What Does It Mean To "Like" A Character? -- "Types" -- Hagrid

[ssk7882]

No: HPFGUIDX 34058

Some thoughts here on the various ways in which it is possible to
"like" characters: as characters (Do we enjoy reading about them?  Do
we enjoy the narrative function they fulfill?), or as people (Do we
identify with them?  Do we consider them to be "good people?"  Do we
think that we would enjoy their company in real life?)

Also, a bit of Hagrid, a bit of Moody, and a few words on what happens
when an author seems to be speaking out in opposition to the reader's 
own deeply-held political or philosophical beliefs.

--

A while back, I wrote:

  > I like to think that we're supposed to notice this 
  > unsavory evidence of Hagrid's, that this is Rowling's
  > way of showing the subversive power of insitutionalized
  > bigotry.

Mahoney responded by expressing her distaste for trying to second-
guess Authorial Intent, particularly hortatory Authorial Intent, or
"message," and stated that she far prefers to read characters as
characters, rather than as talking heads.  She wrote:

  > I don't think that Hagrid was meant to be an example
  > of institutionalized bigotry; rather I'm struck by
  > how he reflects a certain type of colorful rural
  > personality.

The thing is that I quite agree with Mahoney here: I, too, dislike
"message" and would far prefer not to spend too much of my time or 
mental energy trying to second-guess authorial intent.  The above
was very badly phrased.

What I suppose that I was really trying to express there was something
more along the lines of: "I really hope that when Hagrid says these 
awful things, he's only saying them because he is *Hagrid* -- a 
sweet, well-meaning, but not always terribly thoughtful member of a
far-from-utopian society -- and not because he is actually serving as 
the author's mouthpiece."

That I find myself thinking such things at all, of course, reveals a
certain lack of trust in the author on my part.  But the fact is that
I *don't* altogether trust Rowling -- and from the discussions here,
I gather that this is not all that unusual an ambivalence.

Which brings us to the question of how readers respond when an author
whose work they enjoy suddenly seems to be attacking closely-held
beliefs.

Eileen wrote (about the scene at the beginning of PoA in which the
unpleasant Vernon Dursley goes on a rant about those darned bleeding-
heart types who object to capital punishment):

  > I actually remember being quite shocked that the 
  > book would get so political there....I am opposed to 
  > capital punishment...However, it was the practice of 
  > putting such a statement in the mouth of the ridiculed 
  > and stereotyped character that made me uncomfortable 
  > with it. I could have taken stubborn Percy or 
  > obsessed Crouch Sr. saying something like that (and 
  > indeed, they say much more serious things), but 
  > Vernon Dursley?  All my sense of fairness cries out!

LOL!  You have an extraordinarily well-developed sense of fair play, 
Eileen.  I'm sincerely impressed.

But one thing that we Americans (I'm assuming here -- please don't 
hurt me if I'm wrong!) might want to keep in mind about that scene is 
that capital punishment has not been a legal penalty for murder in 
Great Britain for quite a number of years now.  So while it is still 
a political issue of sorts (there are people in Britain who advocate 
the resumption of the death penalty), it's hardly the flaming-hot, 
red-button, "let's-not-go-there-if-we-want-to-avoid-a-screaming-
argument" sort of topic that it can be here in the US.

Sirius Black *cannot* be legally executed for the crime of murder 
under British Muggle law, so Vernon ranting and raving about how he 
ought to be is more humorous, IMO, than it is blatantly political.  

However, I see your point.  It is awkward, to say the least, when
a political hot topic intrudes without warning in a work of fiction, 
worse still if the author happens to disagree with you, and worse 
*still* if she chooses to express her disapproval by placing your 
beliefs in the mouth of a character who is not only generally 
portrayed as Wrong About Everything Under the Sun, but is also an 
object of mockery and disdain.

Rowling hasn't done that to me yet, but other authors certainly have, 
and there's no question about it: it can hurt, and it can anger.  
Unfortunately, it's also hard to avoid -- and the further from the 
mainstream your deepest-held beliefs happen to be, the less
avoidable it becomes.  The best remedy that I'm aware of is simply 
to learn to swallow the indignation and read on. (Although throwing 
the book across the room can also prove gratifying, in its way.)

(Just develop thick skin.  Right.  Sage advice.  And yet...and 
yet...and yet I can still remember with unpleasant vividness just
how horribly angry and resentful I felt towards C.S. Lewis over
this sort of thing when reading the Narnia books as a child.  It's
*visceral,* my memory of that anger.  Physical.  And that was nearly 
thirty *years* ago, for heaven's sake!  It's weird, that.  And surely 
not altogether healthy.  Just a moment -- must pop a sedative.  
There.  Ah.  Better.)


---

On the subject of Hagrid's flaws, Mahoney conceded that Hagrid does
have a lot of them.  In the end, though, her feelings about him seem
pretty-well summarized by the statement:

  > I like Hagrid, gargantuan flaws and all.

While Cindy said:

  > He is clearly someone we are meant to love deeply.  
  > So why does JKR keep having Hagrid do these awful
  > (IMO) things?

Hmmm.  Well, personally, I find Hagrid both flawed and loveable,
if also often irritating.  But it's curious, isn't it?  Why is it
that Mahoney likes Hagrid (in spite of his flaws), while Cindy
cannot bring herself to do so (in spite of the fact that she
considers it clear that the reader is "meant" to like him)?

This interests me in part because so much of the discussion
here seems to center on the use of canonical citation to evaluate 
the HP characters on *moral* grounds.  Evidence is presented to
support or condemn characters ethically, or philosophically, or
even spiritually.  

I strongly suspect, though, that more often than not what
is really at issue is simple personal affection.  We like
some characters and dislike others in very much the same
way, and for very much the same reasons, that we like or
dislike real people; and as in real life, our reasons
rarely have all that much to do with moral virtue.  

People generally don't choose their friends based on a strict
weighing of their moral flaws against their strengths
of character.  (Surely we all know virtuous people whom
we just can't stand to be around?)  Attachments are far more
often, it seems to me, formed on the basis of things like 
sense of humour, and temperamental compatability, and shared
interests, and even shared dislikes than they are on any
strict accounting of moral virtues.

What worries me, I think, is that I suspect that all too
often, we form our judgements about the characters based
on these sorts of factors first, and only *then* go searching
for evidence of their moral wrongdoings, or their hidden 
virtues.  It's only human, I suppose: we readily forgive the
people we like for precisely the same behavior that we roundly
condemn in the people we loathe; my friend's Endearing Little
Foible is my enemy's Horrible Great Sin.

For an example of this phenomenon, I might cite my own vehement 
condemnation of Moody for using nasty language to describe Karkaroff 
in the Pensieve scene of GoF, while noting my own utter lack of 
dismay over Sirius' use of similarly unkind and degrading language to 
refer to Pettigrew in PoA.  And you know what?  Even *writing* this, 
I find myself feeling this overwhelming urge to qualify ("Yes, but 
you see, Sirius has far more *personal* reason to call 
Pettigrew 'filth' than Moody does to refer to Karkaroff that way, and 
Sirius has suffered so *badly,* the poor dear, and...and...")  All of 
which has some validity, IMO.  But is the reason I want to say it 
*really* because it "has validity?"  Or is it simply that I *like*
Sirius, while I don't like Moody, and so Sirius gets leeway from me,
while I'm willing to cut Moody not a single lousy break?

I honestly don't know.  But I rather suspect that it's the latter.

For another recent example of this phenomenon, Cindy wrote about
Hagrid:

  > Indeed, I'm unhappy with Hagrid's behavior in another
  > important scene.  Karkaroff spits at Dumbledore's 
  > feet, which is not nice, of course.  Hagrid, who
  > is bigger and stronger, responds with a fair amount
  > of violence by slamming Karkaroff into a tree.  The
  > reader is apparently supposed to be impressed with
  > Hagrid's loyalty to Dumbledore.  Ok, I get it.

  > I still don't like this scene, though.

I found this very funny when I read it, largely because it appeared on
the very same day that, elsewhere, Cindy had defended Moody (or, 
rather, Crouch/Moody) to me for his behavior during the Bouncing
Ferret Incident -- a scenario that seemed to me to share many of the
same dynamics.  

In both scenarios, the actor is responding with an excessive degree 
of force to a not-very-nice action taken by a not-terribly-
sympathetic antagonist character.  In both scenarios, the attacker is 
*vastly* more powerful than his victim.  In both scenarios, by the 
time the act of violence takes place, the victim is really no longer 
in any way a threat to the person who is supposedly being "defended 
against."  (Karkaroff, while rude, was never really any physical 
threat to Dumbledore in the first place; Draco, while angry, was 
certainly not going to continue to fire off curses at Harry once a 
teacher had arrived on the scene.)  Although in neither scenario
does the victim of the violence suffer any permanent damage, in both 
cases, the degree of violence used *was* sufficient to cause real 
injury (a subject which has been under some debate, I know, but I am 
firmly of the opinion, that being bounced onto a floor from ten feet 
in the air while in the form of a ferret would leave bruises at the 
very *least;* frankly, I'm surprised that Draco didn't break any 
bones).  And in both scenarios, the reader is supposed to be 
impressed (at least, with Crouch/Moody, until we learn better) with 
the actor's loyalty to one of the protagonists -- Dumbledore in 
Hagrid's case, Harry in the case of Crouch/Moody.

Now admittedly, the two situations are not *identical.*  But they
are sufficiently analagous that I feel compelled to ask: Cindy, do
you think that your willingness to forgive Moody for Bouncing Ferret
might not have quite a bit to do with the fact that you just plain 
*like* the guy, and so find yourself willing to cut him more slack 
than you're willing to cut for somebody you don't like, ie Hagrid?

---

Of course, sometimes when we say that we "like" a character, we 
just mean that we enjoy reading about them.  Often the characters we 
like the most are the ones that we *dislike* the most: the
characters we love to hate.  

So Mahoney writes:

  > I love both characters [Hagrid and Snape] because they
  > are interesting and surprising; I feel affectionate
  > toward Hagrid despite his flaws, but I happily loathe
  > Snape in spite of his positive qualities.

Mahoney likes both Hagrid and Snape as characters; she likes Hagrid
as a person, while disliking Snape as a person.

Or so it would seem.  But then she writes:

  > On the other hand, if I were to meet them both, in
  > reality, I would have a difficult time accepting
  > Hagrid's loveable qualities...while I would probably
  > cut Snape a huge break...

Now *this* I find absolutely fascinating!  Mahoney, do you
think that you might be able to explain why you think that
Hagrid and Snape's positions reverse themselves, once you imagine 
yourself meeting them in person?  

I can think of a couple of reasons why this might be.  There's
the filter of Harry's POV, and the bias that this casts on all
of the characters while we are reading the books.  Is this what
accounts for it?  Or is it more a matter of the idiosyncracies
of personal contact?  ("I love Hagrid in print, but loud voices
really just make me crazy, and he's so prone to bellowing...")
Or is there some other factor at work, which I've not considered?

Or is it, perhaps, a matter of personal identification?  It seems
to me that this is yet another way in which someone might "like" a 
character: through personal identification and empathy, which is
not at all the same thing as wanting to spend time with someone,
or even particularly liking them in a personal sense.  (I may be
unusually self-loathing, but I often do not enjoy the company of
people who remind me too strongly of myself -- especially when
they remind me of my less savory characteristics.  But because I
am at heart a masochist, I absolutely love *reading* about characters 
who remind me of my less savory characteristics.)  So what role might
empathy and identification play in what we mean when we say that
we "like" a character?

Eileen wrote:

  > I sometimes feel personally attacked when somewhere 
  > goes after a character in which I see a lot of myself. 
  > Characters to whom I've built a strong personal 
  > connection....

She explains her reasons for identifying strongly with Ron, and then 
writes:

  > I feel like going into a rage when people say things 
  > like, "Ron's jealousy proves he's likely to betray 
  > Harry." I know it's not rational, but I feel it deep 
  > down, as if I was being accused of my schoodays jealousy 
  > leading to treason.

I can certainly understand that!

So, Eileen, do you like Ron?  In the sense of thinking that you'd
get on well with him in real life?  In the sense of enjoying reading
about him?  In the sense of feeling personal affection for him?  All
or neither or only some of the above?

----

Finally, a brief note on teaching styles:

Eileen wrote:

  > I found that discussion illuminating as well, since I 
  > realized that I preferred "Snape" teachers to "Hagrid" 
  > teachers all through school, probably contributing to my 
  > feelings towards the two in fiction. 

Mahoney concurs:

  > ....(And actually, I would probably seek out Snape to 
  > challenge me as a teacher...)

To which I can only say: Wow.  You guys really are *brave.*

I had a Snapesque mathematics professor once.  Thirty minutes
before every class, my stomach would begin to ache.  Ten minutes
before class, I would start to cry.  And then after every class, I 
would have to go be violently sick.  After Every Class.  Not an 
experience I *ever* want to repeat.

Then, the most Hagrid-like teacher I ever had, *I* made cry once.  
So I suppose that it all came out even.  In the end.  More or less.  
With a big whomping heap of karmic "You Got Yours, You Rotten Kid" 
tacked on the end, that is. <sigh>

    -- Elkins