
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Dear Judith,
My wish has been granted. With the ending of this book--which I'll try mightily not to ruin--Rowling lays her cards on the table. In the last 90 pages of Goblet of Fire, we learn more about Voldemort than we have in the thousands of preceding ones. We leave with a pretty good idea of why he went wrong, what he really wants (it isn't just Harry), and which of the darkish characters we've met are actually his henchmen. And now that we know the stakes, the series really begins to feel like the epic it's meant to be.
I enjoyed your reading of Voldemort as an Edmund. It made see me Lear everywhere: Rowling is obsessed with false accusation and vindication (see: Harry, Sirius, Hagrid), traitors (Pettigrew), and mercenaries (those who appease Voldemort when he's in power and abandon him when he's not). And Goblet of Fire's most important subplot is about a son who betrays his father. The father goes mad as a result, and--as if the reference needed to be any clearer--is found wandering outdoors and muttering incomprehensively to himself.
There's also some Lear-worthy twinning afoot. Harry and Voldemort are unmistakably doubles and perhaps even brothers of a sort: Their wands are siblings, and by the end of Goblet of Fire, they share some of the same blood. Those passages you quote give us even more to go on: Harry and Voldemort are both are of mixed muggle/wizard lineage, and both were painfully rejected by muggle relatives who were creeped out about having wizard kin. They were each raised as orphans and re-introduced to the wizarding world at Hogwarts.
Here the free will theme, which has been threaded throughout the series, takes on some real grandeur. The similarities between Harry and Voldemort's backgrounds only serve to emphasize their different choices. For example, Harry doesn't use his newfound powers to take revenge on the Dursleys, the muggle oppressors who have lied to, starved, and neglected him for eleven years. Instead, he allies himself with Hermione Granger, daughter of two muggle parents, and Ron Weasley, son of an unabashed muggleophile. (I'd like to pause to salute Rowling here. Until now, Mr. Weasley's fond tinkering with cars, telephones, and other muggle artifacts has seemed like nothing more than a minor, inspired bit of clowning. By the end of Vol. 4, it's storytelling genius. And proof that she really did plot out the entire series before she began writing the first book.)
Voldemort has the opposite response to his abuse at muggle hands. As we've been hinted for a few volumes now, Voldemort and his groupies are the racists and eugenicists of the magical world. They consider muggles inferior at best and dragon-bait at worst. (Rowling, who has a Dickensian penchant for using names--Snape, Sirius, Moody, Flitwick--as shorthand, has given two of Voldemort's supporters Germanic ones. I hope she shows some restraint here--it would be awful to see her cross the line from fantasy to allegory.) All of us readers are muggles, of course, so the implicit message--which might be really scary for kids--is that Voldemort wants us dead too.
This faction begins to terrorize muggles at the start of Goblet of Fire. Call me bloodthirsty, but I'm looking forward to more attacks in future volumes--they'll bring the muggle and wizarding worlds into closer contact, which is bound to be fun. Small portions are already integrated--I'm thinking of Hermione's parents, who benignly see her off to school each year and send her sweets in the mail--and we've been told that mixing with muggles has somehow helped wizards survive over the years. In fact, since wizards are human too, and both factions can breed reproductive offspring, what Voldemort and company might eventually be fighting is the integration of the magical and non-magical worlds. Any chance, do you think? And should they merge? The entire Ministry of Magic would split over the question, and as a reader, I'd be torn too: We'd lose the delight of a parallel universe, but the mutual discovery would be delicious.
To be sure, Voldemort's agenda is undoubtedly more ambitious than a simple anti-muggle campaign. He also seeks general control, revenge, and as he confesses at the end of this book, one of the classic baddie prizes, which I won't reveal here. But now we know that racial purity is definitely one of his main goals. Judith, a question for you: Yesterday you said that you found this theme over-earnest and Manichean. After finishing the book, do you still?
Two predictions to share before I sign off. Our colleague June Thomas rightly points out that Hermione's campaign on behalf of the house-elves remains unresolved in this volume--to be picked up in a later installment, I hope. And this astute post, by one Jack Cerf, offers a convincing analysis of what drives Lord Voldemort, and who else he might lure into his clutches.
Until next year,
Jodi
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Reader Response from The Fray (to be read after the most recent entry):
The main concern of an Edmund/Iago villain like Voldemort is not revenge but virtuosity. He must continually prove his own godlike superiority to the rest of the human race by reducing all around him to manipulated objects whom he allows, until the moment of cruel revelation, to enjoy the illusion of free will. Some philosophers have defined property as the projection of an individual's will into a thing, and this type of character is driven by resentment to convert every other human being into his property.
Whatever other failings Harry Potter may have as a human being, it is not surprising that he lacks resentment. Notwithstanding his ghastly upbringing among the Dursleys, his life since the arrival of the first owl from Hogwarts has been a succession of delightful surprises. He has discovered not merely that he is a member of a community of superior beings, but that he is an extraordinarily gifted and celebrated member, blessed with shrewd and powerful adult patrons. Certainly he has his troubles (who does not), and he is not universally loved (who is), but he is a born insider on the fast track to the highest levels of the Wizard establishment. What is there in his situation to drive him towards the Dark Arts?
Ron Weasley, on the other hand, is a natural candidate for seduction by the bad guys. Even in the first volume, his look in the magic mirror revealed him as someone who badly wants distinction. He has always disliked the handmedowns and humiliations imposed by his family's poverty; as he grows older in Vol. 4, he is becoming increasingly angry about it and increasingly greedy for money. He is jealous of his second fiddle status to Harry. From personal pride and family loyalty, he longs to destroy the Malfoys father and son. Ron is a decent fellow with the makings of a crooked cop in him, and there is a great deal that Voldemort could promise him to win him over. If Rowling wants to drive the Potter story in a morally complex direction, the temptation of Ron Weasley is the vehicle she should be using.
--Jack Cerf
(To reply, click here.)
You write that, while you read the book, you're "doing what every Potter fan is doing, reading the critics..." Judith, this is an understandable professional handicap/bias on your part. In truth, no Potter fans need critics to tell them what to think, or even care what "the critics" think. The idea of Harry Potter's audience turning to the NY Times to find out if it's right to like him is hilarious. By now we almost think that English professors (in existence for 80 years, at most) made Shakespeare and Milton and Dickens and company popular. This Saturday, midnight, watching the readers snatching up the books, I realized with joy that, although my own profession (English professor) has all but destroyed itself, literature never needed us anyway, and would do just fine without us.
--George Leonard
(Professor of Humanities, San Francisco State University)
(To reply, click here.)
I, like Harry Potter, am a 14-year-old adolescent who has experienced the trials and tribulations of both school and puberty. I have gone to many lengths to read this book. I haven't gone as far as curling up on the bathroom floor, but I have shunted my responsibilities for the past 3 days so that I could finish it. But in terms of a moral lesson being a part of these books, I don't think that there are any, nor should there be any. It is my opinion that one of the reasons that these books are so wildly popular is because they have a truly fantastical flair about them, not because they present good moral lessons and standards. I am by no means saying that I disliked Ms Kantor's article, I actually enjoyed it very much, but I think that perhaps not every book written that is geared towards a younger audience should have a moral lesson. Those of us who are not quite of age yet are having examples of good and bad morals forced upon us every day of our lives: I thought that the Harry Potters were a nice way to sit back, and let someone else go through things that would never, ever happen to us, and still be able to appreciate the fact that he can do the right thing without a moral lesson nagging at him, making him ultimately ask things like "now, what did we learn from all this?"
--Frocodile
(To reply, click here.)
[Notes from The Fray: There were a number of arguments about whether the books promoted Satanism--one starts here with a comparison with Alice in Wonderland. The Fray Editor also strongly recommends this post from James Grimmelmann: but--spoiler alert--only for those who have finished the book, as it gives away some secrets from the plot. This further post from Mr Grimmelmann not only continues the discussion but also has the best title in The Fray: "Nobody here but us Manicheans".]