by The Tech Curmudgeon
(not a.k.a J. K. Rowling)
I suppose most people who think about it believe in some concept of fairness … that people should get what they deserve. People who are creative, industrious, virtuous or whatever else we consider good should prosper and do well in life. People who are less worthy … serial killers, maybe … not so much.
The big political differences, of course, lie in how we define worthiness. If we consider the recent Farm Bill passed by House Republicans, for example, big agri-businesses are worthy of government largess, while people who can’t afford food are obviously undeserving.
Now I can appreciate that people who have the temerity to lose their jobs, and the incredible self-indulgence to live at the poverty level, should not be rewarded for their anti-social behavior. But what about the kids?
There are kids who go to bed hungry every night. There are kids whose parents are drug addicts, or dealers. There are kids who are neglected, victimized or abused. How could they possibly deserve that?
This troubled me for a long time, until the answer finally dawned on me. It’s right there in the Republican platform. The inescapable logic of this can be summed up in a single word: personhood.
For those in the cheap seats, personhood is the idea that a fertilized egg … called a zygote … is a person, with all the associated rights and privileges. From the moment a human egg and sperm hook up, they become a full blown dude or dudette. That gives them a full nine months to be virtuous or villainous right there in utero, before they're even born!
So clearly the kids who have cancer and can’t afford treatment, the kids who inherit AIDS or drug addiction from mom and dad, the kids who are confused, misused and abused … did something naughty in the womb. Maybe they wrote on the walls, or bullied their twins. Maybe they kicked too hard, or tried to go breech. Whatever it was, it earned them their fates.
Once you accept the idea that everyone gets what he or she deserves, that’s the only possible explanation.
All posts copyright © 2006-2018, Peter Davis. All rights reserved.
Showing posts with label rowling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rowling. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Friday, July 15, 2011
Post Voldemortem
It's finally over. Osama bin Laden's been killed. "Whitey" Bulger's been captured. And now Voldemort's dead. Somehow the movie imparts a greater sense of finality than the book did. Maybe we actually needed to see Harry, Ron and Hermione as dowdy, paunchy middle-aged people ... as, ugh, parents!
Parents don't fare too well in Rowling's world. With the exception of the Weasleys they're mostly absent (Hermione's folks), abusive (the Dursleys), infectiously evil (the Malfoys), or just plain dead. Young readers can indulge the fantasy that their real parents are kind and just and good, unlike the morons they're forced to live with.
The HP stories are interesting both because they follow in a long-tradition of hero legends, and because they don't. The tales of the superhero predate even the King Arthur fable, going back at least to Achilles and Beowulf and Gilgamesh. People seem to love these stories of someone with extraordinary powers, generally foreordained by birth or magical circumstances, arising in order to set things right. In addition to those mentioned above, there are the Last Airbender, Frodo Baggins, Clark Kent, Luke Skywalker and many others.
And Harry Potter has all the traditional earmarks. He's chosen by prophesy. His noble lineage is hidden from him. He copes with both celebrity and scorn in his adventures.
But there's one major difference between Harry and most of the other legendary heroes ... He's actually a pretty mediocre wizard. He's not as bright as Hermione, and nowhere near as powerful as Dumbledore or any of the Deatheaters. He and his friends are completely outmatched in the battle at the Ministry (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), and Snape essentially toys with him in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Harry himself acknowledges that most of his successes were the result of pure luck, with no particular skill or knowledge.
In some sense, Rowling created the first politically correct legendary hero ... one whose strength is his ordinariness. He succeeds because he has friends. That's all. Like the politically correct view of history, that things happen because of tides and trends rather than individuals, Harry is caught up in the forces that surround him. Even his prophesied role comes to him because Voldemort believes the prophesy. It's self-fulfilling. The chosen one could just as easily been someone else (though Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets doesn't have quite the same ring.)
The question is: Does the politically correct hero story work? Does it satisfy the urge that has driven people to create and embrace these legends for thousands of years?
Judging from the crowds at the midnight release of the final book in 2007, or the final movie today, the answer appears to be: Duh!
Parents don't fare too well in Rowling's world. With the exception of the Weasleys they're mostly absent (Hermione's folks), abusive (the Dursleys), infectiously evil (the Malfoys), or just plain dead. Young readers can indulge the fantasy that their real parents are kind and just and good, unlike the morons they're forced to live with.
The HP stories are interesting both because they follow in a long-tradition of hero legends, and because they don't. The tales of the superhero predate even the King Arthur fable, going back at least to Achilles and Beowulf and Gilgamesh. People seem to love these stories of someone with extraordinary powers, generally foreordained by birth or magical circumstances, arising in order to set things right. In addition to those mentioned above, there are the Last Airbender, Frodo Baggins, Clark Kent, Luke Skywalker and many others.
And Harry Potter has all the traditional earmarks. He's chosen by prophesy. His noble lineage is hidden from him. He copes with both celebrity and scorn in his adventures.
But there's one major difference between Harry and most of the other legendary heroes ... He's actually a pretty mediocre wizard. He's not as bright as Hermione, and nowhere near as powerful as Dumbledore or any of the Deatheaters. He and his friends are completely outmatched in the battle at the Ministry (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), and Snape essentially toys with him in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Harry himself acknowledges that most of his successes were the result of pure luck, with no particular skill or knowledge.
In some sense, Rowling created the first politically correct legendary hero ... one whose strength is his ordinariness. He succeeds because he has friends. That's all. Like the politically correct view of history, that things happen because of tides and trends rather than individuals, Harry is caught up in the forces that surround him. Even his prophesied role comes to him because Voldemort believes the prophesy. It's self-fulfilling. The chosen one could just as easily been someone else (though Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets doesn't have quite the same ring.)
The question is: Does the politically correct hero story work? Does it satisfy the urge that has driven people to create and embrace these legends for thousands of years?
Judging from the crowds at the midnight release of the final book in 2007, or the final movie today, the answer appears to be: Duh!
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Original Reality Show
Last night brought the single episode of the season for one of television's most enduring reality shows ... The Academy Awards. Now in it's 83rd year, with an almost entirely new cast each season, this show somehow never fails to attract attention, despite the abundance of reality show rivals. Is the Best Actor somehow more prestigious then the Iron Chef or the American Idol? Does the Best Actress outshine the Biggest Loser or the pick of The Bachelor?
Fifty years ago, historian and all-around smart guy Daniel Boorstin wrote about pseudo-events in his 1961 book, The Image. Pseudo-events are events arranged to give the impression of being news. The Oscars ceremony is probably the grand-daddy of these, with lavish sets, elegant couture, film clips and other references to the art actually being honored (lest we forget), all staged to inflate the importance of movies and the movie industry.
What about books? Maybe such a ceremony is what's needed to raise the profile of literature, and to elevate books to the status of entertainment, instead of mere art. Wouldn't that be something?
After pausing on the red carpet to gush to the media about their tweed jackets with elbow patches, and their jean/sweatshirt ensembles, the year's top authors, editors and publishers file into the Library of Congress for their big night. Flashes sparkle as Margaret Atwood, Ian Frasier, Patti Smith, Salman Rushdie and many others saunter into the hall.
Dazzling in their sweats and bathrobe, co-hosts Dave Eggers and Barbara Kingsolver exchange witty banter while introducing the succession of award presenters. Legend Philip Roth is escorted onto the stage to present the award for Best Using of Gerunds (and to flirt shamelessly with Kingsolver, whom he repeatedly addresses as Anne Frank.)
Tension mounts as the posthumous achievement award goes to Stieg Larsson. Finally, no less a figure than J. K. Rowling, the Steven Spielberg of literature, takes the stage to award the prize for Best Work of Fiction to ... H.R. 2: Repealing the Job-Killing Health Care Law Act.
Fifty years ago, historian and all-around smart guy Daniel Boorstin wrote about pseudo-events in his 1961 book, The Image. Pseudo-events are events arranged to give the impression of being news. The Oscars ceremony is probably the grand-daddy of these, with lavish sets, elegant couture, film clips and other references to the art actually being honored (lest we forget), all staged to inflate the importance of movies and the movie industry.
What about books? Maybe such a ceremony is what's needed to raise the profile of literature, and to elevate books to the status of entertainment, instead of mere art. Wouldn't that be something?
After pausing on the red carpet to gush to the media about their tweed jackets with elbow patches, and their jean/sweatshirt ensembles, the year's top authors, editors and publishers file into the Library of Congress for their big night. Flashes sparkle as Margaret Atwood, Ian Frasier, Patti Smith, Salman Rushdie and many others saunter into the hall.
Dazzling in their sweats and bathrobe, co-hosts Dave Eggers and Barbara Kingsolver exchange witty banter while introducing the succession of award presenters. Legend Philip Roth is escorted onto the stage to present the award for Best Using of Gerunds (and to flirt shamelessly with Kingsolver, whom he repeatedly addresses as Anne Frank.)
Tension mounts as the posthumous achievement award goes to Stieg Larsson. Finally, no less a figure than J. K. Rowling, the Steven Spielberg of literature, takes the stage to award the prize for Best Work of Fiction to ... H.R. 2: Repealing the Job-Killing Health Care Law Act.
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