Super Disco Breakin'
Oh, where to start?
I'll go into more detail later on, but last week I took a little time off in Las Vegas, attending Lumos 2006, a "Harry Potter Symposium" that apparently is held once a year at varying locations, under different names. The conference was mostly an occasion to justify a bunch of folks from the Artifice RPG to get together, and initially, I was planning to just fly to Vegas and spend the entire time in the hotel, but one thing led to another and I ended up attending Lumos itself. Despite hating Harry Potter's miserable little guts, I figured it'd be interesting to wade chest-deep into his fandom for a day and a half, and I wasn't disappointed.
Going to Lumos basically meant I had to skip DexCon again, and I'm sorry it came down to that, but let's face it, I've been to Toronto four times, and seeing the desert has always been a fascination of mine. Besides, doing stuff like this is good conversation fodder for jim_smith when he goes to DexCon. "Where's Mike at?" "Oh, he went to some dumb Harry Potter convention." [INSERT BIG LAFFS!]
Anyway, I've seen what I had to see, so I guess there's nothing to stop me from attending DexCon '07, unless they relocate the pub again or Dex loses all his money for good, or he and Doqz decide to fake another trip to Europe or something. See, that's why made-up crap on the internet pisses me off. Doqz pretends to go to Europe and gets drafted into the Iraqi army or whatever the hell it was, which means that when I go to Hogwarts' Nevada branch for real, no one'll probably believe it. And because these Russians are so damn crafty, everyone probably thinks his made-up trip's more interesting, because he tells it with that sexy foreign accent and atrocious online grammar of his. Lousy lovable Doqz.
There's more to say about that, but like I said, that'll have to wait for later. Y'see, I knew I'd be making a long trip to Vegas, and I'd have a lot of free time on my hands during my vacation. So I brought a book. Actually, I brought several books, but I'm only discussing one of them right now. I never thought I'd write the following sentence, but here we are. Because YOU demanded it, I've decided to read Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban.
By "YOU", I actually mean "most of you". Brandawg, Jim, and Icewing didn't want me to continue this tiresome exercise, but like Walter Mondale, this didn't win the poll. Only Brandawg really gave me pause, because he alone had the courage to say what needed to be what I've felt all along: that Harry Potter sucks and thirty long-winded essays about him can get old really fast. Everyone seemed to find it funny when I reviewed "Half-Blood Prince", but for Brandawg, I'd stop, simply because I'd feel self-conscious devoting this much content to a feature he doesn't enjoy.
Then I realized he's getting married soon, and his bride-to-be is pretty easy on the eyes, and they're gonna go to Hawaii for the honeymoon. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in front of a computer by myself and working on a blog update. So screw Brandawg. He could use a little disappointment in his life. "WAH, the Snape jokes make it harder for me to enjoy this piña colada, WAH!"
See, I agree with Brandawg. What made reviewing HBP last year work was that it was topical. Fans seemed genuinely mystified that I'd start with the most recent novel, but that's the one that everyone was talking about at the time, so it made sense, from a comedic standpoint, to use it for my schtick. I can't really blame them for being confused, though, since I didn't really plan on a bunch of HP fans to wander into my sandbox and watch me attack this book. Do it a second time, or even a third, and the joke gets stale. Besides, the whole point to all of this is that I hate Harry Potter, so it doesn't make much sense to review one book out of curiosity, hate it, and then start in on the next one. There's better things to do, like talk about comic books and wrestling, as Brandawg suggests. He makes a sound, logical argument.
The problem is that nothing about doing this is logical. Prior to starting Half-Blood Prince, all I'd hear about was how it was the bestest book in the whole widest world. Once I started to point out its inherent flaws, I started getting the excuses you get whenever you critique something beloved. "Oh, you shouldn't start with THIS one, you should read THAT one, because it's the best." About fifteen chapters in, I could almost be assured that someone would chime in by saying that Rowling jumped the shark two books ago, and if you REALLY want to see what all the fuss is about, you should read Book 3. Book 3, Book 3. 3, 3, 3, 3. Three. And sometimes 4. But mostly 3. The number of rank insignia on Commander Riker's collar. Decompress the main shuttlebay. After a while, anger enters into it. You'd think an exhaustive discussion of a 652 page book would settle a thing or two, but no. "He needs to read Book III. THEN he'd understand." And like Marty McFly being called a chicken, I stupidly turn around and take the bait.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that Azkaban ain't such hot stuff either. It's the same characters, same author, same setting, same premise we had from Half-Blood Prince, except everyone's three years younger. It's not like there's a jive-talking robot in this one that clearly sets it above the rest of the series. It's the same crap, different day. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it. There's my bold prediction on the course of this novel. And when I get about halfway through, and it's clear that the book is really stinking up the joint, everyone will finally admit that, no, Book III is overrated too, it's Book IV that'll light your socks on fire and send you on a thrill-a-minute roller coaster ride of literary thrills. Only I'll be even less inclined to believe it. It's too late to change your answer, you see. In the parlance of wrestling stables, Azkaban is the ringer of the group, the biggest, baddest, most unstoppable guy on the team. Book Seven is the mystery man, HBP is the flash-in-the-pan rookie with the million dollar smile and no workrate, but Azkaban is the backbone of this team. I aim to break it.
Chapter Zero: Pre-Read Experience
I resolved to buy Book 3 on the cheap and read it on the plane ride to Las Vegas. This was good motivation to buythe book, as it'd be cheaper and easier to use than a portable DVD player, but it also served as good motivation to put it off. Indeed, I'd make several Target runs throughout July, knowing that Azkaban was on sale for six bucks in paperback, yet always turn away out of revulsion, or possibly shame. Finally, I broke down and bought it a day or two before my flight.
And even then, I still couldn't quite bring myself to start in on it. I leafed through the first chapter while waiting for my plane in Chicago, but only after making a thorough tour of the concourse. I even spotted that airport bar I saw once in O'Hare in 2000.
Being a paperback edition of a seven-year-old novel, the book's first page was riddled with the usual brown-nosing from the critics. "[A]ddicting as chocolate..." lauds The Denver Post. Publishers Weekly suggests that this appears to "serve a transitional role in the seven-volume series". The rest basically insist that this book is awesome like the first two, and anxiously await the next four. I know the publisher would only want to use the glowingly positive reviews, but it bugs me nonetheless, probably because in this case, I doubt there were anything but glowingly positive reviews in the mainstream media.
Rowling dedicates the book to "Jill Prewett and Aine Kiely, The Godmothers of Swing" whatever that means. Anyone who'd like to explain that one to me, say on. And you don't have to raise your hand before you speak.
Notable is the book's cover, which features our protagonist cheerfully riding a freak of nature with a girl. My understanding is that this is Hermione, but I can't say it looks much like her. The creature is, of course, Buckbeak/Witherwings, the animal Hagrid adopted and wouldn't shut up about in Half-Blood Prince. "Aye, Buck--er, Witherwings be doin' fine, laddie. But me poor giant spider, she cannae hold oot mooch longer, Captain!" I'd like to kill Hagrid if he weren't big enough to beat the crap out of me.
If memory serves, this image was the symbol of the Harry/Hermione shippers, who professed that the iconic flight depicted on this cover demonstrated the immutable truth that Harry and Hermione were Meant To Be. Seeing it for myself, I would humbly submit that the duo appear to be flying in front of Azakaban Prison, in order to get a menacing shillouette of the titular prisoner in the shot. This suggests to me that Harry and Hermione are only as in love with one another as they would be fond of strafing prison windows. On the back cover, you've got Darth Sidious looming in the shadows, and there's a wolf standing in the grass way back in the back... oh, cripes, it's a skrunt.
All right, I'm bailing out. No one said anything about this book crossing over with "Lady in the Water". I can put up with this crap one at a time, but when they start teaming up, I know when I'm licked. Sorry to cut out so early, folks, but I--
Wait. It's not? Just a wolf? OK. OK then. Wait, now you're sure? OK. OK. OK.
OK.
If M. Night Shyamalan is even hinted at as one of the characters in this thing, though, I'm out of here. Do not toy with me here.
Chapter One: Owl Post
(Original Japanese Title: "Hour of Tedium! 'While My Comrades Enjoy Life, I Read Mail'"
To its credit, the book starts out by cutting straight to the point, explaining who Harry Potter is, his current situation, and the relevant backstory from the previous installments. This is all critical information for any book, so it's good that Chapter One sets out to deal with those questions. The problem is that it's Harry Potter we're talking about here, so I'm not gonna like the answers.
In fact, I should just stop right there, two words into the book, and focus on what they mean "Harry Potter". The rest of the sentence explains what he is, and the rest of the chapter would tell you what he's doing and how he does it. But I've read one of these turkeys before, and since most people read these in order, so did just about everyone else. So let's not assume the name isn't familiar already.
While I was at Lumos, I met swishandflick05, a friend of cindale's. Nice enough guy, although I think he might have been taken aback somewhat by the concept that I hate Harry Potter and attended this symposium. Anyway, the conversation mercifully turned to the film "Superman Returns", and I tried to explain why I enjoyed the movie. Superman flies around, he saves that plane, then he chucks a whole island into space. "So you liked the special effects," he surmised. I could tell I hadn't communicated myself properly, and the best I could do was to explain that any movie with Superman is good by virtue of having Superman in it. But that still isn't a good defense of the film, so let me try again.
"What happened next had all the familiarity of a recurring dream. I was falling, and a violet comet was falling alongside me. The reds and blues ran together, you see, so that's how he looked when he flew... a violet comet."
That's a line from Superman #423, in which Lois Lane describes how fast Superman responded to her peril. It was one of the first comics books I read, really read all the way through, and the imagery stuck with me ever since. It's been repeated many times over the years. For example, one of my favorite moments in comics comes from a more obscure issue of the series, #599, which starts out with a dramatic underwater explosion and the crew of a Russian submarine fighting their own panic and trying to stay alive. The moment was eerily reminiscent of a real-life incident that took place around the same time, and no doubt writer Joe Casey was playing off of that. The story continues 26 hours later, as the Russian Navy waits impotently at the surface, helpless to assist their comrades on the ocean floor. Someone picks up a blip on the radar, and on page five, we see only a red-and-blue streak smash into the watery depths, and steer itself towards the stricken sub. Three pages later, the craft is on the surface, and the confused crewmen can only catch a glimpse of a tiny speck flying off.
Now, I could tell you a lot of things I liked about the movie, but that's basically the main appeal right there. Besides the hype about the Christ-figure alleorical stuff, Kevin Spacey's portrayal of Luthor, and Marlon Brando being dug up out of the grave to play Jor-El one more time, the main thing they got right was the basic formula of Superman: Trouble happens, and a violet comet thunders from out of the sky to make things right again. Granted, the special effects made those moments more grandiose, but the formula's been around for a long time. In the 50's, it was George Reeves crudely floating across a rotoscoped background, only to smash through a wall at the last possible second and beat up a few lowlifes threatening his friends. In 1988, Golan-Globus recycled footage from 1978, but it was still Superman saving cosmonauts and Muriel Hemmingway from certain death. It's a simplistic appeal, but I don't think there's anything wrong about the instant gratification you get from Superman. As heroes go, you gotta give it up for his no-nonsense style.
And at the same time, the character is kept complex. At his core, you're dealing with a man like anyone else, haunted by the same kinds of insecurities that bother us all. For all his power, Superman gets pretty lonely, whether he's being an extraterrestrial refugee, or a self-effacing reporter, or a demigod celebrity. The movie makes good use of this, since he goes barging off into space looking for someone to be there for him, and all he finds is a graveyard. He returns to his old job, and finds out his One True Love wants nothing to do with him, in either identity. And maybe the world's moved on, as well. And yet by the end of the film, he realizes that what he's been searching for has been there all along, right under his nose. But he doesn't need that revelation to keep him going. He fights on, full speed, straight ahead. But not rashly. His speed doesn't make him reckless. His convictions don't make him petty, or self-righteous. His passion doesn't make him vengeful or bitter. His power doesn't make him arrogant or foolhardy.
And that inspires people, even if they don't have those powers. That's the other thing that makes the movie so good, because it isn't just Superman that helps people and saves the day. Unlike a lot of heroes, Superman's trying to set an example. He won't be around forever, and it's important that our civilization stand on its own two feet. Like John the Baptist, it's kind of a bittersweet mission, working to ensure your own obsolescence. Perhaps it bothers him at times, but he never lets it get to him. There's too much at stake.
At Lumos, I attended a performance by the band "Harry and the Potters". They're basically two guys dressed up like the band's namesake, and they started off their set by assuring the audience that the Man may try to beat us down, but they can't stop us from having a good time, or eating pizza, or hanging out, or whatever it was they said. This lead into a song about how Voldemort can't stop the rock. Later, a third Harry Potter shows up to confront some guys in black robes on stage, and after a confusing exchange, they all leave the first two to go into the rest of their show. The audience was clearly into this, and I realized that they bought into this premise: that Harry Potter was the mythical Everyman, the champion who would rise up and defend our funloving values from the grip of an unhip tyranny.
I found this ironic, since I never really thought of Harry Potter as a hero before then. Oh, the words are used together a lot, but I never really thought about it before. Superficially, it makes sense. He's the star of a series of books, right? He's supposed to save everyone from a powerful menace, right? All that Joesph Campbell stuff, right? Got his own band, doesn't he? Surely, he's come to fight... for our right... to party.
Except that this didn't gel with what I knew. The Harry Potter I knew, the one who sleptwalked his way through Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, that Harry Potter was hardly anything to cheer about. That Harry Potter made wild accusations founded more on spite and logical leaps than any common sense. He depended on his wizened old mentor, yet refused to trust him. Deny him, and he'd bawl like a baby. Punish him, and he'd refuse to realize the error of his ways. That Harry Potter cheated to win, or simply lucked his way into success. Or perhaps someone else would offer a solution. Confronted with a problem, he'd simply repeat it to himself and wonder why he never made any progress. Or he'd ignore it, and wait for it to resolve itself. This hero was rash, and reckless, and petty, and self-righteous. And vengeful, and bitter. Voldemort can't stop the rock, but that's only because Harry Potter beat him to it.
Seeing a couple of fairly talented musicians trying to play up this piece of crap like a role model, I could only be reminded of the corny display John Cena put on at WrestleMania XXII, when he came out for his main event match in 1920's mobster gear, heralded by a video package that explained to the Chicago crowd why the doctor of Thugganomics was similar to the local heritage of city. Oh, and there was a bunch of crap involving Studebakers and guys with fakey machine guns. Yo, yo, yo, I'm hip and relevant, ladies and gentlemen! Loyalty, Hustle, Respect! Well, you can cobble together what little credibility you can muster, and revel in your little accolades. But at the end of the day, there's only one king of kings in this business. Lotta people might think Harry Potter's some kind of heroic figure, but I ain't seeing him prove it.
And so, because of my past experience, I see the name "Harry Potter" in this story, and I'm already disappointed. Wrongs will not be made right. No justice will be done. Days will not be saved. No violet comet for you today, Skywalker. I know I always talk about trying to view this thing objectively, but that's not nearly as easy now as it was before.
But enough of this, let's get down to it. True to form, Harry's not actually doing anything at all at this point. The narration explains that he's an unusual cat for a number of reasons. For example, here's a kid who HATES summer vacation, but he LOVES to do his homework! Whoa, that's a twist, right? I mean, because most kids, if you asked them, they'd say they LOVE summer vacation, and they HATE homework. But Harry Potter, the character find of 1997, he turns it all topsy-turvey. He's some guy.
For those fortunate souls who don't know what the deal is here, Harry Potter's this orphaned wizard who started attending classes at a secret magic school. His legal guardians are mortified by all this, and so whenever he comes home for the summer they treat him like crap, and since it's illegal to do magic around the regular folk, Harry has to put up with it like a chump. It's lame, I know. You'd think that if the Wizarding World valued their secrecy so much, they wouldn't trust a pre-teen boy to spend months at a time living with and abusive family who constantly antagonize him. You'd think they'd either bend the rules or find him some other living arrangement that wouldn't compromise their veil of mystery.
For what it's worth, Harry's stuck doing some paper on the futility of burning witches in the Fourteenth Century, which seems like a pretty narrow topic of discussion. An excerpt from a reference book explains that even if anyone found an actual witch, they'd prove to be invulnerable to fire, because of the magic super powers, natch. Note that Harry is writing this paper in bed, in the middle of the night, hiding under the covers with a flashlight. Sounds vaguely dirty, doesn't it?
Most of the rest of the chapter elaborates on the Dursely's Harry's aunt and uncle who take him in after his parents die. This seems pointless, since they'll be written out of the story by Chapter 3 or so, but the short version is they view Harry as a freak, and treat him as persona non grata at all times, so that he won't embarass them with his magic super powers.
Making matters worse in this case, is Ron Weasley, who's basically what Jimmy Olsen's sidekick would be like if he sidekicks could have sidekicks of their own. Since Ron's parents have managed to go thirteen years without getting murdered, he's been raised from birth in the secret wizard society, which means he has no freaking clue when it comes to telephones, pens, the opposite sex... well, a lot of things, really, but let's focus on telephones. In a miserable attempt to communicate with his schoolhouse chum, Ron dials the Dursely household and shouts into the phone like an idiot. He also mentions the stupid school during his shout-greeting, which just pisses the Durseley's off even more. So Harry's basically cut off from the phone from here on, I guess.
This doesn't stop him from getting mail, because when you have magic super powers, owls deliver your mail to you. See, while Harry's been doing his homework, he notices that it's after midnight on his birthday, and he's officially thirteen years old. Thrill as he ages. So about this time a bunch of owls show up and give him birthday cards and other crap. Ron sends a letter, which I assume he shouted out load as he dictated it, and reports that his whole family is vacationing in Egypt, basically breaking into pyramids and stuff, because apparently the Weasleys can do whatever the hell they want. Ron mentions finding mutant skeletons in one of the crypts, but of course this book is written entirely from Harry's point of view, which means we'll never hear from the mutant skeletons again, at least not until Ron Weasley gets his own book.
Ron also reports that his brother Percy has been made "Head Boy". I'm pretty sure I don't wanna know what that is. He also sends a package containing some doohickey that detects untrustworthyness, or something like that. Hey, the book's six bucks at Target. Go buy your own copy if you're that worried about it.
Next up, Hermione writes to tell Harry that she's vacationing in France. Mutant skeletons are not mentioned, but I like to think they're strongly implied. The Hermi One goes on to blather about how she's finished, rewritten, and expanded their homework assignment, and signs off by announcing that Percy has been made "Head Boy". OK, this running gag officially sucks. Hermione sends Harry some kit for his broomstick.
Then we get to Hagrid, who I really want to see dead. He sends Harry an advance copy of some book about monsters, which he'll need for the next school year. Also, the book itself is a monster, so it runs around the room biting stuff. Good job, Hagrid. This kid gets wadded up Kleenex, old socks, and maggots as gifts, but you found a new low. "Happy Birthday, here's a textbook. That you were going to have to buy anyway. And it's feral." At least Rowling didn't break out the "Hagrid's Tear Stained Letter" font again. Last, but least, an official missive from the school, reminding Harry that he's gotta get his butt back in class by September 1. Noticing that it's now two in the morning, Harry decides to call it a night, and that's it. So he spent an hour reading his mail. And I blew an hour writing about it. Sheesh.
Yeah, this book is WAYYYYY better than Half-Blood Prince. I can totally see why everyone recommended it. It's clear to me that Rowling's writing style seriously deteriorated between 1999 and 2005, since her more recent work features a lot of Harry reading notes, as opposed to the more polished letter-reading Harry does in the early stuff. Also, it's eerie to see the Durseleys evolve from one book to the next. Why yes, this is sarcasm.
Maybe I should get a new rating system for my reviews, but I dunno. Airi's hearty thumbs-up is such an uplifting thing to see, which makes it all the more painful when I don't use it. I know I'll regret this, but if anyone has any better ideas, I'll hear you out. Something involving Tennessee Tuxedo would be good. Anyone who suggests artwork or video captures of actual Harry Potter characters will be shot. I'll use them when I finally go crazy and start reviewing Lemony Snicket books in my 50's.
RATING: BAD
NEXT: Aunt Marge can't stop the rock, either, apparently.
I'll go into more detail later on, but last week I took a little time off in Las Vegas, attending Lumos 2006, a "Harry Potter Symposium" that apparently is held once a year at varying locations, under different names. The conference was mostly an occasion to justify a bunch of folks from the Artifice RPG to get together, and initially, I was planning to just fly to Vegas and spend the entire time in the hotel, but one thing led to another and I ended up attending Lumos itself. Despite hating Harry Potter's miserable little guts, I figured it'd be interesting to wade chest-deep into his fandom for a day and a half, and I wasn't disappointed.
Going to Lumos basically meant I had to skip DexCon again, and I'm sorry it came down to that, but let's face it, I've been to Toronto four times, and seeing the desert has always been a fascination of mine. Besides, doing stuff like this is good conversation fodder for jim_smith when he goes to DexCon. "Where's Mike at?" "Oh, he went to some dumb Harry Potter convention." [INSERT BIG LAFFS!]
Anyway, I've seen what I had to see, so I guess there's nothing to stop me from attending DexCon '07, unless they relocate the pub again or Dex loses all his money for good, or he and Doqz decide to fake another trip to Europe or something. See, that's why made-up crap on the internet pisses me off. Doqz pretends to go to Europe and gets drafted into the Iraqi army or whatever the hell it was, which means that when I go to Hogwarts' Nevada branch for real, no one'll probably believe it. And because these Russians are so damn crafty, everyone probably thinks his made-up trip's more interesting, because he tells it with that sexy foreign accent and atrocious online grammar of his. Lousy lovable Doqz.
There's more to say about that, but like I said, that'll have to wait for later. Y'see, I knew I'd be making a long trip to Vegas, and I'd have a lot of free time on my hands during my vacation. So I brought a book. Actually, I brought several books, but I'm only discussing one of them right now. I never thought I'd write the following sentence, but here we are. Because YOU demanded it, I've decided to read Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban.
By "YOU", I actually mean "most of you". Brandawg, Jim, and Icewing didn't want me to continue this tiresome exercise, but like Walter Mondale, this didn't win the poll. Only Brandawg really gave me pause, because he alone had the courage to say what needed to be what I've felt all along: that Harry Potter sucks and thirty long-winded essays about him can get old really fast. Everyone seemed to find it funny when I reviewed "Half-Blood Prince", but for Brandawg, I'd stop, simply because I'd feel self-conscious devoting this much content to a feature he doesn't enjoy.
Then I realized he's getting married soon, and his bride-to-be is pretty easy on the eyes, and they're gonna go to Hawaii for the honeymoon. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in front of a computer by myself and working on a blog update. So screw Brandawg. He could use a little disappointment in his life. "WAH, the Snape jokes make it harder for me to enjoy this piña colada, WAH!"
See, I agree with Brandawg. What made reviewing HBP last year work was that it was topical. Fans seemed genuinely mystified that I'd start with the most recent novel, but that's the one that everyone was talking about at the time, so it made sense, from a comedic standpoint, to use it for my schtick. I can't really blame them for being confused, though, since I didn't really plan on a bunch of HP fans to wander into my sandbox and watch me attack this book. Do it a second time, or even a third, and the joke gets stale. Besides, the whole point to all of this is that I hate Harry Potter, so it doesn't make much sense to review one book out of curiosity, hate it, and then start in on the next one. There's better things to do, like talk about comic books and wrestling, as Brandawg suggests. He makes a sound, logical argument.
The problem is that nothing about doing this is logical. Prior to starting Half-Blood Prince, all I'd hear about was how it was the bestest book in the whole widest world. Once I started to point out its inherent flaws, I started getting the excuses you get whenever you critique something beloved. "Oh, you shouldn't start with THIS one, you should read THAT one, because it's the best." About fifteen chapters in, I could almost be assured that someone would chime in by saying that Rowling jumped the shark two books ago, and if you REALLY want to see what all the fuss is about, you should read Book 3. Book 3, Book 3. 3, 3, 3, 3. Three. And sometimes 4. But mostly 3. The number of rank insignia on Commander Riker's collar. Decompress the main shuttlebay. After a while, anger enters into it. You'd think an exhaustive discussion of a 652 page book would settle a thing or two, but no. "He needs to read Book III. THEN he'd understand." And like Marty McFly being called a chicken, I stupidly turn around and take the bait.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that Azkaban ain't such hot stuff either. It's the same characters, same author, same setting, same premise we had from Half-Blood Prince, except everyone's three years younger. It's not like there's a jive-talking robot in this one that clearly sets it above the rest of the series. It's the same crap, different day. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it. There's my bold prediction on the course of this novel. And when I get about halfway through, and it's clear that the book is really stinking up the joint, everyone will finally admit that, no, Book III is overrated too, it's Book IV that'll light your socks on fire and send you on a thrill-a-minute roller coaster ride of literary thrills. Only I'll be even less inclined to believe it. It's too late to change your answer, you see. In the parlance of wrestling stables, Azkaban is the ringer of the group, the biggest, baddest, most unstoppable guy on the team. Book Seven is the mystery man, HBP is the flash-in-the-pan rookie with the million dollar smile and no workrate, but Azkaban is the backbone of this team. I aim to break it.
Chapter Zero: Pre-Read Experience
I resolved to buy Book 3 on the cheap and read it on the plane ride to Las Vegas. This was good motivation to buythe book, as it'd be cheaper and easier to use than a portable DVD player, but it also served as good motivation to put it off. Indeed, I'd make several Target runs throughout July, knowing that Azkaban was on sale for six bucks in paperback, yet always turn away out of revulsion, or possibly shame. Finally, I broke down and bought it a day or two before my flight.
And even then, I still couldn't quite bring myself to start in on it. I leafed through the first chapter while waiting for my plane in Chicago, but only after making a thorough tour of the concourse. I even spotted that airport bar I saw once in O'Hare in 2000.
Being a paperback edition of a seven-year-old novel, the book's first page was riddled with the usual brown-nosing from the critics. "[A]ddicting as chocolate..." lauds The Denver Post. Publishers Weekly suggests that this appears to "serve a transitional role in the seven-volume series". The rest basically insist that this book is awesome like the first two, and anxiously await the next four. I know the publisher would only want to use the glowingly positive reviews, but it bugs me nonetheless, probably because in this case, I doubt there were anything but glowingly positive reviews in the mainstream media.
Rowling dedicates the book to "Jill Prewett and Aine Kiely, The Godmothers of Swing" whatever that means. Anyone who'd like to explain that one to me, say on. And you don't have to raise your hand before you speak.
Notable is the book's cover, which features our protagonist cheerfully riding a freak of nature with a girl. My understanding is that this is Hermione, but I can't say it looks much like her. The creature is, of course, Buckbeak/Witherwings, the animal Hagrid adopted and wouldn't shut up about in Half-Blood Prince. "Aye, Buck--er, Witherwings be doin' fine, laddie. But me poor giant spider, she cannae hold oot mooch longer, Captain!" I'd like to kill Hagrid if he weren't big enough to beat the crap out of me.
If memory serves, this image was the symbol of the Harry/Hermione shippers, who professed that the iconic flight depicted on this cover demonstrated the immutable truth that Harry and Hermione were Meant To Be. Seeing it for myself, I would humbly submit that the duo appear to be flying in front of Azakaban Prison, in order to get a menacing shillouette of the titular prisoner in the shot. This suggests to me that Harry and Hermione are only as in love with one another as they would be fond of strafing prison windows. On the back cover, you've got Darth Sidious looming in the shadows, and there's a wolf standing in the grass way back in the back... oh, cripes, it's a skrunt.
All right, I'm bailing out. No one said anything about this book crossing over with "Lady in the Water". I can put up with this crap one at a time, but when they start teaming up, I know when I'm licked. Sorry to cut out so early, folks, but I--
Wait. It's not? Just a wolf? OK. OK then. Wait, now you're sure? OK. OK. OK.
OK.
If M. Night Shyamalan is even hinted at as one of the characters in this thing, though, I'm out of here. Do not toy with me here.
Chapter One: Owl Post
(Original Japanese Title: "Hour of Tedium! 'While My Comrades Enjoy Life, I Read Mail'"
To its credit, the book starts out by cutting straight to the point, explaining who Harry Potter is, his current situation, and the relevant backstory from the previous installments. This is all critical information for any book, so it's good that Chapter One sets out to deal with those questions. The problem is that it's Harry Potter we're talking about here, so I'm not gonna like the answers.
In fact, I should just stop right there, two words into the book, and focus on what they mean "Harry Potter". The rest of the sentence explains what he is, and the rest of the chapter would tell you what he's doing and how he does it. But I've read one of these turkeys before, and since most people read these in order, so did just about everyone else. So let's not assume the name isn't familiar already.
While I was at Lumos, I met swishandflick05, a friend of cindale's. Nice enough guy, although I think he might have been taken aback somewhat by the concept that I hate Harry Potter and attended this symposium. Anyway, the conversation mercifully turned to the film "Superman Returns", and I tried to explain why I enjoyed the movie. Superman flies around, he saves that plane, then he chucks a whole island into space. "So you liked the special effects," he surmised. I could tell I hadn't communicated myself properly, and the best I could do was to explain that any movie with Superman is good by virtue of having Superman in it. But that still isn't a good defense of the film, so let me try again.
"What happened next had all the familiarity of a recurring dream. I was falling, and a violet comet was falling alongside me. The reds and blues ran together, you see, so that's how he looked when he flew... a violet comet."
That's a line from Superman #423, in which Lois Lane describes how fast Superman responded to her peril. It was one of the first comics books I read, really read all the way through, and the imagery stuck with me ever since. It's been repeated many times over the years. For example, one of my favorite moments in comics comes from a more obscure issue of the series, #599, which starts out with a dramatic underwater explosion and the crew of a Russian submarine fighting their own panic and trying to stay alive. The moment was eerily reminiscent of a real-life incident that took place around the same time, and no doubt writer Joe Casey was playing off of that. The story continues 26 hours later, as the Russian Navy waits impotently at the surface, helpless to assist their comrades on the ocean floor. Someone picks up a blip on the radar, and on page five, we see only a red-and-blue streak smash into the watery depths, and steer itself towards the stricken sub. Three pages later, the craft is on the surface, and the confused crewmen can only catch a glimpse of a tiny speck flying off.
Now, I could tell you a lot of things I liked about the movie, but that's basically the main appeal right there. Besides the hype about the Christ-figure alleorical stuff, Kevin Spacey's portrayal of Luthor, and Marlon Brando being dug up out of the grave to play Jor-El one more time, the main thing they got right was the basic formula of Superman: Trouble happens, and a violet comet thunders from out of the sky to make things right again. Granted, the special effects made those moments more grandiose, but the formula's been around for a long time. In the 50's, it was George Reeves crudely floating across a rotoscoped background, only to smash through a wall at the last possible second and beat up a few lowlifes threatening his friends. In 1988, Golan-Globus recycled footage from 1978, but it was still Superman saving cosmonauts and Muriel Hemmingway from certain death. It's a simplistic appeal, but I don't think there's anything wrong about the instant gratification you get from Superman. As heroes go, you gotta give it up for his no-nonsense style.
And at the same time, the character is kept complex. At his core, you're dealing with a man like anyone else, haunted by the same kinds of insecurities that bother us all. For all his power, Superman gets pretty lonely, whether he's being an extraterrestrial refugee, or a self-effacing reporter, or a demigod celebrity. The movie makes good use of this, since he goes barging off into space looking for someone to be there for him, and all he finds is a graveyard. He returns to his old job, and finds out his One True Love wants nothing to do with him, in either identity. And maybe the world's moved on, as well. And yet by the end of the film, he realizes that what he's been searching for has been there all along, right under his nose. But he doesn't need that revelation to keep him going. He fights on, full speed, straight ahead. But not rashly. His speed doesn't make him reckless. His convictions don't make him petty, or self-righteous. His passion doesn't make him vengeful or bitter. His power doesn't make him arrogant or foolhardy.
And that inspires people, even if they don't have those powers. That's the other thing that makes the movie so good, because it isn't just Superman that helps people and saves the day. Unlike a lot of heroes, Superman's trying to set an example. He won't be around forever, and it's important that our civilization stand on its own two feet. Like John the Baptist, it's kind of a bittersweet mission, working to ensure your own obsolescence. Perhaps it bothers him at times, but he never lets it get to him. There's too much at stake.
At Lumos, I attended a performance by the band "Harry and the Potters". They're basically two guys dressed up like the band's namesake, and they started off their set by assuring the audience that the Man may try to beat us down, but they can't stop us from having a good time, or eating pizza, or hanging out, or whatever it was they said. This lead into a song about how Voldemort can't stop the rock. Later, a third Harry Potter shows up to confront some guys in black robes on stage, and after a confusing exchange, they all leave the first two to go into the rest of their show. The audience was clearly into this, and I realized that they bought into this premise: that Harry Potter was the mythical Everyman, the champion who would rise up and defend our funloving values from the grip of an unhip tyranny.
I found this ironic, since I never really thought of Harry Potter as a hero before then. Oh, the words are used together a lot, but I never really thought about it before. Superficially, it makes sense. He's the star of a series of books, right? He's supposed to save everyone from a powerful menace, right? All that Joesph Campbell stuff, right? Got his own band, doesn't he? Surely, he's come to fight... for our right... to party.
Except that this didn't gel with what I knew. The Harry Potter I knew, the one who sleptwalked his way through Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, that Harry Potter was hardly anything to cheer about. That Harry Potter made wild accusations founded more on spite and logical leaps than any common sense. He depended on his wizened old mentor, yet refused to trust him. Deny him, and he'd bawl like a baby. Punish him, and he'd refuse to realize the error of his ways. That Harry Potter cheated to win, or simply lucked his way into success. Or perhaps someone else would offer a solution. Confronted with a problem, he'd simply repeat it to himself and wonder why he never made any progress. Or he'd ignore it, and wait for it to resolve itself. This hero was rash, and reckless, and petty, and self-righteous. And vengeful, and bitter. Voldemort can't stop the rock, but that's only because Harry Potter beat him to it.
Seeing a couple of fairly talented musicians trying to play up this piece of crap like a role model, I could only be reminded of the corny display John Cena put on at WrestleMania XXII, when he came out for his main event match in 1920's mobster gear, heralded by a video package that explained to the Chicago crowd why the doctor of Thugganomics was similar to the local heritage of city. Oh, and there was a bunch of crap involving Studebakers and guys with fakey machine guns. Yo, yo, yo, I'm hip and relevant, ladies and gentlemen! Loyalty, Hustle, Respect! Well, you can cobble together what little credibility you can muster, and revel in your little accolades. But at the end of the day, there's only one king of kings in this business. Lotta people might think Harry Potter's some kind of heroic figure, but I ain't seeing him prove it.
And so, because of my past experience, I see the name "Harry Potter" in this story, and I'm already disappointed. Wrongs will not be made right. No justice will be done. Days will not be saved. No violet comet for you today, Skywalker. I know I always talk about trying to view this thing objectively, but that's not nearly as easy now as it was before.
But enough of this, let's get down to it. True to form, Harry's not actually doing anything at all at this point. The narration explains that he's an unusual cat for a number of reasons. For example, here's a kid who HATES summer vacation, but he LOVES to do his homework! Whoa, that's a twist, right? I mean, because most kids, if you asked them, they'd say they LOVE summer vacation, and they HATE homework. But Harry Potter, the character find of 1997, he turns it all topsy-turvey. He's some guy.
For those fortunate souls who don't know what the deal is here, Harry Potter's this orphaned wizard who started attending classes at a secret magic school. His legal guardians are mortified by all this, and so whenever he comes home for the summer they treat him like crap, and since it's illegal to do magic around the regular folk, Harry has to put up with it like a chump. It's lame, I know. You'd think that if the Wizarding World valued their secrecy so much, they wouldn't trust a pre-teen boy to spend months at a time living with and abusive family who constantly antagonize him. You'd think they'd either bend the rules or find him some other living arrangement that wouldn't compromise their veil of mystery.
For what it's worth, Harry's stuck doing some paper on the futility of burning witches in the Fourteenth Century, which seems like a pretty narrow topic of discussion. An excerpt from a reference book explains that even if anyone found an actual witch, they'd prove to be invulnerable to fire, because of the magic super powers, natch. Note that Harry is writing this paper in bed, in the middle of the night, hiding under the covers with a flashlight. Sounds vaguely dirty, doesn't it?
Most of the rest of the chapter elaborates on the Dursely's Harry's aunt and uncle who take him in after his parents die. This seems pointless, since they'll be written out of the story by Chapter 3 or so, but the short version is they view Harry as a freak, and treat him as persona non grata at all times, so that he won't embarass them with his magic super powers.
Making matters worse in this case, is Ron Weasley, who's basically what Jimmy Olsen's sidekick would be like if he sidekicks could have sidekicks of their own. Since Ron's parents have managed to go thirteen years without getting murdered, he's been raised from birth in the secret wizard society, which means he has no freaking clue when it comes to telephones, pens, the opposite sex... well, a lot of things, really, but let's focus on telephones. In a miserable attempt to communicate with his schoolhouse chum, Ron dials the Dursely household and shouts into the phone like an idiot. He also mentions the stupid school during his shout-greeting, which just pisses the Durseley's off even more. So Harry's basically cut off from the phone from here on, I guess.
This doesn't stop him from getting mail, because when you have magic super powers, owls deliver your mail to you. See, while Harry's been doing his homework, he notices that it's after midnight on his birthday, and he's officially thirteen years old. Thrill as he ages. So about this time a bunch of owls show up and give him birthday cards and other crap. Ron sends a letter, which I assume he shouted out load as he dictated it, and reports that his whole family is vacationing in Egypt, basically breaking into pyramids and stuff, because apparently the Weasleys can do whatever the hell they want. Ron mentions finding mutant skeletons in one of the crypts, but of course this book is written entirely from Harry's point of view, which means we'll never hear from the mutant skeletons again, at least not until Ron Weasley gets his own book.
Ron also reports that his brother Percy has been made "Head Boy". I'm pretty sure I don't wanna know what that is. He also sends a package containing some doohickey that detects untrustworthyness, or something like that. Hey, the book's six bucks at Target. Go buy your own copy if you're that worried about it.
Next up, Hermione writes to tell Harry that she's vacationing in France. Mutant skeletons are not mentioned, but I like to think they're strongly implied. The Hermi One goes on to blather about how she's finished, rewritten, and expanded their homework assignment, and signs off by announcing that Percy has been made "Head Boy". OK, this running gag officially sucks. Hermione sends Harry some kit for his broomstick.
Then we get to Hagrid, who I really want to see dead. He sends Harry an advance copy of some book about monsters, which he'll need for the next school year. Also, the book itself is a monster, so it runs around the room biting stuff. Good job, Hagrid. This kid gets wadded up Kleenex, old socks, and maggots as gifts, but you found a new low. "Happy Birthday, here's a textbook. That you were going to have to buy anyway. And it's feral." At least Rowling didn't break out the "Hagrid's Tear Stained Letter" font again. Last, but least, an official missive from the school, reminding Harry that he's gotta get his butt back in class by September 1. Noticing that it's now two in the morning, Harry decides to call it a night, and that's it. So he spent an hour reading his mail. And I blew an hour writing about it. Sheesh.
Yeah, this book is WAYYYYY better than Half-Blood Prince. I can totally see why everyone recommended it. It's clear to me that Rowling's writing style seriously deteriorated between 1999 and 2005, since her more recent work features a lot of Harry reading notes, as opposed to the more polished letter-reading Harry does in the early stuff. Also, it's eerie to see the Durseleys evolve from one book to the next. Why yes, this is sarcasm.
Maybe I should get a new rating system for my reviews, but I dunno. Airi's hearty thumbs-up is such an uplifting thing to see, which makes it all the more painful when I don't use it. I know I'll regret this, but if anyone has any better ideas, I'll hear you out. Something involving Tennessee Tuxedo would be good. Anyone who suggests artwork or video captures of actual Harry Potter characters will be shot. I'll use them when I finally go crazy and start reviewing Lemony Snicket books in my 50's.
RATING: BAD
NEXT: Aunt Marge can't stop the rock, either, apparently.