HPP: Recapitulation, and Other Hocus Pocus

I'm beyond getting my feet wet as I open the cover to Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  It might be time to rummage around for appropriate Hogwarts attire.  Methinks a trip to the thrift shop is justified.  Do they make many old shirts in Ravenclaw colors?

As a reader, going back to the beginning is always joyful to me.  It signals the delight of the journey to come, minus the edge-of-your-seat fumbling with the unknown of a first-time reading.  The Chamber of Secrets brings us full circle . . . so, despite the growth and triumph in The Sorcerer's Stone, we find Harry right back where he began.  Which is not, I'm afraid, very joyful for him.  Chapter 1 is a recap of the previous book, an evil necessity.  I don't much like recaps but they're almost always necessary in a series, especially a children's one.  But Rowling summarizes while staking out the ground for the new plot to come, so it's not bad.

source

For reasons yet to be revealed, Harry's friends have not kept correspondence with him over the summer as they promised.  This serves two purposes, as I see it: it puts Harry right back into the darkness where he was to be found in the beginning of Book 1, with even his prospects of returning to Hogwarts thrown into uncertainty.  It also highlights a particular character weakness.  Masha writes that, "he never really knows where he stands in the magical world, or the hearts of his friends.  He wants certainty that can’t be given in this world, he lacks trust - a faith in the goodness and consistency of those he loves.  It’s sort of a common thread for Harry throughout the books. . ."

I remember writing early on about the horror of Harry's upbringing and my subdued surprise that it hadn't affected him more severely.  Children raised in such a home, outside of the fictional world, would almost certainly have deep emotional wounds and problems with delinquency.  Here we start to cast light into the deeps of Harry's woundedness, of which, so far, we have not much left the shallows.

I noted and took some pleasure from Harry's teasing Dudley.  The words "jiggery pokery," "squiggly wiggly," and even the famous "hocus pocus" sound so ridiculous to those who, like Harry, have encountered real wizardry, lovely Latin roots and all.  It's a fun elbow-nudge to the reader.

Keith James, The Worst Birthday, source

Jenna warns that this book is noticeably darker than the first, and both Jenna and Masha admit to a bewildering gut reaction of finding it their least favorite in the series, only to renege after having freshly finished.  So we're going to see what that's all about!

In the meantime, I would love to make Aunt Petunia's pudding.  I'd not had trifle before living in Britain.  Its sogginess can be off-putting for some, but I like the throwing-together-the-scraps recipe.  My mother-in-law makes it from leftover cake and even sweet bread.  If I do make it, it won't be any sooner than the next couple of weeks.

HPP: The Greatest of These*

Three is irrefutably a magic number; and there are three revelations at the end of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

The first revelation is the solution to Dumbledore's enchantment protecting the Philosopher's Stone.

Of the 17th and final chapter, Jenna writes, "Dumbledore has set his task up so that no one who actually wants to use the Philosopher's Stone can find it."  It's the perfect catch-22, and an old familiar paradox: that someone who desires the eternal life granted by the Elixir made from the Philosopher's Stone cannot have it; those who cling to their lives shall lose them.

I'm more than a little mystified as to how Dumbledore pulled this off.  Making it so that an inanimate, albeit magical, object senses the intention of the one mirror-gazing and withholds or deposits itself accordingly is impressive.  Although, I suppose, no more impressive than a mirror that looks into a person's soul and shows him back what he most desires.  The Stone would have to have some connection with the Mirror, and it makes most sense, to me, to believe it was hidden inside.  This is no charm to temporarily paralyze a person's nerve-endings or spell to unlock a door.  This is magic that looks into the heart of a man.  To have that kind of ability at lose in the world, whether naturally inherited or gained through secret knowledge, makes me uneasy.  Also, it shows Dumbledore to be on or above the level of Voldemort in skill and eerily similar in nature.

"With great power comes great responsibility."  Could it be that Voldemort and Dumbledore are of the same stuff, with the only difference being how they chose/choose to use their power and regard their responsibility?  Like Voldemort's feeding on the soul of Quirrell, Dumbeldore's task supersedes mere nature and passes into the realm of the spiritual.  Whenever and wherever that happens, questions of morality are sure to follow.

Masha feels the grandiose mirror task renders the previous ones superfluous.  I see her point.  If we're really trying to stop an evil madman from obtaining an object of power, one need only the one impenetrable shield.  Unless we assume that those less wily and wicked than Quirrell-Voldemort, and those less loyal and courageous than Hermione-Ron-Harry, would have had a harder time getting through and met a dead end (no pun inten--oh, what the hey, pun way, way intended!) at an earlier task.  There is also the lingering suspicion that Dumbledore foresaw, to a certain extent, the way in which events would unfold and allowed the tasks and their subsequent dangers for reasons undisclosed--perhaps to strengthen the friends and fortify Harry with their friendship before the greater test; or to weaken Quirrell and distract him, exasperate him, and catch him off guard by making him think his success was a given.

The second big reveal in this chapter is, of course, that Snape wasn't the one working for the cause of Voldemort.  There are little hints of this throughout, and it's hard to say how well it's disguised and how subtle the clues are.  I had long known the plot of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone the first time I read the book and so it didn't come as a surprise to me.  I'm curious about how those first early readers felt about it.

Ponyu, Severus Snape
(Disclaimer: I have no idea and take no responsibility for what he's saying!)

Still, Rowling avoids the elbow-elbow-wink-wink fictional plot-twist: Snape wasn't out to kill Harry, but he doesn't have a hidden heart of gold.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much." 

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes.  He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know?  They loathed each other.  But he never wanted you dead."

So an uneasy truce is struck with the idea of Snape--not enemy . . . not exactly ally, either.

What is there to say about Voldemort being revealed underneath the turban on the back of Quirrell's head?  It speaks for itself.  The fact that the enemy was so near all along, within the very walls of the one place deemed safe--a place for children.  The horror of a man so enslaved by his "master" that he is willing to become an abomination of nature, housing a spiritual parasite.  It's shudder-inducing and hits too close to home.  We may not yet be the ones who have sold our souls, but we feast with, work with, and learn from those who have every day.  The stench is evident.

What follows, then, is surprising only inasmuch as the answer to the Mirror task is surprising: an inversion of the expected, even of the laws of nature, the creed of Darwinism.  The powerful magician cannot bare to lay hands on the helpless boy.  It burns his very skin.  He cannot defeat him.  And while Quirrell's skin burns, Harry's scar sears: clearly, the source of this incompatibility is in the event or act from which the scar was cut.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?" 

"Your mother died to save you.  If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love.**  He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark.  Not a scar, no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.  It is in your very skin.  Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason.  It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."  

It seems so simple and obvious, but it's a quite an idea.  In a realm where magic is power, something ordinary and universal like human love is super-magical, and has nothing to do with wizardry.

Or, as Jenna says, "It's interesting here that hatred leaves a scar [. . .] but love leaves an invisible mark with stunning powers."  This is the third significant revelation at the end of The Sorcerer's Stone.

Masha protests Dumbledore's practical use of his pupils, which, despite good intentions and good results, is use nonetheless.  After all, his explanations to Harry leave little doubt as to whether or not he had some shadowy idea of what was going on all along--things which he allowed and even instigated--such as with the cloak and Harry's first encounter with Erised.  We get the idea of a master hand in it all; and this I think is why, with Harry, I fall into a too-easy comfort with Dumbledore.  The concept of an authority figure, of a wise old man who has lived long enough--scrutinized the way of things hard enough--to have arrived at the Right Answers and Know Things.  Especially as a child, we are prone to put full trust into our parents and guardians, never suspecting them of ill, never dreaming of ever one day finding them mistaken.  It's a hard lesson, one that comes with growing pains.  I suspect Harry's going to have to learn it before his time at Hogwarts ends.

"The truth."  Dumbledore signed.  "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."

For now, I understand Harry's relief; his resignation to something--someone--greater than he is; who will look after them all, whom they can count on--even if, sometimes, he is called in faith by the one he trusts to do something he does not understand.

The friends from Gryffindor are recognized for their roles in averting disaster--Neville's sacrifice is given special attention by making it the last rewarded, consequently tipping Gryffindor House over the edge for points and out-scoring Slytherin.  It is the happiest moment in Harry's life.  And then the train pulls out, the enchanted realm falls behind, and the journey ends, metaphorically as well as literally, at the return to a train station.  It's a place of repose and nostalgia, and a part which no fairy tale is complete without; the coming home after a long and tiresome journey, the putting up of one's feet; the satisfied feeling of deeds well accomplished and unnamed wonders witnessed; and the trust in hope that this is only The End the way the final page of a good book is; that there are potentialities, shapeless and shimmering, just out of reach; and that the door of Faerie is not locked but only shut, ready to open again in a time and place appointed by the stars.




*  1 Corinthians 13:13
**  Similarly, the plot of JRR Tolkien's masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings, hangs on the gamble that Evil will not, cannot penetrate the vision of the Good.  It lacks imagination because it cannot possibly imagine a motive other than selfishness.  Thus, Frodo and Sam are able to slip through the treacherous borders of Mordor unnoticed, to destroy the One Ring, the object Sauron coveted above all else.  He could never have imagined someone putting the good of others before himself.  He could not have fathomed the love of friendship that carried two small, weak creatures over the waste land to accomplish the impossible.

HPP: Engaging the Critics, Part I

A few weeks ago, Masha shared a couple of links to commentaries about Harry Potter from renowned scholars, each in their own field--Harold Bloom of literary canon fame and Michael O'Brien from the classical Catholic educational background (think Tolkien and Lewis).  Both are the types (I think, in O'Brien's case) to rally behind the white Anglo-Saxon male dominated canon, and that's not necessarily a condemnation from me.  I just think it's interesting that we have two critics with similar tastes, who dislike Harry Potter for differing reasons, and worth mentioning.

Never one to shy away from stating the obvious, below I am going to examine their arguments in full, starting with Bloom.  At current writing, I do not know whether I "agree" or "disagree" with either Bloom or O'Brien.  Rather, I am writing this break-down as an examination, and we shall see where we stand when we arrive at the end.

Harold Bloom does not begin well when he likens the popularity of Harry Potter to that of Tolkien--something that is inexplicable and cheap, that will wane with time.  Then he makes the claim (as many have, I am told) that Harry Potter is not well written.

Harold Bloom and JRR Tolkien

Now, if he means that the lexicon is limited and the syntax straightforward, he is right.  It is a children's book, however, and the first of a series: it is to be expected that it will start simple to attract a young, wide audience.*  But fair enough, I'll give him that.

If he means in terms of plot, I'm not sure I follow (no pun intended).  The plot is engaging, grabbing the reader in from the first page and keeping the events fresh but relevant.  I suppose he is looking for something more cerebral, like a late Henry James?  A novel of manners, like Jane Austen?

As for the characterizations, I cannot see how they are simple or one-dimensional.  Quite the contrary.  There are layers there to Snape and Dumbledore that are communicated very well for the simpleness of the novel.

Rowling also draws from tried-and-true mythological traditions.  Perhaps Bloom is looking for something revolutionary?  But then, canon is a predictable cycle of action and reaction, each new literary movement a direct opposite from the one preceding it, so often the novelty of a novel (see the irony** there?) is overstated and over-represented by the juxtaposition, and truly "new" literary inventions are much rarer than first made out to be.  So is Bloom disapproving of Rowling's following of the (very successful) conventional literary formula?  (See * below.)  It seems this is the case, when he says that Harry Potter does not posses an "authentic imaginative vision."

I know his intentions are good, but after reading the HP essay,
it's such a presumptuous title!
source?

He writes

Rowling has taken 'Tom Brown's School Days' and re-seen it in the magical mirror of Tolkein (sic.).***  The resultant blend of a schoolboy ethos with a liberation from the constraints of reality-testing may read oddly to me, but is exactly what millions of children and their parents desire and welcome at this time.

Yes, okay.  Well . . . so?

In what follows, I may at times indicate some of the inadequacies of  "Harry Potter."  But I will keep in mind that a host are reading it who simply will not read superior fare, such as Kenneth Grahame's "The Wind in the Willows" or the "Alice" books of Lewis Carroll.  Is it better that they read Rowling than not read at all?  Will they advance from Rowling to more difficult pleasures?

Ah, now I see.  He's concerned for the youth.  c;

Rowling presents two Englands, mundane and magical, divided not by social classes, but by the distinction between the "perfectly normal" (mean and selfish) and the adherents of sorcery. The sorcerers indeed seem as middle-class as the Muggles, the name the witches and wizards give to the common sort, since those addicted to magic send their sons and daughters off to Hogwarts, a Rugby school where only witchcraft and wizardry are taught. Hogwarts is presided over by Albus Dumbeldore as Headmaster, he being Rowling's version of Tolkein's (sic.)**** Gandalf. The young future sorcerers are just like any other budding Britons, only more so, sports and food being primary preoccupations.

He's absolutely right about the two Englands, something I find delightful about Harry Potter, from the first time I picked up The Sorcerer's Stone years ago.  It's the typical set-up for a fairy tale, the mundane of everyday weighing heavily on the reader via the character; only too soon to disappear, we know, else we would probably put the book down and cease reading (or we'd have been reading Virginia Wolf to begin with).  And yes, there is a caricature of normal people as "mean and selfish," but I see parallels there to other children's authors such as Roald Dahl and Lemony Snickett.  Does the caricaturing make it unacceptable, but (and correct me if I'm wrong, really) doesn't Charles Dickins do a bit of that as well?  And is the flat-out, accurate-in-all its-ugliness depiction of human depravity in stories such as Heart of Darkness acceptable?*****

The statement about those "addicted to magic" seems inaccurate, as it is clearly shown that magic is an inherited trait and not something achieved by mere wishing.  Bloom says that the reasoning for Harry's being handed to the guardianship of his aunt and uncle is never disclosed by Rowling, but I've been told by those knowledgeable of the series that this is not the case.  So there's some inaccuracy about the books, which, if not undoing his points, certainly throws uncertainty on his credibility.  He goes on about Harry's upbringing for a while, and I gather that his issue so far has been with HP's conventionalism.  So Rowling's is a sin of unoriginality.

"A born survivor, Harry holds on until the sorcerers rescue him and send him off to Hogwarts, to enter upon the glory of his schooldays."  Point well made.

He admits the admirability of Harry in the climax [SPOILERS], then says, "Why read, if what you read will not enrich mind or spirit or personality?"

Now, as far as I have read, Harry Potter is not a challenging, game-changing story.  But I have to protest the implication that reading it will not at all enrich mind, spirit, and personality.  What is the anthropomorphic castle if not an introduction to the Gothic genre?  And the Flamels' longevity coupled with Voldemort's rabid lusting for the Stone (and the blood of innocents) if not a grammary to Paradise Lost?  On the contrary, I think Rowling's borrowing of these classic elements is essential to and accountable for, at the very least, some of the interest in Harry Potter, beyond action in the form of zipping brooms and hi-jinks with clever and uncomfortable spells.  To the meat of the story, those things are pink fluffy frosting; they give a temporary sugar-high, no doubt, that distracts from the more substantial substance (seewhatIdidthar?) of the story; but the ingredients for a good, sturdy recipe are present underneath, and they remain when the saccharine "tricks" and "spectacle" fade.  And yes, it is a recipe, in the sense that is a formula.  But we follow recipes and formulas because they work.

Finally, the zinger:

I hope that my discontent is not merely a highbrow snobbery, or a nostalgia for a more literate fantasy to beguile (shall we say) intelligent children of all ages.

So, there it is: literary fantasy beguiles.  It can't be worthwhile if it isn't true, or based in reality, or boring realism, or fantasy treated as realism (Henry James again?).  But the same doesn't stand for The Odyssey and the Arthurian romances . . . or did the people back then just not know any better, and so are excused from providing better fare for the literary canon?  Or is it only okay when it's satire, like Mark Twain?  Or when it's overwhelmingly dark like The Picture of Dorian Gray?

Is our lad Harry Potter on par with the greats, worthy to take his place alongside Shakespeare and James Joyce and The Canterbury Tales?  I don't think so, at least not at this point in the execution of my Harry Potter Project.  But I can't see how the reading of it is worthless and without merit entirely.

source

And I think "common" readers realize that.  As Chesterton would say, regarding the "awful authority of the masses," sometimes our humanity instinctively leads us to what is good and affirming.  Something unknown within us responds to truths never named: that friendship and self-sacrifice, and standing by what's right in the face of impossible pressure, is more than mere escape, but a glimpse toward that which the soul knows and misses, and not something to be swept up in the "dustbin of the ages."



*  The "stretching his legs" cliches he mentions on page 4 I happen to like, as it establishes the "this is just an ordinary story about an ordinary family" tone before jumping into the Shocking Reveal--this is more a sense of trite storytelling, as I am sure of the art and intelligence of Rowling enough to know that she could do better if she'd wanted to.  Then we wander into territory that asks, "Is using pre-established formula considered bad form for literature?"
**  I'm probably not using the correct definition of "irony" here!
***  You should see my expression as I acknowledge the glaring spelling error.  Let's hope it's a typo.
****  Still trying hard to believe it's a typo.
*****  Would Harold Bloom accuse me of peacocking by dropping my knowledge of literary canon?  Probably, but he'd be wrong about that, too.

Late to Robin Hood, in More Ways than One

There's a Robin Hood retelling event over at Pages Unbound (thanks to Jenna of A Light Inside for hooking us up!), and I've never touched on the Sherwood legend on SSiG, so here's me getting my feet wet by jumping right in!

The blogmistresses posted some questions to start the ball rolling for discussion; there are also a round-up of links and book reviews, so if you're curious about more Robin Hood or an old devotee, click over and see what's what.

Discussion Questions  

1.  What versions of Robin Hood have you read? What retellings? 

I haven't! 

This question has made me painfully aware of my lack of knowledge in this department, which is a shame, because it is second to none in English-language folklore (except for Arthuriana, but you'd think the study of one would have led me to another). 

I have encountered nods-of-the-hat to Robin Hood in The Once and Future King and The Last Unicorn, and the Stephen Lawhead book Hood wins my instant interest by placing it in the march borders of Wales.  But his books are intimidatingly large and intricate, and while an avid book-lover, I've been known to have a short attention span. 

2.  What movie or television versions have you seen? 

Disney, of course, and the one with Kevin Cosner and Robin Hood: Men in Tights, which is probably the one from which most of my RH knowledge is drawn, even if in parody! 

3.  Do you have a favorite book or film? 

Not yet! 

4.  Who is your favorite classic character? 

As a childhood, hands down, Maid Marian.  Now, I don't know . . . the character of Father Tuck is interesting to me.  And of course the main character. 

5.  How do you feel about female Robin Hood characters? 

I think it can be a refreshing angle, and suitable way to reboot the legend for new generations.  I am, however, always was and will be a traditionalist: the closer to the oldest versions of the tales the better.  Even more reason for me to pick up Lawhead and plunge in, no doubt. 

6.  Do you like an emphasis on the romance between Robin and Maid Marian, or more emphasis on adventure? 

I tend to prefer adventure, unless it's really, really well-done romance.  I have an aversion to mushiness and stereotypical romances and love-at-first-sight with no other motivations backing it up.  They have to be good characters, too.  I just can't bring myself to care about the love affair of two characters I don't personally like, for whatever reason (note: I didn't say characters that were "good," but characters I like; the chemistry and conflict between an anti-hero and his/her love interest can make for some really fresh romance reading). 

Otherwise, adventure, in which tangible conflicts and difficulties challenging virtue and courage are what draw me in, especially if there is some element of mystery or some details left out that keep me turning the pages to find out the answers.

Okay, it appears like I'm late and the event is over, but I'm letting my questions stand.  Here is a great overview of the Robin Hood legend also posted over at Books Unbound.

What about you?  Do you consider Robin Hood a staple of English-language folklore?  What kind of fairy tale elements does it have, and how does it differ from a traditional fairy tale?

HPP: The Point of No Return

There's always that moment before the great act, suspended before them like lustrous fruit to tempt, in which the would-be heroes could turn back, should turn back.  The moment when hesitation could creep in and infect them; the subconscious whispers, "No one would notice now if you turned back."  Self-preservation urges us to stay alive a little longer.

That moment comes and goes in Chapter 16, with no fanfare or great build-up, so casually as to go unnoticed.

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them.  Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other two. 

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said.  "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now." 

"Don't be stupid," said Ron. 

"We're coming," said Hermione. 

Harry pushed the door open.

And that's it.  Just like that, a great obstacle is surmounted, without even a ripple. I would argue that this, more than anything else that comes before or after the hero's tale, is the moment of truth--at least for Ron and Hermione.  And for Harry, it seems to have come earlier, when he declared, with such simplicity, vehemence, and lack of reflection, "I'm never going over to the Dark Side!"  They may not be acts of valor and cleverness that jump out at us when we call to memory great moments in fiction.  But they are the ones upon which all the story hinges; they infuse the rest with potency and meaning.  They are the decisions that precede the actions, the acts of will that engender legendary deeds.  The point of no return.

The tasks set before Harry and his friends remind me of the 12 labors of Hercules.  The son of the greatest of Greek gods had to surmount incredible difficulties in recompense for murdering his family in a fit of madness.  Only Hercules's labors end with the three-headed dog, while Harry's begin with it.  The purpose for the labors and their significance and end results differ quite a bit, but I wonder if there are any other similarities that I am overlooking?

Mary Grandpe, Flying Keys, source

I took a brief look at this puzzle of the bottles, and just starting down that path of intellectual tangles makes my head want to explode!  I might attempt to transfer the picture and solve it on my own later, probably using very rudimentary methods of drawing arrows and scribbling down notes, making it harder than is necessary.  Seriously, does anybody actually know how to solve these things without instruction?  Like, I think I might be able to do it, but only after being taught the methods--similar to solving a math equation.

My favorite task was the giant chessboard; I've a life-long love affair with humanoid chess pieces thanks to an old pewter set in my grandparents' house that was always off-limits.  I played with them anyway.  And later, as I grew older, I learned to play and enjoy chess, though I've not the mathematical strategy for it.  Oddly enough, I am much better at chess than checkers.  Can you say "covet"?

Liz F. Caballero, Wizard's Chess, source

For a comprehensive walk-through of the tasks and their deeper significance, read Jenna's post, if you haven't already.  Jenna wonders about the symbolism of Ron's placement of his friends on the chessboard.  Even if Rowling hadn't intended it this way, the meanings suggest themselves to me as follows:

Harry is bishop because of his Christ-like role and engendering of faith in others, both through his survival as an infant and his natural leadership.  Hermione is the castle/rook because she is their fortress--she is there for the boys in an immovable stubbornness.  She is convicted, a champion of the rules and the even greater laws of loyalty and friendship, and is always providing them with essential answers.  And Ron is the knight, the figure of sometimes-reckless bravery and nobility.  (See #3 in Jenna's potential discussion points.)  Oh Ron, if only you saw what I see when you looked in the Mirror of Erised.

In what is beginning to establish itself as pattern, Harry and Hermione venture onward alone.  I remember reading the first time, around when the fourth or fifth book came out, getting the warm fuzzies about Harry and Hermione.  I don't know how much I can say without [SPOILERS] (I'm so excited I can be the one hoarding spoilers for once, can you tell?), but Hermione's declaration before they separate is, as Harry's statement that he would never join the dark side is his declaration of intent, a definitive statement from the book:

"Harry--you're a great wizard, you know." 

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. 

"Me!" said Hermione.  "Books!  And cleverness!  There are more important things--friendship and bravery. . !"

He's going to need these things more than books, and cleverness, and power, because there's no way he could approach the level of strength and skill of the one he is about to encounter.  But the friendship and bravery, like Dumbledore's music, is a magic beyond mere wizardry.

HPP: Setting up the Impossible

I've been absent for the past couple of weeks, so now is as good a time as any to reaffirm the warm and hearty invitation to join in our Harry Potter book club and its discussions.  Anyone is welcome!  It can be difficult sometimes for the three of us to keep the ball in the air during especial periods of business, and during those times, it's great to have other Harry Potter fans and novices keep the pot simmering.  Thanks to all those who have contributed thus far, in the com-box and in their delicious dishes of contribution on their own tables.  You guys are the best!

Masha and Jenna, with the help of other erudites, have delved into some great discussion about Harry Potter criticisms--and there's so much going on there that I'm going to lump my response to all that together in a later, more specialized post.

Chapter 13 picks up pace after the Christmas holiday; in this chapter the vein of friendship runs strong and clear.  The loyalty of Gryffindor friends is unwavering, almost to a fault.  So much so that they take on their friends' enemies, without question.  I can't blame them.  I remember those fierce, pure adolescent friendships; in those days, friendship, like young love, your first crush, is potent--animal and instinctive--they are kind of friendships that are because, well, one day you decided to be friends, and you've never looked back.  Those're the kind of friendships emerging in Harry Potter so far; free of complication, moral grey areas, and adult caveats.  It's an incredible source of strength in the novel(s), craft-wise and character-wise.

ullakko of dA, Homework, source

A word about Neville: courage is the dominant trait of Gryffindor, and while there has been a lot of reckless wandering-around-dangerous-places-at-night, disobeying elders, and standing up to bullies, the purest form of courage I've seen so far is from Neville.  It is exactly his lack of chutzpah that make his actions so courageous: standing up to Malfoy, holding his own against Crabbe and Goyle, and risking detention and loss of life (we all know which Hermione would find the more horrifying!) to warn his friends of a dirty trick.  Neville may be the bravest character I have yet to encounter in Harry Potter.

The themes of courage and friendship continue strong into Chapter 14, with Hermione and Harry risking a great deal to get Norbert somewhere safe, in order to keep Hagrid's job safe.  And yeah, it's funny that a lot of the loyalty-and-friendship is tested by means of rule-breaking and into-trouble-getting.  I'll have to think more on that a bit and wonder why that's the case.  It may be as simple an answer as it moves the plot forward and makes for some exciting reading.

RavenclawRadiance of dA, Hagrid's Hut, source

After the very important disclosure of Nicholas Flamel, the sub-plots of Quidditch Cup, Operation Dragon Escape, and bucking horns with Slytherin are good ways to ease the tension before the steep build-up to the finale.  It makes the revelations in Chapter 15 that much more rich.

Quirrell seems to have given in to Whomever is pressuring him to attempt getting past Fluffy.  Then, entering the Forbidden Forest, a glimmer of the silvery-blue unicorn blood sets the mood, approaching the genre of horror.  The vampiric creature, sucking the magical blood of the sacred unicorn, is a clear inversion (at least to this Catholic) of the Sacrament of the Eucharist.  Its skin-crawling, bug-creeping, weird-out, sinisterness amps up the Serious in swift, breathless strides.

Martin TenBones of dA, Mars is Bright Tonight, source

The centaurs who, while harmless in themselves, act as harbingers of doom.  This aspect of the stars is often over-looked in modern storytelling, their portents and omens, their steely fixed paths and merciless cold light.  It's interesting that this is how the centaurs chose to see them.  Masha verbally pins down this reading experience:

So what accounts for the disinterest of the centaurs regarding innocent suffering? I suppose it could be the tendency continual involvement in divination often brings: to see the present only as it relates to the future. To be farsighted, in the sense of being blind to everything immediate. Living in potentialities and portents can be as debilitating as living wrapped in memories, mourning for what has past. With the mirror, we saw Harry tempted by the latter - by visions of loved ones dead and gone; with the centaurs we see a similar failure to live as they spend their time waiting for what may or may not be. It’s an interesting pairing. . .

And I'm back at the beginning on Privet Drive, with Dumbledore and McGonagal and the Boy Who Lived.

It's the potential for great loss that makes what we have so precious.  The knowledge that at any moment, apart from anything we do or say, all that is good can be taken away from us.  We need that precarious balance.  Without it, life would be mundane, and Harry Potter would not make the profound impact it has on readers over the decades.  No one could rally behind a hero who stood a good chance of survival in the face of impossibly strong evil.  I couldn't care as much as I do that Harry lives (and did live!) now that I know that he is set against the very stars.

marikaart of dA, Through the bright day, source

Firenze knows.  I know he knows when he says, "Do you not see that unicorn?  . . . I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

Jenna illuminates further:

Firenze explains: "...it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn... Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips." 

This paragraph sets up the—if you'll pardon the wordplay—crux of the entire Potter saga. The conflict on which the whole story turns is this conflict between defenseless innocence and selfishness taken all the way to monstrosity.

Innocence against selfishness, weakness against power, the loss of everything worthy against the terrible upper hand of someone with nothing to lose . . . to see these things triumph against all odds and common sense is food for the human soul, one the very things for which we read--beginning with Odysseus's ten-year struggle to journey home and onward.  I'll leave the last word to the clear simplicity of a children's book, one of the greats:

"That's why," said Azaz, "there was one very important thing about your quest that we couldn't discuss until you returned.  

"I remember," said Milo eagerly. "Tell me now."

"It was impossible. . ."