Have you ever reread a book that you initially thought was hilarious, only to find that it falls flat on the second read? Or been motivated by a book you read as a teenager, and then thought the same book pedestrian and uninspiring on reading as an adult? The old saw about rereading books is that, if your opinion changes on the reread, the book didn’t change—YOU did.
I don’t think this is true. I frequently reread books. While I notice new details and plot points, and have new opinions on characters and dialogue, I can’t remember a book where rereading has altered my fundamental take. In other words, if I liked a book on the first pass, I still like it on the second. This observation is obviously not approved by science. It’s unlikely I would reread a book I didn’t like. And maybe I haven’t changed! That being said, in keeping with respect for old saws—a short-hand for “the accumulated wisdom of generations”—there are some books I won’t reread (American Psycho, Brideshead Revisited), for fear of ruining the initial magical experience I had with them.
Speaking of magic, I reread the Harry Potter series over Christmas and New Years. For millennials, this series has a powerful resonance—the only pop-culture moment we have that approaches those of the Boomers.1 As a child, I waited in line to buy the books at Borders (RIP), and read the books in real time as they were published. My reread last month was my second: I went through the series during the COVID lockdowns. Observations are below. I’ve grouped them in the following categories: higher in estimation; lower in estimation; best book; and quick hits. I’ve tried to keep in mind that these are children’s books and should be judged on that basis; forgive me if I’ve gone overboard in my analysis.
Hope you enjoy. Please “like” this post if you do—and feel free to share your thoughts on Harry (or rereading in general) in the comments.
Higher in estimation
Hermione
I’ve always been a fan of Hermione. So this isn’t revisionism. But I was surprised by the extent to which Hermione carries Harry and Ron throughout the series, which I hadn’t noticed as a child on my initial read or as an adult on my first reread.
Rowling makes clear that Hermione is the best student in Harry’s class. I got this in an academic sense in my earlier reads—i.e., everyone knows that kid who gets the best grades. But in Hermione’s case, it isn’t just book-learning or brown-nosing. Hermione has real magical skill that Harry and Ron completely lack. In The Deathly Hallows, Hermione is responsible for all of the magic that keeps the trio alive on a daily basis: she makes the potions, she knows and casts the protective enchantments, and understands the magical history and lore that guide them. Harry and Ron are necessary complements to Hermione and her abilities (more on that below). But they are junior partners. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that, under normal circumstances (i.e., without help from others or the bizarre wand ephemera that saves Harry in his encounters with Voldemort), Harry and Ron would be incapable of defeating a dark wizard in a duel. In other words, without Hermione, they’d be dead.
In addition to her magical abilities, Hermione has a good understanding of human nature. This can be comical (explaining ever changing female emotions to an uncomprehending Harry; voicing frustration with Ron’s endless idiocy in this department; serving as the reader’s avatar in her dismissal of Harry’s teenage-angst-induced blatherings) and serious (identifying Voldemort’s exploitation of Harry’s savior complex; insisting that Harry delay visiting Godric’s Hollow to avoid traps Voldemort may have set there). Harry and Ron, to their discredit, frequently do not listen to Hermione’s (accurate) advice.
Note that Hermione achieves the above without being a “girlboss.” In fact, her bossiness and know-it-all qualities in the early books are depicted as negative, unpleasant traits, that Hermione grows out of as she matures. She also has real weakness—anxiousness and a tendency to panic, an unreasonable insistence on applying Muggle standards to the wizarding world—that require Harry’s, and less frequently, Ron’s, bravery, level-headedness, and leadership abilities to correct.
That was of course Rowling’s intent, to show that each character’s qualities were necessary to balance those of the others, and produce an effective team. But it doesn’t take away from Hermione’s magical abilities and first-among-equals status. Here’s a great scene from the first book with her and Harry, as Harry is about to go through the fire and seek the Philosopher’s Stone:
“But Harry—what if You Know Who is with him?”
“Well – I was lucky once, wasn’t I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar. “I might get lucky again.”
Hermione’s lip trembled and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.
“Hermione!”
“Harry – you’re a great wizard, you know.”
“I’m not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed as she let go of him.
“Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry – be careful!”2
Order of the Phoenix (the book)
Before this reread, I rated OOTP as one of the less compelling books of the series. It wasn’t that I disliked it—the battle with the Death Eaters and Dumbledore’s duel with Voldemort were compelling. But I found Harry’s emotional problems annoying, the romance with Cho Chang uninspiring, and the book’s length tiresome.
OOTP is now among my favorites in the series. (Thus disproving everything I said in my intro.) This has a lot to do with Dolores Umbrage. Umbrage is one of the best characters in the series. Her cutesy obsession with cats and pink, and put-on politeness, are tells for her true qualities: ambition and desire to exercise power over others. She shares these traits with the Death Eaters. But unlike them, she is unideological. She will serve whatever authority permits her to engage in semi-refined cruelty. This type appears in every organization, from the government to your workplace. Even if the stakes aren’t quite as high—it’s unlikely your HR manager will make you write lines with a bloodsucking quill—Umbrage’s presence is an object lesson for young people in how to identify (and maybe resist) petty authority.
There are a number of other high points to the book. Rowling’s description of the Ministry of Magic, with the entrance through an enchanted phone booth, fireplaces and fountains, and the Department of Mysteries, is well, magical. The fight between the children and the Death Eaters, and then Dumbledore and Voldemort, remains one of the best scenes in the series.
The book also contains a moving description of loss and illustrates of the Christian themes that permeate the series. In one of the final chapters, Harry discovers his two-way mirror. This would have permitted him to contact Sirius, and thus avoid leading Sirius to his death. Rowling describes this scene in a few sentences. Her restraint, and refusal to touch on this topic anywhere else in the series, makes it all the more powerful. Rowling closes this loop through Harry’s conversation with Luna, who comforts him by reminding him that the dead are always with us, and that we will see them again.
Lower in estimation
Ron
Should I beat up on Ron? He’s not the most popular character, so nothing I’m saying is going to be anything you haven’t heard before. I also didn’t have a problem with him as a child, or on my COVID reread. But this time round made me a hater.
Ron is insecure and mediocre. And unlike Hermione—who smooths out the flaws in her character—Ron’s deficiencies become MORE pronounced as the series progresses. His great virtue is that he is “loyal”—until he isn’t. He abandons Harry on two occasions: during the Triwizard Tournament (for reasons that are absurd), and during their quest to destroy the horcruxes (for reasons that are less absurd, but still not valid). In each instance, he leaves Harry at a time when Harry has minimal social support and is in mortal danger. In the latter, he also abandons Hermione—the woman he supposedly loves.
Even when he’s around, Ron doesn’t contribute much. His mastery of chess seems against character—have you ever known a dumb person who is a good chess player?—and his plan to destroy a horcrux with a basilisk fang seems like a forced “win” that Rowling felt compelled to give him. He does give Harry access to the Weasley family, who provide Harry with care and love (and his future wife). But he’s not a very good friend.
Hagrid
Speaking of bad friends: Hagrid! I found Hagrid goofy and inoffensive on prior reads. I now actively dislike him.
Where to begin? Cheap shots first: he can’t speak proper English—despite spending his life at a boarding school. Hagrid’s real problem, however, his selfishness.
Hagrid’s monsterphilia causes him to bring lethal creatures to the school (giant spiders, “blast ended skewerts,” his giant half-brother). All of these attack his erstwhile friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, at various points in the books. His obsession with uncharismatic megafauna also might have led to geopolitical catastrophe. In exchange for a dragon egg, Voldemort easily tricks Hagrid into revealing how to overcome an obstacle to the Philosopher’s Stone. In addition to permitting Voldemort to regain power—bad enough—this “adventure” of Hagrid’s causes yet another mess which he asks two 11-year-olds to clean up.
I don’t know why, but on this reread, the Hagrid episode I found most offensive is in the Half Blood Prince. Throughout the book, Harry is in constant danger being attacked by Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, and at risk of being expelled if he wanders the grounds unaccompanied. Nonetheless, Hagrid demands that Harry attend a funeral for a monster spider—that told its children to eat Harry just 4 years prior.
Hagrid does have some touching moments: his trip to collect Harry before his first year of school; his insistence in Prisoner of Azkaban that Harry and Ron place greater value on their friendship with Hermione. But these brief episodes don’t make up for his generally disastrous influence.
Best book: Goblet of Fire
The Goblet of Fire was my favorite book when I started the reread, and it remains so now. The Triwizard Tournament challenges—and the buildup to each, as Harry procrastinates and feels impending panic as they draw nearer—are true-to-life and exciting. “Mad Eye Moody” (Barty Crouch in disguise), with his insistence on “CONSTANT VIGILENCE,” and explanation and illustration of the unforgiveable curses, is one of the best characters in the series (The real Mad-Eye isn’t anywhere near as compelling as Crouch’s version.) The Yule Ball also memorably conveys the tragedy and comedy that is a middle school dance.
But the real reason to read GOF is Voldemort’s rebirth. Voldemort’s prior appearances in the series were hokey (appearing out of Quirrell’s head in the Philosopher’s Stone) or when he wasn’t actually Voldemort (the teenage Tom Riddle in Chamber of Secrets). Here, Voldemort is himself, and he is terrifying. His conversation with Harry prior to the arrival of the Death Eaters reveals his menace (the casual murder of his father and grandparents) and motivation (desire for eternal life). His speech to the reassembled Death Eaters is equally powerful, and gives a sense of his charisma. Harry’s defiance of Voldemort, in face of certain death, is the fullest expression of his bravery.
Unfortunately, Rowling didn’t expand on the hints of Voldemort’s magnetism and objectives she gives here in later books. Nor does Harry’s desperation and courage in facing such a powerful enemy ever come through more clearly. These features make Voldemort’s rebirth the highpoint of the series, and GOF the best book therein.
Quick notes:
Phineas Nigellus (a terrific character) accurately describes Hagrid as an “oaf.”
The Sphinx and her riddle in GOF is a nice touch, and shows that Harry has some logical ability.
Malfoy being slapped by Hermione is a great moment in Prisoner of Azkaban.
This sequence from GOF, which occurs after Rita Skeeter has libelously claimed that Hermione is dating both Harry and Viktor Krum, is hilarious:
“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual.
“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face.
Harry looked between them, then said, “Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in With Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley. “No – of course I didn’t”
But she became considerably warmer towards Hermione after that.
Gen X readers, is there a pop-culture moment that would be the equivalent of Harry Potter from your youth? I could think of lots for the Boomers but not for Gen X, and none besides HP for millennials.
Philosopher’s Stone, p 208.
In response to footnote 1: For millennials, the Critical Drinker noted that the Lord of the Rings film trilogy is one of the few big pop-culture moments of our generation. For Gen Z, it might be Game of Thrones and the MCU (despite both of these TV and film series crashing and burning at the end), maybe Big Bang Theory (though that is maybe more for millennials - or are all the aforesaid series more for millennials...?); I can't think of any truly impactful books from Gen Z's growing-up period.
I could come up with more if have a few minutes, but my part of gen x it was Star Wars movies…