Deathly Hallows, Chapter 18: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore
Or, Dishing the Dirt on Dumbledore, Part 3
Author’s note: This is it, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who’ve been wondering why this series, its characters, its creator, and her sycophant fans are so screwed up, here’s your answer. I fully expect the essay in the last half of this installment to revolutionize Harry Potter criticism. Enjoy!
Harry sits there at dawn, continuing to wallow in the trauma of losing his wand. No matter what anybody says, wands have to be phallic symbols. Nothing else can explain Harry’s trauma; he acts like Hermione’s broken his penis instead of a stick he uses to channel his magic. After some of Harry’s physical injuries over the series have been recapped, we get this histrionic passage:
“...[N]ever, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him. [I.e., as if a part of his body had been amputated.] He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. [Stupid girl. What does she understand about such a manly injury?] But she was wrong, his case was different. [Of course it is. He’s Harry Freakin’ Potter! Everything’s different, more intense, more important, when it happens to him.] She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. [Come on. Tell me that’s not blatantly phallic.] He had lost the protection of the twin cores, and only now that it was gone did he realize how much he had been counting upon it.” [This is also phallic, since both urine and semen come out of the penis.]
The wand = penis equation works from a historical perspective, too. Wands were originally used in the ceremonies of the earliest religions, which all centered on fertility. In that context, a wand could have been a dildo, or at least a symbolic penis; for example, it could have been waved over seeds, plants, female animals, and/or women to “fertilize” them.
After reading Harry’s self-pitying angsting, I also think wands are crutches. Harry had powerful magic long before he ever had a wand and learned how to use it. At best, a wand just amplifies the magic one already has; more likely, it’s just a way to allow one to concentrate and direct one’s magic. In other words, there’s no reason a person should not be able to do magic with no wand at all, as long as s/he learns to direct hir magic in other ways. One of the many ways in which Hogwarts is deficient is in not requiring courses in wandless magic.
Harry stuffs his broken wand in the pouch he wears around his neck that contains all his other broken, useless items (shades of the Hoarder Harry we saw in chapter 2). He comes across the snitch Dumbledore left him and is tempted to throw it away. “Impenetrable, unhelpful, useless, like everything else Dumbledore had left behind--”
Come to think of it, those adjectives apply perfectly to Dumbledore himself. All he’s done throughout the series is lie, deny, minimize, cover up, and throw barriers in the way of getting rid of Voldemort permanently. His failure to even attempt to find a way to remove the Horcrux from Harry without killing him is unconscionable. Even people who dislike Harry have to admit he has a right to live out his life normally. No one should have to die because some lazy, self-important old shithead doesn’t want to be bothered to find a way for him to live.
Harry comes to this conclusion himself, even admitting it was sheer desperation for answers that sent Hermione and him to Godric’s Hollow. Just then, Hermione comes out of the tent with cups of tea, with tears running down her face and looking terrified her “friend” is going to curse her with her own wand. Harry is so much like James in other ways; is this a hint terri_testing is right, and James was a batterer?
She brings out the new copy of Rita Skeeter’s biography of Dumbledore that was lying in Bagshot’s house. It’s inscribed to Bathilda; interestingly, Skeeter’s handwriting sounds like Snape’s: They’re both described as “spiky.”
Harry feels “a surge of savage pleasure” as he realizes he can now get the dirt on Dumbledore, whether the old geezer would have wanted him to or not. Hermione breaks into his thoughts and asks if he’s still angry at her. Realizing she still looks tearful and terrified, Harry says he’s not and praises her rescue of him, admitting he’d be dead without her. Probably not, Harry. Most likely, Voldy would have wanted to exhibit and torture you before killing you.
They open the book and see the picture of Albus and Gellert laughing uproariously together “shortly after his mother’s death.” Even by modern standards, such behavior would be considered tasteless; in the Victorian Era, it was outrageous.
Apparently never having heard of indexes, Harry looks at the pages near the picture for more information on Grindelwald. He finds what he’s looking for in a chapter entitled, “Villainous Treachery” “The Greater Good.”
After winning a laundry list of prizes and honors that were obviously invented just for this passage to make Dumbledore look brilliant we’ve never heard of before and never will again, Albus was about to go on his Grand Tour with Doge when they received news Kendra had died, and Albus had to go home to care for his siblings.
There’s a bizarre remark from a former neighbor that Aberforth threw goat crap at the neighbors. This is something monkeys do. Unless a person were very young--like, preverbal young--or severely handicapped mentally, a human would not do this, no matter how much he hated his neighbors. Since Aberforth seems perfectly normal, even quite intelligent and insightful, when we meet him later, I’m inclined to believe Albus Confunded this “witness” in his continuing campaign to slander his brother. Albus must have felt very threatened by Aberforth to go to so much trouble to ruin his reputation, and thus his chances for success in the highly insular wizarding society. Aberforth obviously could not be allowed to compete with and possibly overshadow Albus.
Skeeter describes how she gave Veritaserum to Bathilda to get her remember a hundred years back to when she had her great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald, visiting and striking up a “friendship” with Albus. Apparently Veritaserum isn’t just a truth potion; it’s also a temporary cure for magical dementia. The problem with this is that, once again, Rowling didn’t do her research. I found this on a website called, “Memory Loss Online”:
In most kinds of dementia autopsy reveals widespread degeneration in the cerebral cortex--such as the plaques and tangles which are the hallmark of Alzheimer's disease. Alzheimer's disease and frontotemporal dementia are therefore sometimes classed as "cortical dementias." In other kinds of dementia, there is targeted damage to regions lying under the cortex, giving rise to the category known as "subcortical dementias." This terminology is somewhat misleading, because both classes of dementia can cause damage to both cortical and subcortical areas.
I then looked at an article published in Scientific American in 2009. Yes, I know that was after DH was published. Hear me out. This article reported that, the older the memory, the more the frontal lobes are involved in retaining and retrieving it. In other words, if Bathilda really had dementia, it would have been impossible to retrieve her memories using any means because the parts of the brain where those memories were stored were either damaged or no longer existed.
I don’t expect Rowling to be prescient and know about scientific discoveries before they’re made (although I’ve done that myself a few times). I do expect her to be logical: Five minutes of research would have shown that dementia causes brain damage. Therefore, just to be safe, she should not have made Bathilda senile because that might mean the part of her brain that stores memories could have been damaged by her illness. If Bagshot had been really old, that would have made her vulnerable enough to being tricked by Rita Skeeter. We’ve all heard stories about old people being taken advantage of by slick con artists.
There is one other possibility that might let JKR off the hook: In old people, malnutrition can mimic the symptoms of dementia. When they’re given proper nutrition, seemingly senile old people can quickly become mentally normal again. Given the atrocious state of Bagshot’s house, she might just have been malnourished. If Rita bought her a few meals, that could have restored Bathilda’s mind and thus her memory temporarily, and in her own scientific ignorance, Skeeter would have attributed the restoration of Bagshot’s faculties to the Veritaserum. Another possibility is that the potion itself has nutritive properties that temporarily healed Bagshot’s brain, as I sarcastically yet presciently suggested above.
Bathilda gave Rita loads of juicy gossip about the “friendship” between Albus and Gellert. She says Gellert was charming, not surprising given the psychopath’s unparalleled ability to be whoever he needs to be at any moment. Serial killer Ted Bundy was extremely charming, too. Bathilda introduced her grand-nephew to Albus since she knew her young neighbor was missing boys his own age. She also showed Skeeter a letter Dumbledore wrote Grindelwald late at night.
Bagshot is quoted as saying,“Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion--both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire--I’d sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him, and he had to let Gellert know immediately!”
Both the reference to an owl tapping on the window late at night and Albus’s frustration at his blighted hopes reminded me of Taylor Swift’s first big hit, “Our Song.” She wrote it when she was sixteen about a high school boyfriend. She’s said it perfectly captures what it was like to be that age:
I was walking up the front porch steps
After everything that day
Had gone all wrong,
And been trampled on,
And lost and thrown away.
I got to the hallway
Well on my way
To my loving bed.
I almost didn’t notice
All the roses
And the note that said,
“Our song is the slamming screen door,
Sneaking out late, tapping on your window
When we’re on the phone,
And you talk real slow
‘Cause it’s late, and your mama don’t know.
“‘Our song is the way you laugh,
The first date, man,
I didn’t kiss [him], and I should have.
And when I got home, before I said, ‘Amen,’
Asking God if he could play it again.’”
Oh, sure, Albus and Gellert were “just good friends.” *snort* If you believe that, I have a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks to sell you.
One of the two highlights of this chapter is the letter from Albus showing how evil he was when he was too young to have learned to cover it up effectively. Of course, it’s much harder for a young man to come across as a benign, all-knowing dictator mentor than it is an old one.
Gellert--
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD--this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus (Emphasis in original)
LIke the Godric’s Hollow Voldie-vision, I’ll take this lie by lie.
Wizard dominance for the muggles’ own good: I wonder if Gellert really believed this, or if he was trying to convince his new boyfriend? Given Gellert’s proven capacity for depraved, predatory violence, it’s a safe bet he didn’t give a damn about anybody’s good but his own. However, he apparently was clever enough to figure out that Albus liked to lie to himself that he was doing good even when he was doing bad (or Albus liked to give the appearance of thinking that way so he would appear benevolent, and thus con the rubes more effectively), so Gellert would have altered his sales pitch accordingly.
Every time I see the phrase “for somebody’s own good,” I remember a book in which a character said, “When you do something for somebody’s own good, it really means not leaving them alone.” Albus never did learn how to mind his own business.
Power and the right to rule: This is typical nineteenth century “white man’s burden” BS, although in this case it could be better described as “the magical man’s burden.” It’s also the rationalization those with power have always used to justify their exploitation of the less powerful.
Responsibilities over the ruled: This refers to Albus’s penchant for believing (or appearing to believe) he was helping people when he was really exploiting and abusing them.
Stressing this point: Whom are they trying to convince of this, other magicals, themselves, or both? Either way, it’s another way of saying “for your own good.”
Using only the force necessary: In other words, “we’re doing it for the betterment of those stupid muggles, but we can’t expect such inferior beings to appreciate our good intentions, so we’ll have to force them to submit. Eventually, they’ll see they’re better off with us in charge.” It’s “the magical man’s burden” again.
Gellert’s mistake, not complaining: I love the gentle way Albus refers to what must have been horrific crimes on his boyfriend’s part. Given the blasè attitude of the British wizarding world in the present towards bullying and abuse, the viewpoint of a hundred years ago may have been even more callous.
Even better is Albus’s good-humored reference to not complaining because they wouldn’t have met otherwise. That could not be any more self-centered. Gellert committed what must have been heinous crimes against others, but that’s okay with Albus because it sent his lover into his arms. He sounds like those idiot women who marry convicted murderers on death row: “Sure, you murdered at least three dozen young women (Ted Bundy), or shotgunned your parents from behind while they were sitting on the couch watching TV (the Menendez brothers). That’s okay; we never would have met otherwise. I love you anyway.” He needs to have his name officially changed to Asshole Albus.
Rita Skeeter points out this letter blows to hell the belief Dumbledore was a noble champion of equality and human rights. To the argument that he never carried out his ideas, she adds it wasn’t “seeing the error of his ways” that stopped him; it was the death of his sister and its aftermath. Like Voldemort, we’re supposed to regard Skeeter as a depraved liar, but also like Voldy, when she’s right, she’s right. I have no doubt that if Gellert had not taken off for good after Ariana’s death, he would have persuaded Albus to go ahead with their plans together.
For the last several months, I’ve had kicking around in my head the idea for a fan fiction called Worst Case Scenario: Realizing he’s about to lose Vold War II, Voldemort uses a black market Time-Turner he’s kept on hand for emergencies. (Hey, he’s a Slytherin. They like to plan for every eventuality.) He goes back in time to 1898 to recruit Albus and Gellert to join with him in taking over the world in that era. Snape figures out what Voldy’s done and goes after him to stop him (with some help from the portrait of Headmaster Black). But he’ll need some extraordinary and unexpected allies to stop this ultimate Golden Trio.
Anyway, the biography recounts the story of Aberforth breaking Albus’s nose at Ariana’s funeral and raises a lot of questions, including these: Why did Albus blame Gellert for his sister’s death? Why did Albus fool around about taking down his ex during World War II? Was Ariana the first person to die “for the greater good”?
The laundry list of questions makes the book sound as if it were written by Glenn Beck, who’ll make outrageous accusations disguised as questions, then excuse himself by saying, “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking questions.” (This was brilliantly and hilariously parodied on the South Park episode, “Dances with Smurfs.”)
This makes me wonder whether Rowling has ever read any books in the “trashy celebrity bio” genre she seems to be parodying. I have, and she’s doing it wrong.
Kitty Kelley is probably the queen of this kind of book. Despite her habit of profiling only well-known people who fascinate the public, her biographies are extremely well-researched and typically have at least 30 pages of references at the end, including dozens of books, hundreds of newspaper and magazine articles, and hundreds of exclusive interviews she conducted personally. She doesn’t ask questions; she makes statements backed up by evidence. The fact those statements are often shocking doesn’t make them any less well-supported. (E.g., Ronald Reagan raping a starlet in the 1950s, or George W. Bush being drunk or on drugs most of the time while in college)
Back to the story:
When the Hs finish reading this Albus-annihilating portion of the book (of course, Hermione finishes first), they look at each other. Immediately, Hermione starts trying to whitewash (or should I say, Albuswash) the ugly truth about this authority figure. She admits it’s “not very nice reading,” but tries to blow off the accusations as Skeeter slander. She admits Dumbledore’s “greater good” phrase was exploited by Grindelwald, but insists they just knew each other for a few months when they were young, and Dumbledore “got over” his fling with the dark side and spent the rest of his life promoting “muggle” and “muggleborn” rights.
To Harry’s tremendous credit, he doesn’t let her get away with her rationalizations. He reminds her of the damning letter, and that their idol was planning to use evil means to take over the world at the same age as they are while risking their lives to fight evil.
Hermione tries to shut him up, but her plan backfires horribly:
“Harry, I’m sorry, but I think the real reason you’re so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself.”
“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed...”Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!”...
“He loved you,” Hermione whispered. “I know he loved you.”...
“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”...
[H]e hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.
This is the other time in DH that I wanted to stand up and cheer for Harry. Thank God! I thought. He’s finally growing up. He’s finally thinking for himself. He’s finally looking at reality, instead of just mindlessly swallowing the lies he’s been told.
The major reason the Harry Potter books are so frustrating and infuriating is because the characters never grow up. They remain stuck in the early, childish stages of spiritual development. That’s bad enough, but what makes it inexcusably sick is that this immaturity is presented as meritorious. The reader is also supposed to want to be stalled in a perpetual spiritual childhood.
The idea that spirituality has stages was originated by James Fowler in his book Stages of Faith; it was further developed by Kenneth Stokes in Faith Is a Verb. My descriptions are adapted from Many Roads, One Journey, by Charlotte Davis Kasl; the quotations that follow come from her book. There are six levels of spiritual development, corresponding to chronological ages.
The Innocent, age 1 to 6: Children believe what they’re told with few or no questions. Their goal is to be just like their parents. Authority rests entirely outside the child. This is called an external locus of control.
The Literalist, age 6 to 11 or 12: This stage “is characterized by concrete, literal thinking.” (29) Children begin to look outside the family for other authority figures, but authority is still almost entirely external. People in this stage believe there is only one way to do or be, and they belong to that righteous group. When people say, “[Authority figure] said it. I believe it. That settles it,” they are expressing a belief from this stage of development.
This is the stage many JKR fans are stuck in. When Rowling says, “James reformed and became a good guy,” or “Dumbledore is the epitome of goodness, but Snape is a deeply horrible person,” they just accept those assertions. It doesn’t occur to them to look at the textual evidence and make their own decisions based on that evidence. If they do accidentally confront evidence that contradicts Rowling’s words, these fans just ignore it. It must be a mistake. What matters is what the author intended to write, or says she wrote, not what is really on the page. The idea does not even enter their heads that JKR could be a deeply conflicted person who is not aware herself of the subliminal messages or contradictions in her writing. As the creator of this universe, Rowling is the ultimate authority--the Goddess, if you will--and what she says about her creation goes. Period.
The Loyalist, ages 11 or 12 to 15 or 16: In this stage, authority is still largely external, but peers become the most important authority figures. Loyalty to the peer group is paramount. Betraying one’s peers is the ultimate sin deserving of the ultimate punishment--such as permanent scarification.
This is clearly the stage Rowling herself is stuck in. That’s why she regards Marietta as “a traitor” for telling on her peers, even under duress, but she doesn’t consider it a betrayal for Marietta to put her mother at risk by keeping silent. When you’re a teenager, your peer group is often more important than your own family.
Because Rowling is on a slightly higher level of development than many of her fans, she appears mature to them, so they have no problem seeing her as an authority figure. To them, people who criticize her are renegades who just need to shut up and do as they’re told--just as Hermione told Harry to shut up and do as Dumbledore ordered.
In stages 1 to 3, people are convinced their beliefs and group are unassailably right, and if you aren’t like them, you’re automatically wrong. Their rightness and your wrongness gives them the right to remake you in their own image.
The Critic, ages 16 to 20s and 30s: This is when people begin questioning the beliefs they were raised with and trying to find their own way to live and think. It requires courage and willingness twice over: to look honestly at what you’ve been taught and decide if it’s right for you, and (if necessary) to break free from those learned beliefs and find your own way, even if it’s difficult and painful. Internal authority begins to be more important than external authority.
Many people never reach this stage. They stay stuck in stages 1 to 3 and never learn to think for themselves.
The Seer, usually not before age 30: This is an integration of all the earlier stages; because of that, people may shift back and forth between stages 3, 4, and 5 depending on life circumstances such as feelings of stress or security. While certain aspects of life, such as relationships, tastes, and career may change, the person has a deep inner core of beliefs that do not change and that guide hir life.
The critical HP fans are in stages 4 and 5. (I have yet to meet one who’s a stage 6.) Their higher levels of development allow them to see how immature the text, its creator, and the uncritical fans are.
Universalizing Faith, usually not reached at all: This happens when a person becomes “one with the spirit. Values, beliefs, and the actions become one.” (33) “They are at one with their spirit, their love, and their purpose. They live by faith and without fear.” (52)
I think this is the kind of character Rowling was trying to create when she wrote Albus Dumbledore--and to someone at her level of development, he probably does appear to be this good and this evolved. The problem is, you can’t realistically write someone who is at a significantly higher level of development than you are yourself. It’s like a normal ten-year-old trying to teach a post-graduate course on theoretical physics. The gap between what you are and what you’re trying to do is too great to be bridged.
People in stages 4 to 6 are able to look at evidence, evaluate it, and make their own decisions based on that evidence. In fact, they have to do this, as their higher stages of development won’t allow them to mindlessly submit to authority figures any longer. In these stages, authority rests within the individual (an internal locus of control). While people may seek information from experts when necessary (for example, regarding medical treatment), the ultimate decision is always made by the individual hirself.
People who are two or more stages apart usually do not get along well because the developmental differences between them are too great for the comfort of either person. In fact, people in the first three levels cannot even conceive that stages of development higher than their own exist. This is why Rowling gets so angry about fans who refuse to accept her pronouncements about the series. She literally cannot imagine that someone might look at the characters and situations differently than she does. She created it, so that makes her the ultimate authority, dammit. How dare anyone question what she says about her own creation! This is also the way her dittohead fans think, which explains their contempt for critics who claim to see things in the books Rowling herself does not, that she denies are even there.
If we look at the HP books, it is painfully clear that the major characters stay stuck in stages 1 to 3. All of them act because Voldemort or Dumbledore says so, or to spite those characters, which is the same thing but in reverse. As Nancy Friday put it in her mistresspiece, My Mother/My Self:
“Rebellion should not be mistaken for separation. As long as the effort to break away is seen not as a blow for ourselves but as a reaction to the parent, it is still a symbiotic proceeding. Rebellion becomes separation when the goal is self-fulfillment, not mere frustration of something the parent wants us to do....
“...The rebellious person who must always put a minus sign where she is asked to put a plus is merely reacting to somebody else. She is not free to go her own way, to choose not to argue. She is ever tied, ever waiting. Give me something to say No to.” (326-7)
Harry’s being devastated by the revelations about Dumbledore is one of only two places in this book when we see a character striving to break out of the lower stages into stage 4. That is why Harry is in such pain here. Kasl writes:
“This phase includes observation, experimentation, and growing inner awareness, which often lead to disillusionment, struggle, doubt, and difficult questions that go against the established order. It can be a shattering time, as people discover that much of what they have been taught wasn’t really in their best interest. As one loyal Catholic woman wrote, ‘I realized I’d been lied to all my life. I did everything they said I should, and I ended up miserable and suicidal.’
“This stage of questioning may start in late adolescence, and can be repeated throughout one’s lifetime as new situations arise.” (31)
Rowling’s own spiritual retardation explains most of the faults of this series that make fans in stages 4 to 6 crazy. Harry never grows up because that would require him to develop a spiritual maturity his creator does not possess herself and therefore cannot write. He is passive and waits for “Dumbledore to explain it all” because that’s what children do. They’re not supposed to think for themselves, make their own plans, or come up with their own solutions to complicated problems. That’s what adults are for.
Until a child’s age is in double digits, parents are like gods. What they say, goes, no matter how bizarre, outrageous, or ridiculous. Children under age 10 are usually not capable of critically examining and evaluating the information their parents give them because their brains are not developed enough. Since Harry has no parents, and the Dursleys don’t care about him, Dumbledore assumes the parental role. Because of the abuse and neglect Harry has suffered, coupled with the Dursleys’ own severe personality deficiencies, he begins the series underdeveloped psychologically and spiritually. Dumbledore keeps him in that retarded state because allowing Harry to grow up and become independent would enable him to question Dumbledore and (horrors!) object to the plans already made for him.
This spiritual retardation also explains why Harry spends all of DH obsessing over Dumbledore: Did he really love me? What did he want me to do? Why didn’t he give me more information? What would he think about this situation (whatever it is)? Harry is only physically a young man on the verge of maturity. Inside, he’s still a terrified, neglected little boy waiting for his all-seeing, all-knowing Big Daddy Dumbledore to tell him what to think and do. If the reader quits seeing Harry’s 17-year-old body and sees his 8-year-old soul, this all makes sense.
Rowling’s spiritual underdevelopment also explains the weird veering between the cartoonish and dark moods that are found in the later books. She could write the first three books with a single mood because she was writing for an audience on a lower spiritual level than she is, so she was able to maintain a consistent, “childish fun” tone in them. Once she tried to make the books “grow up” by getting edgier and darker, she got into the adolescent stage of the series, and the wild swings between childishness and maturity characteristic of her own adolescent developmental stage seeped into her writing.
Rowling’s being stalled in an adolescent spiritual stage explains equally well the ludicrous situation that makes Snape fans crazy: his obsession with the dead girl he loved as a teenager. In the real world, a person pushing forty who is still hung up on their teenage (non)love really would be the “freak” Petunia calls all magical people. But to the spiritually adolescent JKR, it makes perfect sense that an intelligent, accomplished grown man with two demanding, dangerous jobs would still be pining for the girl who rejected him decades ago when he was a teenager. Everything really important happens when you’re a teenager--doesn’t it?
Well, sure. That’s why everybody in the Potterverse has to not just marry somebody they knew in school, but do it as quickly as possible after graduation. If they can start popping out babies right away, that’s even better. And nobody ever grows up or grows apart, so all the marriages stay forever suspended in amber, in the same spiritual and emotional state the partners were in when they married, however long ago that was.
Regarding Harry and Hermione in this chapter, because she is still stuck in stages 2 and 3, Hermione feels threatened when Harry breaks through into stage 4 and attempts to drag him back to her level. First she tries to dismiss the allegations against Dumbledore as being from an unreliable source (i.e., “My authority figure is better than your authority figure.”). When that doesn’t work, she briefly admits to the “greater good” angle, then says it doesn’t matter because their idol changed for the better (so he’s still a trustworthy authority figure who should be obeyed). When Harry’s not persuaded by that argument either, she attempts to slap him down by acting as if his legitimate questions are just the ranting of a petulant child whose feelings are hurt because he was kept in the dark (i.e., she tries to convince him he’s even more immature than she is, thus restoring her superior know-it-all status).
What Hermione doesn’t get is that, even though she is technically correct, Harry still has every right to be angry. Because Hermione is in stages 2 and 3, she has no problem with their authority figure keeping information from them. Like the Light Brigade, her attitude is “Theirs not to reason why,/Theirs but to do and die.” For all her veneer of “take-charge grown-up,” Hermione is really a little girl following the orders of Big Daddy Dumbledore. The only reason she appears mature at all is because Ron and Harry are even more immature than she is. They’re so regressed they can’t even make independent plans; they have to wait for somebody else to tell them what to do. That’s why the Horcrux hunt was destined for failure: Its success depended on Harry’s ability to act and think independently and logically, but he can’t--because he was actively prevented from learning those skills.
In Hermione’s defense, her behavior is understandable. Harry is in pain, and watching that is profoundly uncomfortable for her. Besides, their entire relationship has been based on her telling him what to do. She can’t be blamed for objecting when he starts thinking for himself.
It’s not a coincidence that the other time in which we see a character breaking through to stage 4 is in “The Prince’s Tale,” when Snape realizes he’s also been lied to, jerked around, and set up by Dumbledore. He’s wasted his life protecting Harry for nothing, been insulted, called untrustworthy, and ordered to commit murder. Tough shit if his soul is damaged in the process. Harry’s words above could just as easily have been spoken by him.
This is an excellent chapter, but in a way, it really pisses me off because it stands in such stark contrast to most of DH. Why couldn’t the whole damned book have been this good? Why couldn’t Harry have truly grown up? I know I already answered that last question, but because of my frustration with this series, I can’t help asking it anyway.
DH trades our literary birthright of an excellent conclusion to a good series for the mess of pottage that is this dull doorstop thrown together to meet a deadline and make money.
Author’s note: This is it, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who’ve been wondering why this series, its characters, its creator, and her sycophant fans are so screwed up, here’s your answer. I fully expect the essay in the last half of this installment to revolutionize Harry Potter criticism. Enjoy!
Harry sits there at dawn, continuing to wallow in the trauma of losing his wand. No matter what anybody says, wands have to be phallic symbols. Nothing else can explain Harry’s trauma; he acts like Hermione’s broken his penis instead of a stick he uses to channel his magic. After some of Harry’s physical injuries over the series have been recapped, we get this histrionic passage:
“...[N]ever, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him. [I.e., as if a part of his body had been amputated.] He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. [Stupid girl. What does she understand about such a manly injury?] But she was wrong, his case was different. [Of course it is. He’s Harry Freakin’ Potter! Everything’s different, more intense, more important, when it happens to him.] She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. [Come on. Tell me that’s not blatantly phallic.] He had lost the protection of the twin cores, and only now that it was gone did he realize how much he had been counting upon it.” [This is also phallic, since both urine and semen come out of the penis.]
The wand = penis equation works from a historical perspective, too. Wands were originally used in the ceremonies of the earliest religions, which all centered on fertility. In that context, a wand could have been a dildo, or at least a symbolic penis; for example, it could have been waved over seeds, plants, female animals, and/or women to “fertilize” them.
After reading Harry’s self-pitying angsting, I also think wands are crutches. Harry had powerful magic long before he ever had a wand and learned how to use it. At best, a wand just amplifies the magic one already has; more likely, it’s just a way to allow one to concentrate and direct one’s magic. In other words, there’s no reason a person should not be able to do magic with no wand at all, as long as s/he learns to direct hir magic in other ways. One of the many ways in which Hogwarts is deficient is in not requiring courses in wandless magic.
Harry stuffs his broken wand in the pouch he wears around his neck that contains all his other broken, useless items (shades of the Hoarder Harry we saw in chapter 2). He comes across the snitch Dumbledore left him and is tempted to throw it away. “Impenetrable, unhelpful, useless, like everything else Dumbledore had left behind--”
Come to think of it, those adjectives apply perfectly to Dumbledore himself. All he’s done throughout the series is lie, deny, minimize, cover up, and throw barriers in the way of getting rid of Voldemort permanently. His failure to even attempt to find a way to remove the Horcrux from Harry without killing him is unconscionable. Even people who dislike Harry have to admit he has a right to live out his life normally. No one should have to die because some lazy, self-important old shithead doesn’t want to be bothered to find a way for him to live.
Harry comes to this conclusion himself, even admitting it was sheer desperation for answers that sent Hermione and him to Godric’s Hollow. Just then, Hermione comes out of the tent with cups of tea, with tears running down her face and looking terrified her “friend” is going to curse her with her own wand. Harry is so much like James in other ways; is this a hint terri_testing is right, and James was a batterer?
She brings out the new copy of Rita Skeeter’s biography of Dumbledore that was lying in Bagshot’s house. It’s inscribed to Bathilda; interestingly, Skeeter’s handwriting sounds like Snape’s: They’re both described as “spiky.”
Harry feels “a surge of savage pleasure” as he realizes he can now get the dirt on Dumbledore, whether the old geezer would have wanted him to or not. Hermione breaks into his thoughts and asks if he’s still angry at her. Realizing she still looks tearful and terrified, Harry says he’s not and praises her rescue of him, admitting he’d be dead without her. Probably not, Harry. Most likely, Voldy would have wanted to exhibit and torture you before killing you.
They open the book and see the picture of Albus and Gellert laughing uproariously together “shortly after his mother’s death.” Even by modern standards, such behavior would be considered tasteless; in the Victorian Era, it was outrageous.
Apparently never having heard of indexes, Harry looks at the pages near the picture for more information on Grindelwald. He finds what he’s looking for in a chapter entitled, “Villainous Treachery” “The Greater Good.”
After winning a laundry list of prizes and honors that were obviously invented just for this passage to make Dumbledore look brilliant we’ve never heard of before and never will again, Albus was about to go on his Grand Tour with Doge when they received news Kendra had died, and Albus had to go home to care for his siblings.
There’s a bizarre remark from a former neighbor that Aberforth threw goat crap at the neighbors. This is something monkeys do. Unless a person were very young--like, preverbal young--or severely handicapped mentally, a human would not do this, no matter how much he hated his neighbors. Since Aberforth seems perfectly normal, even quite intelligent and insightful, when we meet him later, I’m inclined to believe Albus Confunded this “witness” in his continuing campaign to slander his brother. Albus must have felt very threatened by Aberforth to go to so much trouble to ruin his reputation, and thus his chances for success in the highly insular wizarding society. Aberforth obviously could not be allowed to compete with and possibly overshadow Albus.
Skeeter describes how she gave Veritaserum to Bathilda to get her remember a hundred years back to when she had her great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald, visiting and striking up a “friendship” with Albus. Apparently Veritaserum isn’t just a truth potion; it’s also a temporary cure for magical dementia. The problem with this is that, once again, Rowling didn’t do her research. I found this on a website called, “Memory Loss Online”:
In most kinds of dementia autopsy reveals widespread degeneration in the cerebral cortex--such as the plaques and tangles which are the hallmark of Alzheimer's disease. Alzheimer's disease and frontotemporal dementia are therefore sometimes classed as "cortical dementias." In other kinds of dementia, there is targeted damage to regions lying under the cortex, giving rise to the category known as "subcortical dementias." This terminology is somewhat misleading, because both classes of dementia can cause damage to both cortical and subcortical areas.
I then looked at an article published in Scientific American in 2009. Yes, I know that was after DH was published. Hear me out. This article reported that, the older the memory, the more the frontal lobes are involved in retaining and retrieving it. In other words, if Bathilda really had dementia, it would have been impossible to retrieve her memories using any means because the parts of the brain where those memories were stored were either damaged or no longer existed.
I don’t expect Rowling to be prescient and know about scientific discoveries before they’re made (although I’ve done that myself a few times). I do expect her to be logical: Five minutes of research would have shown that dementia causes brain damage. Therefore, just to be safe, she should not have made Bathilda senile because that might mean the part of her brain that stores memories could have been damaged by her illness. If Bagshot had been really old, that would have made her vulnerable enough to being tricked by Rita Skeeter. We’ve all heard stories about old people being taken advantage of by slick con artists.
There is one other possibility that might let JKR off the hook: In old people, malnutrition can mimic the symptoms of dementia. When they’re given proper nutrition, seemingly senile old people can quickly become mentally normal again. Given the atrocious state of Bagshot’s house, she might just have been malnourished. If Rita bought her a few meals, that could have restored Bathilda’s mind and thus her memory temporarily, and in her own scientific ignorance, Skeeter would have attributed the restoration of Bagshot’s faculties to the Veritaserum. Another possibility is that the potion itself has nutritive properties that temporarily healed Bagshot’s brain, as I sarcastically yet presciently suggested above.
Bathilda gave Rita loads of juicy gossip about the “friendship” between Albus and Gellert. She says Gellert was charming, not surprising given the psychopath’s unparalleled ability to be whoever he needs to be at any moment. Serial killer Ted Bundy was extremely charming, too. Bathilda introduced her grand-nephew to Albus since she knew her young neighbor was missing boys his own age. She also showed Skeeter a letter Dumbledore wrote Grindelwald late at night.
Bagshot is quoted as saying,“Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion--both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire--I’d sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him, and he had to let Gellert know immediately!”
Both the reference to an owl tapping on the window late at night and Albus’s frustration at his blighted hopes reminded me of Taylor Swift’s first big hit, “Our Song.” She wrote it when she was sixteen about a high school boyfriend. She’s said it perfectly captures what it was like to be that age:
I was walking up the front porch steps
After everything that day
Had gone all wrong,
And been trampled on,
And lost and thrown away.
I got to the hallway
Well on my way
To my loving bed.
I almost didn’t notice
All the roses
And the note that said,
“Our song is the slamming screen door,
Sneaking out late, tapping on your window
When we’re on the phone,
And you talk real slow
‘Cause it’s late, and your mama don’t know.
“‘Our song is the way you laugh,
The first date, man,
I didn’t kiss [him], and I should have.
And when I got home, before I said, ‘Amen,’
Asking God if he could play it again.’”
Oh, sure, Albus and Gellert were “just good friends.” *snort* If you believe that, I have a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks to sell you.
One of the two highlights of this chapter is the letter from Albus showing how evil he was when he was too young to have learned to cover it up effectively. Of course, it’s much harder for a young man to come across as a benign, all-knowing dictator mentor than it is an old one.
Gellert--
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD--this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus (Emphasis in original)
LIke the Godric’s Hollow Voldie-vision, I’ll take this lie by lie.
Wizard dominance for the muggles’ own good: I wonder if Gellert really believed this, or if he was trying to convince his new boyfriend? Given Gellert’s proven capacity for depraved, predatory violence, it’s a safe bet he didn’t give a damn about anybody’s good but his own. However, he apparently was clever enough to figure out that Albus liked to lie to himself that he was doing good even when he was doing bad (or Albus liked to give the appearance of thinking that way so he would appear benevolent, and thus con the rubes more effectively), so Gellert would have altered his sales pitch accordingly.
Every time I see the phrase “for somebody’s own good,” I remember a book in which a character said, “When you do something for somebody’s own good, it really means not leaving them alone.” Albus never did learn how to mind his own business.
Power and the right to rule: This is typical nineteenth century “white man’s burden” BS, although in this case it could be better described as “the magical man’s burden.” It’s also the rationalization those with power have always used to justify their exploitation of the less powerful.
Responsibilities over the ruled: This refers to Albus’s penchant for believing (or appearing to believe) he was helping people when he was really exploiting and abusing them.
Stressing this point: Whom are they trying to convince of this, other magicals, themselves, or both? Either way, it’s another way of saying “for your own good.”
Using only the force necessary: In other words, “we’re doing it for the betterment of those stupid muggles, but we can’t expect such inferior beings to appreciate our good intentions, so we’ll have to force them to submit. Eventually, they’ll see they’re better off with us in charge.” It’s “the magical man’s burden” again.
Gellert’s mistake, not complaining: I love the gentle way Albus refers to what must have been horrific crimes on his boyfriend’s part. Given the blasè attitude of the British wizarding world in the present towards bullying and abuse, the viewpoint of a hundred years ago may have been even more callous.
Even better is Albus’s good-humored reference to not complaining because they wouldn’t have met otherwise. That could not be any more self-centered. Gellert committed what must have been heinous crimes against others, but that’s okay with Albus because it sent his lover into his arms. He sounds like those idiot women who marry convicted murderers on death row: “Sure, you murdered at least three dozen young women (Ted Bundy), or shotgunned your parents from behind while they were sitting on the couch watching TV (the Menendez brothers). That’s okay; we never would have met otherwise. I love you anyway.” He needs to have his name officially changed to Asshole Albus.
Rita Skeeter points out this letter blows to hell the belief Dumbledore was a noble champion of equality and human rights. To the argument that he never carried out his ideas, she adds it wasn’t “seeing the error of his ways” that stopped him; it was the death of his sister and its aftermath. Like Voldemort, we’re supposed to regard Skeeter as a depraved liar, but also like Voldy, when she’s right, she’s right. I have no doubt that if Gellert had not taken off for good after Ariana’s death, he would have persuaded Albus to go ahead with their plans together.
For the last several months, I’ve had kicking around in my head the idea for a fan fiction called Worst Case Scenario: Realizing he’s about to lose Vold War II, Voldemort uses a black market Time-Turner he’s kept on hand for emergencies. (Hey, he’s a Slytherin. They like to plan for every eventuality.) He goes back in time to 1898 to recruit Albus and Gellert to join with him in taking over the world in that era. Snape figures out what Voldy’s done and goes after him to stop him (with some help from the portrait of Headmaster Black). But he’ll need some extraordinary and unexpected allies to stop this ultimate Golden Trio.
Anyway, the biography recounts the story of Aberforth breaking Albus’s nose at Ariana’s funeral and raises a lot of questions, including these: Why did Albus blame Gellert for his sister’s death? Why did Albus fool around about taking down his ex during World War II? Was Ariana the first person to die “for the greater good”?
The laundry list of questions makes the book sound as if it were written by Glenn Beck, who’ll make outrageous accusations disguised as questions, then excuse himself by saying, “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking questions.” (This was brilliantly and hilariously parodied on the South Park episode, “Dances with Smurfs.”)
This makes me wonder whether Rowling has ever read any books in the “trashy celebrity bio” genre she seems to be parodying. I have, and she’s doing it wrong.
Kitty Kelley is probably the queen of this kind of book. Despite her habit of profiling only well-known people who fascinate the public, her biographies are extremely well-researched and typically have at least 30 pages of references at the end, including dozens of books, hundreds of newspaper and magazine articles, and hundreds of exclusive interviews she conducted personally. She doesn’t ask questions; she makes statements backed up by evidence. The fact those statements are often shocking doesn’t make them any less well-supported. (E.g., Ronald Reagan raping a starlet in the 1950s, or George W. Bush being drunk or on drugs most of the time while in college)
Back to the story:
When the Hs finish reading this Albus-annihilating portion of the book (of course, Hermione finishes first), they look at each other. Immediately, Hermione starts trying to whitewash (or should I say, Albuswash) the ugly truth about this authority figure. She admits it’s “not very nice reading,” but tries to blow off the accusations as Skeeter slander. She admits Dumbledore’s “greater good” phrase was exploited by Grindelwald, but insists they just knew each other for a few months when they were young, and Dumbledore “got over” his fling with the dark side and spent the rest of his life promoting “muggle” and “muggleborn” rights.
To Harry’s tremendous credit, he doesn’t let her get away with her rationalizations. He reminds her of the damning letter, and that their idol was planning to use evil means to take over the world at the same age as they are while risking their lives to fight evil.
Hermione tries to shut him up, but her plan backfires horribly:
“Harry, I’m sorry, but I think the real reason you’re so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself.”
“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed...”Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!”...
“He loved you,” Hermione whispered. “I know he loved you.”...
“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”...
[H]e hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.
This is the other time in DH that I wanted to stand up and cheer for Harry. Thank God! I thought. He’s finally growing up. He’s finally thinking for himself. He’s finally looking at reality, instead of just mindlessly swallowing the lies he’s been told.
The major reason the Harry Potter books are so frustrating and infuriating is because the characters never grow up. They remain stuck in the early, childish stages of spiritual development. That’s bad enough, but what makes it inexcusably sick is that this immaturity is presented as meritorious. The reader is also supposed to want to be stalled in a perpetual spiritual childhood.
The idea that spirituality has stages was originated by James Fowler in his book Stages of Faith; it was further developed by Kenneth Stokes in Faith Is a Verb. My descriptions are adapted from Many Roads, One Journey, by Charlotte Davis Kasl; the quotations that follow come from her book. There are six levels of spiritual development, corresponding to chronological ages.
The Innocent, age 1 to 6: Children believe what they’re told with few or no questions. Their goal is to be just like their parents. Authority rests entirely outside the child. This is called an external locus of control.
The Literalist, age 6 to 11 or 12: This stage “is characterized by concrete, literal thinking.” (29) Children begin to look outside the family for other authority figures, but authority is still almost entirely external. People in this stage believe there is only one way to do or be, and they belong to that righteous group. When people say, “[Authority figure] said it. I believe it. That settles it,” they are expressing a belief from this stage of development.
This is the stage many JKR fans are stuck in. When Rowling says, “James reformed and became a good guy,” or “Dumbledore is the epitome of goodness, but Snape is a deeply horrible person,” they just accept those assertions. It doesn’t occur to them to look at the textual evidence and make their own decisions based on that evidence. If they do accidentally confront evidence that contradicts Rowling’s words, these fans just ignore it. It must be a mistake. What matters is what the author intended to write, or says she wrote, not what is really on the page. The idea does not even enter their heads that JKR could be a deeply conflicted person who is not aware herself of the subliminal messages or contradictions in her writing. As the creator of this universe, Rowling is the ultimate authority--the Goddess, if you will--and what she says about her creation goes. Period.
The Loyalist, ages 11 or 12 to 15 or 16: In this stage, authority is still largely external, but peers become the most important authority figures. Loyalty to the peer group is paramount. Betraying one’s peers is the ultimate sin deserving of the ultimate punishment--such as permanent scarification.
This is clearly the stage Rowling herself is stuck in. That’s why she regards Marietta as “a traitor” for telling on her peers, even under duress, but she doesn’t consider it a betrayal for Marietta to put her mother at risk by keeping silent. When you’re a teenager, your peer group is often more important than your own family.
Because Rowling is on a slightly higher level of development than many of her fans, she appears mature to them, so they have no problem seeing her as an authority figure. To them, people who criticize her are renegades who just need to shut up and do as they’re told--just as Hermione told Harry to shut up and do as Dumbledore ordered.
In stages 1 to 3, people are convinced their beliefs and group are unassailably right, and if you aren’t like them, you’re automatically wrong. Their rightness and your wrongness gives them the right to remake you in their own image.
The Critic, ages 16 to 20s and 30s: This is when people begin questioning the beliefs they were raised with and trying to find their own way to live and think. It requires courage and willingness twice over: to look honestly at what you’ve been taught and decide if it’s right for you, and (if necessary) to break free from those learned beliefs and find your own way, even if it’s difficult and painful. Internal authority begins to be more important than external authority.
Many people never reach this stage. They stay stuck in stages 1 to 3 and never learn to think for themselves.
The Seer, usually not before age 30: This is an integration of all the earlier stages; because of that, people may shift back and forth between stages 3, 4, and 5 depending on life circumstances such as feelings of stress or security. While certain aspects of life, such as relationships, tastes, and career may change, the person has a deep inner core of beliefs that do not change and that guide hir life.
The critical HP fans are in stages 4 and 5. (I have yet to meet one who’s a stage 6.) Their higher levels of development allow them to see how immature the text, its creator, and the uncritical fans are.
Universalizing Faith, usually not reached at all: This happens when a person becomes “one with the spirit. Values, beliefs, and the actions become one.” (33) “They are at one with their spirit, their love, and their purpose. They live by faith and without fear.” (52)
I think this is the kind of character Rowling was trying to create when she wrote Albus Dumbledore--and to someone at her level of development, he probably does appear to be this good and this evolved. The problem is, you can’t realistically write someone who is at a significantly higher level of development than you are yourself. It’s like a normal ten-year-old trying to teach a post-graduate course on theoretical physics. The gap between what you are and what you’re trying to do is too great to be bridged.
People in stages 4 to 6 are able to look at evidence, evaluate it, and make their own decisions based on that evidence. In fact, they have to do this, as their higher stages of development won’t allow them to mindlessly submit to authority figures any longer. In these stages, authority rests within the individual (an internal locus of control). While people may seek information from experts when necessary (for example, regarding medical treatment), the ultimate decision is always made by the individual hirself.
People who are two or more stages apart usually do not get along well because the developmental differences between them are too great for the comfort of either person. In fact, people in the first three levels cannot even conceive that stages of development higher than their own exist. This is why Rowling gets so angry about fans who refuse to accept her pronouncements about the series. She literally cannot imagine that someone might look at the characters and situations differently than she does. She created it, so that makes her the ultimate authority, dammit. How dare anyone question what she says about her own creation! This is also the way her dittohead fans think, which explains their contempt for critics who claim to see things in the books Rowling herself does not, that she denies are even there.
If we look at the HP books, it is painfully clear that the major characters stay stuck in stages 1 to 3. All of them act because Voldemort or Dumbledore says so, or to spite those characters, which is the same thing but in reverse. As Nancy Friday put it in her mistresspiece, My Mother/My Self:
“Rebellion should not be mistaken for separation. As long as the effort to break away is seen not as a blow for ourselves but as a reaction to the parent, it is still a symbiotic proceeding. Rebellion becomes separation when the goal is self-fulfillment, not mere frustration of something the parent wants us to do....
“...The rebellious person who must always put a minus sign where she is asked to put a plus is merely reacting to somebody else. She is not free to go her own way, to choose not to argue. She is ever tied, ever waiting. Give me something to say No to.” (326-7)
Harry’s being devastated by the revelations about Dumbledore is one of only two places in this book when we see a character striving to break out of the lower stages into stage 4. That is why Harry is in such pain here. Kasl writes:
“This phase includes observation, experimentation, and growing inner awareness, which often lead to disillusionment, struggle, doubt, and difficult questions that go against the established order. It can be a shattering time, as people discover that much of what they have been taught wasn’t really in their best interest. As one loyal Catholic woman wrote, ‘I realized I’d been lied to all my life. I did everything they said I should, and I ended up miserable and suicidal.’
“This stage of questioning may start in late adolescence, and can be repeated throughout one’s lifetime as new situations arise.” (31)
Rowling’s own spiritual retardation explains most of the faults of this series that make fans in stages 4 to 6 crazy. Harry never grows up because that would require him to develop a spiritual maturity his creator does not possess herself and therefore cannot write. He is passive and waits for “Dumbledore to explain it all” because that’s what children do. They’re not supposed to think for themselves, make their own plans, or come up with their own solutions to complicated problems. That’s what adults are for.
Until a child’s age is in double digits, parents are like gods. What they say, goes, no matter how bizarre, outrageous, or ridiculous. Children under age 10 are usually not capable of critically examining and evaluating the information their parents give them because their brains are not developed enough. Since Harry has no parents, and the Dursleys don’t care about him, Dumbledore assumes the parental role. Because of the abuse and neglect Harry has suffered, coupled with the Dursleys’ own severe personality deficiencies, he begins the series underdeveloped psychologically and spiritually. Dumbledore keeps him in that retarded state because allowing Harry to grow up and become independent would enable him to question Dumbledore and (horrors!) object to the plans already made for him.
This spiritual retardation also explains why Harry spends all of DH obsessing over Dumbledore: Did he really love me? What did he want me to do? Why didn’t he give me more information? What would he think about this situation (whatever it is)? Harry is only physically a young man on the verge of maturity. Inside, he’s still a terrified, neglected little boy waiting for his all-seeing, all-knowing Big Daddy Dumbledore to tell him what to think and do. If the reader quits seeing Harry’s 17-year-old body and sees his 8-year-old soul, this all makes sense.
Rowling’s spiritual underdevelopment also explains the weird veering between the cartoonish and dark moods that are found in the later books. She could write the first three books with a single mood because she was writing for an audience on a lower spiritual level than she is, so she was able to maintain a consistent, “childish fun” tone in them. Once she tried to make the books “grow up” by getting edgier and darker, she got into the adolescent stage of the series, and the wild swings between childishness and maturity characteristic of her own adolescent developmental stage seeped into her writing.
Rowling’s being stalled in an adolescent spiritual stage explains equally well the ludicrous situation that makes Snape fans crazy: his obsession with the dead girl he loved as a teenager. In the real world, a person pushing forty who is still hung up on their teenage (non)love really would be the “freak” Petunia calls all magical people. But to the spiritually adolescent JKR, it makes perfect sense that an intelligent, accomplished grown man with two demanding, dangerous jobs would still be pining for the girl who rejected him decades ago when he was a teenager. Everything really important happens when you’re a teenager--doesn’t it?
Well, sure. That’s why everybody in the Potterverse has to not just marry somebody they knew in school, but do it as quickly as possible after graduation. If they can start popping out babies right away, that’s even better. And nobody ever grows up or grows apart, so all the marriages stay forever suspended in amber, in the same spiritual and emotional state the partners were in when they married, however long ago that was.
Regarding Harry and Hermione in this chapter, because she is still stuck in stages 2 and 3, Hermione feels threatened when Harry breaks through into stage 4 and attempts to drag him back to her level. First she tries to dismiss the allegations against Dumbledore as being from an unreliable source (i.e., “My authority figure is better than your authority figure.”). When that doesn’t work, she briefly admits to the “greater good” angle, then says it doesn’t matter because their idol changed for the better (so he’s still a trustworthy authority figure who should be obeyed). When Harry’s not persuaded by that argument either, she attempts to slap him down by acting as if his legitimate questions are just the ranting of a petulant child whose feelings are hurt because he was kept in the dark (i.e., she tries to convince him he’s even more immature than she is, thus restoring her superior know-it-all status).
What Hermione doesn’t get is that, even though she is technically correct, Harry still has every right to be angry. Because Hermione is in stages 2 and 3, she has no problem with their authority figure keeping information from them. Like the Light Brigade, her attitude is “Theirs not to reason why,/Theirs but to do and die.” For all her veneer of “take-charge grown-up,” Hermione is really a little girl following the orders of Big Daddy Dumbledore. The only reason she appears mature at all is because Ron and Harry are even more immature than she is. They’re so regressed they can’t even make independent plans; they have to wait for somebody else to tell them what to do. That’s why the Horcrux hunt was destined for failure: Its success depended on Harry’s ability to act and think independently and logically, but he can’t--because he was actively prevented from learning those skills.
In Hermione’s defense, her behavior is understandable. Harry is in pain, and watching that is profoundly uncomfortable for her. Besides, their entire relationship has been based on her telling him what to do. She can’t be blamed for objecting when he starts thinking for himself.
It’s not a coincidence that the other time in which we see a character breaking through to stage 4 is in “The Prince’s Tale,” when Snape realizes he’s also been lied to, jerked around, and set up by Dumbledore. He’s wasted his life protecting Harry for nothing, been insulted, called untrustworthy, and ordered to commit murder. Tough shit if his soul is damaged in the process. Harry’s words above could just as easily have been spoken by him.
This is an excellent chapter, but in a way, it really pisses me off because it stands in such stark contrast to most of DH. Why couldn’t the whole damned book have been this good? Why couldn’t Harry have truly grown up? I know I already answered that last question, but because of my frustration with this series, I can’t help asking it anyway.
DH trades our literary birthright of an excellent conclusion to a good series for the mess of pottage that is this dull doorstop thrown together to meet a deadline and make money.