TBAY: Failure and Melodrama

[abigailnus]

No: HPFGUIDX 54495

"So, is this a private party, or can anybody join?"

As one, the four women toasting Smores around Melody's fireplace turn
to greet the new arrival.  In the corner, the blanket-covered form of
a man snores obliviously.

"Abigail!"  Derannimer gasps.  "What are you doing in the Safe House?
 Why, you're an even greater anti-MD enthusiast then I am!"

Abigail smiles.  "As the MDDT repeatedly informs me, the Safe House
and MD are not synonymous.  As a red-blooded TBAY denizen I have as
much right to be here as anyone."

"Also, you heard Melody saying that she didn't wear her sword to
bed."  Captain Cindy astutely points out.

"Well, there's that too."  Abigail grabs a stool from the corner and
finds herself a comfortable spot in front of the fire.  "I
hear...pass me a marshmallow, Cindy, would you? ...that you've been
discussing failure."

"That's right."  Says Cindy, who's not that pleased about the number
of marshmallows Abigail has loaded on her spike.  "Harry's led a
charmed life up until now.  He's been so perfect.  It's time for him
to fail, and big."

"I'm not so certain that I agree with the statement that Harry is
perfect."  Abigail says thoughtfully.  "At least, I'm pretty certain
that Harry doesn't perceive himself as infallible.  In fact, if you
asked Harry to describe himself, I suspect that 'average' would be
the operative word.  He doesn't think of himself as very bright or
very interesting or very special."

Melody smirks.  "You can't expect us to take Harry's skewed
world-view at face value, Abigail!  Harry is notoriously
self-depreciating and hyper-critical of himself.  Not to mention that
we weren't discussing whether or not Harry would acknowledge his
failure, but whether JKR would objectively show him failing to
achieve a goal strictly through his own fault.  In that sense, Harry
has been infallible."

Abigail blows on a smoking marshmallow.  "That depends."

"On what?"  Meg asks.

"On your definition of failure."

Cindy throws up her hands in the air.  "There it is!"  She cries. 
"It's always the same with this girl!  You can't discuss anything
with her for more then five minutes before she starts talking about
*definitions*."  Cindy leans over the rather large expanse of
Melody's bed that she's claimed as her own territory, as close as she
can get to Abigail's face without actually leaving the bed. 
"Failure, as in the opposite of success.  The term doesn't lend
itself to a lot of ambiguity."

"I think it does."  Answers Abigail, who has backed so far away from
Cindy that she is in danger of catching fire.  "At least, you seem to
have separated it into two distinct categories.  There's failure as
Harry perceives it, such as losing the Quidditch match in PoA and not
being able to save Cedric's life.  We, and the people around Harry,
know that he had no power over these events, but he won't accept
that, and judges himself very harshly.  What you seem to be lamenting
is the absence of a failure that is actually Harry's fault.  I just
don't really understand why.  Harry already beats himself up too much
- does it really matter if he does it without justification?  The
emotional result is the same.  Harry resolves to do better - in PoA,
for example, he seeks out a form of defense against the Dementors,
and perseveres with it far past the bounds of reason, simply so that
he won't fail his team in another Quidditch match.  And that's the
point of failure, isn't it?  We learn from our mistakes, if we
survive them.  They galvanize us and encourage us to do and be
better.  Harry's already got that dynamic, and in fact it's working
in overdrive, so I find it interesting that you're all so eager to
see him genuinely fall on his face.  It suggests an ulterior motive."
 Abigail's face takes on an impish expression.  "Perhaps what we're
looking at is a secret desire for Angst, or even... Hurt-Comfort?"

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is that of the fire
crackling and spitting.  An uncomfortable silence draws over the five
women, broken only by the occasional snore.  Abigail is beginning to
feel a distinct *atmosphere*, and hastens to change the subject.

"Anyway,"  She says hurriedly, "even in the objective,
JKR-and-the-readers-and-the-people-around-Harry-see-failure sense, I
think Harry has failed plenty of times.  He just hasn't done it when
it counts, and frankly, I find it hard to wish that he would,
especially when the stakes are getting so high.  Harry has failed in
the mundane ways that all of us do, which are of course the most
important failures of all.  In his first year of school, he becomes a
virtual pariah for costing his house 50 points.  In his second year,
he utterly fails to stop Lockhart from using him as a publicity
stunt, and manages to get the entire school to believe that he is a
murderer.  In Harry's third year, he not only suffers an extreme
crisis of character when he abuses his privileges for a frivolous
cause by sneaking off to Hogsmeade, and he is utterly unsuccessful in
defusing a difficult situation between his two best friends, *and* he
fails to notice Hermione's increasingly agitated mental state.  All
of this, of course, pales in comparison to his behavior during GoF,
in which he so mismanages Ron's feelings that at one point he
actually throws a sharp object at his best friend - in my opinion
Harry's all-time emotional low-point."

"You can't seriously be arguing that these are Harry's failures." 
Derannimer claims.  "Why, half of them aren't even Harry's doing, and
none of them Bang!"

"Harry may not have made Lockhart the publicity-hound that he is, but
he certainly could have handled the situation with him better." 
Abigail says.

"No he couldn't."  Answers Melody.  "He was only twelve at the time."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?"  Says Abigail, reaching over for
another helping of marshmallows.  "He had to learn not to let people
use him.  And he hasn't yet - if GoF he once again fails to prevent
himself from being seen as a publicity-hungry idiot.  These are the
true failures of life - the way you can never quite be that suave,
brilliant person that you always imagine yourself to be.  This is
what keeps Harry from being some squeaky-clean, all-English hero in a
billowing cape - the fact that he is often flustered, frequently
confused, and does in fact fall flat on his face more then a little."

"It still doesn't Bang."  Offers Cindy, who is now eyeing the
marshmallow bag very balefully indeed.

Abigail winces.  "I'm glad that Banging has been brought up, although
I'm afraid that now I am going to have to delve into definitions,
because what you four have been calling Bangs, I call melodrama.  I
have to agree with everything Derannimer said about Cindy's
Dead!Hermione theory, but even if I were to accept that Hermione
might die (and it would definitely be in book 7 if it happens at all)
I certainly wouldn't accept the scenario that you lot cooked up."

"You mean," Cried Melody, eyes glittering in the firelight, "The one
where Hermione  is held ransom.  And they come to get her, but then
there is a choice that must be made, and she seeing what has to be
done, sacrifices herself to keep Harry from having to make it?"
 
 "And Harry could be in the dark.  Wand raised.  Lit by candles
looking for her..." Cindy says lost in thought.

Abigail looks, dumbstruck, from one glowing face to the other.  "Have
you both lost your mind?!"  She exclaims finally, leaping from her
seat and scattering marshmallows every which way.  "Where, in the
entirety of canon, has there ever been a scene of such obvious...
such obscene... such..."

"Emotion?"  Suggests Derannimer.

"Pathos?"  Offers Meg.

"Spine-chilling terror?"  Muses Cindy.

"Soul-shattering, cinema-like sadness?"  Volunteers Melody, with a
happy smile.

"Pap!"  Abigail spits out, finally.  "Cliche!  Puerile, B-movie
death-fetish!"

"Oh, dear."  Whispers Melody to Cindy as she backs away from Abigail,
her stool held legs-out at chest height as though she were a lion
tamer.  "This is Dishwasher!Dumbledore all over again.  Don't worry,
I keep a tranquilizer gun in my bedside table just for such
occasions."

But Abigail seems to be calming down.  Certainly she isn't actually
frothing at the mouth any more.  She takes several deep breaths, and
looks at the four frightened and shocked faces surrounding her.  "I
apologize."  She says finally, a bit weakly.  "That was a bit more...
strongly worded then I had originally planned.  But I do stand by my
words, or a more reasonably stated version thereof.  JKR doesn't deal
in melodrama, which can be defined as..."  Like a conjurer, Abigail
pulls a doorstop-sized dictionary from a coat pocket. "A drama, such
as a play, film, or television program, characterized by exaggerated
emotions, stereotypical characters, and interpersonal conflicts." 
She closes the book with a satisfying thump.  "Snape dying in Harry's
arms, after taking an AK for him, and saying with his last breath
'You have your mother's eyes' is a melodrama, and so is Hermione
valiantly sacrificing herself for Harry's sake."  Abigail suddenly
frowns.  "And anyway, don't you think we have quite enough
sacrificial females in this series already?"

"So what are you saying?"  Melody asks, pointedly ignoring Abigail's
last remark.  "That no one will ever sacrifice their life for Harry? 
Again, I mean?  That all deaths will deliberately be as undramatic as
possible?"

"No,"  Abigail admits.  "I'm certain that we will see all the
elements from which melodrama is crafted - sacrificial deaths,
impossible choices, glorious last stands.  It's just that... well, I
think you said it best, Melody.  What were you saying before, about
your favorite kind of fiction?"

"Oh?"  Melody blinks.  "Well, I said that the stories that make you
think.  The tales that change lives.  The books that take your breath
back and hit you with the obvious that was always there but never
seen until the precise perfect moment are the ones that manage to
find that perfect balance between real life, fiction, and moral
obligation of truth.  And frankly, the stories that have hit me that
way have been Hamlet like."

"Hamlet."  Abigail says softly.  "A veritable cornucopia of
melodramatic elements.  The evil uncle.  The fickle mother.  The
tragic, accidental and entirely preventable deaths of countless
innocents.  But is Hamlet a melodrama?"

"What you're saying."  Says Cindy.  "Is that in the hands of an
artist, even the most ridiculous plot becomes art.  Shakespeare gives
Hamlet and his plucked-from-a-soap-opera family genuine depth, and
so, even though the play ends with the stage littered with bodies, it
touches our souls.  But actually, you're undercutting your own point.
 JKR is a fine writer.  She could take a warmed-over plot device such
as Hermione sacrificing herself for Harry and make it resonate."

"Maybe so."  Abigail concedes.  "But lets look at the deaths that JKR
has written so far.  Look at Cedric.  He could have had a valiant
last stand.  I'm sure he would have pulled it off.  Been all
stiff-upper-lip about it, stood up to Voldemort to the very end.  Met
death with honor.  Instead he's killed off in an instant, offhand. 
He's the spare.  That's what makes it horrible - this good, brave boy
who's life is extinguished in a second because he's at the wrong
place at the wrong time.  JKR is purposefully and powerfully
hammering in the point that death is awful.  She's standing against
the death-fetish that Harry seems to have bought into."

"That's the second time you've brought up death-fetish"  Meg points
out.  "What are you talking about?"

Now Abigail's eyes glitter, as if she's been waiting for someone to
ask that very question.  She raises her voice just a little.  "The
fascination with 'an honorable death'.  The way that Voldemort
manages to get Harry to stand up in front of an AK bolt because Harry
wants to die standing straight like his father.  Do you know what I
find to be one of the most disturbing elements of wizarding culture?"

"The fact that they're all walking around in bathrobes?"  Says a
muffled male voice from the corner.

Abigail frowns.  "Well, that too, actually, but I was thinking about
dueling.  I had no problem with dueling when it was introduced in CoS
because I thought that it was a sport, like fencing.  I assumed that,
like fencing, it originated from violent combat, but was now strictly
an athletic pursuit.  I was disturbed (although given the wizard
world's warrior culture I probably shouldn't have been surprised)
when Voldemort introduced dueling as an actual battle to the death,
and then *insisted that he and Harry bow to each other*.  How screwed
up is that?  Why should Harry offer any courtesy to a man who wants
to kill him?"

"But he doesn't."  Cindy points out.  "Voldemort has to force Harry
to bow."

"Not because Harry believes that the 'formalities' are a crock when
you're actually fighting for you life."  Abigail answers.  "Harry
refuses to bow because his hatred for Voldemort outweighs his
so-called honor.  The fact that he stands up to meet Voldemort's
spell later proves that.  The entire attitude of 'just because we're
here to kill one another doesn't mean we can't be civil to each
other' is, in my opinion, disrespectful to life, and I think JKR is
making that point when she doesn't give Cedric an honorable death."

"What about the other death that we witness?"  Asks Derannimer. 
"Lily and James Potter?  They had a protracted death scene, and much
is made of them sacrificing themselves for their son."

"But there death isn't the point."  Abigail insists.  "Life is, and
love.  Lily and James don't die out of a desire to grandstand, or to
be perceived as martyrs.  James sacrifices himself so that his wife
might live, Lily does the same for her son.  It brushes right up
against the border of melodrama, but it's saved because we
concentrate on the good that came of it - Harry's life, more then a
decade of peace."

"In my scenario, Hermione wouldn't be sacrificing herself in order to
grandstand."  Says Melody.

"No, but the writer would be grandstanding through her."  Abigail
replies.  "Look at brave Hermione - how noble, how valiant, how
selfless.  That's the problem with melodramas - no one appreciates
the gravity of death.  It's finality.  People die of anger or love or
shame, when in fact they should be clinging to life with their
fingernails, because it is too precious to let go of.  So many people
in the Potterverse have fought death with every breath they had left,
isn't it disgraceful, to embrace it in the name of honor and drama? 
And let's look at the other climaxes of the Potter books.  The people
who grandstand, who are theatrical, are the bad guys.  And almost all
of them fail *because* of that grandstanding.  If Voldemort had
killed Harry the minute he was rebodied, or hadn't forced him to
duel, or if Crouch Jr. hadn't wasted time by telling Harry about the
glorious rewards Voldemort would lavish upon him, Harry would be long
dead.  I think JKR is trying to show us that this is a serious
business, and people who spend time showing off like idiots will
never succeed."

Abigail stands up and reacher into yet another pocket.  She retrieves
a dog-eared paperback with a colorful, cartoonish cover, flips
furiosly through if for several moments, and begins to read.

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

  Something Vimes had learned as a young guard drifted up from
memory.  If you *have* to look along the shaft of an arrow from the
wrong end, if a man has you entirely at his mercy, the hope like hell
that man is an evil man.  Because the evil like power, power over
people, and they want to see you in fear.  They want you to *know*
you're going to die.  So they'll talk.  They'll gloat.
  They'll watch you *squirm*.  They'll put off the moment of murder
like another man will put off a good cigar.
  So hope like hell your captor is an evil man.  A good man will kill
you with hardly a word.

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

Abigail closes the book and stows it in one of her many pockets. 
"Men At Arms, by Terry Pratchett."  She says.  "A very wise man. 
Sometimes it's necessary to die.  Sometimes it's necessary to kill. 
It is never necessary to make a big production out of either.  This
isn't a game.  This is life and death."

Meg groans, holding her head with both hands.  "How did we get to
this discussion, Abigail?"  She asks.  "You came here to talk about
failure."

Abigail blushes.  "That's right.  And then I heard you saying that
the things Harry truly cares about are Quidditch and death.  You all
assumed that Harry's big failure would be about death.  In fact,
that's been going on for months.  Just look at the predictions people
make about the coming books.  Why, by the time we get to book 7,
there are more dead characters then living ones.  It just seems to
belittle the importance of death.  How shattering is it that a
character dies if it happens every other week?"

"Hang on!"  Cried Cindy.  "This is too much!  You barge in here, you
derail our discussion with disjointed musings, you scarf up all the
marshmallows, and now you're seriously going to suggest that Harry's
great failure is going to about... *Quidditch*?"  Have you taken
leave of your senses?"

Abigail glances down at the empty marshmallow bag she seems to be
holding.  "Are you sure this was all me?"  She asks.  "I mean, I
think I saw Derannimer take one."

"That was an hour ago."  Derannimer says coldly.

"Oh.  Sorry."  Abigail tries to smile, but Cindy is gripping her big
paddle in a way that is both very familiar and very disturbing.  "But
I do think that I can offer a big failure for Harry that is about
Quidditch and isn't insignificant.  We're all wondering who the next
Quidditch captain is going to be, right?  And I don't think I'm alone
in concluding that it will be Harry."

"Are you going to suggest that Harry will mismanage the team?"  Asks
Melody scornfully.  "You think that's meaningful, in the grand scheme
of things?"

"Actually, I do."  Answer Abigail.  "Think about it - Harry's first
role as a leader, and he fails.  That's big.  But I was actually
going to make it bigger then that.  What if Harry neglects the
Quidditch team, because he's too busy fighting evil on Dumbledore's
team?  He has to choose between what's perceived as important and
what he knows is important, and he loses out, because his teammates
are angry at him (and probably the rest of the house too).  This is a
grown-up's problem, and that's another thing that failures are good
for - they force us to grow up.  Only children think that they, or
anyone else, is infallible.  That's why I liked Derannimer's
suggestion that Harry will witness Snape allowing Hagrid to die. 
Because even though I think Hagrid's actual death in this scenario is
overwrought, the idea that Harry should learn that sometimes you have
to choose the lesser evil, and that he should learn this lesson from
Snape, is compelling."

"How does that Bang?"  Asks Cindy.  "How does is motivate Harry to
get Voldemort?"

"Since when does Harry need motivation to get Voldemort?"  Abigail
asks with a quizzical expression.  "Isn't it enough that Voldemort
killed Harry's parents and brought untold suffering to thousands? 
Harry sees every day the unhealed scars of Voldemort's reign of
terror.  It seems silly to suggest that he needs yet another death of
a loved one to have a personal stake in Voldemort's demise.  And as
for Bangs.  Not all Bangs involve death and destruction.  Growing up
is as painful and difficult as rescuing a Hippogriff or facing a
deranged Dark wizard.  I think that Harry finding himself in a
situation where he simply cannot succeed, despite doing all the right
things, reverberates as deeply as any Bang you could suggest.  And by
keeping it relatively low-key, JKR avoids the pitfall of cheapening
true horror - death and evil - by giving it to us too often."

Once again, Melody's room is silent.  Abigail digs in one of her
bottomless pockets and produces another bag of marshmallows, which
Cindy unceremoniously takes away from her and places on the farthest
side of the room from where Abigail is sitting.  Finally, Derannimer
speaks.

"So, let me see if I got this right."  She says.  "Harry won't fail
to save someone's life.  He'll fail at Quidditch, at leading a team. 
Possibly because of his obligations to Dumbledore.  And this is
supposed to show us that the most important mistakes in life are the
mundane ones, right?"

"Right."  Nods Abigail, eyeing the marshmallows covetously.  

"And by avoiding excessive deaths, JKR doesn't cheapen life and the
horror of death."

"Uh-huh."

"And you needed an hour to tell us all this *because*?"

Once again, Melody's room is silent.

Abigail