it proves absolutely nothing, we believe it to be proof. And then she has Harry, Hermione and Ron fighting very hard not to believe that Hagrid is the culprit but finally convincing themselves (and us) that he is, in fact, guilty.

It's neat writing. By having her characters argue the same points that her readers are arguing, she convinces both them and us. She preempts our doubts by presenting them directly to us through the terrific trio.

And then, once we're completely fooled, she turns the table on us.

Even neater is the fact that, even though she's shown us that she can use this strategy effectively to prove Hagrid guilty when he is, in fact, innocent, we still fall for the same trick with regard to Snape throughout the rest of the novels.

Writers can learn a lot from reading Rowling and paying attention to the strategies she uses to beguile her readers. We can all learn a thing or two from the master.

The first book is an action-packed ride

As I read The Philosopher's Stone through in French, I find myself amazed at how much actually happens in this book. There's action on almost every page.

First, the zoo and the Dursleys. Then the letter and the flight to the rock in the sea. Then Hagrid, Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts Express.

Harry arrives at school and is sorted. Neville and the Rememberall. Quidditch. Nicholas Flamel and the Stone. Late night duels. Fluffy. It just goes on and on.

I've just gotten to the scene where Norbert hatches from his egg. There are only 50 pages left in the book and it's amazing how much has happened, yet also how much still has to happen before the book draws to a close.

An amazingly busy novel!

Harry shows his stripes

J.K. does such a wonderful job at the start of the first book in depicting Harry's excitement at finding out he's a wizard and his fear that he won't fit into his new world.

The scene between Harry and the yet-unnamed blond-haired boy (Draco Malfoy) in the robe shop is especially effective in conveying a number of layers of Harry's personality. He's excited to have escaped the Dursleys and to be a part of a magical world, he's in a state of shock to find himself with a pocketful of gold, and he's fearful that this exciting new world might reject him.

Even so, he very quickly recognises that Draco is not the kind of person he wants as a friend and, even though Draco makes him feel quite ill-informed about the magical world, Harry is quite willing to stand up to him and challenge the nasty comments Draco makes about Hagrid.

This is really the first scene where we start to recognise Harry's courage and moral core. He proves himself a true Gryffindor even before we know what a Gryffindor is!

Hagrid Flies? Really?

I've often wondered about this and it has struck me again as I read J.K.'s first book in French. When Harry asks Hagrid how he got to the rock in the middle of the sea to deliver Harry's Poudlard (Hogwarts) letter to him, Hagrid tells Harry he flew there.

J.K. never explains how Hagrid flew there.

He could not have come on a broom for two reasons: first, he doesn't bring a broom back to London and, second, it is explained in a later novel that Hagrid is too heavy for a broom.

He could not have come via Sirius' motorbike (upon which Hagrid had flown the infant Harry to Privet Drive in the first place) since he would have had to leave it on the rock when he takes Harry away with him on the boat.

He could not have apparated there, since Hagrid is never shown to have mastered Apparition, he was kicked out of Hogwarts in his third year before he could have taken lessons and earned his Apparition license, and, besides, Apparition requires a fully functioning wand. Hagrid's was broken in half when he was forced to leave school.

Since it is established in The Deathly Hallows that only Voldemort can fly on his own (several members of the Order tell the others with amazement that "Voldemort can fly" after the Death Eaters ambush the seven Harrys), it would seem to me that there are only three possible explanations as to Hagrid's claim that he had flown to the rock in the sea:

1) He flew in on a Hippogriff or Thestral, which delivered Hagrid and then flew away again. I wonder if either a Hippogriff or a Thestral would be strong enough to carry Hagrid, however;

2) He was taken there by someone else via Side-Along Apparition, though I don't understand why that person wouldn't have stayed to talk to Harry; or

3) Hagrid is not being truthful about how he got to the rock.

It's one of the few details in the entire Harry Potter series that doesn't make sense to me, that doesn't seem to follow Rowling's usually consistent rules for the wizarding world.

I know. I'm probably holding J.K. to too high a standard: this is the first book and it's likely she hadn't quite worked out all of the details of her magical world at this point.

More on flying tomorrow.

Ron Weasley gives himself away

I've just gotten to the part of The Deathly Hallows where, having learned that Ginny, Neville and Luna had broken into the headmaster's office to try to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry and his two companions have their first conversation with the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black that Hermione took from the house on Grimmauld Place.

I find this an interesting conversation. When Phineas calls Ginny a "silly girl", Ron immediately tells him to "shut up about my sister". A natural response, to be sure, but also a real bonehead move on Ron's part. Here they have gone to great lengths to protect the Weasley family from persecution by convincing the entire wizarding world that Ron is home sick from school (and NOT hunting Horcruxes with Harry) and Ron goes and blows his own cover with that single exclamation.

What I've realised is that this should have been a clue to me as a reader that Snape is not evil after all. Ron gives himself away to Phineas, who is in contact with Snape and yet there are no negative repercussions to Ron or his family. Had I been reading the book carefully the first time, this fact (as well as the fact that Snape sent Ginny, Neville and Luna to Hagrid for their punishment, knowing Hagrid is a member of the Order of the Phoenix), should have been enough to make me wonder if Snape was really as evil as he was presented to be.

Too bad I was so caught up in the excitement of the novel to notice these hints. I guess that means J.K. did a good job writing the book, doesn't it?