I haven’t started reading Deathly Hallows yet, although Emily and I did break down and sheepishly buy a copy from the customer service desk at Giant last night. She’s most of the way through, but is currently taking a break. I’ve been rereading a borrowed copy of the sixth book (thanks Matt!), reminding myself of important contextual points like who the hell Romilda Vane is and how to pluralize “horcrux”.
I’ve also found myself reading a lot of blog posts about whether Harry Potter is good or stupid or could beat up my dad. Most of these are merely the forces of curmudgeonliness checking in for another round of the fight that Michael Chabon started (it’s both a children’s book and a wild commercial success, so they like their odds).
There’s also the willfully counterintuitive posts — folks who decide not to let the books charm them, then write 300 words about how they don’t see what the big deal is. My favorite so far is Megan McArdle’s economic critique of Harry Potter, the subhead of which contains the hilarious assertion that “successful magical worlds depend on basic economic principles”.
It’s tempting to quibble with Megan’s complaints about the apparent limitlessness of magic, dismay at the authorial sloppiness implied by a reliance on imperfect communication between characters, and puzzlement over how stratification of wealth can exist in a society blessed with extraordinary abundance. But plausible answers to these criticisms can be found in the AD&D rule book (any edition), O Henry’s short stories and contemporary American society, respectively. So I won’t belabor the point.
I do think it’s interesting to consider the books’ appeal, though. Kriston provides a nice account of it here. But I think my own reasons come closer to Ogged’s: these books are hugely comforting. The reliable patterns of discovery, worry-prefaced resolution and compassionate authority figures are incredibly soothing. Plus there’s the handily straightforward good/evil dynamic, which makes even the tension reassuring in a Rocky IV-ish sort of way. More than anything, there’s a pervasive sense that everything will work out in the end. Or there is for me, anyway — perhaps those who’ve already finished the new book will disagree.
Both book 5 and 6 have pretty anti-authoritarian themes. I suppose it’s more of a local vs federal authority battle, though.
And without giving anything away, 7 manages to strike some blows at the remaining compassionate authority figures.
Yeah, I’d say that the Ministry of Magic doesn’t really rate “authority figure” status. All of the important adults in Harry’s are constant (in terms of character, anyway — Sirius dies, of course).
I’ve got to avoid getting drawn into the hint in your final sentence, but hopefully I’ll be caught up myself in not too long.
He’s referring to the startling realization that Hagrid has been running an illegal dogfighting ring in the Forbidden Forest. Tragic, I know, with so many children looking up to him.