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realexplodingcatI made an emergency reading of this book, because the movie adaptation was just released. Sometimes, when given the choice between literary and cinematic experiences for my first exposure to a story, I will prefer the literary, if indeed the book was written first. This has been the case with Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. I hadn't intended to write a response to my reading of this book. I just wanted to have some fun, but my brain wasn't content with that.
The central plot of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is about a psychotic wizard, Sirius Black, who has escaped from prison to kill Harry Potter. This plot is actually not very exciting. Harry spends most of his time being a reactive protagonist, rather than a proactive one, either waiting around for attacks or reacting against the limitations placed on his mobility for his own safety by the Hogwarts administration. The central plot does pick up speed and demand focus in the last third of the book, but until then a lot of empty space is filled with numerous tiny subplots. As Rowling has demonstrated in the previous novels, she does a remarkable job of tying up absolutely every subplot by the end of the story in a way that makes them all integral to each other. No subplot could be removed from the book without the entire story collapsing. A lot of coincidental events are required to make the novel work, but she manages to set up the coincidences so that they do seem to unfold naturally in the narrative. The book is a lot of fun and a significant year for Potter, as many things are revealed about the circumstances surrounding the death of his parents.
As much as I enjoy Harry Potter books, I'm constantly struck by its moral inconsistencies. The Hogwarts administration expends a lot of energy keeping the children safe from psycho killers, basilisks, and other uncommon threats. Given their concern for the wellbeing of the students, I find it irresponsible of the administration to plant whomping willows eager to crush children, permit them to play quidditch, a game that ought to yield more deaths in a single school year than a serial killer on the loose in the castle, and let the sorting hat divide the children in such a way to cause violent rivalries. Not to mention, surrounding the castle with a forest full of deadly creatures and putting them in a consistently dangerous curriculum of classes.
One could argue the children would have divided themselves along those lines anyway. It is natural for cliques to form among large groups of people The energy put forth to fight evil in the walls of the castle, when more children are probably maimed through quidditch, classroom spells gone wrong, and the landscaping, has a real-world parallel in our own government's fight against terrorism, when an extraordinarily greater number of people in this country are killed by auto accidents each year. I may have opened a can of worms with that sentence. It's probably worth exploring why the government makes choices to fight one cause of death over another, regardless of statistics showing the attention should be reversed, but that's for another post.
Another defense: what would Hogwart's be without the absurd dangers? It's all part of the fun in reading the books. Adults usually possess a more developed sense of empathy. So, if we think about the absurd dangers too much, the fun starts to look more like cruelty and horror. I don't know if Rowling has received such criticism (other than my casual one above), but Roald Dahl (James and The Giant Peach, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) did receive such criticism. In Trust Your Children: Voices Against Censorship in Children's Literature, Dahl says most grown-ups "are not quite as aware as I am that children are different from adults. Children are much more vulgar than grownups. They have a coarser sense of humor. They are basically more cruel." Vicki Weissman, reviewing Dahl's Matilda wrote of the cruelty in his book, saying that "the truths of death and torture are as distant as when the magician saws the lady in half."
But is all this pandering to children's warped sense of fun a good thing? Madeline L'Engle (Wrinkle in Time), in a Newsweek interview, said of a Harry Potter book, "It’s a nice story but there’s nothing underneath it. I don’t want to be bothered with stuff where there’s nothing underneath." L'Engle seems to be at the opposite end of the spectrum. In my limited reading of her, I found her fiction to be full of responsible behavior and lacking in a wanton revelry of cruelty and danger. I believe her criticism is valid. L'Engle's handling of quantum theories and morality themes are superior to Rowling's. On the other hand, the Harry Potter books are so much more fun in a different way. Either way, at least kids are reading something that contains pages full of uninterrupted text, which is more than you can say for many adults.
I suspect my excessive analysis about this book is due to the children's novel that I have had brewing in my head for many years now. The story is ready for some some serious effort on my part to actually write it. I hope to strike a middle ground somewhere between the fun of Potter and the seriousness of L'Engle.
The central plot of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is about a psychotic wizard, Sirius Black, who has escaped from prison to kill Harry Potter. This plot is actually not very exciting. Harry spends most of his time being a reactive protagonist, rather than a proactive one, either waiting around for attacks or reacting against the limitations placed on his mobility for his own safety by the Hogwarts administration. The central plot does pick up speed and demand focus in the last third of the book, but until then a lot of empty space is filled with numerous tiny subplots. As Rowling has demonstrated in the previous novels, she does a remarkable job of tying up absolutely every subplot by the end of the story in a way that makes them all integral to each other. No subplot could be removed from the book without the entire story collapsing. A lot of coincidental events are required to make the novel work, but she manages to set up the coincidences so that they do seem to unfold naturally in the narrative. The book is a lot of fun and a significant year for Potter, as many things are revealed about the circumstances surrounding the death of his parents.
As much as I enjoy Harry Potter books, I'm constantly struck by its moral inconsistencies. The Hogwarts administration expends a lot of energy keeping the children safe from psycho killers, basilisks, and other uncommon threats. Given their concern for the wellbeing of the students, I find it irresponsible of the administration to plant whomping willows eager to crush children, permit them to play quidditch, a game that ought to yield more deaths in a single school year than a serial killer on the loose in the castle, and let the sorting hat divide the children in such a way to cause violent rivalries. Not to mention, surrounding the castle with a forest full of deadly creatures and putting them in a consistently dangerous curriculum of classes.
One could argue the children would have divided themselves along those lines anyway. It is natural for cliques to form among large groups of people The energy put forth to fight evil in the walls of the castle, when more children are probably maimed through quidditch, classroom spells gone wrong, and the landscaping, has a real-world parallel in our own government's fight against terrorism, when an extraordinarily greater number of people in this country are killed by auto accidents each year. I may have opened a can of worms with that sentence. It's probably worth exploring why the government makes choices to fight one cause of death over another, regardless of statistics showing the attention should be reversed, but that's for another post.
Another defense: what would Hogwart's be without the absurd dangers? It's all part of the fun in reading the books. Adults usually possess a more developed sense of empathy. So, if we think about the absurd dangers too much, the fun starts to look more like cruelty and horror. I don't know if Rowling has received such criticism (other than my casual one above), but Roald Dahl (James and The Giant Peach, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) did receive such criticism. In Trust Your Children: Voices Against Censorship in Children's Literature, Dahl says most grown-ups "are not quite as aware as I am that children are different from adults. Children are much more vulgar than grownups. They have a coarser sense of humor. They are basically more cruel." Vicki Weissman, reviewing Dahl's Matilda wrote of the cruelty in his book, saying that "the truths of death and torture are as distant as when the magician saws the lady in half."
But is all this pandering to children's warped sense of fun a good thing? Madeline L'Engle (Wrinkle in Time), in a Newsweek interview, said of a Harry Potter book, "It’s a nice story but there’s nothing underneath it. I don’t want to be bothered with stuff where there’s nothing underneath." L'Engle seems to be at the opposite end of the spectrum. In my limited reading of her, I found her fiction to be full of responsible behavior and lacking in a wanton revelry of cruelty and danger. I believe her criticism is valid. L'Engle's handling of quantum theories and morality themes are superior to Rowling's. On the other hand, the Harry Potter books are so much more fun in a different way. Either way, at least kids are reading something that contains pages full of uninterrupted text, which is more than you can say for many adults.
I suspect my excessive analysis about this book is due to the children's novel that I have had brewing in my head for many years now. The story is ready for some some serious effort on my part to actually write it. I hope to strike a middle ground somewhere between the fun of Potter and the seriousness of L'Engle.
no subject
Date: 2004-06-14 05:12 pm (UTC)