Continuing the Harry Potter theme….

this was an assignment promt to “write a letter to someone who does not like Harry Potter/in defense of the books” I had a little bit of fun with it….:)

Dear Bibliophile,

It appalls me that they can continue to release Harry Potter books. That witch JK Rowling is just promoting her Satanism and turning our innocent children on to her occult. How can the publishers allow this catastrophic immorality to go on and what can we do about it?

Sincerely,

Harry Potter is the Antichrist

Dear Antichrist,

I have to disagree with you for several reasons. Number one, JK Rowling is just a regular old human being like the rest of us, albeit a brilliantly intelligent one with a knack for successful and enthralling story telling. But that is the extent of her “witchy powers,” the ability to weave a story so intricately as to appeal to children aged seven to 99. Secondly, there is nothing in the entire Harry Potter series that even hints at Satanism, let alone encourages our young children to practice it. Have you actually read even one Harry Potter book? Yes, there is magic in the books. But that is why they are categorized as “fiction” instead of “non-fiction.” Neither Rowling nor any of her supporters ever claimed that children in London actually receive letters by owl at age 11 that whisk them away to a mysterious boarding school to be taught magic tricks. Rather, Rowling, like so many other fantasy writers, presents the world with a fresh new canvas on which to examine themes like good and evil, friendship, laughter, justice, self sacrifice and death. The magic is that she is such a good storyteller that we hardly notice we are learning a thing until it is all over. This point also refutes the argument you may have that fantasy literature causes our children to loose touch with reality. When you finish a Harry Potter book, you are not left with a confusion as to what is real and what is not, but rather, you are left with profound knowledge and lessons to help you deal with the very real evils in the real world. No, Lord Voldemort and house elves do not exist. But Hitler did, and Stalin did, and Mussolini did. Slavery did exist, and similar evils and people exist today and will exist in the future. By watching Harry grow and learn, you learn along with him. As Harry learns the value of friendship and loyalty, so does the reader. As Harry stands up for what is right, not what is easy, the reader learns to do the same. As Hermione stands up for elfish rights and Voldemort ignores them entirely, we learn the value of not mistreating our inferiors. Rowling teaches us to value friendship and family, she teaches us that “it matters not who or what we are born, but who we grow to be.” She teaches us that “it is our choices that matter far more than our abilities” and that “we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.” She teaches us to greet death as an old friend, for that is the only way to truly “conquer” it. She teaches us to laugh even in the darkest of times, to never give up, and most importantly, that love is the most powerful magic on earth.

Ephriam Biblow has done a study that proves “contrary to popular belief, frequent trips into the land of faerie make for creative thinkers and problem solvers who are less physically aggressive” (Levine and Mass 153-154). Harry Potter is no different. Rather than instilling a love of Satan, the books instill a love of reading and goodness, which results in knowledgeable, intelligent, savvy, kind adults, and isn’t that what we all want our children to become? Defending fairy tales and fantasy in general, C.S. Lewis famously stated, “Since it is so likely they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage” (156). Many writers have pointed out that fairy tales and fantasy deal with basic good and evil, which are the most universal core human issues. In this way Harry Potter is universal in a way that the Bible can never be. Harry Potter does not demand that you believe. It does not require you to be Christian, Catholic, or Jewish. It extends universally to all humans, believers and non, and in a very clever way, teaches our children how to be good and fight evil, which, after all, is what Christ teaches his followers as well. I cannot see God taking issue with a story that extends a message of general goodness, bravery, and most of all, love to anyone willing to pick up the book. Which, incidentally, is exactly what I suggest you now go do.

Sincerely,

Bibliophile

Alice in Neverwhere

Alice in Neverwhere (thoughts on Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman)

A male character, presumably middle aged, and the largest authority of the unknown in the story, offers himself up. He does it for the sole purpose of gaining what is needed to help others. He is beat up, hung on a cross, and killed. Some time later (perhaps even three days later), he is brought back to life. Sound familiar? This description is apt for the death of the Marquis de Carabas in Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. But it is also a story so familiar that we celebrate it every year with chocolate eggs. The magic of Neil Gaiman is that he weaves other stories into his own so intricately that we hardly even notice they are there.

My all time favorite passage in the book is another such circumstance. Towards the beginning of the book, Door announces that the group is searching for an angel called Islington. At this point, Richard begins to laugh. The narrator describes the laugh: “There was hysteria in there, certainly, but there was also the exhaustion of someone who had managed, somehow, to believe several dozen impossible things in the last twenty-four hours, without ever getting a proper breakfast” (133). Now, Gaiman’s descriptive and witty writing style is such that this particular description does not stand out as extraordinary in any capacity…unless you are familiar with Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, or the movie of the same name directed by Tim Burton and released in 2010.

The movie pulls references from both Alice and Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Carroll, so for these purposes it may be a more comprehensive source. It is a reoccurring line in the movie that one should always believe in twelve impossible things before breakfast. This motto becomes essential to the movie when Alice slays the jabberwocky in the end, and so for Gaiman to weave it into his narrative so cleverly is nothing short of supremely impressive.

The parallels between Alice in Wonderland and Neverwhere do not stop at the mention of twelve impossible things. While it is by no means simply a re-telling of the old story, there are a few similarities. For starters, Alice arrives in Wonderland by falling down the rabbit hole. London Below is, well, below. You must go down to get there (generally speaking). And if you go even further down, via Down Street, you arrive at an even more impossible location.

Richard arrives in London Below as completely flummoxed as Alice is. All either character wants to do is return home, to the safety and sanity of their familiar routine. However, both characters’ lives in the above world are predictable at best. Both characters have people telling them what to do, who to be, and how to behave, as well as what to do with the rest of their boring, predictable lives. Neither character seems to have the will or the gall to stand up and say “hold on now, this is my life and I’m going to live it the way I want.”

Nevertheless, upon arrival in the mysterious worlds below England, they both just want to go home. However, the other characters that are native to the underground worlds seem to know better. They know that for one reason or another, Alice and Richard will each be essential to their quest. Alice’s friends, particularly the Mad Hatter, know that she is to be the champion for the White Queen and slay the jabberwocky, a dreaded and imaginative monster. The Mad Hatter also continuously remarks on how Alice has lost her “muchness,” for which I believe we can substitute the word “moxi.” Through the course of the adventure, however, Alice somewhat reluctantly comes into her own, finds her moxi, and proves that she is the Champion, not only for the White Queen, but for herself and her own life.

Richard Mayhew experiences something similar. Strangers remark that he is the hero, they can tell by looking at him, but he also has very little moxi. As the story progresses, Richard too seems to find his ‘muchness’. He proves to be essential to gaining the key, as well as to slaying the imaginative monster of this Wonderland: the Beast of London. In the end, he too realizes that he can have more than the predictable life that is set out for him, and seizes the life he wants (though in this case, it is to return to the underground world).

With other smaller similar aspects, such as riddles (“why is a raven like a writing desk?” is a recurring question in Alice, and Door must answer the riddle of the key in order to obtain it), perhaps the largest similarity is the question of sanity. The entire Ordeal of the Key in Neverwhere is nothing more than a question of sanity. Is this all real? Or has he merely gone insane and been wandering the streets of London? In the end, Richard makes the correct choice to embrace the seeming insanity. It is, after all, best to believe in twelve impossible things before breakfast alone.

Alice and the Mad Hatter also battle with the question of insanity. In the end, what Carroll is trying to tell us all is best summed up in another line that is repeated. First her father tells it to Alice, and then later, she wisely dispenses the same advice to the Hatter. He asks her, “Have I gone mad?” and her sage response is “I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.” If only someone had been around to point this out to Richard, his Ordeal may not have been so arduous.

Mort by Terry Pratchett

thoughts on Terry Pratchett’s Mort

If there was one word to describe Terry Pratchett’s writing, it would have to be “unexpected.” For a book that is titled Mort and is about the apprentice to death, the story is surprisingly upbeat and hilarious. While the plot is rather heavy business: love and death and fate and mortality and wizardry and time and reality all coming head to head, it is also completely and utterly ridiculous. Death deciding he would rather try out being human is what sets the wheels in motion. There is also frequently such a casual irreverence in his tone and in the characters that it catches you off guard aand you have to laugh. More than the ridiculous plot, however, the book is uproariously funny because, I believe (or would hazard a guess anyway, never having met the man) that Terry Pratchett himself is funny. He is witty and clever and most of all, unexpected. He has an uncanny knack for telling a story in such a conversationalist style to make it familiar, but then just when you think you know where he’s going with a a thought, he turns everything upside down on you, and again, all you can do is laugh. Perhaps it is the way in which he makes such ludacris and absurd references and happenings seem perfectly normal, like when Cutwell nonchalantly sits on an old pizza, the description of Albert’s porridge “which led a private life of its own in the depths of its saucepan and ate spoons,” or the descriptive phrase “with all the apparent acceleration of continental drift” that make the book so comical. Or perhaps it is the wry sarcasm that all the characters seem to use on eachother, with comments like “You wouldn’t believe how many horses we don’t get up here.” and “What time is sunset around here?” “We normally manage to fit it in somewhere between day and night.” Pratchett is a pro at subverting expectations (even expectations that you wouldn’t think could be subverted), and it is there that his comical genius lies. Mort is a hilarious book because Pratchett himself is a casually but ridiculously hilarious person. As if his writing style and the language of his characters is not proof enough of that, the description of the author in the very back of the book stands as enough evidence to solidify the case. It reads, “Terry Pratchett lives in England, an island off the coast of France…” and goes on to explain how by writing Discworld novels on an island off the coast of France, Pratchett is full-filling a very circular “Very Strong Anthropic Principle,” and thereby proving “the whole business true. Any questions?” My only question is, which hugely entertianing Terry Pratchett novel should I read next?

believe in fairies, i do, i do!

I do believe in Fairies! (Fantasy Lit recommendation)

“All children, except one, grow up” (page 7). While the story of Peter Pan is fairly well known, thanks to Walt Disney, there are plenty of details and subtleties left out of the cartoon. For this reason, and because it is my favorite book after Harry Potter, I believe that everyone should read the actual book Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. And with the fantastical trip two stars to the right and straight on till morning to the magical Neverland, this story certainly fits into the category of ‘fantasy literature.’

My favorite passage from the book is also my favorite argument for imagination and creativity: “for the Neverland is always more or less and island, with astonishing splashes of color here and there, and coral reefs and rakish looking craft in the offing…” (11). Barrie’s description goes on for paragraphs, as he describes Michael, John, and Wendy’s individual Neverlands, and compares and contrasts them. At the end of the description he says “On these magic shores children at play are beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more” (12). I find this to be a very powerful observation on creativity and childhood, as really the whole book is such an observation.

With details like the kind-hearted Neverbird, the vicious mermaids (true to mermaid lore), the house they built around Wendy, and the underlying tension of possible romance between Peter and Wendy, the story of Peter Pan is much deeper and darker than Walt would have us believe. The story is a critique on childhood, on believing in magic, and on growing up and losing that childhood wonder. It is a literal case of characters experiencing fantasy to better understand the real world. It is also a bit of a tragedy, as exhibited when the children return home to the overjoy of their parents. “There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred” (147). Peter Pan gets to fly around and have adventures with mermaids and pirates. He never has to grow up, go to school, and get a boring job in the world. But it comes at a cost. He will be forever alone. That seems to be a profound statement in and of itself: if you refuse to grow up, you will be very lonely. I would argue that with this story, Barrie is arguing that while all children must grow up eventually, we should always remember not to loose our childhood wonder. We should not forget the magic in the world. J.K. Rowling may have made it popular to believe in magic again, but J.M. Barrie is the one who asked us to believe in fairies.





http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/peter-pan-j-m-barrie/1007393899?ean=9781593082130