WSJ & Priori Incantatem Question
smitster
kippesp at swbell.net
Wed Oct 18 18:09:49 UTC 2000
No: HPFGUIDX 3962
New People: To those new people looking for good HP discussions yet
are feeling overwhelmed by the flood of our messages. I'm about 2000
message behind and plan on eventually getting them all read. Mainly,
the discussions are so though provoking I'd feel I'd miss out if I
didn't. But, I might add, a judicious use of filtering will assist
in quickly moving through topics of little interest your.
Priori Incantatem: When Dumbledore is explaining this spell, he says
that one of the wands will begin to reverse its spell. Any thoughts
on determining which wand this happens to? Is this a function of the
wand, the wizard, or is it random?
WSJ: In Wednesday's WSJ, we had a little Harry Potter to enjoy. I'm
including it for all to see.
Paul
----------
October 18, 2000
Potterisms Are Invading the Language:
Don't Be Caught Looking the 'Muggle'
By MATTHEW ROSE and EMILY NELSON
Staff Reporters of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
Whenever anyone at Microsoft Corp.'s education division shoots down
one of Marcia Kuszmaul's ideas, she retorts: "Don't be a muggle."
In J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series of novels, muggle is the often-
pejorative term for a person who isn't a wizard. "We use it at
business-planning meetings," says Ms. Kuszmaul, who manages the group
at the software giant's Redmond, Wash., headquarters. "We all like to
see ourselves as one of the wizards."
The children's books about an unassuming orphan who turns out to be a
wizard are wildly popular among people of all ages. Now, Potterisms
are moving into the everyday language of work, politics and romance,
where they are offering the series' millions of fans a new insiders'
shorthand for all manner of good and evil. Newsday called sprinter
Michael Johnson a "muggle" for flaming out of the Olympics 200-meter
trials. A columnist for the Chicago Daily Herald said an NBC Olympics
commentator was "the dementor of sports commentators," likening him
to prison guards in the books who suck the joy out of people.
In Connecticut, there's one executive at Hartford Insurance Co. "who
can make your life miserable," says Lisa Lesperance, who works there.
One recent afternoon, he was spotted wandering the corridors with a
group of acolytes. A colleague e-mailed Ms. Lesperance as the
executive passed: "Here comes Draco Malfoy and his friends," naming
one of Harry's archenemies, a snobbish rich kid with loyalties to
renegade wizards.
"We all started giggling," says the 42-year-old Ms. Lesperance, who
won't disclose her Draco's real name. Some of Ms. Lesperance's co-
workers call her Hermione, after Harry's know-it-all friend, because
she is the only female in their crowd. Ms. Lesperance tells co-
workers to send her "owls," not e-mails, referring to the way the
mail is delivered in the wizarding world. She calls the office
ATM "Gringotts," after the wizard bank.
Amy Lyn Gerbrandt, a 29-year-old graduate student in comparative
literature at the University of California at Davis, was recently at
a conference in Helsinki, where a professor was explaining that
scholars should avoid letting modern ideas of right and wrong cloud
their judgment of historical events. A friend leaned over during the
lecture and wrote "pensieve" in Ms. Gerbrandt's notebook.
A "pensieve," a device in book four, "Harry Potter and the Goblet of
Fire," lets a person put his thoughts in a bowl to view them
separately from everyday concerns. "In a pensieve, you can drain
things out and clarify, and get a better sense of the now and the
then," explains Ms. Gerbrandt. "All these important scholars, and
Harry Potter beat them to it."
Some adults have found that they had better use Potterisms with
caution. After lunch at Denver's Hops Brewery one Sunday, Mary Susan
Powers stood to lift her one-year-old daughter out of her highchair,
and nearly knocked over a glass of iced tea. Her husband, Steve
Burton, called her "so much a Neville Longbottom," after Harry
Potter's klutzy friend.
She snapped back, "When you know Neville's story, you'll feel sorry.
So back off."
The next day, Mr. Burton finished book four on his lunch break at the
janitorial company he owns. He read that Neville's awkwardness stems
from the tragic fate his parents met in their heroic efforts against
the Dark Arts. He felt guilty and apologized to his wife.
Potterisms also can backfire if delivered to the wrong crowd. Wendy
Frank, who works for a New York construction company, was late for a
meeting in midtown Manhattan because she couldn't find one dead-end
street. "It's just like platform 9 3/4," she explained to blank looks
from the executives she was visiting. Ms. Frank was talking about the
King's Cross railway platform in the books that can be accessed only
by wizards who walk through a solid barrier. The executives in the
room didn't know what she was talking about.
LeGrand S. Redfield Jr. would say they were muggles. The president of
Asset Management Group Inc., in Greenwich, Conn., uses the expression
to describe people who annoy him. Building contractors are
muggles "when you can't find one who will do what they said they will
do when they said they will do it for the price they said," explains
the 45-year-old. But there's no need to limit it to contractors, he
adds. " 'Muggles' can be adapted for anything that is pejorative."
The Potter books have given parents new tools for scolding their
kids. "What do you think this is, a Quidditch match?" yelled New
Yorker David Rosenthal at his seven-year-old son, who was tearing
around the family's Brooklyn brownstone. Mr. Rosenthal, a vice
president at Simon & Schuster, was referring to the fast-paced and
sometimes dangerous sport played by wizards on broomsticks. Even
author Ms. Rowling, who says she is "bowled over" to hear people
using Potterspeak, can't resist. When her seven-year-old daughter
throws a temper tantrum, Ms. Rowling calls her "Dudley," after
Harry's rude, fat cousin.
For some of the people at Scholastic Corp. who brought Harry Potter
to the U.S., it's hard to leave the books at work.
Barbara Marcus, a senior executive at the publishing house, wasn't
having any luck getting her six-year-old daughter to return a pen
that wasn't hers. "Expelliarmus," came a cry from behind the bedroom
door as Ms. Marcus's husband, Michael Pollack, entered the fray. By
invoking the Potter spell that makes people drop what they're
holding, Mr. Pollack persuaded their daughter to give up the pen.
Another Potter spell helps Kris Chadderton, a 21-year-old music major
at Swarthmore College, "any time I'm under pressure," she says.
Before her piano recitals, she paces the halls and mutters a special
spell that wards off dementors: "Expecto patronum, expecto patronum."
Harry Potter works like a charm for Amy Cohen, helping the 42-year-
old New Yorker find dates. In July, she posted a personal ad on
several Web sites and at a Manhattan coffee shop. She described
herself -- then added -- "I idolize Harry Potter."
Replies flooded in and she is now exchanging e-mail with five men who
litter their messages with Potterisms. One suggested a Quidditch
match for their first date. "It's funny what it's doing for my social
life," Ms. Cohen says. "They're good people, Harry Potter people."
Write to Matthew Rose at matthew.rose at wsj.com and Emily Nelson at
emily.nelson at wsj.com
Copyright © 2000 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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