The Curse of Lycanthropy
Yet another wanky bit of meta about Remus Lupin--although, really, it's about lycanthropy in HP generally. This time with added sociology! Blame thistlerose for enticing me with sexual favours. ;)
One of the frequently raised complaints in fandom that most puzzles me is of alleged 'insensitivity' towards Remus' lycanthropy, either by fandom (with specific regard to Remus' portrayal in fanfiction) or by other canon characters, particularly Remus' fellow Marauders. His condition is described as debilitating, his transformations horrifically painful and, of course, he is supposedly riddled with scars, cuts and miscellaneous injuries. Fanfic authors who forget to confine Remus to the hospital wing for a sufficient period of time post-full moon run the risk of being accused of being unrealistic, and not understanding his condition properly.
Remus' friends, meanwhile, are a bunch of insensitive brutes for making jokes about werewolves, calling this terrible curse his 'furry little problem,' and wishing it was the full moon, which is a time of unimaginable suffering for poor Remus. And yet...how much of this is born out by actual canon?
It is true that Remus suffers a great deal because he is a werewolf in the books; however, I do not believe that the physical manifestations of lycanthropy that are his principle concern. Rather, Remus' story is not so much one of someone with a terrible and torturous illness, so much as a victim of discrimination. In an interview with The Scotsman in 2002, JKR compared lycanthropy to illness or disability:
His [Remus'] being a werewolf is a metaphor for people's reactions to illness and disability. (QQQ)
Stories and theories which emphasise the physical pain of transformations, horrific ensuing injuries and related symptons (such as, for example, supposedly reduced life-expectancy) focus on lycanthropy itself as the source of Remus' woes and generally consider a cure for lycanthropy to be the best possible ending for him. This approach reflects what sociologists call the Medical Model of Disability. Garnering sympathy for Remus under this approach involves emphasising the physical aspects of lycanthropy, often including symptoms that are either not mentioned in the books or even are directly contradicted by them. So we see the 17 year old Remus filled with dread before the full moon, incapacitated for days afterwards and covered in horrific and painful cuts.
Yet in canon, the principle physical sympton concerned with lycanthropy is simple tiredness and general pallour:
He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in his exam (OotP, Snape's Worst Memory, pp 565-566, UK paperback)
In PoA, Remus is up and about, packing to leave Hogwarts the day after the full moon. The text makes no reference to any sign of ill-health or injury in his appearance, nor is there any such reference at any point in any of the three books in which Remus appears.
I believe that the most important aspect of Remus' lycanthropy is not the disease itself, but his treatment by the wizarding world because of it. This, I think, is the point JKR was making when she said that his being a werewolf was a metaphor for people's attitudes to illness and disability. Remus' lycanthropy in canon is more in line with the Social Model of Disability. This model recognises that physical impairments can and do have a negative affect on people's lives, but that individuals are more disabled by social constraints and attitudes than they are by physical impairments.
Untreated lycanthropy is undoubtedly horrific, as Remus explains in PoA:
"'My transformations in those days were - were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bet and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirts'" (PoA, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, p259, UK paperback)
Terrible, indeed. But what is even worse to my mind, is the fact that these awful symptons are so easily treated - the presence of Remus' animagi friends makes an almost unimaginable difference to Remus' transformations:
"'Instead, the did something that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life'" (PoA, op cit, emphasis mine.)
This point deserves some emphasis, I feel, because it is widely overlooked in fandom, particularly during discussions of Sirius' 'wishing it was full moon' in Snape's Worst Memory. The accusation that Sirius is being horribly insensitive stems from the assumption that Remus' transformations are excrutiatingly painful, terrible, awful ordeals. Canon is clear on this point: they are not. With his friends there, Remus is able to not only tolerate the full moon, but to actually enjoy it and actively looks forward to them:
"'But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next adverture.'" (PoA, ibid, p260)
The difference is staggering - a horrible, painful process which Remus no doubt dreaded in the days leading up to it become 'the best times of his life,' a source of 'adventures' that he was able to plan with excited anticipation. This, I believe, is the real horror of his story: not lycanthropy itself, but the fact that it is so easily treated, so simply turned from torment into fun.
Because where is the Ministry training programme for relatives and friends of lycanthropes to learn the Animagus transformation to support their loved ones? Why is no remote, uninhabited Scottish island used as a safe space for lycanthropes and their Animagi companions to roam free during full moons? The answer's obvious, of course. Because the Ministry doesn't care about werewolves and isn't interested in doing anything to make their lives easier. The same reason why wolfsbane (which appears to produce by medical means a similar effect to the social solution of having Animagi companions) isn't dispensed free of charge at St Mungo's either.
The physical pain of transformations, and the emotional distress associated with anticipating the loss of consciousness associated with them, is greatly compounded by a society that could easily alleviate these symptons, but choses not to bother. This is grotesque, callous discrimination. But the social effects of lycanthropy go much further than this.
Remus spent most of his adult life unemployed because of anti-werewolf prejudice, though he's still better off than most werewolves who don't even get a proper magical education. This prejudice, and resulting poverty, causes greater difficulties than lycanthropy itself. Indeed, the physical descriptions we read of Remus, who looks 'shabbier than ever' with every appearance is far more concerned with the grinding poverty he has experienced than any lycanthropy-related illnesses.
Being a werewolf in such a prejudiced environment marginalises Remus, as he's considered an outsider, unworthy of an education or the right to earn a decent living by the majority of the wizarding population. The common view is to see only the lycanthropy in Remus, rather than the humanity. Unfortunately, I feel that attempts to emphasise the physical problems inherent in lycanthropy do this as well. By concentrating on the physical problems associated with lycanthropy, frequently extropolating greater problems than the ones we see in canon, fans who are sympathetic to Remus actually run a risk of reducing him to little more than a victim of a terrible disease, albeit a brave and stoical one.
Take, for instance, the claims that Remus' friends were 'insensitive' to his condition, that they didn't really understand it. As I see it, this misses the point in a fairly spectacular fashion. No, the Marauders did not treat Remus with kid gloves, nor did they walk on eggshells in order to be super-sensitive to his suffering, they did something much, much better than that. They treated him like a normal person.
"'But you are normal!' said Harry fiercely. 'You've just got a - a problem -'
Lupin burst out laughing.
'Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my "furry little problem" in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit.'" (HBP, A Very Frosty Christmas, p 314, UK hardback)
This, in it's own way, is just as fantastic as the fact that his friends became Animagi to help him through the full moons. Remus wasn't 'the werewolf' to his friends; he was neither monster nor victim. He was normal. In a world where his lycanthropy could have him shunned and hated by the majority of ordinary people, to meet friends who didn't think any the less of him for it, and certainly didn't think he was too feeble to withstand the normal joking and teasing that is the standard currency of friendship amongst teenage boys, must have been a wonderful thing. The sheer relief of being accepted as, and expected to act like, an ordinary boy would have been overwhelming. Just as they did in animal-form during his transformations, his friends helped Remus retain his humanity and sense of self by insisting that lycanthropy doesn't have to be a terrible and loathsome burden--with their help, not only can he deal with it, he manages to laugh at it himself. That is quite a victory.
What Remus' story tells us is not so much the perils of a terrible disease, but the awfulness of having it control your life; the suffering associated with prejudice and social isolation and the resulting material poverty. The cure for what ills him is not a medical solution, some panacea in a potion or spell, it is a social one. Friendship, company and simple acceptance coupled with enough defiance to laugh at, rather than be cowed by, lycanthropy are the best medicine.
One of the frequently raised complaints in fandom that most puzzles me is of alleged 'insensitivity' towards Remus' lycanthropy, either by fandom (with specific regard to Remus' portrayal in fanfiction) or by other canon characters, particularly Remus' fellow Marauders. His condition is described as debilitating, his transformations horrifically painful and, of course, he is supposedly riddled with scars, cuts and miscellaneous injuries. Fanfic authors who forget to confine Remus to the hospital wing for a sufficient period of time post-full moon run the risk of being accused of being unrealistic, and not understanding his condition properly.
Remus' friends, meanwhile, are a bunch of insensitive brutes for making jokes about werewolves, calling this terrible curse his 'furry little problem,' and wishing it was the full moon, which is a time of unimaginable suffering for poor Remus. And yet...how much of this is born out by actual canon?
It is true that Remus suffers a great deal because he is a werewolf in the books; however, I do not believe that the physical manifestations of lycanthropy that are his principle concern. Rather, Remus' story is not so much one of someone with a terrible and torturous illness, so much as a victim of discrimination. In an interview with The Scotsman in 2002, JKR compared lycanthropy to illness or disability:
His [Remus'] being a werewolf is a metaphor for people's reactions to illness and disability. (QQQ)
Stories and theories which emphasise the physical pain of transformations, horrific ensuing injuries and related symptons (such as, for example, supposedly reduced life-expectancy) focus on lycanthropy itself as the source of Remus' woes and generally consider a cure for lycanthropy to be the best possible ending for him. This approach reflects what sociologists call the Medical Model of Disability. Garnering sympathy for Remus under this approach involves emphasising the physical aspects of lycanthropy, often including symptoms that are either not mentioned in the books or even are directly contradicted by them. So we see the 17 year old Remus filled with dread before the full moon, incapacitated for days afterwards and covered in horrific and painful cuts.
Yet in canon, the principle physical sympton concerned with lycanthropy is simple tiredness and general pallour:
He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in his exam (OotP, Snape's Worst Memory, pp 565-566, UK paperback)
In PoA, Remus is up and about, packing to leave Hogwarts the day after the full moon. The text makes no reference to any sign of ill-health or injury in his appearance, nor is there any such reference at any point in any of the three books in which Remus appears.
I believe that the most important aspect of Remus' lycanthropy is not the disease itself, but his treatment by the wizarding world because of it. This, I think, is the point JKR was making when she said that his being a werewolf was a metaphor for people's attitudes to illness and disability. Remus' lycanthropy in canon is more in line with the Social Model of Disability. This model recognises that physical impairments can and do have a negative affect on people's lives, but that individuals are more disabled by social constraints and attitudes than they are by physical impairments.
Untreated lycanthropy is undoubtedly horrific, as Remus explains in PoA:
"'My transformations in those days were - were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bet and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirts'" (PoA, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, p259, UK paperback)
Terrible, indeed. But what is even worse to my mind, is the fact that these awful symptons are so easily treated - the presence of Remus' animagi friends makes an almost unimaginable difference to Remus' transformations:
"'Instead, the did something that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life'" (PoA, op cit, emphasis mine.)
This point deserves some emphasis, I feel, because it is widely overlooked in fandom, particularly during discussions of Sirius' 'wishing it was full moon' in Snape's Worst Memory. The accusation that Sirius is being horribly insensitive stems from the assumption that Remus' transformations are excrutiatingly painful, terrible, awful ordeals. Canon is clear on this point: they are not. With his friends there, Remus is able to not only tolerate the full moon, but to actually enjoy it and actively looks forward to them:
"'But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next adverture.'" (PoA, ibid, p260)
The difference is staggering - a horrible, painful process which Remus no doubt dreaded in the days leading up to it become 'the best times of his life,' a source of 'adventures' that he was able to plan with excited anticipation. This, I believe, is the real horror of his story: not lycanthropy itself, but the fact that it is so easily treated, so simply turned from torment into fun.
Because where is the Ministry training programme for relatives and friends of lycanthropes to learn the Animagus transformation to support their loved ones? Why is no remote, uninhabited Scottish island used as a safe space for lycanthropes and their Animagi companions to roam free during full moons? The answer's obvious, of course. Because the Ministry doesn't care about werewolves and isn't interested in doing anything to make their lives easier. The same reason why wolfsbane (which appears to produce by medical means a similar effect to the social solution of having Animagi companions) isn't dispensed free of charge at St Mungo's either.
The physical pain of transformations, and the emotional distress associated with anticipating the loss of consciousness associated with them, is greatly compounded by a society that could easily alleviate these symptons, but choses not to bother. This is grotesque, callous discrimination. But the social effects of lycanthropy go much further than this.
Remus spent most of his adult life unemployed because of anti-werewolf prejudice, though he's still better off than most werewolves who don't even get a proper magical education. This prejudice, and resulting poverty, causes greater difficulties than lycanthropy itself. Indeed, the physical descriptions we read of Remus, who looks 'shabbier than ever' with every appearance is far more concerned with the grinding poverty he has experienced than any lycanthropy-related illnesses.
Being a werewolf in such a prejudiced environment marginalises Remus, as he's considered an outsider, unworthy of an education or the right to earn a decent living by the majority of the wizarding population. The common view is to see only the lycanthropy in Remus, rather than the humanity. Unfortunately, I feel that attempts to emphasise the physical problems inherent in lycanthropy do this as well. By concentrating on the physical problems associated with lycanthropy, frequently extropolating greater problems than the ones we see in canon, fans who are sympathetic to Remus actually run a risk of reducing him to little more than a victim of a terrible disease, albeit a brave and stoical one.
Take, for instance, the claims that Remus' friends were 'insensitive' to his condition, that they didn't really understand it. As I see it, this misses the point in a fairly spectacular fashion. No, the Marauders did not treat Remus with kid gloves, nor did they walk on eggshells in order to be super-sensitive to his suffering, they did something much, much better than that. They treated him like a normal person.
"'But you are normal!' said Harry fiercely. 'You've just got a - a problem -'
Lupin burst out laughing.
'Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my "furry little problem" in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit.'" (HBP, A Very Frosty Christmas, p 314, UK hardback)
This, in it's own way, is just as fantastic as the fact that his friends became Animagi to help him through the full moons. Remus wasn't 'the werewolf' to his friends; he was neither monster nor victim. He was normal. In a world where his lycanthropy could have him shunned and hated by the majority of ordinary people, to meet friends who didn't think any the less of him for it, and certainly didn't think he was too feeble to withstand the normal joking and teasing that is the standard currency of friendship amongst teenage boys, must have been a wonderful thing. The sheer relief of being accepted as, and expected to act like, an ordinary boy would have been overwhelming. Just as they did in animal-form during his transformations, his friends helped Remus retain his humanity and sense of self by insisting that lycanthropy doesn't have to be a terrible and loathsome burden--with their help, not only can he deal with it, he manages to laugh at it himself. That is quite a victory.
What Remus' story tells us is not so much the perils of a terrible disease, but the awfulness of having it control your life; the suffering associated with prejudice and social isolation and the resulting material poverty. The cure for what ills him is not a medical solution, some panacea in a potion or spell, it is a social one. Friendship, company and simple acceptance coupled with enough defiance to laugh at, rather than be cowed by, lycanthropy are the best medicine.