Travis asked some of us to fill in on the HBP read-thr0ugh, since he’s busy, you know, editing a book!
It would be easy to skip through Chapter 20 thinking that the most important thing we learn is how Voldemort/Riddle came into possession of Hufflepuff’s Cup and Slytherin’s Locket. We know that both end up becoming Horcruxes at some point later. In addition, the connection between these devices, Hogwarts, and Horcruxes is foreshadowed both here and in the earlier Pensieve lesson. Slughorn’s distorted memory points to a conversation about such things with young Riddle, but it’s clear that he’s gone to great pains to hide important elements of that conversation — the wizard’s version of “trying to forget.” [click to continue…]
The first few pages of chapter 17 of Half-Blood Prince belong to after-break catching-up. Hermione gets filled in on the Snape/Draco conversation, and Ron begins to show more signs of discontent in his relationship with Lavender.
Fawkes and Loyalty to Dumbledore
The action begins once again in Dumbledore’s office, where one of my favorite Dumbledore/Harry moments takes place: when Harry tells Dumbledore the story of affirming to Scrimgeour that he was “Dumbledore’s man, through and through.” Dumbledore goes speechless and teary, and Fawkes lets out “a low, soft, musical cry.” Fawkes’s song symbolizes loyalty to Dumbledore, which is loyalty to the good.
It’s an interesting moment to observe after our discussion about Lupin’s loyalty to Dumbledore in the last chapter. Whatever else you think about Dumbledore’s actions, this moment does not strike me as manipulative. Dumbledore isn’t working up a tear to take advantage of Harry’s declaration of loyalty. And Fawkes, quite obviously a symbol of goodness in the series, affirms Harry’s loyalty.
[click to continue…]
by Dave
Part I of this series: Why Joker Succeeds and Voldemort Fails
“Behind the scenes” is a trope of long standing tradition in many forms of literature. In a recent essay on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Terry W. Thompson argues that the violent deaths occur off the page as a direct result of Shelley’s love of classical Greek drama in which decorum often dictated a strict sense of what drama could portray and what it couldn’t:
Over two millenia ago, when the plays of [Euripides, Aeschylus, and Sophocles] were performed live for theater patrons in Athens, Corinth, Epidaurus, the many acts of murder and mayhem so integral to Greek tragedy were never carried out on the state proper. Only the gruesome aftermath could — within the bounds of good taste — be presented to the audience. Blood could be shown; indeed, it frequently was to the delight of many theatergoers; but the actual spilling of it was strictly forbidden. Thus, all the stabbing and slashing, hacking and hewing was done well out of sight — behind closed doors or drawn curtains. (58)
But, this convention is not purely a matter of decorum. It also hints back to one preoccupation of Greek drama, tragedy particularly: what matters are the consequences and their causes. [click to continue…]