Character introductions show J.K.'s mastery

One of the many things that stands out for me as I read The Goblet of Fire is the mastery with which J.K introduces us to new characters. Using carefully chosen adjectives to describe each one when they first appear, she guides (and often manipulates) our reaction to them.

Her skill is most noticeable when she introduces two characters in close proximity to whom she wants us to react very differently, like Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch Sr. early in the book and then Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime later on.

Bagman receives a very kind, rather lengthy description when he first arrives, concluding with, "His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round eyes, short blond hair and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy." The man is immediately likeable from this description and his happy-go-lucky, boyish personality only adds to his attraction, both for us as readers and for the other characters in the book.

Three pages later, Rowling introduces Barty Crouch as a "contrast with Ludo Bagman": "Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tied. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule." Just look at some of the adjectives she uses in this description (stiff, crisp, unnatural, narrow); every one of them is intended to make a young reader dislike this man. I won't even go into the "slide-rule" description of his moustache: how many members of Rowling's target audience would even know what a "slide rule" is?

Ironic, isn't it, that Bagman turns out to be a bit of con-man, ripping off Fred and George after their winning bet and fleeing from Goblins trying to collect on a debt, while Crouch, though always stiff and unapproachable, ends up being a staunch, utterly trustworthy opponent of the Dark Arts who dies at the hands of his evil son?

Rowling carefully controls how we first react to these characters, only to completely undermine our impressions later in the book.

Later, J.K. introduces us to the two headmasters of Europe's magical schools: Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff. In this case, she plays it straight. The initial descriptions of the characters turn out to be accurate predictors of their behaviour.

Madam Maxime is described as "unnaturally large", with "a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid looking eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers." She is later described as having a "gracious smile".

Okay, so it's not the most attractive description. I'm not sure the words "unnaturally", "liquid looking" or "beaky" are particularly favourable. But that is balanced out by the words "handsome", "magnificent" and "gracious", suggesting that Madame Maxime will prove a different sort of person, perhaps a difficult sort of person, but not without her positive qualities.

Now compare that to the first description J.K. gives us of the head of Durmstrang: "Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, his goatee (finishing with a slight curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin." She continues the description several lines later with this "his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd."

I will leave out the objectionable use of the term "fruity", a rare bit of potentially homophobic nastiness Rowling unfortunately indulges in from time to time.

Beyond that, we get a very negative impression of this man. From the "weak chin" to the yellow teeth to the cold, shrewd eyes, Karkaroff is described in a way that makes us wary of him from the outset. He "hides" things and smiles false smiles. He cannot be trusted.

To my mind, these descriptions are further examples of Rowling's brilliance as a writer. It is clear that she is in complete command of her craft, masterfully guiding our reactions to her new characters. As it turns out, of course, we learn quickly that J.K. is just as likely to use her powers to mislead us (and therefore make future plot developments more effective) as she is to use them to guide us down the proper path with regard to a particular character.

Why don't the Weasleys have a House Elf?

Let's talk about House Elves for a moment. I'm currently re-reading The Goblet of Fire which, of course, has a distinct HE subplot, and it's gotten me thinking.

The main question that keeps popping into my mind is this one: Why don't the Weasleys have a House Elf?

There is a second question, which is also floating around in my mind, but perhaps I'll deal with that another time. The second question? If House Elves are generally solitary creatures (one per household -- both the Malfoys and the Crouches appear to have only one House Elf each, despite their great wealth), how do House Elves have children?

I mean, from what we've learned, House Elves can do nothing without first getting permission from their Masters. Further, House Elves appear to come in two biological sexes (male and female, Dobby and Winky) which would lead one to imagine (perhaps incorrectly) that it takes one House Elf of each sex to create a child.

So, if House Elves are generally allocated one per great house, and you need to have two House Elves (one of each sex) to make a baby House Elf, does a House Elf approach her Master and say, "Master, may I go visit the nearby great house to visit my partner House Elf for the purposes of making a baby House Elf so you have someone to replace me when I die?"

And, if that's the way it works, to which great house is the resulting baby Elf attached?

But more on that another time (perhaps).

My first question is, why don't the Weasleys, with all those children, have a House Elf?

Part of the answer appears to be provided in my consideration of the second question above: on several occasions in the early books, J.K. Rowling suggests that House Elves are attached to great houses, like those owned by the Malfoys and the Crouches, and the families that inhabit them.

We could argue that a House Elf can only live in a manor or other great building (such as Hogwarts). That would certainly help to explain why the Weasleys don't have an Elf -- the Burrow is simply not grand enough to host such a creature.

When you read that, did your mind go where mine went? But but but but... the Black family does not own a glorious manor house and they have enjoyed the services of Kreacher and his family for generations. The Blacks live in a row house in London, not tiny nor inexpensive by any means, but not a manor house.

So perhaps you don't have to own a magnificent home (or building) to have a House Elf.

Could it be that House Elves only serve great wizarding families with long, glorious histories? No matter where they live at the moment?

That's possible, but it doesn't explain why the Weasleys (or the Gaunts for that matter) don't have an Elf. The Weasleys are well-established as a pure-blood wizarding family and the Gaunts, for certain, are pure-blood with a glorious past.

My best explanation is that House Elves formed relationships with wizarding families long ago in the distant past. They naturally gravitated to families with large homes and lots of money. Once the bond was formed, it continued throughout history, no matter what happened to the wizarding family and its fortunes.

It could be broken only by three events:

1. The wizards freed the Elf for whatever reason;
2. The last Elf in its family died, without children, leaving the wizarding family without an Elf; or
3. The wizarding family died out completely, leaving the Elf in search of a new place.

In the case of 1 or 3, the Elf would either try to find a new family or end up at a place (like Hogwarts) where it could find work and a new role in life.

In the case of 2, the family either had to live without an Elf or find a new Elf that is looking for a new place.

Think about Dobby and Winky, who find themselves, by the middle of TGOF, without a place. Dobby has been accidentally freed by the Malfoys while Winky was let go by Barty Crouch Sr. Dobby goes out looking for work at other houses but ends up at Hogwarts while Winky falls into alcoholism as a result of her shame of being a House Elf without a proper place.

If those two stories are typical of what happens when an Elf becomes free, it is surprising to me that the Weasleys were never able to pick up a House Elf at any point in their history.

It can't be their poverty that stopped them: remember, House Elves normally don't want to be paid. So what was the problem? What happened?

Making sense of the Goblet's plot

A small thought. Voldemort required the blood of an enemy to be brought back to life. He desperately wanted that enemy to be Harry. So he needed Harry's blood.

If that's all he needed, why did he go to such ridiculous (and risky) lengths to have Barty Crouch Jr. shepherd Harry into and through the entire Tri=wizard Tournament just to get him to the graveyard in Little Hangleton at the end of The Goblet of Fire?

Why not just have Crouch siphon off some blood and be done with it?

I know, I know. That would kind of kill the whole plot of the book. If all the Dark Lord required was Harry's blood and it was so easy to obtain, he didn't need to attack Mad-Eye Moody, he didn't need to interfere with the entire Tournament, he didn't need Crouch to sneak Harry's name into the Cup, etc. etc. etc.

Not much of a book, sure, but at least it would have made sense.

A quick bit of Potter trivia

Here's a new little trivia question I picked up while reading The Goblet of Fire for the umpteenth time. See if you can answer this one without looking it up (online or in the book).

Who owned the Sorting Hat before it started sorting, when it was just a plain ol' hat?

The answer to the question is in the Sorting Hat's own beginning-of-term song in the fourth book. I'm amazed that I never really noticed this little bit of trivia before.

Did you get it? Do you know the answer? Do you remember?

Well, the answer is Godric Gryffindor. Yep, the Sorting Hat tells us Gryffindor took the hat off his own head and made it into the Sorting Hat.

So we've got his Sword and his Hat playing a significant role in the magical world. Neat.

Is Rowling speaking to us through Arthur Weasley?

I'm not sure what to make of the following passage from The Goblet of Fire:

At this, the Veela lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders -- 

'And that, boys,' yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, 'is why you should never go for looks alone!'

I have to admit, I don't like the implication that could be drawn from what Mr. Weasley is saying -- physically attractive people are often evil monsters underneath -- and I particularly don't like the fact that he aims this advice at the boys in the group, leaving out the two girls, Hermione and Ginny.

Before I go into that, however, I will state that my even bigger concern is what this could say about the author, J.K. Rowling herself.

Now, I'm the last person in the world to read a novel and immediately attribute anything and everything that is said in the book (either by individual characters or even the narrator) to the author, but we have already seen that Rowling often puts her philosophy, her thoughts and ideas and opinions, into the mouths of certain of her adult characters.

Certainly, Albus Dumbledore is one such character. I think we can safely argue that Rowling uses Dumbledore to voice her perspective quite often throughout the novels. I would argue that J.K., to a lesser or greater extent, often uses other adult characters who take on parental roles in Harry's life (such as Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin) to fulfil a similar function: to inject into the narrative the author's perspective and philosophy.

So is Arthur Weasley the voice of the author in this scene? Is he speaking a life-lesson not just to the boys in his family but also to all boys reading the novel?

I hope to goodness that is not Rowling's intention since I find the sentiments expressed (that beauty often hides evil, that feminine beauty, in fact, often hides evil while masculine beauty does not, etc.) highly offensive.

But, if the intention here is not to express the author's philosophy, why is Mr. Weasley's comment included at all? It's not funny. It doesn't tell us anything about the Veela or the situation that is evolving at that moment.

The only thing the comment does is make us think a little less of Arthur Weasley. I've written on other occasions how I often feel Mr. Weasley is not portrayed as a particularly admirable character in these books but this is a low point even for him.

The passage also raises another, less serious question: if pure-bred Veela turn into nasty bird-creatures when angered, what happens to part-Veelas like Fleur Delacour when she gets mad?

I can learn from Rowling's subtlety and careful planning

One of the reasons I like to read and re-read the Harry Potter novels is because they are so well written. As an aspiring writer myself, I feel I can learn a great deal from how J.K. Rowling both in terms of plotting and in terms of the actual writing.

It has struck me, as I dive into The Goblet of Fire again, how well constructed this story is. We are all very familiar with incredibly dramatic ending of this book, with Harry and Cedric agreeing to share the Triwizard victory, then being instantly transported to the graveyard in Little Hangleton where they encounter, with world-shaking, deadly consequences, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

What impresses me is how carefully Rowling sets the stage for the dramatic conclusion in the earliest parts of the book, how meticulously she prepares her readers for the fast-paced action that brings the novel to a close.

Take the concept of the "Portkey", for example. We have never seen one before this book. It's new and, as we find out, it is a key aspect of Voldemort's plan to bring Harry to the graveyard. Rowling needs to ensure two things as her readers head into the climax of the book: 1) that we understand and are comfortable with what a Portkey is and how it works; and 2) that she doesn't have to slow down the action and the build-up of suspense late in the novel to explain all that to us.

So J.K. introduces the Portkey to us early in the book, when she can do it slowly, carefully and with a full explanation of what it is and how it works. Its introduction at the top of Stoatshead Hill becomes, in fact, another part of our fascinating and ongoing introduction to the world of witches and wizards.

And, since Harry is as new to that world as we are, Rowling can plausibly have Mr. Weasley explain Portkeys to us (and to Harry) when they are first introduced.

Even more clever is the fact that Rowling chooses a very memorable metaphor to describe how it feels to be transported by a Portkey. It feels like "a hook just behind [your] navel has been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards." That metaphor is not only incredible effective at conveying a feeling (I can just feel that hook yanking me from the centre of my body) but it is also very memorable in its description.

So memorable, in fact, that when, 500 pages later, Harry and Cedric grasp the Triwizard Cup together, all J.K. has to do is tell us that "Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel" for us to know that the Cup is a Portkey and that Harry and Cedric are on their way somewhere they don't want to go.

Rowling also takes great care to introduce (or re-introduce) us to Cedric Diggory in a much more sympathetic way in this book. Since it is a key to the success of this book that we like Cedric by the end, in order to make his death more dramatic and affecting, it is important that we see him as more than the ridiculously handsome boy who actually beat Harry in Quidditch.

How does J.K. accomplish it? With her usual subtlety and style. Instead of giving us some extended scene where he comes across as weak or even maudlin, Rowling shows Cedric being embarrassed by his father's boasting and attempting to clarify that he at least understood why the Quidditch match had turned out as it had.

Thanks to this very brief moment in the early part of the book, we are much more willing to give Cedric the benefit of the doubt when he gets thrust into the unenviable position of being painted as Hogwart's wronged champion later in the novel.

I learn something from Rowling every time I read one of her books. And The Goblet of Fire contains as many lessons for an aspiring writer as any of them.

On Dudley and choice seats for Quidditch

A couple of thoughts from the first couple of chapters of The Goblet of Fire.

After Fred and George managed to tempt Dudley with a Ton-Tongue Toffee and blow his tongue up like a balloon, do you think Harry told them about what Hagrid did to the kid? It would be a natural conversation, wouldn't it? "That was funny what you did to Dudley, but it's got nothing on the pig tail Hagrid gave him four years ago!"

And what do you make of the differences between how the book deals with the seating arrangements at the Quidditch World Cup and how the film version addresses the same issue? In the book, both the Weasley party and the Malfoy family are seated in the top box, leading to that nasty confrontation. In the movie, however, the point is made clearly that, while the Malfoys are guests of the Minister for Magic himself in the top box, Mr. Weasley could only afford the cheapest seats for his family.

That's not the only difference. In the book, Rowling makes it clear that the seats at the top of the stadium are the best and most costly; in the movie, Lucius Malfoy mocks Mr. Weasley's seats which are so high up in the stadium that, if it rains, the Weasley's will be the first to know.

First of all, why change it at all? Second of all, when the sport is Quidditch, the best seats must be at the top the stadium, where all the action is. So why does the movie version make it sound like it's better to be lower in the Stadium? Is that just because most Muggle movie-goers would automatically think lower is better because that's how it works at all of our sports venues?

I don't know. I don't get it. I can't figure out why the movie makers kept changing little things like that when the original book is clearly right.