Late to the Wizarding World: Book 2
Thoughts on reading Harry Potter for the first time at age twenty-three
Reading Harry Potter for the first time at age twenty-three has its perks. I can read them quickly, appreciate what J. K. Rowling is trying to convey (besides a great story), and, in the case of the second book, spot exactly what has been ripped from Greek mythology.
While confessing my 18-year-Harry-Potter-shirking to shocked friends, I’ve heard a lot of complaints about the second book, even from the most die-hard fans of the series. But I have to say, despite too many alliterative character names and ten-point allocations to Gryffindor, I’ve come around to the second book.
Hear me out: Greek myth has it that when Perseus entered the lair, he was faced with the task of slaying Medusa, a fierce monster described by poet Aechylus as having “snakes for hair” and a “hatred of mortal men.” Anyone who so much as looked her in the eye was frozen instantly and turned to stone. Perseus, woefully unequipped to slay such a monster, was sent assistance from the gods in the form of a sword and winged sandals (sword of Gryffindor and the phoenix, anyone?). He caught sight of Medusa’s reflection on metal, and then, able to pinpoint her location, he beheaded her. Afterward, the head of Medusa maintained its deadly power, and Perseus used it to kill Cetus, an even worse monster that was attacking Andromeda (the beautiful woman — often portrayed as a redhead in artistic renderings — who later became his wife).
My main takeaway when I first revisited the myth of Perseus is that the theme of not being able to look your enemy in the eye is as old as storytelling itself.
But if the snakes, muggle-hatred, petrification, magically well-timed gifts, and monsters-with-eye-contact-problems don’t also ring a bell, you need to reread Book 2, or just take my word for the fact that the parallels between Medusa’s head and the basilisk’s fang could fill an English PhD thesis. And, ok, so I haven’t read Book 7 yet, but I’ve heard enough people complaining about the epilogue over the years to know that Harry and Ginny end up together like Perseus and Andromeda.
I’ve been turning over these similarities in my head since I finished reading the book, struggling to figure out why J. K. Rowling (knowingly or unknowingly) chose the Perseus story as the culminating scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Piece by piece, I picked it apart:
Why snakes? Snakes can’t be trusted — that part’s Biblical, even older than Greek mythology.
Why the petrification? Evil moves even good people to helplessness and inaction.
Why does a physical part of the evil creature continue to be deadly even after the main body has been killed? Because that is the nature of evil.
And then, suddenly, it all came into focus: a final battle scene against an enemy whose gaze will kill you is the perfect culmination for a book that is all about not trusting what you see.
In the very opening scene of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Dobby makes a mess in the kitchen during the Dursley’s dinner party, and when Harry is discovered, covered in cake, he doesn’t say a word, only stands there thinking, It’s not what it looks like. It only gets worse with Colin Creevey’s misleading photographs that paint Harry as a fame-whore and the innocent Hagrid’s Azkaban imprisonment. The it’s-not-what-it-seems theme continues from the appearance-altering polyjuice potion to Gilderoy Lockhart himself, the epitome of a false image — he hasn’t done any of the things he actually says he has. His books are misleading, as is the diary that possesses Ginny (who appears sweet, but is actually doing something evil, but is actually not to blame. So many layers), as is the very name ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle,’ an anagram for ‘I am Lord Voldemort.’
Without an English degree, I probably wouldn’t have caught all the Greek mythology parallels (finally the degree comes in handy!). And maybe, as a young kid, I wouldn’t have been able to coherently articulate all the it’s-not-what-it-seems examples in this book. But I’d like to think that, even as I child, I would have understood the themes of racism spelled out in the hatred toward ‘mudbloods’ and half-bloods. After all, the chamber of secrets itself was made with the purpose of purging the school of muggle-borns. That sort of racism is the ultimate example of judging based on a surface quality that doesn’t tell the whole story. Hermione is one of the best wizards in the school despite being born to muggle parents. Conversely, there are pure-bloods who use their power purely for evil. As Dumbledore says, “It matters not what you are born, but what you grow up to be.”
If you’re still not a fan of Book 2, consider this: J. K. Rowling has tackled the theme of racism in a children’s book by illustrating that people and situations shouldn’t be judged based on what they look like at first glance. As soon as you look at something in the eye, you’re spellbound, biased by appearances. And appearances are misleading. Most situations, most people demand more care, more investigation, and more thought than the image that initially meets the eye. If that’s not a lofty achievement for young adult book, I’m not sure what is.
