The J.K. Rowling Dilemma

I’ve teased writing this article since I started writing this blog. I spent a few years at an old job developing workforce data reports; the client would ask a (usually poorly-worded) question and we’d figure out what they meant, pour through databases to grab relevant fields, write queries, summarize findings, and deliver. We would usually add one more section right below the report title: caveats. These could range from excluding certain categories in the dataset to assumptions we made while processing to describing shortcomings in the data itself. Caveats served in part to make sure the end users didn’t draw any conclusions based on misunderstandings, and as a bit of CYA for ourselves.

I written extensively about Harry Potter. Fantasy is my choice genre and I grew up of an age with Harry as the books released. I don’t want to repeat myself too thoroughly here (for full details, a la Gilderoy Lockhart, see my published works). But I’ve read/listened to the series a dozen times, twice been to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, dressed up for the movie premiers, visited the studio tour in London, and used a Dumbledore quote during my wedding. I adore this series. The writing, pacing, foresight, and themes are spectacular (please, please write me if you disagree. I will discuss). Yet every time I’ve mentioned the series, I’ve been reminded of those old workforce reports and felt the need to caveat.

Rowling created wonderful characters exploring the impacts and deriding the outcomes of prejudice. We saw and were repulsed by the treatment Hermione received as she was called a ‘Mudblood’ (someone born to non-magical parents) and the policies enacted during the seventh and final book with the villain’s regime in power in government. We felt the prejudice Hagrid faced as half-giant. The strength in these characters lay not just in rising above others’ assumptions but in embracing them. Hermione would not have been half the witch she was without her Muggle (non-magic) parentage. Not because she had to ‘prove’ herself, but because I can think of nothing more exciting than to be thrust into an incredible new world at the age of 11. In her shoes I would want to learn everything I could, too.

Hagrid is loyal and forgives rapidly. He wears his heart on his sleeve. But his giant roots strengthen his character. We know his violence isn’t reckless- his gentleness defines him. But it’s there when he needs it, and at 10-12 feet and hands described as ‘dustbin lid-sized,’ he’s a threat. “I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed, ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.” Rowling gave us these characters, and a story whose central themes were the triumph of love over fear and hate and the importance of picking what is right over what is easy. “It is our choices,” reads one of the more iconic quotes from the series, “that show what we truly are. Far more than our abilities.”

I say all this to draw contrast with Rowling’s comments on transgender women over the last two years. I’ll link her response to let you read and interpret but they boil down to 1) desire to transition is just a phase that women will regret and 2) transgender women aren’t ‘real’ women and their existence detracts from feminism as a whole. She also falls back on stereotypes. More on this from me a bit later this post. For now- I want to just raise the dilemma. How should one reconcile the positivity of experience with Harry Potter the story with the negativity of the author?

Authors don’t own their stories

No surprises, but I will not offer a prescriptive answer to that question (especially in terms of how to treat Harry Potter moving forward). Boycotts are effective tools when trying to get a person or company to change specific practices. Not allowing your workers to unionize? I’ll use this other company until you do. Donating to anti-gay groups? I’ll go elsewhere for a chicken sandwich until you stop. But boycotting is a harder line when you’re not trying to change a specific practice but instead wanting to punish. And doubly hard when there isn’t an alternative product. There’s no clear one:one ‘I will switch from Goya beans to Bush’s’ when it comes to pop culture. By all means I’m far from saying don’t spend any more money on Harry Potter if you feel that would be an endorsement of Rowling’s anti-trans views.

Instead I want to tackle how to feel about the experiences you’ve had to-date with Harry Potter. Can authors’ views undercut the message you derived from their stories? A clear answer from me for once: no. Authors do not own their stories. A storyteller evokes the outline of the world but the reader gets to walk away with the image. Once you hit publish, that’s it. The readers, observers, listeners, or players are now free to draw their own conclusions, fill in any gaps, and choose their takeaways. I’ll use an easy, positive example of Rowling’s. After the end of the books, Rowling responded to a fan question by saying the character Dumbledore was gay. I love the interpretation. I agree with it. It makes magnificent sense given the story complexities about his relationship with Grindelwald. But she had no right to say that as a declarative statement. Unless something is explicitly said in the story (and even then!) authors don’t own our interpretations. I urge you not to think of Rowling at all, for good or ill, as you reflect on the themes from HP.

On gender as a whole

As I mentioned I’ve dawdled on writing this article. Not because of any of the content above. Nor because I’m wary of discussing ‘politics.’ This isn’t a political discussion. Politics are how much should we invest in one program over another, what should our trade policies be, etc. These instead are human rights discussions. I have nothing but contempt for those who claim they themselves are being discriminated against because they’re refused leeway to discriminate. If your ‘earnestly held’ values say some people or groups are less deserving of humanity or rights, find different values. And stop using conjured hypotheticals to defend your hate. Rowling makes the claim (echoed recently by politicians trying to rile up Christian conservatives) that the existence of trans women provides some sort of insidious Trojan Horse for male predators to attack women in bathrooms and changing rooms. ‘Our hate of trans people is ACTUALLY geared toward protecting women. That’s why we’re going to make a lot of scary statements about locker rooms and care about women’s sports for the first and only time in our lives.’ Leering at, harassing, or assaulting someone is still not allowed. But I’m digressing.

No, I’ve been wary of writing this article because I thought it disingenous to do so without giving my own views on gender and 1) I wanted a literary framework and 2) I’m terrified of getting it wrong. I don’t yet have an answer for number 2. But my read of The Left Hand of Darkness this past week opened the door for me to have this (one-sided) conversation. The story centers around the character Genly Ai, an envoy from a coalition of planets known as the Ekumen. In this universe a series of planets were settled by human forerunners; each planet lost knowledge of these forerunners and envoys make new ‘first contacts’ to encourage joining of the coalition. The races of these worlds are fundamentally human but with sometimes profound differences. Ai is an alien visiting the world of Gethen, known to the Ekumen as Winter.

Winter’s inhabitants, as I said, are human. Ai is a little taller than average, and a little darker of skin. But the profound difference lies in Winter’s gender, sex, and sexuality. For 26 days a month Winter’s people are androgynous until they enter a type of estrous cycle called Kemmer. Once in Kemmer however, and with a partner also in Kemmer, Gethenians present secondary sex characteristics. The catch: you don’t know until Kemmer which partner will present as ‘male’ and which as ‘female’ and it changes from Kemmer-to-Kemmer. The same person can be capable to birth children in one Kemmer, and sire them in another. Thus Winter has no gender. The narrator (our stand-in) struggles to reconcile this with his own rigid binary gender structure. I knew none of this when I started the book. I recognized the name of the author (Ursula K. LeGuin) and wanted to give it a try.

Ai’s struggles mirror what I view as the keenest issue: the concept of gender as a whole. My assumption (and the part I’m afraid I have wrong) is a lot of the anguish faced by trans people lies in the fact that their mental self-image does not match what society believes someone with their secondary sex characteristics should present. Therefore, if that person feels a stronger kinship with the gender that does not match their body’s presentation, they should take steps to conform to that role instead. Given this assumption, my issue lies with gender roles in and of themselves. If we had no concept of what it means to be a ‘man’ or a ‘woman’ would anyone ever feel out of place, or that mismatch with their own body?

My view is we would be in a better place if could mimic the Gentheians. Winter’s inhabitants don’t lack for individuality or personality. They have pursuits and passions, interests, religions, and love. They have strong self-image and even stronger senses (perhaps problematically) of honor. But none of that self image concerns gender. A quote from the afterword by Charlie Jane Anders: ‘Maybe our rigid gender binary is just as made-up as their neutral-except-once-a-month gender is. Maybe our government-issued pronouns and official stereotypes don’t have to define us always. Especially for my fellow trans and nonbinary people, a story that undermines the assumptions behind coercive labels feels magical.’

Leave a comment or shoot me an email to let me know what you think!