The other day (it’s mid-March 2023), I was thinking about the ways in which two cis-gender white female writers, P.L. Travers (author of the Mary Poppins books) and J.K. Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books), responded to criticism that they were giving child readers stereotyped and damaging portrayals of people who continue to be oppressed and marginalized by white Western culture.
That led me to thinking about my adult reading responses to Rowling’s work in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and that led me (oddly) to thinking about what Harry Potter has in common with Luke Skywalker.
My mother and I used to have a tradition at Christmas of reading a book aloud to each other, alternating chapters. One year, I brought the first Harry Potter book wth me. Some of my friends and colleagues had been asking me for my opinion of the children’s book that had gone viral, so I had picked up a copy. When we got to the “Diagon Alley” chapter, my mother commented that either Quirrell was Voldemort in disguise or was working for him, and I said “yup, looks that way.” At the end, we agreed that the book was full of clichés and derivative, but average fun. After that, I read up to book four, knowing I’d be getting students who were huge fans and would expect me to be well versed in Harry Potter. I mentally ticked off Rowling’s sources (train as magic door = Prince Caspian, flue powder = Bedknobs and Broomsticks, whomping willow = Fellowship of the Ring, flying car = Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, etc.). In book two, I wondered if Rowling was getting better with some writing practice. In book three, I thought "oops, you shouldn’t add time travel unless you’re willing to think through the logical consequences." Book four had such a huge plot hole, though, that I couldn’t stomach reading further, and I stopped.
I recognized that for readers, young or adult, who came to Harry Potter with no previous experience reading English fantasy, the series was exciting and new, but for me it was kind of “meh,” and “could I maybe interest you in these other books and authors who handle the clichés and tropes of fantasy in much more interesting ways?”
Star Wars “A New Hope” came out when I was sixteen and had just spent three years reading science fiction in the adult section of the public library. Most of my classmates had waited in long lines to get tickets, and some Canadian theatres were just playing it over and over again, shuffling customers in and out during the credits. My SF-loving father and uncle took the family—usually, we only went to one film a year because it was an expensive outing by our budgetary standards. I liked the visual effects, but the story itself wasn’t that exciting to me: it felt more recycled from the anthologies of pulp SF from the 1930s than resembling any of the exciting and thought-provoking novels from the 1960s and ‘70s I’d also been reading. In other words, clichéd and derivative, reproducing the tropes but not questioning them or inverting them or adding to them. I wouldn’t have put it that way at the time, and the word “meh” hadn’t been invented yet, but I was a bit disappointed. That the John Williams score seemed to have been cribbed from Gustav Holst didn’t help! (I’d gotten into classical music through high school band.) I made it to the fourth Star Wars film, where Jar Jar Binks killed my desire to keep paying money to see them. Since then I’ve tried to watch Rogue One and The Mandelorian on TV, but gave up after about fifteen minutes. I appreciate that George Lucas loved the genre and brought lots of people to be excited by it…but, again, I had to resist the urge to tell people they could be reading (or watching) more interesting and thought-provoking science fiction.
Part of the problem with both Harry Potter and Star Wars, I think, is in fact their reliance on older models and sources in times when Western white-dominated society was undergoing major changes when it came to recognizing the voices of women, people of colour, and queer people. Harry and Luke are both cis-het white boys, raised as orphans by an uncle and aunt, but with special abilities and destined for greatness. They begin distanced from the deadly political games that led to their being placed with their outsider relatives to raise. They accumulate a group of friends and supporters, only one of which is a token girl (who turns out not to be a love interest because she’s too smart and independent). They prove themselves worthy-though-imperfect warriors and leaders, and they adventure across a lot of narrative space before they confront and overcome their quasi-paternal Evil Overlord adversary. Yeah, this says a lot about twentieth-century Western capitalist patriarchy's ideals and desires (one white man raised in humble circumstances will save the world), but without challenging them. Both series are designed to sell to wide audiences and both did really well. Gradually, both made tiny changes to try to adapt to changing social mores, in Disney-like baby steps at least ten years behind the times. I don’t reject either as outright dreck—and I think I’ll put this post in the academic section of my blog—but I don’t count myself a fan.
Shall I boldly recommend to you a better English-language white-authored fantasy from the turn of the millennium and some more sensitive Western science fiction from the 1970s? OK. How about Garth Nix’s Abhorsen books and Ursula K. LeGuin… let’s say both The Dispossessed and Four Ways to Forgiveness (although the latter came out mid-nineties).
And, in case you want to know which Potter plot hole aggravated me so much, scroll down.
If A) any ordinary object can be a port key, and
B) the bad guys have a fake Mad Eye Moody in the school from the beginning of the year,
then C) all he has to do is call Harry into his office, say “Potter, hand me that book,” and poof! off to Voldemort; therefore
D) the whole tournament, and therefore the main plot of Goblet of Fire, is pointless.
... if Hogswart has magical protections so port keys can't work inside the building, why doesn't it have similar protections for the grounds? That's a big security issue. And how often do Harry and his friends go to Hogsmead, where presumably someone could get him to touch a port key?