Overanalysing Harry Potter

... well it’s worked for me once, why not try again?

Overanalysing TV, books, movies etc. is one of my all-time favourite pastimes. I respect that for some people, this is classified as “ruining”, but for me it is a true expression of my own enjoyment of a text. Now, I’m sure you guys will be stunned to hear this, but I’m currently re-reading the Harry Potter series. I’m about a third of the way through the Chamber of Secrets and already my brain is buzzing with some of the big questions. Please keep in mind that I am analysing from an ‘in-universe’ perspective, that is, I am looking for answers in the stories as if they are for real, and making assumptions where there are gaps. I am not suggesting that J.K. Rowling has any flaws whatsoever, because she is a perfect human being.

Why are all Slytherins jerks? I mean I’m not sure that we ever get a fair representation of them, given that we usually see them from Harry’s perspective, and Harry’s first encounter with Slytherins is Draco, who sucks at being a human. Harry then sees all things Slytherin though this lens, and understandably, that house is tainted with a whole lot of bad shit. But there is no real evidence to suggest this perspective is wrong. Even Slughorn, who is mostly harmless, is kind of a dick. He’s cowardly, insensitive, prejudiced against muggleborns in a really dangerously subtle way. And of course there’s Snape, hero, double agent, eternal sufferer; surely he bucks the trend? No, he’s still a douche and besides, Dumbledore himself says that Snape’s good qualities suggest that Hogwarts “sorts too soon”. That is to say, that Snape perhaps never belonged in Slytherin to begin with.

So I propose one of two answers to this conundrum. Either 1. Slytheriness is hereditary or ingrained or 2. Sorting people into Slytherin makes them douches. I’m inclined to go with option 2, because it seems to me that there can’t be four kinds of people in the wizarding world, but segregating children, bringing them up with four limited world views *creates* four kinds of people. I hope that some time in the future, Hogwarts thinks about reviewing the sorting process. I know that houses are a big part of their history, and that tradition is important, but I would suggest that certain dark traits could be gently discouraged and harmony and cooperation better achieved without this archaic practise.

Where the flip does all the food come from? We know that food is the first of the five principal exceptions to Gamp’s law of Elemental Transfiguration. Right? You guys all knew that right? Basically, you can’t make food out of thin air. Other exceptions likely include money or precious stones and other wealth. This makes sense, if you could conjure that shit up, there’d be pretty much no need for economy or education or like… anything. If you could sit around making food and money all day, you’d never leave the house. BUT we do know that you can summon food from elsewhere if you know where it is: we know that House Elf magic can teleport food between say, the kitchens and the Great Hall. You can also make more of it if you’ve got some already. So presumably, if you had to feed 100 people, you could make a couple of yummy dishes and then just multiply them, or make them bigger. But this isn’t my question, my question is, where does that original food come from?

Are there wizard farms? Wizard grocery stores? Wizard farmers’ markets? Would you become a primary producer if you could be an auror instead? Would you farm the land if you could be the Knight Bus inspector? I feel like there are probably speciality food producers, the kind of people who make magic sweets and chocolate frogs and stuff, but who is growing the corn? I guess the answer is probably muggles. While most witches and wizards would not be able to cope with muggle money and muggle shops, there are probably some who are savvy enough to buy from muggle suppliers and then use Geminio or something and sell it all at a hefty profit.

I was having this discussion on facebook and my friend Blake made the rather amusing suggestion that some pure blood families wouldn’t like this idea, and that there are “muggle-free” ranges that can be purchased by those not wanting their food tainted by non-magical hands. I like to think the shop owners would have to be pretty subtle about this, to avoid being condemned as muggle-haters. I bet the labels say things like “mud free” and “pure bread”.

 Can I go to magic school? I mean, no I can’t, because I’m 24 and a muggle, but where do Australian witches and wizards go? Where do all the non-British, non-French, non-criminal wizards go (sorry Drumstrang, but let’s be real). There’s reference to the Salam Witches Institute, but that seems to be for grown-up witches in America and Bill had that Brazilian pen-pal. I just want to knooooow. I bet the Australian school is somewhere in the outback, and the kids get to it on the magical equivalent of a Greyhound bus. I think magical and non-magical Indigenous people lived together in harmony before Europeans came and mucked it all up. The school would be underground maybe, and Quidditch would be played in the dust and the haze. Mail would be delivered by Tawny Frog-Mouths and Care of Magical Creature class would be even more dangerous than at Hogwarts. In short, it would be awesome.

Incidentally, if J.K. ever felt like releasing An Appraisal of MagicalEducation in Europe like she did with Quidditch through the Ages and The Tales of Beedle the Bard I would be all over that shit in a heartbeat. 

Hey you guys guess where today's blogspiration came from...

The Future

We enter through shiny silver doors and wait in a cramped box. Coloured buttons and lights blink on the wall. The box ascends, and comes to a halt. The doors glide open to reveal a busy, bustling place of white. White lights illuminate white walls and white tiles. Music blares from every corner. The beats conflict and the tunes clash. Clothes, make-up, perfumes, handbags… all can be purchased here from almost identical young women. Faceless, alien-like mannequins holding awkward poses display brightly coloured shoes and tiny dresses. One wears nothing but a hat and a single glove.

Dahrrrrling

We push our way through the throngs of people. Everywhere we look, signs tell us inexplicable things. Words about beauty and fashion, dad scents, points to be won. Is it some kind of competition? We make it to the doors and into an even grander and more confusing place. A hall filled with tables, food and people. Holes in the wall sell any kind of food you could want, from every place in the world. TV screens show images of India, China, Japan – “take your tastebuds on a tour of Asia!” Colours clash, lights flash and thousands of people cram themselves in tiny chairs to eat with hands, forks and chopsticks.

Here, a man with dreadlocks to his waist, there a woman in a dress that would shame the mannequins. In front of us a little girl squeals in delight at the distant sight of a shop that sells pencils in the shape of animals. A teenaged boy giggles with his boyfriend. A family sits down to a banquet of noodle dishes in cardboard bowls. All the while, glass containers move up and down the walls, ferrying people to more levels of shopping, other levels of wonder.

About 2 years ago, it started being the future, and none of us noticed. The scene I’ve just described could be from Doctor Who, but it’s from a shopping centre in Brisbane, Australia. All it took was 6 months away from this sort of place for me to notice: our shops look like something out of a film. And I’m not talking about old films that laughably tried to predict what life with flying cars might be like, I’m talking about films we watch every day. The glittering futures from our movies look exactly like the glittering present from our reality.

On the drive home from Brisbane yesterday, I downloaded an album of music to my phone. And even though we drove for 3 hours through nothing but fields and trees and cows, we were still able to listen to that whole album before we got home. I did not own that music when we got in the car, but I did by the time we got to Toowoomba. That is wizardry.

Even out in the country, it is the future. Farmers do their business online as much as they do it in the fields. Everyone knows that if you can’t buy it in town, you can have it mailed to you within a couple of days simply by clicking a few buttons on your phone. Meanwhile, Boyfriend and I are in a virtual band that we access via a gaming console in our living room. He’s lead guitar, I’m on drums: we’re doing a festival tour of America. When we’re not rocking, I’m an Assassin in Ancient Italy and he’s Batman, so that’s pretty fun too.

Today I hung out with seven awesome friends in my backyard. Two of them were in Brisbane, another in Canberra, one was in Hobart and the rest are in Newcastle. A dog barking in Newcastle made the ears of my neighbour’s dog prick up. So next time I’m whingeing that my wifi dropped out, or I’m an idiot for accidentally wiping the last 6 months’ worth of stuff off my iPhone (such a fail), I’m going to remind myself that I live in an age of fantastic, bizarre magic. And hopefully take comfort from that, while I rage and moan.

We take the future for granted, and that’s what makes it the future.