The Boy Who Lived

The overall story begins with death. But love, pain, fear, loss, joy, surprise, disappointment, courage, patience, diligence, trust, wisdom, acceptance / fear of death, friendship, faith, betrayal, forgiveness, and finally triumph through perseverance (some might say redemption)—and more, I am sure—are all experienced as well.

I would be a little ashamed to find myself writing about the Harry Potter series were it not for the fact that I enjoyed it so. I think it’s fair to repeat a critique I had heard as I embarked on the effort (joy, really) of reading the seven-part series of books, one after another: Rowling’s writing is rather poor (particularly at the start), though it improves (as does the complexity of her story telling) the further the reader gets into the series. But after reading all seven books, I find that questions about the quality of her initial (or general) writing do not really matter to me much. Instead, I am left in awe at how richly she draws the long arc of the story, as objects subtly and inconsequentially introduced in early books (such as the cursed necklace Harry finds in Borgin & Burkes in the first book, or the diadem he finds in book six) make more prominent appearances later in the series. Moreover, the extent to which the characters develop over the seven books is truly satisfying. In keeping integrity to as organic a development of particularly the younger characters as she can, Rowling seems to capture perfectly so many of the then-tumultuous moments of young childhood and later adolescence that I still vividly remember.

But what sticks with me the most is this notion that Rowling attempted to write a story that could pass on to her children the many things a mother might have learned about “life” in a way that it likely both to entertain them and to stick with them for the rest of their lives. Her attempt to do this has probably been documented as such; it wouldn’t surprise me if it were overt. Still, it remains, intentional or not; the stories are very effective drawing out value lessons from difficult situations.  Moreover, I would speculate that her effectiveness inducing such value lessons will only be appreciated as time passes, since it is the parables of our youth that continue to instruct us through life until the end of our days.

As employed by many authors, part of Ms. Rowling's effectiveness spinning the Harry Pottery story comes from her ability to simplify components of what can be very non-simple dynamic: the difference between (and discerning) good and evil.  Lord Voldemort = evil and Harry Potter = good.  The distinction is clear; yet, Rowling does muddy the boundaries a bit, particularly in her later characterization of Professor Dumbledore's early years; possible motivations for Tom Riddle's development; and even through Harry's own struggles living up first to his notoriety and later his prophesied role.  A point I gathered from these struggles is that so many of the good things we can take for granted in heroes, from bravery to courage to fortitude, are simple concepts that can be extremely difficult to uphold in real life--even for those of us who do not possess magical abilities or who are not predestined to be a hero.  Simple, undramatic decisions underlie a larger attempt to be "good," and one constantly has to consider whether the means justify the end (think of the failures of Dolores Umbridge, deigning the stain of using the cruciatus curse was justified by her attempts to discover information or instill order).

I am sure it is fodder for sneers from those very sophisticated and enlightened readers, but I also appreciated the time and care Rowling gave to stress the importance of love.  The power that Harry possessed that would ultimately permit him to destroy a more powerful (magically) Lord Voldemort was Harry's power to love.  The presence and power of love penetrated all corners of the story, in fact, from its ability to save Harry's life in the opening scenes to its role protecting all of the non-Death Eaters at the end of the story.  I also saw a clear distinction drawn between those characters in the books who had some component of love in their lives versus those who did not.  The Malfoys are a good example.  As loathful as the Malfoys as a family seem to be, they still had the capacity for love, and that saved them in the end.


I think in the end, the clearest distinction Rowling drew was between Voldemort's inability even to have real relationships (epitomized by his inability to love) in contrast to the many relationships that Harry had that both sustained him and enabled his success.  I can only imagine that, as a kid growing up, the values of many relationships can seem dubious.  Even for adults, there are so many opportunities to eschew the complexity of relationships; for failing to learn how to trust and to believe in friendship.  Perhaps one of the most satisfying continuities throughout the stories was Harry's friendship with Ron and Hermione.  As I have written previously here--and as evidenced in the story--these friendships ultimately were Harry's greatest strength, weapon, and treasure.