ANDREW SHEAD says there is more to praise than criticise in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

‘There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!’ snarled Voldemort.

‘You are quite wrong,’ said Dumbledore.… ‘Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness.’

It is fascinating – and probably no accident – that the ‘fastest selling book of all time’ has so much to say about death. This alone makes The Order of the Phoenix of interest to Christians who are engaged with the world we live in. Yet the book has been much criticised, a victim of its own popularity. Can we enjoy the book as good literature? Can we accept Rowling’s world of magic for the innocent fantasy it claims to be? I believe we can.

The staunchest defenders will confess that the Potter series cannot bear microscopic scrutiny of plot and character. These are minor quibbles, however. Rowling’s writing captivates through its simple directness of style, its exuberant games with language and the depth and breadth of its characters, which are what really drive the action.

Yes, echoes of many ideas in her books can be found in everything from The Lord of the Rings to Star Wars, but the varied inventiveness of Diagon Alley or Disapparating; of Tom Riddle’s diary or Dementors; of Platform 9¾ or the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, are all her own, and all depend on the notion of a parallel world of magic.

When it comes to magic, Christian readers must be careful about extrapolating the fictional world to real life. By contrast with Susan Cooper’s Dark is Rising, for example, Rowling’s magical world presents itself as a farrago of enjoyable nonsense. Yet in neither case would any child, one feels, make the mistake that some unimaginative grown-ups do of confusing the magical and real worlds. Magic, in Rowling’s books, is primarily a device that allows her to develop ideas more effectively. And what is really interesting is the way in which the two worlds do connect. No character by magic acquires knowledge, or wealth, or bravery; no spell cures grief and loss. In this sense the books are very much of the real world, and their characters reflect this.

In The Order of the Phoenix, the main protagonists are 15 years old, and the portrayal of turbulent and self-absorbed adolescence has left its mark on every aspect of the book. The book is tighter and better plotted than the previous volume, but somehow more tired. There are moments when the predictability of the school year and the events constrained within it made me think, ‘Here we go again’. Dursleys; three terms punctuated by minor crises; end-of-year showdown with Voldemort. Yet I would hardly have noticed this by-now predictable packaging if the contents had captivated me more. There is inventiveness, hilarity and sheer exuberance; but Harry’s angry adolescence fills the book from its first page with laboured, tortuous colours.

Harry is more complicated, more interesting, and less admirable. His inner turmoil not only denies him uncomplicated loyalty, love, pain, grief or joy; it also denies these things to readers. As a result, Phoenix engages less powerfully with the emotions, and I felt myself more detached from the main characters and their fates. The new emotion Rowling leads us to feel over and again is frustration at Harry for his obtuseness, perversity and failure to grasp opportunities.

There is far more to praise than to criticise, however. Phoenix may be less gripping than previous volumes, but it is just as interesting. It depicts adolescence very well (as far as I can remember!), and is full of closely ‘observed’ details that bring this imaginary world to life.

The main interest for me lay in the development of selected characters – not only Harry, but also his friend Neville Longbottom, Harry’s father and godfather, and Professor Snape – and the introduction of two new characters, Luna Lovegood and Professor Umbridge.

It is through these characters that many of the most interesting ideas for Christians emerge. Adult figures are more morally complex, so that Harry’s father is tarnished and Snape appreciated (though not by Harry).

Death is explored in very interesting ways, as in the conversation between Harry and a ghost about why Harry cannot contact a dead friend, even though death is not the final word. In the character of Luna Lovegood we see blind, unreasoning faith in any number of things for which there is little or no empirical evidence, including life after death. Yet there are many real things that defy reason or the senses, and Harry eventually comes to share Luna’s belief in an afterlife.

What’s to come? If one were setting up the series for a victory over evil that involved the sacrifice of Harry himself – and I don’t necessarily mean his death, but rather his dishonouring – Phoenix would be a good way to go about it. The scene has also been set for a broadening of the battle front. Harry and Voldemort must now share the stage with other warriors.

Will Harry end up a lonely figure, destroyed inwardly by the evil he set out to conquer, but in the process being the door to the ennobling of others? Or will the love and loyalty that distinguish him from Voldemort be his salvation? It may well be, in the manner of many great myths, from the Mabinogion to the Lord of the Rings, that elements of both will come to pass.

‘There is a room in the department of Mysteries,’ interrupted Dumbledore, ‘that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. […] It was your heart that saved you.’ (p. 743)

Andrew Shead lectures in Old Testament at Moore College and was a closet Harry Potter fan until he wrote this review.