Harry the seventh-- no spoilers, I promise

I'm not going to talk about what happened in the book. But I wanted to write about how this book made me feel.

This whole series, above and beyond the dazzling fantasy and the wonderful characters, has at its central theme one or two (or seven) very serious questions. Questions that, at some point, every person who thinks and lives in this world and is trying to eke out some sort of laudable existence will ask herself. Life and death? Good and evil? And what do you do with what you're given? And where exactly is that line between "for the greater good" and simple exploitation for personal (or even collective) gain?

We have Harry, a boy who lost his parents when he was a baby, who was abused growing up, and who endured an uninterrupted series of harrowing experiences that doubtless left their mark on him (literally). The psychology student in me thinks about PTSD, about attachment and bonding, about social support inoculating the abused from the tragedy of being permanently scarred by his experiences.

We have Tom Riddle, a boy who lost his parents, who endured a childhood full of neglect and inattention, and who, tragically, chose to use power over others rather than his relationships with others as his means of protecting himself. This is something that happens often (very sadly) in children who have been neglected/deprived/abused from a young age. But what makes a child choose one method of coping over the other? This is the question that isn't answered by the book.

We have Neville Longbottom, a boy who effectively lost his parents and lived a fairly miserable existence until he took matters into his own hands and started believing in himself, prompted by the support and encouragement that some of his teachers and friends gave him. His grandmother was a harsh, perhaps innefective sort of parental figure, but at the core she loved him, and he couldn't help but know this.

We have Snape, abused, neglected, made to think little of his own worth from the time he was a baby. His defense was his arrogance, his belief that, in the end, he was worth more than those who tormented him. The question here (and the biggest one for me, going into this last book) is will Snape be redeemed? In the end, did he overcome the scars of his past or did he go the Voldemort route and exorcise all connection to others, all ability to love and bond, from his heart in favor of overpowering those around him? Which route of protection did he choose?

We have Luna, who watched her own mother die a horrible death and endures abuse from all of her peers. She rises above this, however, because she still has the knowledge of her parents' love and support. She is the one that helps Harry understand how to effectively grieve a loss. While Harry is the savior-figure of the wizarding world and has been since his escape as a baby, Luna is, in a sense, Harry's savior.

The themes-- loss and grief, and their resolution

life after death/the idea of rebirth

good versus evil-- what is it that makes someone evil? What is evil, really?

This last theme is, to me, the most important of the book. Throughout the series we see Voldemort becoming progressively more fallible with each encounter. We realize, little by little, that the great evil being that the wizarding world fears, whose final (temporary) defeat lay in a chance encounter with a one-year-old boy who didn't even have the capacity to defend himself, is still really only a little boy himself. His infant's view of the world as a struggle for what he can gain, what power he could master over others in order that he might not be hurt, never changed because he never learned what most children learn-- that love can take care of you. That people will give you what you need most of the time, if you allow them that power. Thus, in spite of his brilliance and capability, he has glaring blind spots because of the way he has decided to cope. He is not whole, we realize. And we see that evil is not something real-- it is something gone wrong. It is the manifestation of human weakness.

OK, now I'll let the rest of you read before I say anything else.

Open letter to the dream network

Dear Sir or Madam,

I'm writing to let you know that your services will no longer be needed. I never subscribed to your channel in the first place, and do not take kindly to having my mind inundated with disturbing images and compromising scenarios whilst I am sleeping. I'll have you know that I am not a violent person, and never have enjoyed watching violence, and yet you feed strange scenarios involving blunt objects and nighttime intruders into what should be a time of restful repose.

Furthermore, I will not put up with the innappropriate images that you foist upon me whilst I am vulnerable and somnolent and unable to control what goes on and off of the, often too festive, stage of my mind. The strategy of humming hymns being unavailable to me in such circumstances, I regret that I have no alternative but to block your channel.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you don't provide a valuable service to some who would like nothing better than to dream about blunt objects and strange, sensual circumstances every night. I do not judge these people. I hope that, likewhise, you will respect my wishes and leave me to dream of more restful things-- kittens and chocolate cake. And perhaps the Gilmore Girls.

I find your targeting of pregnant women especially disturbing, as they need all the restful sleep that they can get. Particularly if they're still waking up in the early hours of the morning to provide a comfort feeding to their toddler. I think you ought to examine your market and find a more appropriate audience for your programming.

Respectfully,

Nosurfgirl

a little announcement

Just because in blogging mode, I will likely be ranting about things related.

Anyway, Skywalker family is expecting #3 on January 18, 2008. We're excited. And overwhelmed. How many families end up with five kids in four years of marriage? (The adoption will add two.)

Good thing I'm married to a Jedi Knight. That's all I have to say.

explanation

Lately, I haven't been blogging my farcequin regularly as promised. I apologize.

Let's just say that I have lots on my plate right now, and I'll blog it when I can.

Sorry!!

SRM--Ice melts in N. Canada

This video includes interviews with members of a canadian Inuit tribe describing how the melting ice affects their way of life.

Elfreda Pulls her Weight

The next morning dawned glorious and rose-colored. Elfreda stared through her windows, surprised at how beautiful the scrubby, reddish colored landscape looked with the flood of the early-morning sun over it. IT made her wish that she had Eastern-facing windows-- the sunrise itself must be breathtaking, she thought.

She slowly rose from her bed. Her little clock said 7 am, and she was still recovering from jet lag, but she congratulated herself for making an early start despite this handicap. She needed to show Bobbert that she was serious about pulling her weight-- he had been so sneering and sarcastic the other day when he mentioned her smooth hands and working with crocks.

Elfreda bit her lip and looked at her hands. They were beautiful; one of the things about her appearance that she was proud of-- smooth, small, pale, and with beautiful moon-shaped cuticles. She spent a fair amount of time buffing her nails to mirror-brightness in the hope that Davian would notice.

Well, that no longer matters, Elfreda thought dully as she walked to her wardrobe. She pulled it open and sorted through the racks to find something suitable, but she couldn't come up with much. Finally, she donned a pair of knee-high leather boots-- she had saved for months to buy them-- a pair of denim shorts, and a soft, cotton eyelet blouse. She pulled a straw hat from her hatrack and put it on. Finally, she pulled her red hair into little pigtails to keep it out of her face. She surveyed herself in the mirror and felt a stirring of confidence-- she looked like she was ready to work, she thought.

After a hurried breakfast, wherein Janey kept giving Elfreda odd looks, and suggesting various things like that she should rub sunscreen over her pale skin or change into a different pair of shorts (Elfreda just nodded politely and pretended she didn't care-- she didn't have any other shorts, and she didn't want Bobbert to think that she was worried about her pale complexion, not after what he said the day before), Elfreda walked out the back door and asked one of the yard hands to take her over to the crock farm. They drove for what seemed to Eflreda quite a while. The experience was unsettling-- the little jeep roared over rutted dirt swaths and churned up the muddy spots, spattering Elfreda's bare knees, shorts, white shirt, and shiny leather boots with drops almost as red as blood. When they finally got there, Elfreda knew she looked a sight.

She scanned the area with a hand shading her eyes. She saw several men bustling about, mostly with tattered or no shirts on, and filthy jeans and boots. She didn't recognize Bobbert until he turned and raised a hand in welcome. "Come over here," he called. "I have a job for you."

Elfreda had to remind herself to breathe in. Just as she had the day before, she was caught momentarily by surprise at the sight of Bobbert's rippling arm muscles, and Elfreda noticed this time, his build in the chest and back was admirable, too. She dismissed the thought from her mind with a sniff.

Davian couldn't hold a candle to Bobbert for strength, she thought. But who wants a brute when you can have a gentleman?

She shook her head. But I don't have a choice. She had forgotten for a moment, and the dissapointment at remembering her predicament fell on her like a lead weight.

She blinked back tears and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she came up to Bobbert. "What do you want me to do?" She asked.

Bobbert looked her over, and an eyebrow quivered as he took in her costume, but he didn't say anything about it, for which Elfreda was grateful. Among these men in their tattered ensembles, she knew that she looked ridiculous, particularly the boots. But she was determined to play it off. After all, she'd had nothing more suitable in her wardrobe.

"This is what I would like for you to do today," Bobbert said gruffly, handing her a shovel. "A few of the crocks have been sick lately, and they've been pooping along the sides of the pit. I need you to shovel it into this barrow--" He indicated an encrusted wheelbarrow sitting by the edge of the pool, and Elfreda wrinkled her nose against a most unpleasant smell. "And dump it in the pile we've started over there. It makes the edges too slippery for us to work well with the animals."

Elfreda suppressed her surprise and disgust and began shoveling the smelly lumps into the wheelbarrow. She pressed her lips together grimly, but other than that, kept all expressions of what she felt off of her face. Bobbert watched her for a moment, and then went off to join the others. "Oh-- one more thing," he said, turning back. "Keep an eye out for crocks. They like to sneak up near the edge and spring. I don't want my wife for crocodile feed anytime soon, so look for their eyes-- those little lumps sticking up above the water. See?"

Elfreda couldn't help but shiver as she looked- there were countless little lumps all over the water, some within a few feet of where she was. For a moment, fear paralyzed her, but she felt Bobbert's gaze on her, and so she forced herself to inch a little bit closer to the pool to get the lumps that lay closer to the water, keeping a wary eye on the pairs of eyes as she did so.

SRM-- Haregewoin Teffera

I have mentioned Melissa Faye Greene's book a number of times. It is about a woman, Haregewoin Teffera, who through an unusual series of life events and circumstances, found herself caring for aids orphans. Her organization is an official institution. Check her out here.

If there were more people like this woman, the world would be a much easier place for children to live in.