TBAY: Crouch - Through A Glass, Darkly (7 of 9)

[ssk7882 <skelkins@attbi.com>]

No: HPFGUIDX 47934

Seven

Through A Glass, Darkly

------------

Elkins sits at her computer, trying to think of how to construct
the TBAY opening of part seven of her Crouch post.  She tries to
remember where she last left TBAY!Elkins, TBAY!Eileen, TBAY!Cindy.

She is finding it hard to concentrate.  It is early morning, the 
time of day when it is most difficult for her to see the text on 
her computer monitor at all clearly.  The morning sunlight casts 
the screen into shadow.  When she looks at her computer, Elkins 
cannot see much of anything beyond her own reflection, her own 
face staring back at her from out the glass.


"Elkins" is not Elkins' real name.

-----------------

"But this is also a misrecognition in another sense: I recognize 
the "miss", the gap between my self and my image, and, in doing so, I 
am alienated from myself. Once again, I create a self before the 
mirror: this time, in the sense that I stand before it, to create 
this uncanny double outside of myself, which is me."  
-- Jacques Lacan [1]

------------

"You see Barty Jr. as a mirror to his father," says Eileen, staring
up at Elkins, who looks unusually drawn and haggard high upon her
pale horse.

Elkins nods.  She smiles strangely.

"Hypocrites," she says.  "Really shouldn't go messing around with 
mirrors."

======================================================================

Hypocrites should not mess with mirrors.


I see Barty Jr. as a mirror to his father, a relationship which is 
emphasized by their shared name.  He is his father's negative: light 
to his dark, youth to his age, weak to his strong, reactive to his 
active, submissive to his dominant, receptive to his projective.  
To the extent that he physically resembles his mother, and to the 
extent that he so often seems to be playing a kind of dark rendition 
of the Sleeping Beauty myth -- always waiting in bondage or otherwise 
dormant for some powerful male icon to come along to release him, to 
"awaken" him -- we might also say that he is feminine to his father's 
masculine.  He is his father's reflection, moon to his sun.  He is 
Crouch's shadow self, who expresses and makes manifest those desires 
to which Crouch himself cannot admit.

On one level, Barty Junior is a disobedient son.  On another, 
however, he is anything but.  He is dutiful, in that he reflects his 
father's suppressed desires.

Crouch Sr. upholds himself as an enemy of Dark Wizardry.  On the 
conscious level he does not want Voldemort to return.  But on another 
level, he would like nothing better, because his political fortunes 
are invested in the atmosphere of hatred, fear and paranoia that 
Voldemort represents.  Crouch's hidden desire for Voldemort's 
return is acted upon by his son, who consciously tries to restore 
Voldemort to power.  

Crouch exerts his will to bend others to his own desires and to
force them to subsume their identities into his own.  He casts 
memory charms, he uses the Imperius Curse, he dominates his slaves 
and his children, he demands obedience.  He gives orders.

His son cites as his greatest ambition the desire to serve.  He 
subsumes his identity into that of other people: he adopts others'
personae, he acts on other people's desires.  He falls prey to 
Imperius, to dementor madness, to veritaserum.  He follows orders.

Crouch used the Aurors as tools to facilitate his own rise to power.  
His son impersonates an Auror in order to become a tool to facilitate
another's rise to power

Crouch authorized others to use the Unforgivable Curses; he also used
them himself, but only in secret.  His son first uses them illegally,
and then, as Moody, openly, with the authorization of another.

When faced with an unbearable situation, Crouch retreats into an
idealized fantasy of a vanished past.  His son retreats into an 
idealized fantasy of a vanished future.

Crouch professes his desire to bring Dark Wizards to justice, while 
privately allowing them to escape the consequences of their own 
actions.  His son escapes the consequences of his own actions, while 
professing his desire to see others forced to pay for their misdeeds.

Crouch served the evil that Voldemort represents, while claiming
himself to be opposed to it; eventually he is forced unwittingly
to serve.  His son swore his loyalty to Voldemort, yet by unwittingly 
thwarting his father's political schemes, saved the wizarding world 
from a restoration of the evil that Voldemort stands to represent.

Crouch tells lies that he desperately tries to believe to be the 
truth.  His son never once accepts his own masquerade as the truth, 
yet even within it, remains peculiarly honest.  

Crouch merely pretends to be a fanatic.  
His son really is one.

Crouch's son is his hypocrisy made manifest.  
 
And Crouch himself cannot bear the sight of it.  He tries to cut 
himself off from it at the sentencing, by denying his relationship to 
it.  He tries to renounce it, he tries to shut it away.  In the end, 
however, he cannot sever himself from his shadow self.  Instead, he 
brings it back home, to keep it close yet hidden, in plain sight and 
yet obscured from view. Because he cannot rid himself of his other 
half, he tries instead to sublimate it.  In his confession, Barty Jr. 
will say: "Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled."  The 
language is suggestive.  It is how people speak of their darker 
impulses, their forbidden desires.  They must be contained.  They 
must be concealed.  They must be controlled.

But in the end, Crouch's darker impulses cannot be concealed, and 
they cannot be controlled.  Invisibility Cloak, Imperius Curse, 
locked indoors, guarded by Winky -- none of it suffices.  Crouch's 
ugly secret is always on the verge of exposure.  Bertha Jorkins 
discovers it.  It escapes at the QWC.  It is nearly uncovered by Amos 
Diggory and Arthur Weasley.  

Eventually it breaks free altogether.  Crouch and his son, image and 
reflection, trade places.  Crouch passes through the looking glass to 
become himself the reflection, the moon to Voldemort's sun, the 
secret that must be concealed, controlled, hidden from view, 
ultimately buried.  His son emerges from the mirror to become the 
active agent, the image; he walks out into the light and into the 
world, to act in his father's stead, carrying his father's name.

In the end, Crouch Jr. becomes what all sublimated shadow selves
eventually become.

He becomes the law of the mirror.

He becomes Nemesis.

==================================================================


"Crouch Sr. wanted to make the world his mirror," Elkins says. "Or 
perhaps his hall of mirrors, an endless corridor of looking glasses 
that would reflect nothing but his own wishes and desires right back 
at him.  He wanted to make the world his Mirror of Erised, showing 
him nothing but what he most wanted to be.  But there was something 
very important that he forgot.  Something about the nature of 
mirrors."

"That the mirror always reverses that which it reflects," whispers
Eileen.

Elkins nods.  "Mirrors are always dangerous.  Broken mirrors most of 
all.  But they are particularly dangerous for people who aren't 
honest with themselves.  For people who try to live a lie.  Who 
aren't what they pretend to be.  They are particularly dangerous," 
she says.  "For *hypocrites.*  Hypocrites, and people whose motives 
are not pure.  We learned that all the way back at the end of PS/SS, 
didn't we?  That men with two faces would do well to stay away from 
mirrors?

"Oh," Elkins mutters to herself in a low rapid whisper.  "Oh, Crouch 
should not have forgotten that.  He should not have forgotten that.  
He *really* should not have forgotten that about mirrors."

Cindy and Eileen exchange worried glances.

"In fact," says Elkins.  "*Neither* of them should have, should 
they?  Neither of the Crouches should have forgotten about mirrors.  
Why *didn't* Barty Jr. think to look in that Foe-Glass of his?  Was 
there something there that he couldn't face?  Something that he was 
afraid he might *see*?  There's a very fine line between a Mirror of 
Erised and a Foe-Glass, you know.  Sometimes it's hard even to tell 
the difference between them."

"Elkins," whispers Eileen.

"'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face; now I
know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.'"

"Elkins, please stop this," says Eileen.  "You're beginning to scare 
me."

Elkins blinks.  "Am I?" she asks.

Eileen nods.  "A little bit," she says.  "Just a little."
 
Elkins looks down at her.  "Do you want to know what scares me, 
Eileen?" 

"I--"

"Bulging eyes.  Bulging eyes scare me."

"Bulging eyes?" repeats Cindy blankly.

Elkins nods.  She reaches into her satchel and pulls out her copy
of GoF.  She hands it down to Cindy.

"Read it," she says.  "The passage is marked."

Cindy opens the book to the marked page.  She looks down at it.
She begins to read: 

----------

"'I will be his dearest, his closest supporter....closer than a 
son....'

"Moody's normal eye was bulging, the magical eye fixed upon
Harry.  The door was barred, and Harry knew he would never reach
his own wand in time...."

------------

Cindy looks up at Elkins, who nods sickly.

"That's the only place in the entire novel where Moody's eye is ever 
described as 'bulging,'" she says.  "*Either* of his two eyes.  
Ever.  I know."  She looks down at Cindy and Eileen, her eyes large 
and troubled behind her glasses.  "I know," she says, in a small 
voice.  "I checked."

There is a short silence.

"Twice," she adds, in an even smaller voice.

"Elkins--" Cindy begins.

Elkins shakes herself, then continues rapidly: "It's not a word that 
JKR uses to describe eyes all that often.  She hardly ever uses it 
at all, in fact.  Once to refer to Filch.  Once to refer to a 
dragon's eye.  No place else.  Except, of course, when they belong to 
Crouch."

"Or to his son," points out Eileen.

"Except when they belong to Bartemius Crouch.  Why didn't he look in 
the Foe-Glass?  What was he afraid that he might see in there?  'I'm 
not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes,' he told
Harry.  And he was right about that, wasn't he?  The eyes were what
he should have watched out for.  That's when he was really in trouble.

"'You did not conquer him - and now - I conquer you!'  That's the 
last thing that Crouch Jr. says under his own volition, you know.  In 
a sense, those are his last words.  Conquest," Elkins repeats 
despairingly.  "Conquest, and the law of the mirror.  Crouch through 
the looking glass.  Reversal complete.  In the end, you know," she 
says.  "In the end, he truly *was* his father's son.  Do you know 
what the best thing about being adopted is?"

Eileen blinks.  "The, uh.  The what?" she asks.

"The best thing about being adopted," Elkins tells her.  "Is that you 
can make it to the age of thirty, and still be able to look in the 
mirror without flinching."

There is a short silence.

"Well...sometimes," amends Elkins.  "Sometimes you can.  But that's 
what scares me, Eileen.  Bulging eyes.  Bulging eyes...and mirrors.  
And people who try to make other people into their mirrors.  They 
scare me the most of all."

"And that's how you view Crouch?"

"And that's how I view Crouch."

======================================================================

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!"  


I read Crouch as solipsist, or perhaps a narcissist: as someone who 
only recognizes other people as extensions of himself.  I see that 
as his hamartia, and that also as his primary thematic role in the 
text.  He stands for the denial of individuality and the negation 
of the volition of others.  He stands as the agent of identity loss,
the ultimate antithesis of choice.  In this respect, I see Crouch as 
thematically tied to the House Elf subplot, to Harry's separation 
from his parental protections, and also to the running motif of the 
Unforgivable Curses, those spells which exist to strip an individual 
of the capacity for personal volition.  Ultimately, Crouch Sr. is a
personification of soul murder: he is the Dementor's Kiss.

This aspect of Crouch's character manifests itself in a number of
different ways.  We see it in his insistence on naming his son after 
himself.  We see it in his apparent inability to remember Percy's 
name.  We see it in his denial of human rights, in his fondness for 
the UCs, and in his penchant for casting magics of mental domination 
on others.  He places Bertha Jorkins under a memory charm.  He places 
his son under the Imperius Curse.  He renounces both Winky and his 
son for the same crime: the crime of disobedience.  And I think that 
we see it also in his obsession with his public image, his obsession 
with how he is perceived by others, with how he is *reflected.*  

Crouch views other people as mirrors to himself; he looks to his 
reflection in their eyes to know what he truly is.  When the 
reflection that he sees there does not match what he wants to be, he 
becomes angry and lashes out.  He tries to banish the faulty mirror 
from his sight or alternatively, to force the mirror to show him as 
he wants so very badly to be seen.

I think that we see this in his treatment of both Winky and Bertha 
Jorkins.  But most of all, I'd say that we see it in his appalling 
treatment of his son.

======================================================================


"You're always going *on* about that," objects Eileen.  "About how
Crouch treated his son.  What on earth was so appalling about the 
way he treated Barty Jr.?"

Elkins stares at her.

"Are you *joking?*" she asks.

"No, I'm not joking!  He saved his son's life, didn't he?  What's
so terrible about that?"

"I'd like to know too, Elkins," says Cindy.  "You said something like
this all the way back in February, and I didn't get it then, either.  
I have to admit that being imprisoned for over a decade by your dad 
and a house elf isn't exactly a walk on the beach, but I also didn't 
hear Crouch Jr. complaining about it." 

"Didn't you?" demands Elkins.  "I did.  In his confession, he tells 
Dumbledore that his father left his mother to die in his place in 
solitary confinement in a cell in Azkaban, reliving the worst 
memories of her life, and then to be buried on the prison grounds
by Dementors.  And his editorial comment on that?  'He loved her
as he had never loved me.'  What does that tell you about how young
Bartemius *himself* must have viewed his treatment at his father's 
hands?"

"Crouch Jr. should be *thanking* his dad for bailing him out of 
Azkaban," says Cindy angrily.  "Crouch Sr. risked what was left of 
his tattered reputation to sneak Crouch Jr. out of Azkaban.  And how 
does Crouch Jr. repay the favor?  By killing his dad." 

"No less than Crouch deserved," snarls Elkins.

"Elkins!" Eileen cries.  "How can you *say* that?  Crouch got more 
than anyone deserves.  The punishment exceeded the crime."

"The punishment did *not* exceed the crime!" yells Elkins.  "It didn't
even come *close!*  It was a slap on the wrist!  Parole!  A furlong!
A...a...a...a...a *parking ticket!*"  

"What?  What is *wrong* with you?  Just look at what *happened* to 
the poor man, will you?  To start off tamely, he lost his power and 
reputation.  He lost his family, in different manners, his wife, his 
son, Winky.  I mean, he just lost *everything.*  And then--"

"*Everything?*"  Elkins shakes her head.  "No, Eileen," she says, 
dangerously quietly.  "No.  Not everything.  *That.*  Was his son.  
His *son* was the one who lost everything.  What Crouch himself 
lost?  What Crouch lost was nothing that the world would greatly 
miss."  

Eileen stares at her.  "This isn't like you," she says.

"Crouch got what he had coming to him."

"This isn't *like* you.  This--"

"Really, Elkins," Cindy says, frowning.  "What did Crouch Sr. do to 
deserve his unfortunate transfiguration into a bone, other than show 
mercy to his no-account, good-for-nothing, disgrace-to-the-family-
name offspring?"

"What did he *do?*" Elkins repeats, her voice rising.  "What did he
*DO?*  Are you serious?  Did we even read the same *book* here?  He--"

"Being under Imperius curse was a heap nicer than Azkaban," says
Eileen, reading directly from her CRAB CUSTARD manifesto.  
"Especially since he was guilty."

"Was it?  You think so?  You think so, do you?  Well.  For one 
thing," Elkins tells her furiously.  "Crouch Jr. wouldn't have *been* 
suffering in Azkaban for very much longer, would he?  He would have 
been *dead.*  Which given what eventually happened to him, would have 
been a mercy.  But even assuming that the choice there really *had* 
been one between suffering further in prison or accepting subjugation 
to his father's will..."

"Yes?"

"Well."  Elkins says tightly.  "Voldemort gives Harry that very 
same choice in the graveyard, doesn't he?  He tortures him, and 
then he tries to use Imperius to force Harry to beg him for 
surcease.  To ask to be spared further suffering.  We see Harry 
offered that choice: the pleasant blissful surrendering to another's 
hostile will, or torment and death on his own terms.  And with his
own volition still intact.  What is easy.  Or what is *right.*  Harry 
chooses the latter.  No, Eileen," Elkins spits.  "No.  What Crouch 
did to his son was not 'heaps nicer than Azkaban.'  It was not 'heaps 
nicer' than anything.  It was not nice at all.  It was 
*Unforgivable.*"  

"Barty Jr.," Eileen begins crossly.  "Was an ungrateful--"

"UNGRATEFUL?!" Elkins screams.  She kicks savagely at her hobby 
horse, which snorts and charges right for Eileen's CRAB CUSTARD 
table.  Eileen yelps and throws herself to one side, dodging the 
flying paper cups and plastic spoons which fly into the air as the 
table crashes to one side.

"UNGRATEFUL?"  Elkins shrieks, reaching down as her horse thunders
past to grab Eileen by her featherboas.  "UNGRATEFUL?"

"Ecki..." gasps Eileen, clutching at her neck as she is dragged
along behind Elkins' horse.  "Elki..."

"*Elkins!*" Cindy says sharply.  "No *dragging!*"

Elkins snarls something incoherent and pulls her horse to an abrupt
halt.  She looks down at Eileen, who is scrambling to get her legs
under her and clawing wildly at her featherboas.

"No dragging, no drawing, and absolutely no *throttling!*  says
Cindy sternly.  "It's all right here in the rulebook."  She waves 
her TBAY Rulebook menacingly in the air.  Elkins narrows her eyes, 
then drops the end of Eileen's featherboa.  Eileen falls to the 
ground, gasping.

"Ungrateful," Elkins repeats, glaring down at her.  "Ungrateful.
Have you ever given any thought to the precise manner in which Crouch 
*chose* to imprison his son, Eileen?  Have you?  *Have* you?"

Eileen coughs weakly.

"No trampling either, Elkins," cautions Cindy.  "Just so you know."

"Crouch Jr. was always with Winky," Elkins says, ignoring her.  "He 
was permitted to speak to no one else.  He was to remain under an 
Invisibility Cloak night and day.  Night.  And.  Day.  In other 
words, he was compelled to sleep in it.  But he was also kept in 
*public* areas of the house, wasn't he?  Right out in the open, where 
visitors like Bertha Jorkins could hear him, where he could be on 
hand to witness Voldemort and Pettigrew's arrival at the front door.  
Public areas of the house.  In full view, and yet invisible.  Capable 
of standing at the door, but never of opening it.  Allowed to hang 
around right in front of the windows, right in the public areas of 
the house in his Invisibility Cloak, but actually permitted out of 
doors rarely enough that it had been *years* since he had been 
outside when he was taken to the QWC.  Years."

"I--" Eileen gasps, then starts coughing again.

"He was occasionally granted rewards for good behavior," continues
Elkins.  "Except that actually, 'rewards' isn't the word that he
first thinks to use to describe them, now, is it?  The first word 
that he uses in his confession is 'treats.'  *Treats,*" she spits.
"Sometimes a single word really can speak volumes, can't it?  
'Treats.'  Infantalizing.  Degrading.  Dehumanizing, even: treats 
are what you give to *dogs,* aren't they?  What you give to dogs
as a reward when they sit up and *beg.*  Even under the veritaserum, 
Crouch himself seems to realize that the word is far too revelatory.  
Too humiliating.  He corrects himself almost instantly, changing it 
to 'rewards for good behavior.'  Far more dignified, that.  Rewards 
for good behavior are what *prisoners* get, after all.  But it's not 
the first word that he thinks to use, now, is it?  That word," she 
snarls.  "Is *treats.*"

"Well, really, Elkins," begins Cindy.  "He--"

"And then," Elkins continues, now literally shaking with rage. "And 
then, of course, and then, and *then* there's that Imperius Curse.  
Weren't we talking a while back, Eileen, about the closest real life 
analogue to the Imperius Curse?  I seem to remember that we thought 
that it would probably be *drugs,* didn't we?  Drugs that sap the 
will?  Drugs that render people unusually pliable?  Unusually 
*suggestible?*  Hypnotic agents?"

Eileen, still gulping air, nods weakly.

"For heaven's sake, doesn't this combination of factors suggest 
anything to *anyone* other than me?" demands Elkins furiously.  "Am I 
really the only person in the entire *universe* who read the book 
this way?  Presumed dead.  Social isolation.  Denied sunlight.  24 
hour surveillance.  Infantilizing language.  Degrading treatment.  In 
plain sight, but made invisible.  Rewards granted for compliance -- 
and presumably, by the same token, withheld in response to defiance.  
Hypnotic agents.

"What does that combination of factors *remind* you of?" she yells
down at Eileen, who flinches.  "What does it *suggest* to you, O 
fellow lover of Solzenitsyn?"

Eileen stares at her.

"ANSWER ME!" screams Elkins, now looking quite mad.  "What.  Does.  
That.  *SOUND* like to you?"

"It sounds like brainwashing," says Cindy quietly, from behind her.  

Elkins whirls around in her saddle.

"YES!" she screams.  "Thank you!  Yes!  That's *precisely* what it 
sounds like!  Crouch wasn't just keeping his son a prisoner.  He
was attempting indoctrination."


=====================================================================


>From the instant that Crouch Jr. described his treatment as his 
father's prisoner in the veritaserum scene, I instinctively read
it as an attempt at indoctrination.  Every single thing that we 
learn about how Crouch saw fit to keep his son seems to me to point
unerringly in that direction.  Imperius.  Invisibility Cloak, yet
kept in public view.  Presumed dead.  Permitted to speak to no one.  
Watched night and day.  Denied sunlight.  Denied solitude.  Given 
rewards for good behavior, rewards which went by the degrading name 
of 'treats.'  Encouraged to view his two captors in the dual roles 
of Merciful Intercessor and Strict Disciplinarian.  Frankly, I'm 
surprised that Crouch didn't think to shave his son's head.  It 
would have been in keeping with everything else that we hear about 
how he chose to treat his son after he learned that he was 
unrepentent, all of which reads to me like a textbook case of a 
direct and deliberate assault on a captive's sense of identity, on 
his sense of self.  

Crouch kept his son in a public part of the house, in full sight and 
yet unseen, a circumstance that necessitated that Crouch Jr remain 
covered by an Invisibility Cloak at all times.  "Night and day," which
means that he must also have been forced to sleep in it.  Why?  For 
that matter, why was he kept in a public part of the house at all?  
The house elves can teleport.  Winky could have helped to care for 
young Crouch no matter where he had been stationed, and it would 
have been far safer to keep him in a locked and warded room or wing, 
not somewhere where any visitor to the house, like Bertha Jorkins, 
could have stumbled across him.  Crouch had a house elf.  House elves 
come with manors and mansions, large houses.  Are we to believe that 
he couldn't have found someplace else for his son to live, or at the 
very least to sleep nights?  A suite without windows?  A cellar?  
An attic?  

Why was it necessary for Crouch Jr. to wear an Invisibility Cloak 
"night and day?"  Why have him *sleep* in the thing?  Why keep him in 
public areas of the house?  

Crouch kept his son in a public part of the house, in full sight and
yet unseen, even while he slept, in order to make him not only be 
invisible, but also *feel* invisible.  To turn him into an Unperson.  
To erode his sense of self.  To subvert his sense of identity.  To 
break his will.  To turn him into an empty shell, a receptacle ready 
and waiting to be filled up with whatever it pleased his father to 
pour back into him.

The dissociated young Crouch that we see in canon is in large part a 
creation of his father.  The reason that he is able to assume 
another's identity well enough to fool even Dumbledore is because he 
has precious little left of his own.  His father spent over a decade 
systematically stripping him of his own identity, trying to empty 
him, to make him hollow, in the hopes of filling him back up with his 
own essence, of turning his son into a different kind of mirror: a 
mirror that for once would *not* reverse that which it reflected, a 
mirror that Crouch himself would not flinch to look upon.  

But he only partially succeeded.  The Crouch Jr. that we see in canon 
is a reflective surface, and he is hollow.  But the father that he 
has invited into himself to fill the void of his raped personal 
identity is not Barty Senior.  Instead, it is Voldemort.  

In the end, the metaphor reaches its full completion.  Barty Jr. is 
dementor-kissed.  He becomes fully hollow; he loses his very soul.

====================================================================


"Don't ask me to pity Crouch, Eileen," Elkins says in a low shaking
voice.  "I don't pity him.  The man set out to destroy his son's 
sense of self.  Ruthlessly.  Deliberately.  Methodically.  He forged 
the blade that killed him.  He did it with his own two hands.  It 
took him ten years, but he did it.  He managed it in the end."

There is silence.

"But Elkins," Eileen says quietly.  "He repents."

Elkins stares at her for a long, long moment, then turns away.

"I don't care," she mutters.

"He repents.  He sees his sin, and he--"

"I don't *care!*  That man tried to destroy another person's capacity
for volition, Eileen!  Doesn't that mean anything to you?"   

"But he gets a redemption scene!" wails Eileen.  "You can't deny
that the text invites us to sympathize with him there, can you?  
Just look at what David wrote, back in Message 38368!  He said:

> However, I would suggest that Crouch Sr's final attempts to reach 
> Dumbledore are a textbook case of redemption. The word originally 
> related to buying freedom from slavery, either for yourself or for 
> another, and then came to be applied religiously. He has seen the 
> error of his ways and strives to make restitution. He struggles 
> against the bondage that his own actions have placed him in, and 
> begins to break free. If this were a Christian allegory (I don't 
> believe it is), the angels would be rejoicing in heaven."

"Angels?" Elkins repeats incredulously.  "Angels rejoicing in 
*heaven?*  Oh, no."  She shakes her head.  "No, no, no, no, no.  Some 
things are just not that cheaply paid for, Eileen."

"But...but...but Elkins, you *love* redemption scenarios.  You adore 
Snape, you plump for RedeemedInDeath!Pettigrew, you *invented* 
Redeemable!Avery.  You've even taken Redeemable!Draco out for a waltz 
a few times.  I've seen you do it.  And now you have a character who 
actually *gets* a redemption scene, right there in the canon, and you 
remain utterly unmoved?  I just can't believe that.  It's--"

"What part.  Of Unforgivable.  Do you not *understand?*" yells 
Elkins.  "Crouch set out to destroy another person's individuality.  
He set out to destroy someone else's *personhood.*  And he did it on 
purpose.  For no other reason than the desire to make somebody else 
into his mirror.  That is not something that I forgive.  That is not 
something that *anyone* should forgive.  Ever.  That is simply foul.  
It is unspeakable.  It is Anathema.  It.  Is.  *Abomination.*"

Cindy and Eileen both stare at her.

"And when Barty Jr catches up to his father there in the Forbidden 
Forest," Elkins continues, a febrile light in her eyes.  "Do you 
think what happens next is *murder?*  Do you think that Crouch Jr. is 
a *parricide?*  He is not.  He is not.  He has become something more 
than that.  Something far greater.  Not murder.  Not parricide.  Not 
vengeance.  Not justice.  Not even dramatic irony.  Something related 
to all of those things, but older, much older.  Something older, 
something colder, something ancient, possibly even something sacred.  
The law of the mirror.  *Nemesis.*  He has become *Nemesis.*"  

"This isn't like you at all," whispers Eileen.

"Nemesis.  What you *get* when you sow the wind.  And Mr. Crouch 
certainly did sow it, didn't he.  He sowed it well."

"But--"

"But in the end," Elkins says bitterly.  "He still *wins.*  Doesn't 
he.  Old Crouch strikes from beyond the grave.  Because you can't 
really kill Barty Crouch, just like you can't really kill Voldemort.  
How can you kill the lust for dominion?  How can you kill the desire 
to force other people to be what you want them to be?  How can you 
kill disregard for others?  How can you kill narcissism?  How can you 
kill the powers of coercion?  How can you kill Evil itself?  You 
can't, can you?  It just keeps right on coming back.  Crouch wanted 
to suck his son's soul right out of his body.  That's *precisely* 
what he wanted to do to him.  He didn't live long enough to manage it 
completely, but that didn't matter in the end, did it, because his 
literary double Cornelius Fudge just stepped right up to take his 
place.  Here comes the new boss, same as the old boss.  Crouch's 
literary double steps right in with his dementor in the end to finish 
the job that Crouch had begun.  So really, in the end, Crouch won.  
In the end, he got *exactly* what he wanted for his son.  Identity 
loss.  Soul murder.  Worse.  Than.  Death."

Elkins sits back in her saddle, breathing hard.

"Don't ask me to pity Crouch," she spits.  "Don't ask me to 
sympathize with him.  Don't ask me to like him.  And *don't* talk to 
me about angels.  Not unless you mean *avenging* angels.  Don't tell 
me that the text invites our sympathies with him.  There is nothing 
to sympathize *with* when it comes to Barty Crouch Sr.  He is 
identity loss personified.  He is soul murder.  He is the Dementor's 
Kiss.  He is Evil Incarnate."

There is a very long silence.

"Elkins," says Cindy quietly.  "What *is* that horse that you're 
riding?"

Elkins blinks.  "What?" she asks.

"Your *horse,* Elkins.  What is its *name?*"

"It..." Elkins shifts uneasily.  "It doesn't have a..."

"I could have sworn that I saw her up on that high horse during the 
Twins thread this past summer as well," says Eileen, frowning.

"*And* during a Prank discussion shortly after her delurk," says Cindy
grimly.  She strides towards the horse.  "It has a name tag..."  
Elkins lunges forward, throwing herself across her horse's neck.

"No!" she cries, trying to cover up the name tag with her hands.  "No!
It doesn't have a name.  It doesn't...Ow!" she cries, as Cindy starts
slapping her hands irritably away.  "Ow!  Ow, Cindy!  Stop that!  
It's..."

"HAH!" cries Cindy savagely.  "I KNEW it!"  She turns the name tag 
around so that Eileen can read it.

AFFECTIVE FALLACY

is what it says.

"Elkins!" gasps Eileen, shocked.  "Get down from there!"

"No!" screams Elkins, wrapping both her arms and her legs around her
Affective Fallacy.  "No!  No!  No!"

"Elkins, how *could* you?  You *know* that's one of the three 
Unforgivable Fallacies!" 

"Only in the New Criticism!" cries Elkins.  "It's perfectly legal in 
Reader Response!  Nooo!" she screams, as Cindy grabs her by the 
collar and begins hauling her out of her saddle.  "No!  No!  No!  No!"

Cindy tosses her roughly to the ground, then slaps Affective Fallacy 
on the rump.  

"Go on," she tells it.  "Get out of here."  

The horse snorts, and then lopes off down to the beach, where a group 
of shippers instantly get into a shoving match over who will get to 
ride it next.  Cindy shakes her head and looks down at Elkins, who is 
curled in fetal position on the promenade, sobbing weakly.

"Hope that helps," she says.

Eileen sighs and rubs wearily at one temple.  "Elkins," she says 
reprovingly.  "You know that the Affective Fallacy Is Not Fair Play."

"But nobody can separate their autobiographical experiences from 
their reading of the text, Eileen," wails Elkins.  "Nobody can 
divorce their emotional responses from their discussion of the 
narrative!  Nobody can!  It's just not possible!  We all view the 
text through the lenses of our own personal experience.  It's the 
only way that we *can* view it.  Whenever we read, we're always 
seeing the text that way.  We can see it only through a glass.  
Through a glass, darkly."

"Oh, I know," sighs Eileen.  "I know that, Elkins.  But it's 
generally considered good form to *warn* the reader about your 
Affective Fallacy, you know, so that--"

Elkins stares up at her pointedly, her eyes rimmed with red.  Eileen
blinks.

"Oh," she says.

"Left it a little late, didn't you?" asks Cindy, glancing up to the
subject line blazoned across the sky.  

"Not to anyone who's really been paying attention."  Elkins sniffs
and wipes her nose on her sleeve.  "I did put the CRABCUSTARD part 
first, didn't I?  I told you there was bias.  I told you there was 
emotion.  I told you there was personal identification.  I told you 
there was autobiographical congruence.  I played it fair.  I *did!*"

"Well, okay, Elkins," says Eileen.  "Okay.  But now that you're down
off of that *fallacy* of yours, you can't honestly deny that the text 
invites our sympathies with Crouch, can you?  I mean..."

"Oh, of *COURSE* the text invites our sympathies with him!" screams 
Elkins.  "Man gets a redemption scene, doesn't he?"

Eileen rocks back on her heels and smirks unbecomingly at Cindy.

"Told you," she says.

Cindy mutters something under her breath.

"Cindy said it wasn't a real redemption scene," Eileen tells Elkins.

"What?"  Elkins shakes her head.  "Oh, don't be silly.  Of course 
it is.  Althooough..."  She looks up, a somewhat cruel smile on 
her face.

"Although," she says softly.  "I could argue against Redeemed In
Death Crouch, you know.  If I wanted to.  I could make that argument.
I seriously considered it once.  Back in September.  I did think
about it."

"Yes," says Eileen quietly.  "I thought that you might have.  You 
see, I've noticed that Affective Fallacy of yours before."

"Have you?  Yes.  Well.  You see, if I *wanted* to argue against
Crouch's redemption, then I suppose that I would ask you just this 
one little thing.  Just one simple question."  Elkins narrows her 
eyes.  "Does he see his sin?"  she asks.  "Does Crouch ever see 
his sin?"

"Well, of course he--"

"Does he?  Does he really?  Does he comprehend its nature?  Does he 
understand where he went wrong?  Does he ever actually *repent?*  You 
cited Crouch's hamartia as his refusal to recognize the autonomy of 
others, didn't you, Eileen?  His disrespect for their independence.  
His refusal to treat them as people first and foremost.  His belief 
that others should do as he disposed them."

"Yes," says Eileen.  "I--"

"All right.  Well, then.  Are there any indications that he's 
actually repented of *any* of that in his last scene?  Any 
indications at all? He knows that he's in trouble, certainly.  He 
knows that the world is in peril, and that it's in some sense his 
fault.  But does he actually comprehend the *nature* of his crimes?  
Has he come to any real recognition of where he went wrong?  Has he 
really?  All that he actually *says* is that he has done a 'stupid 
thing.'  Not wicked.  Not evil.  Not wrong.  Just 'stupid.'"  

Elkins chuckles softly.  "Why, Mr. Crouch still just doesn't get it, 
does he?" she asks.  "He thinks that all that he's committed is a 
*tactical* error!  There's absolutely no sign of any real recognition 
of the nature of his wrong-doing there at all, is there?  Nope.  
None.  Just recognition of a strategic *oversight.*  That's not 
repentence.  That's the equivalent of only regretting that you 
committed a crime because you happened to get *caught.*

"And then," she continues, now really warming to her topic.  "And 
then, when you look at the words that he actually uses, at his 
phrasing, they reveal that even in the midst of his passion, Mr. 
Crouch has not truly changed.  He's still speaking of people in terms 
that deny their individuality.  He speaks of them as possessions.  He 
asks Harry: 'You're not...his?'  And then he asks if Harry 
is 'Dumbledore's.'  And he keeps giving orders.  'Don't leave 
me.'  'Go get Dumbledore.'  He clutches onto Harry's robes so tightly 
that Harry can't even pry him free.  If his hamartia is the belief 
that people should do as he disposes them, that he doesn't have to 
treat them as people first and foremost, then what does his behavior 
actually tell us about his spiritual condition?  There's actually no 
sign of any new-found respect for individuality there at all, is 
there?  No sign of any new-found recognition of others' autonomy.  No 
sign that he's given up on expecting others to 'do as he disposes 
them.'  Really, he doesn't seem to appreciate the nature of his sin 
at *all,* does he?  No recognition at all of where he went wrong.  No 
genuine repentence.  Nope," Elkins concludes, with undeniable 
relish.  "No, Crouch died in his sin, if you ask me.  Oh, he was just 
*mired* in it, Eileen.  Up to his very *neck* in hamartia.  
Absolutely steeped in moral error.  Positively *choking* on 
perdition."

Elkins leans back with a satisfied smile on her face and lights a
cigarette.  She takes a long slow drag, exhales contentedly, then
looks up to notice both Eileen and Cindy staring at her.  Her smile
falters.  She sighs.

"Nah," she mutters.  "Forget it.  Crouch is okay.  The angels can 
have him."

Eileen sidles up close to Cindy.  "Do you think that Elkins is aware
that she's not the one who gets to make those decisions?" she asks,
in a low whisper.

Cindy shakes her head.  "You know, I've often wondered that myself?" 
she whispers back.

"Besides," Elkins adds, ignoring them.  "He really is heroic there
at the end, isn't he?  Even I can't quite help but admire him there.
>From the description of his condition, the implication seems to be 
that he's made his way all the way to Hogwarts on *foot.*  Fighting 
the Imperius Curse every step of the way.  Have you ever walked from 
England to Scotland?  I have, and I can tell you: there are stretches 
of Northumbria that would break *anyone's* spirit.  Even without the 
Imperius Curse to contend with.  And he comes so close, doesn't he?  
He tries so hard, and he comes so close, just to get nailed right 
when his end is finally in sight.  I mean, it's just terrible.  The 
poor man."

"So you *do* sympathize with him!" cries Eileen.  

"What, at the end there?"  Elkins laughs.  "You mean, when he's 
clutching Harry's knees and begging him 'Don't leave me?'  When he's 
slipping into memories of days when his wife was still alive and he 
was proud of his son?  When he keeps repeating over and over again 
that it's all his fault?  When he's staggering and drooling all over 
himself in his effort to deliver his warning to Dumbledore?  And then 
when, after all of that, he still *fails?*  Oh, for heaven's sake, 
Eileen!  What do you *think?*  Of course I sympathize with him!  Do 
you think that I have no *soul,* woman?"

Eileen opens her mouth, then closes it.

"I truly do hate Crouch, you know," Elkins tells her earnestly.  "I 
think that in some ways he's the most convincing portrayal of human 
evil, of human monstrosity, that we've yet seen in the canon.  He 
comes across to me as *real* evil, not just cartoon evil, like his 
nutty son, or like Voldemort.  But at the end there?  Well, come on.  
You *know* what an appalling bleeding heart I am.  I even felt a 
little bit sorry for Voldemort in the graveyard, you know.  When he 
was telling his Death Eaters that his disincorporated exile had been 
painful?"

"You felt sorry for him there," Cindy repeats flatly.

"Yeah, I did.  I know, I know.  It's just pathetic, isn't it?  In the 
end, you know."  Elkins pulls herself slowly to her feet.  She shrugs 
helplessly.  "In the end," she says.  "I always feel sorry for 
everyone."  

"Even Barty Crouch?"

"Yeah, even Crouch.  But I still can't quite bring myself to like 
him, Eileen.  I'm sorry.  I just can't.  He has the misfortune of 
being associated with all of the things that I happen to hate the 
very most in the world.  Tyranny.  Torture.  Brainwashing.  
Coercion.  Narcissism.  The negation of volition.  Ugh.  Ugh.  He's 
just *horrible.*  He really is.  And--"

"And he reminds you of your father," says Eileen.

"Well...of both my parents, really.  But, yes.  That too."

Eileen shakes her head.  "Elkins," she says.  "Is there something 
that you want to *share* with us about your parents?"

Elkins considers the question for a long moment.  

"Eileen," she says finally.  "Do you remember ages and ages ago, all 
the way back in January, when Cindy offered me that brandy and 
invited me to sit back and tell her all about exactly why I hate the 
Imperius Curse so much?"

Eileen nods.  "Yes, I remember that," she says.  "You started to tell 
some anecdote about your parents, and then you caught yourself and 
made that little joke about the brandy having been..."  

She blinks.  

"Having been, er," she finishes slowly.  "Having been laced with 
veritaserum..."

"I thought the brandy made people bloodthirsty," says Cindy, frowning.

"No.  Not at first," Eileen says.  "That came later.  In fact," she 
continues, now staring at Elkins as if she has never seen her 
before.  "In fact, I'm pretty sure that it was Elkins who first 
*shifted* its meaning in that direction.  Just like it was Elkins who 
first started harping on misdirection as being..."  She blinks, then
ducks down beneath her CRAB CUSTARD table, emerging a moment later
with an old yellowed scroll.  She unrolls it gingerly.  
"'Misdirection,' she quotes.  'The favored pasttime of so many 
notable SYCOPHANTS.'"

Elkins shrugs and looks away.

"Indirect means of expression," says Eileen, still staring at her.  
"Sly, sidelong, allusive..."

"Yet ultimately honest," Elkins reminds her.  "If also...er."  She 
glances down to the beach, where a group of Sirius and Snape fans are 
now clustered around Affective Fallacy, shoving at each other while 
Prank runs circles around them, barking hysterically.  She sighs.

"If also often notably self-sabotaging," she concludes.  No," she 
says.  "No, you know what? I really *don't* want to tell you about my 
parents.  Not even under a pseudonym.  Not in front of the 5000 
lurkers.  And not in front of God.  But I really do have a serious, 
uh, Affective Fallacy problem, let's just say, when it comes to 
Crouch.  Not to mention the Imperius Curse.  I just *hate* that 
Imperius Curse, you know.  I really do.  Just hate it.  I'd rather 
take a tango with the Cruciatus."

"Would you really, Elkins?" asks Eileen.

"I, uh..."  Elkins blinks at her.  "What," she says.  "You mean 
*really?*  You mean, uh, like *really* really?  Like, if somebody 
actually offered me the *choice?*"  She laughs uneasily.  "Aw, come 
on, Eileen.  Cut me some slack here, will you?  We can't *all* be 
sorted Gryffindor, you know.  And besides," she adds.  "The Crouch 
that I identify with is the son, remember?  Not the father.  And he 
failed that test.  He failed it at his sentencing.  He failed it when 
he begged his parents to save him."  

"Well," says Cindy.  "He didn't actually know that he was asking for 
the Imperius Curse, did he?"

"Literally?  No.  But symbolically?  Metaphorically?  Thematically?"
Elkins sighs.  "Yeah," she says.  "Actually, I'd say that was 
*exactly* what he was doing.  He was asking to be spared the 
consequences of his actions, wasn't he?  He was pleading for parental 
intercession, like a child.  And he wasn't just behaving like a 
child, either; he was also asking to be *treated* like a child.  Like 
someone who isn't to be held fully accountable.  Children get 
absolved of responsibility for many of their actions, but they're 
also denied full freedom of choice.  And isn't that the Imperius 
Curse right there?

"So yeah," she concludes.  "On the literal level, obviously Barty Jr. 
wasn't actually asking to be put under the Imperius Curse.  But on 
the metaphoric level, I'd say that was *exactly* what he was asking 
for."

"And he got it," says Eileen.

"Well, of course he did."  Elkins smiles.  "Dramatic irony is a 
double-edged sword, isn't it?  Nemesis cuts both ways.  It's not the 
wishes that go unanswered that you really have to watch out for, you
know.  It's the wishes that get *granted.*  That's part of what makes 
mirrors so very dangerous."  

"Man!" exclaims Cindy.  "Mirrors really do freak you out, don't
they?"

"Yes," says Elkins shortly.  "They do."  She takes off her glasses 
and begins slowly polishing them on her sleeve.  "You know," she 
says.  "Barty Jr. in the Pensieve reminds me a great deal of Peter 
Pettigrew in the Shack, actually.  When he finally breaks down 
completely, and suddenly the narrative voice starts quite explicitly 
marking him as regressed.  As infantile.  He's described as an 
overgrown baby.  Or like Lockhart, stripped of his memories and 
reduced to a child-like state at the end of CoS.  Or like all those 
DEs in the graveyard..."

"...who are Voldemort's erring sons," Eileen finishes for her. 

Elkins nods.  "It seems to be a common affliction among the series'
secondary villains, doesn't it?  To fail the test of maturity?  I 
really don't think that's at all accidental.  We talk a lot on the
list, you know, about the extent to which the series is a 'genre
soup,' but when push comes to shove..."

"It's a bildungsroman."

"Yeah.  At heart, I'd say it's a bildungsroman.  And Book Four is its 
midpoint.  It's the turning point of the entire series.  It ends with 
the chapter title 'the beginning.'  It's the point at which Harry is 
fourteen years old.  It's the point at which we first start to see 
his hormones really kicking in, the point at which romance subplots 
begin to take on some real importance.  It's--"  

"Adolescence," says Cindy.

"Yes.  Adolescence.  Harry's parental protections fail him one by one 
in Book Four.  His legacy items consistently fail him.  His godfather 
Sirius has no idea what's going on, and doesn't even manage to advise 
him on the First Task.  His enemy can see through his Invisibility 
Cloak.  The Marauder's Map leads him astray, and eventually lends aid 
to his enemy as well.  At the end he loses even his mother's mystical 
protection against evil.  It's also the first book in the series 
which does not end with some degree of emphasis on Harry's assumption 
of his parental legacy.  No 'only a true Gryffindor...'  No 'you are 
truly your father's son.'  No 'James would have done the same.'  None 
of that.  Instead, Dumbledore congratulates him on having acquitted 
himself like an *adult.*

"And that's why I think that the parricide motif is so vitally 
important in GoF," explains Elkins.  "It's why I view the entire 
Crouch subplot as so very important, really.  Because as I see it, 
the Crouch family subplot focuses on developmental issues that are 
absolutely central to adolescence, as well as to GoF as a whole.  
They're just everywhere in GoF, down to the detail of having a 
*sphinx* standing in as the guardian at the end of the Third Task.  
It's why I think that the dangers facing Harry in Book Four seem to 
focus so very strongly on assaults not just on his life, but also
on his very identity.  The Unforgivable Curses are all about identity 
loss, really, aren't they?  Ali said something like that a month or 
so ago, and I agree with her.  She pointed out that the UCs all deny 
others the right of self-determination.  The Imperius quite blatantly 
so, the AK quite terminally so -- you don't get much less in the way 
of self-determination than you do when you're dead -- and the 
Cruciatus..."

"Yes," says Cindy.  "What about the Cruciatus?"

"Well, I think that the way that the Cruciatus Curse is actually 
*presented,* it does as well.  It seems to me that what the text 
really emphasizes about the Cruciatus isn't that it causes pain, but 
that it has the capacity to strip its victims of their freedom of 
volition.  We hear about it being used quite specifically for 
purposes of interrogation.  We see Voldemort use it to try to break 
Harry's will.  The true horror of the Cruciatus as it is presented, 
I'd say, resides in its ability to tempt people to say or do things 
that they would never ordinarily say or do, things like revealing 
secret information, things like begging their worst enemy for death.  
At its most extreme, as with the Longbottoms, it seems to cause 
madness and amnesia.  In other words, identity loss.  It seems to me 
that the text strongly emphasizes *that* as the real horror of the 
Cruciatus Curse.  Not that it causes pain, but that it subverts human 
volition."

"So how does that relate to--"

"To adolescence?  Well, isn't self-determination the test of 
adolescence?  Standing on your own two feet?  Accepting 
responsibility for your actions?  Forging an independent sense of 
self?  *Individuation.*  All of which is tied to separation from your 
parents.  Which in turn is thematically linked to...well, to 
parricide.  Parricide is the unhealthy version of the healthy and 
necessary separation of adulthood.  If there's a lesson to be learned 
from Crouch Jr, maybe it's that when it comes to parricide, an ounce 
of prevention really is worth a *ton* of cure.  I did tell you, 
didn't I," Elkins asks, smiling.  "That a little bit of parricide was 
a necessary thing?"

"In moderation," Eileen reminds her.

"In moderation.  In principle.  So long as you keep it in the realm 
of the symbolic.  Or...you know."  Elkins grins wickedly.  "Or the 
*vicarious.*"

"So you read Crouch Jr. as a cautionary tale of sorts then?" asks 
Eileen.

"If you had *my* Affective Fallacy," Elkins assures her 
gravely.  "You'd be tempted to read him as a cautionary tale too.  
Trust me.  But yes, I do think that he plays that role in the text, 
to some extent.  He shows what can happen to you if you fail the test 
of adolescence, the test of individuation.  The test that Harry 
passes in the graveyard.  Because, you know, Crouch Jr. isn't just a 
double to Voldemort.  And he's not just a double to his father.  And 
he's not just..."

"A double to Neville Longbottom?" Eileen smiles.  "Your Prince 
Renunciates?"

"And he's not just a double to Neville.  Ultimately, I think that he 
really has to serve as a double to Harry.  Because you know..."

"It's all about Harry."

"Well.  Penultimately.  Ultimately, it's all about *us,* really.  
It's all about the reader.  Fiction is a reflective surface.  But to 
the extent that the reader is Harry, yeah.  It's all about Harry.  
And as for Crouch Sr..."

"Yes?"

"Well, he stands for the *threat* to individuation, doesn't he?  In 
large part, he represents the challenge that Harry needs to learn to 
overcome.  So really, in some ways, he's the *Enemy* of Book Four.

"And that's why I feel that while the text certainly does invite us 
to sympathize with Crouch there at the very end, while he's manfully 
trying to undo the damage that he has wrought, on another level I 
think that the text militates against sympathy with him.  Because 
while Crouch the man is ultimately pitiable, and perhaps even in his 
own way admirable, Crouch's role in the text is to serve as the 
representative of the forces offering the temptation that Harry must 
learn to resist.  Crouch offers the temptation of what is easy over 
what is right.  It is *easy* to surrender your will to an 
authoritarian political leader.  It is *easy* to allow yourself to be 
dominated by the desire to serve a charismatic master, or to impress 
a demanding employer, or to please a strong father figure.  It is 
*easy* to let your parents protect and harbour and control you.  It 
is *easy* to give way to the Imperius Curse.  

"But it's not right," Elkins concludes.  "The text invites our 
sympathy for those who have to face those choices.  But it doesn't 
generally invite too much sympathy for those who *offer* the easy 
choices, I don't think.  It seems to me that in these books, the 
powers that actually offer the easy choices are...well, they're 
usually the powers of Evil."

"Speak of the Devil," murmers Cindy.

"Speak of the Devil.  Both of the Bartemii Crouch are really pretty 
diabolical, when it comes right down to it.  But somehow in the end I 
just can't help but sympathize far more with the son than with the 
father."

"Yes," says Eileen, a bit crossly.  "Well.  Youth will be served, I 
suppose."

"All too often with a side of fries," agrees Elkins grimly.  "And 
that's the other reason.  In the end, I can never seem to keep from 
reading Crouch Sr. as so closely allied to the Dementors.  Oral 
aggression.  The Devouring Parent.  Destruction that masquerades as 
affection.  Soul murder that calls itself a 'Kiss.'  The *other* 
alternative answer to the Third Task Sphinx's riddle."

She glances up at the CRAB CUSTARD banner and shudders helplessly.

"Which brings us back to those bulging eyes," she says.  

"What *is* your deal with those eyes?" asks Cindy.

"You said that you'd tell us about them," Eileen reminds her.

"Did I?"  Elkins sighs.  "Well," she says.  "I found it interesting 
when Eileen provided a .gif to a painting in her 'Crouch as Tragic 
Hero' post.  Because Crouch Sr. has always reminded me of a painting, 
too.  A completely different painting.  A very specific painting.
And it disturbs me.  It really disturbs me a great deal."

Eileen frowns.  "What painting?" she asks.

Elkins shakes her head from side to side.  "Oh," she mutters, as
if to herself.  "Oh, but it's just coincidence, surely.  It 
couldn't possibly have been intentional, could it?  I doubt 
anyone *else* sees it there.  It's just *me,* probably.  It's 
just..."

Down on the beach, Affective Fallacy raises its head and pricks up 
its ears.  It shakes its mane, dodges the die-hard opponent of 
Redeemable!Draco who has been trying to catch it, and begins 
loping up the slope to the promenade.

"Elkins," prompts Cindy.  "What *painting?*"

"The very second time I read GoF," Elkins says.  "My very first 
re-reading, I just kept *flashing* on it.  Every time that JKR 
did that thing with Crouch and his bulging eyes.  And now I can't 
seem to rid myself of it.  It's become completely intrinsic to the 
way that I read that plotline.  It's become completely intrinsic to 
the way that I read the entire *novel,* for that matter.  It's..."  
She blinks, then looks down at the promenade from high up on the back 
of her Affective Fallacy.

"Oh."  She frowns.  "How did I get back up here?" 

"*Elkins.*  What *painting?*"

Elkins sighs.

"Goya," she says.  "Saturn Devouring His Son."


*************

Elkins

**********************************************************************

REFERENCES

This post is continued from Part Six.  It is primarily a response
to messages #37476 (the Manifesto) and #45402 (Crouch Sr as Tragic 
Hero), but also cites or references message numbers 34232, 34496, 
34519, 34579, 38368, 38398, 43326, 44258, 44636.

Link to "Saturn Devouring His Son:"
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/goya/goya.saturn-son.jpg


[1] This Lacan quotation (and footnote) comes to you courtesy of 
Amy Z., who once signed off with the following:

> Amy, who has a deliciously grim feeling that this thing is
> going to appear on the main list next week, grown to 48k and 
> with footnotes and references to Lacan, courtesy of certain 
> FAQers Who Must Not Be Named.

Happy to oblige, my dear.   I actually know virtually nothing
about Lacan, but I am always happy to yank a quotation completely
out of context and then run with it. 

--------

The Unforgivable Fallacies of the New Criticism:

'New Criticism' was a highly influential school of formalist literary 
criticism that flourished in the early to middle 20th century.  The 
New Critics posited that the text ought be viewed as an autonomous 
entity, and that historical, biographical, or sociological factors 
should not be considered relevant to its interpretion.  New Criticism 
encourages a very strong focus on the text itself and frowns upon all 
which diverges from that focus.

The New Critics took particular issue with three violations
of this philosophy.  The "Three Unforgivable Fallacies" of the 
New Criticism are:


THE INTENTIONAL FALLACY

Confusing the author's relationship with the text, and particularly
the dread "authorial intent," with the text itself.  

(Gave critics a lot of trouble at one time, the Intentional Fallacy.  
Some job for the reader, trying to sort out what the author had 
really written, and what the author only *meant* to have written...)


THE AFFECTIVE FALLACY

Confusing the reader's relationship with the text, and particularly
the emotional effect that the text has on an individual reader, with 
the text itself.  

(You don't need the tools of literary analysis to wrest meaning from 
a text if you've got an Affective Fallacy.)


THE HERESY OF PARAPHRASE

The last and worst.  Spoken of only in hushed whispers.  Precisely
what it sounds like.  

(And yes.  Believe it or not, they really *did* call it 'the Heresy 
of Paraphrase.')


Then, of course, New Criticism has been dead for very nearly as long 
as the Author herself has.  ;-)


For further explanation of the acronyms and theories in this post, 
visit Hypothetic Alley at
http://www.i2k.com/~svderark/lexicon/faq/ 
and Inish Alley at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPforGrownups/database?
method=reportRows&tbl=13