Have you ever come away from a really good story
just feeling… intellectually dwarfed?
Like, you finish reading a book or watching a movie, and then you just sit there thinking
“How could someone possibly come up with this?”
Well, that’s kind of what we feel like trying to draw inspiration from Rowling for this
month’s short story.
Fortunately, we’re not trying to replicate what she did or… even imitate it.
We’re just trying to learn from a very specific part of her work—the way that she handles
allegory.
So consider this video a kind of study: let’s delve into the Harry Potter series and the
new Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and discuss what we feel are their 3 most
powerful allegories.
Oh, and beware—this one’s full of spoilers.
In many ways, the fourth Harry Potter book is a coming of age story.
The rose tinted lenses are lifted from both our eyes and Harry’s as we’re forced to
face the implications of his role in the story.
He won’t be a boy forever; things are destined to get much darker.
But before that we have the third book, which—through allegory—prepares us for that transition.
There is a strong theme in this story.
One of dread, and apprehension, and fear.
Harry’s death is prophesied, quite plainly.
He’s stalked by a phantom; a grim.
But most of all, he has this profound emotional reaction to the presence of the dementors.
Profound not only because of the effect they have on him, but also because of what they
represent.
In the words of Remus Lupin, Harry’s fear of the dementors suggests that what he fears
most is fear itself.
Over the course of the story, he attempts to learn the patronus charm, which should
protect him from them.
In the end, however, it isn’t enough, and he’s rescued by the hand of a mysterious
and timely stranger—someone he assumes to be his father.
But there are wizardly shenanigans afoot, and we discover soon after that Harry’s
hero is not in fact his dad, but Harry himself.
This is an important experience for Harry, because he’s so often saved by the grace
or the sacrifice of others.
He learns here that there are some things no one can do for him.
He must be the one to overcome his fears; he must learn to depend on himself.
A pretty clear message when laid out so simply, but powerful in its presentation.
Easy to mistake for a clever plot contrivance.
You might even find yourself so caught up in the unfolding of the story that you never
really notice the example Harry’s setting…
At least… not consciously.
One of the most remarkable qualities of the Harry Potter series is the way that it scales
upward in maturity with its audience, each installment darker and thematically more “grown-up”
than the last.
We move from messages about the power of love, friendship, and self-reliance, to stories
that deal with change, doubt, responsibility, and, finally… death.
The central conflict of the entire series eventually boils down to one question in the
seventh book: “Can one truly conquer death?”
This is something the antagonist—Voldemort—has spent the majority of his life trying to ascertain,
going so far as to tear his soul into fragments and hide them away in phylacteries called
“horcruxes.”
His attempt at circumventing mortality.
Interestingly, while seeking out the horcruxes, Harry’s tempted with something similar:
“the deathly hallows.”
Three artifacts which, together, are rumored to grant their wielder mastery over death.
He becomes obsessed with them for a brief window of time, but eventually accepts that
they aren’t his real goal.
He only needs to find and destroy the horcruxes.
Essentially, Harry does the one thing Voldemort never could: he accepts his own mortality.
And in so doing, he also seals the dark wizard’s fate, because Harry himself, it turns out,
is actually keeping Voldemort alive.
He is one of the horcruxes, and only through death can he fulfill his destiny.
He does come back afterward and see his mission to its end, but the message is still there:
Death is a terrible thing to fear, for no one escapes it in the end.
Best instead to live, and when the time comes, greet death as you would an old friend.
At least, that’s what we make of this.
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is not, in the strictest sense, a “Harry Potter”
film.
It takes place in the same universe and ultimately bows to the same canon, but it has a different
central plot arc.
It’s the first in a new series, which means that it isn’t beholden to any pre-existing
narrative.
It presents an opportunity for Rowling to use the allegorical dynamic she created for
Harry Potter to deliver an entirely new message.
We touched on this in our last video, but let’s dig into it a little deeper and see
what we can find.
The film in its entirety seems to revolve around an argument about the place of magic
in this world; a conflict embodied by the plight of beings call “obscurials”—essentially
witches and wizards who’ve tried to repress their magical capabilities, resulting in a
destructive physical manifestation called an “obscurus.”
Every mage who become host to an obscurus ends up dead by age ten, with one major exception:
Credence Barebone.
The uses his unique position to share three different perspectives, each articulated in
the objectives of the film’s characters.
Both his mother and MACUSA—The Magical Congress of The United States of America—push for
the repression and moderation of magic, seeing it as loathsome, dangerous, or potentially
problematic.
Grindelwald, on the other hand, seems to see it as a tool, and spends the film attempting
to manipulate Credence in order to harness the power of his obscurus.
But the most important perspective—the one the film puts the most emphasis on—comes
from Newt Scamander and from Jacob Kowalski.
Newt simply because of his overt advocacy for the protection and admiration of magic—symbolized
here by the fantastic beasts—and Jacob because his story arc demonstrates for us the value
of magic in this world.
He’s dragged from his dismal no-maj life into Newt’s magical world, and although
he eventually has to wake up from the dream, he finds that he’s better off for having
dreamt.
In fact, the world is better off for his dreams.
Kind of a foil for what becomes of Credence—a proof of concept.
You can, of course, substitue Credence’s magic in this allegory with a number of things
and find vastly different meanings.
Even so, it seems to us that the point here is to illustrate the dangers of repression
and also to elevate the importance of expression.
In particular, creative expression, which is a message we can really get behind.
But!
These are only our interpretations.
We mostly just wanted to show off some examples of how Rowling does allegory before we give
her approach a try ourselves.
Speaking of which, our next video is going to be that story we’ve been promising, so
if you have any ideas for it—suggestions for allegories we could use, setting, themes,
characters—definitely leave a comment.
Or, better yet, put them to work in your own story and then submit it to us.
We’d love to share it on our sites.
Just click that “submit” button at the end.
Anyway, that’s all for now.
Thanks for watching, and keep making stuff up!
We’ll see you…
next week.
Bye!