Official Philip Nel Question #10: Class

[ssk7882]

No: HPFGUIDX 41399

Porphyria wrote:

> The way I see it, class is one of those fault lines along which the 
> HP series is inherently conflicted. 

I see strong ambivalence here as well, and I agree with Porphyria's 
implication that most of the internal contradictions of the Harry 
Potter books cluster around the core concept of *elitism* -- elitism 
based on class, on race, on heritage, on "blood," on ability, and 
even on a certain type of social confomism, of "normalcy."  If the 
tensions created by internal thematic contradiction and authorial 
ambivalence may be read as the "fault lines" of a text, then elitism 
is this particular text's epicenter.  It is the ground zero, the 
point from which the vast majority of shakings and rumblings of 
reader discontent and reader resistance seem to emanate.  

This is a huge topic, though, and it encompasses a number of 
different manifestations of elitist, narrow, or class-bound 
thinking.  For the purposes of simplicity, therefore, in this message 
I would like to narrow my focus to look at only one of these fault 
lines: the text's attitude toward social class proper, and 
particularly toward the social values of a very particular group: the 
nostalgic and conservative English middle class.  


Porphyria summarized Richard Adams' excellent article, "Harry Potter 
and the Closet Conservative," with: 

> Adams discusses how the HP series espouses a mix of both
> progressive and nostalgic ideas. Hogwarts is racially diverse and 
> coed, yet recreates the old-fashioned dream of conservative Britain 
> through its many allusions to the stereotypical British public 
> school, notions reinforced by the quaintly anachronistic Wizarding 
> culture at large.

Yes, it does.  I would go even further, though, and say that the 
particular nostalgic dream that the series espouses is not even a 
generalized English (or even British) one. It strikes me as even more 
specifically the nostalgic conservatism of a particular social class, 
ironically the very same social class which JKR takes such delight in 
excoriating in the form of Harry's horrid guardians, the Dursleys.

Dr. Nel's question was this:

> Do the novels critique or sustain a class system? 

The rub here, of course, is that they do both.  On the one hand, 
through their depiction of the Dursleys, they explicitly critique the 
values of a very particular social group: conservative, middle class, 
flag-waving, insular, hopelessly nostalgic Tory Old England.  

The Dursleys may be parvenu, but the opinions that they express 
nonetheless belong firmly to this group, and their allegiance is made 
even more explicit in _PoA,_ through the introduction of the dreadful 
Aunt Marge.  Marge, with her bulldogs and her barking and her tweeds, 
and her friendship with good old "retired Colonel Fubster," is about 
as blatantly stereotyped a representative of this class as one could 
hope for.  Her introduction serves to offset any lingering doubts 
about what the Dursleys are truly meant to represent.  Arriviste and 
insecure in their place in the social hierarchy the Dursleys may be, 
but they nonetheless stand firmly aligned with the values and the 
prejudices of the more jingoistic and backwards-looking segments of 
the conservative English middle class.

This is the milieu which is initially set forth as the epitome of all 
things "Muggle," the milieu against which the wizarding world is 
presented as an alternative, or even as an escape route.  And yet 
throughout the series, the books implicitly support and sustain many 
of the assumptions and biases of this very same social group.  I agree
that this is troubling.  It is unsettling, and it is is inconsistent, 
and I would say that it is indeed one of the major "fault lines" of 
the series, one of the points on which the text itself seems so 
deeply ambivalent that it both troubles and intrigues its readers.

Although JKR lambasts the conservative middle class through her 
depiction of the Dursleys, her writing itself nonetheless promulgates 
many of this group's particular social values, mores and judgements, 
particularly when it comes to their view of the social classes above 
and below their own.  In this respect, JKR often reminds me of no one 
quite so much as Agatha Christie, whose depiction of social hierarchy 
is similarly rooted in a highly conservative, insular, nostalgic, and 
middle class world view.  

Good people, in JKR as in Christie, are sensible and down to earth, 
but they are also properly educated, speak with the right accents, 
and conform to certain social expectations.  They fall firmly within 
a specific range of social class.  The occasional rustic may, like 
Hagrid, be viewed with great affection as a kind of noble savage, a 
diamond in the rough, but the urban proles are a different matter 
altogether.  At best, they are rather stupid.  Their role in the text 
is either to serve as comic relief (Stan, Ernie), or to serve their 
betters with kindly cheer (the lunch trolley witch).  For the most 
part, however, they are simply not worthy of notice.  In the HP 
series, they generally fall outside of the sphere of the text's 
attention.

Eileen touched on this when she wrote:

> The wizarding world is represented as one where everyone knows each 
> other. However, on closer inspection, this is not true. People like 
> Ernie Prang or Stan Shunpike we only meet when we fall out of the 
> class in which Harry moves, a class to which one is admitted on 
> basis of one's having attended Hogwarts. Not everyone in the 
> Potterverse can work at the Ministry, and other such high profile 
> jobs. However, everyone in the Hogwarts' circle does. While we do 
> not know the background of countless wizarding students at 
> Hogwarts, if we do know the background, it's upperclass. 

Yes.  Or at the very least (as Eileen herself qualified later in her 
message), it is middle-class.  Lower eschelon Ministry workers are a 
part of the magic circle.  Even clerks may well be included.  But 
people like Stan and Ernie, or the lunch trolley witch, or the 
shopkeepers of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley are not.  The working 
classes are simply not encompassed by the vision of the series as a 
whole.  Only Muggle-born students, who are obviously a special case, 
have parents who do not come from the middle classes or above.  

Indeed, there are things in the text itself which strongly suggest 
that Hogwarts is *not* in fact, as JKR has stated in interview, the 
only wizarding school in Great Britain.  Hermione refers to it as 
the "best" school of its kind.  Neville talks about his family's 
relief that he has been deemed "magical enough for Hogwarts" as a 
separate issue than their earlier joy at his proving himself to be 
capable of magic at all.

The result of this discrepancy between what the author says and what 
she writes is to further the impression of ambivalence, even of a 
certain degree of dishonesty.  The books simply do not deal with the 
lower classes.  They fall outside of their purview and outside of 
their scope.  The social range that does fall within the attention of 
the text is a far narrower one: it generally encompasses only the 
respectable (if sometimes impoverished) middle classes and above.

If the lower social ranks fall outside of the scope of authorial 
interest, though, the upper ranks most certainly do not.  The 
aristocracy is definitely represented in the text, but mainly as the 
target of suspicion and hostility.  Again, very much as in the 
writings of the similarly conservative and middle class Christie, the 
upper end of acceptability within the world view of these books comes 
to an end somewhere around the rank of baronet.  The country squire 
is admired and respected; the upper ranks of the aristocracy, on the 
other hand, are viewed with the gravest of suspicion.  Peers are 
dubious people: unsavory, suspect, Not To Be Trusted.  They have 
perverse tastes and shadowy interests.  They are inbred.  They are 
unwholesome.  And they're not even really English at all, you know.  
They're *foreigners.*  Continentals.  Dare we even say that they 
are...French?

This is damning indeed, because within the strangely conservative 
middle class world view which really does often seem to me to be 
informing these books, good people are above all else *English* -- or 
perhaps, as this *is* JKR, we ought to say "British?" ;-)

Compare, for example, the impoverished but virtuous old Weasley 
family with the "Dark" Malfoys.  Richard Adams' article mentions the 
fact that the names "Malfoy" and "Voldemort" both speak to Norman 
origins, while "Salazar Slytherin" similarly derives its sinister
connotations largely by virtue of its very foreigness.  Porphyria has 
already pointed out the extent to which the text so often equates 
foreign or continental European sounding names -- Rosier, Dolohov -- 
with allegiance to Dark powers.  Foreigners, you know, are really not 
to be trusted.  And neither is the aristocracy.

The Weasleys, on the other hand, come across as properly native.  In 
spite of the hints of Irish descent implied by their red hair and 
penchant for large families, they are nonetheless "ours" in a way 
that the ancient aristocracy of the Norman conquest simply is not.  
There is a sense of almost intolerably cozy home-spun *Englishness* 
surrounding the Weasleys.  They live near the village of Ottery St. 
Catchpole, in a house called "The Burrow."  They have names like 
Molly and Arthur and Fred and George.  Molly is plump, and she has 
rosy cheeks, and she cooks her large family fry-ups for breakfast and 
shepherd's pie for supper.

Really, it's all just a little bit twee, isn't it?  It's almost 
enough to make you crave a nice spicy Vindaloo -- a dish which I feel 
almost certain (the Patil sisters notwithstanding)would be nowhere to 
be found in the fine village of Ottery St. Catchpole, even though 
these days it very often would be in many of that village's real 
world equivalents.

JKR is a nostalgic writer, but her nostalgia is not merely nostalgia 
per se.  It is of a particularly conservative and middle class 
flavor, a flavor which tastes awfully strange when combined with the 
progressive views that she elsewhere seems to wish very badly to 
espouse.  Much like orange juice and toothpaste, the combination 
leaves a bitter taste in ones mouth.

Many of JKR's approaches to social class do seem to me to reflect 
precisely the same mind-set that she so loudly and shrilly denounces 
in her depiction of the Dursleys.  People like the Dursleys, JKR 
tells us, are wickedly regressive -- brutish, even.  They and their 
ilk should be scorned, as should the things that they tend to believe 
in.  Things like corporal punishment.  Things like the death 
penalty.  Things like disdain for the lower classes.  Things like 
suspicion of the aristocracy.  Things like jingoism, and law-and-
orderism, and political paranoia, and the belief that foreigners are 
intrinsically dubious, not to be trusted.  Things like "blood will 
tell."  

We are treated to this at the beginning of each novel, almost as if 
JKR wants to establish her progressive credentials from the very 
outset.  Once we move on to the meat of the text, however, it can 
sometimes become a bit difficult to avoid the suspicion that in some 
indefinable way, the spirit of Aunt Marge is pushing the hand that 
holds the pen.  Blood really *does* seem to tell in the Potterverse, 
and foreign names *do* often serve as a marker of dark allegiance.  
The lower classes are stupid and beneath notice; the aristocracy is 
sinister, and very likely sexually perverse as well.  Corporal 
punishment is precisely what children like Draco Malfoy deserve, and 
although Hogwarts does not itself permit this, the narrative voice 
positively *exults* whenever the little brat gets physically smacked 
down.  The political approach of Crouch Sr. was regrettable, of 
course -- but all the same, you know, his son really *was* 
guilty...and besides, Fudge is ever so much worse.  And Sirius Black, 
whom Vernon Dursley so brutishly classifies as gallows-bait, was 
innocent all along.  Pettigrew was the real culprit -- and the 
narrative voice rather gives us the impression that the author 
believes that he really *does* "deserve to die."

It is troubling, this, and it casts the Dursley sequences which open 
each novel in a strange and somewhat disturbing light.  The broad 
slapstick viciousness of these passages -- often strikingly 
stylistically out of kilter with the more subtle shadings of the rest 
of the text -- almost begin to read like expressions of authorial 
self-hatred, or perhaps even as failed authorial attempts at self-
exorcism.  JKR rings her little bell and lights her single candle: 
she sneers at Vernon; she blows up Aunt Marge.  But the values that 
these characters represent cannot be so easily dismissed.  Their 
personifications may receive all manner of public thrashing in the 
first chapter or two of each novel, but it would seem that their 
spirits are lodged somewhere deep within the author's very soul.

When it comes to the Dursleys, the closet conservative doth protest 
too much.  The result -- much like the homophobic rantings of those 
trapped in a somewhat different closet -- is strangely unconvincing.  
On some fundamental level, we simply do not *believe* in the Dursleys 
in at all the same way that we believe in the rest of the fictive 
world.  The explicit condemnation of their values doesn't carry the 
same weight as the implicit approval that these same values are 
granted by the rest of the text -- in very much the same way that 
JKR's use of stereotypes as a form of humor so often fails to 
quite convince readers that she really doesn't, deep down in her 
heart of hearts, genuinely believe the things that she passes off 
as "nothing but a joke."  JKR wants to be a progressive.  But there's 
a rock-solid streak of conservatism in her writing, and even
though she herself seems to dislike it, she nonetheless seems 
incapable of banishing it even from her very own text.



-- Elkins