Last year, J. K. Rowling published Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,
and like millions of other fans, I immediately began to go into
withdrawal. Though I submerged it by frantically writing fan poetry as
though I'd been given a month with a muse who would never be heard from
again, a dull ache remained. When I learned that Rowling had written The Tales of Beedle the Bard,
the collection of children's stories bequeathed to Hermione Granger in
the final novel, but only intended to distribute it to a select few
friends, it was like rubbing salt on a wound. How cruel to know that
such a text existed but was unavailable! I fervently hoped that one day
she would release the volume to the general populace. When I got wind of
its publication, I was overjoyed. What a delicious dessert after one of
the most nourishing epics I've ever read! I snatched up my copy as soon
as I could, eager to let this long-awaited book mark my 2200th post
here. Indulge me while I digest...
Given the charitable intentions of this collection, the net proceeds of which benefit the Children's High Level Group, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot
is a particularly appropriate tale with which to begin. Just as Rowling
and Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, MEP, urge readers in the
introduction and afterward to support children whose families lack the
means to provide them with proper care, so the wizard in this story
dedicates his life to assisting his desperate Muggle neighbors. He uses
the titular pot as a front to mask the breadth of his magical abilities.
Upon his death, his son inherits the pot, which becomes more and more
of a nuisance as the young man coldly turns away peasant after peasant
requesting the aid his father provided. The first association I made as I
read this story was with Strega Nona,
the grandmotherly witch who is the subject of several picture books by
Tomie de Paola. She, too, is a prolific pot stirrer, and she also has a
protege who runs into trouble when he fails to follow her lead regarding
its use. I also found myself thinking of Beauty and the Beast,
in which an arrogant prince is hideously transformed as a punishment
for his lack of compassion. Inner changes come later, and none too
easily...
The Fountain of Fair Fortune does not call to
mind any particular story for me, though it utilizes a device
implemented by many a writer, including Rowling herself late in the
Harry Potter series, though it's a plot twist I associate most readily
with M*A*S*H.
Otherwise, this is a quest story, in which three witches and one Muggle
must work together in hopes that one of them will be rewarded for the
arduous journey with a cure for present woes. As in many labyrinthine
adventures, the travelers face riddles whose solutions often reveal
themselves as a result of hard labor rather than intellect. Like the
first story, it encourages cooperation among magical and non-magical
peoples, painting at least one Muggle as a sympathetic, albeit awkward,
figure.
The Warlock's Hairy Heart is gothic and
grotesque. It seems like a story that could have been written by Edgar
Allen Poe, or at least one of the Grimm Brothers in an especially grim
moment. It concerns a young warlock who, in order to protect himself
from the ravages of romance, performs a dangerous spell to immunize
himself against the charms of womankind. While the first story reminds
me of The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which the title character's
transgressions are reflected in his portrait, that association is even
stronger in this tale of an outwardly attractive man who, in pursuit of
security, sacrifices true human happiness and unwittingly creates a
monster.
Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump gets
my vote for the best title of the bunch, and it's also the funniest of
the stories, though the bulk of the humor in this book derives from the
commentaries by Albus Dumbledore. This story is so similar to The Emperor's New Clothes
that I can't imagine Rowling wasn't thinking of it when she wrote it. A
king decides that he should be the only one in the land to do magic.
Not possessing any magical skill himself, and having sent out brute
squads to round up all witches and wizards in his kingdom, he finds
himself relying upon a seedy con man for his magical instruction.
Instead of a luxurious invisible suit, this Muggle has a worthless
"wand" that is little more than a twig. But who has the nerve to point
that out? The voice of candor in this story is the title washerwoman,
whose role in this story reminds me a bit of Cyrano de Bergerac as well as the Biblical Esther.
The Tale of the Three Brothers
closes the book, afterward from the baroness aside. I'm not surprised
to see the book essentially leading up to this story, as it is such a
critical clue to our understanding of the series, and certainly Harry's
understanding of his purpose. The only trouble, of course, is that the
vast majority of people who read this book will have read this
particular story before. When I read it, both a year and a half ago and
just today, it reminded me of any number of tales involving trios of
friends or brothers, one of which is much wiser than the others. It also
made me think of the old fable about the man who crosses paths with
Death and runs to a distant town to escape him, only to find him waiting
for him there, confessing surprise at having seen him earlier when he
was expecting him in this very village, at this very hour. Perhaps most
of all, it recalled Hazel's encounter with the Black Rabbit in the final
paragraphs of Watership Down, which qualify as among my favorite
endings in all of literature. This is the shortest and simplest of the
tales, but it packs a powerful punch.
I draw all of these
comparisons to other works not to accuse Rowling of a lack of
originality but rather to demonstrate how well her tales fit in with so
many others in the morality tale tradition. I love these stories, and I
believe that, with the possible exception of the gruesome third tale,
they could well become classics in their own right. But I must confess
that as an avid Potter fan, what I enjoyed most of all were Albus's
musings, occasionally augmented by notes from Rowling. Not only are they
often funny, they are quite illuminating, delving into Wizarding
history both ancient and recent, sometimes revealing tidbits about
familiar figures and occasionally introducing others.
Albus's
thoughts on the final tale, while profound, are probably the least
interesting of the bunch, since they mostly cover familiar territory,
even down to the fact that he is less than forthcoming with his
knowledge of the lore surrounding this legend. What caught my attention
most here is the reference to his brother Aberforth's favorite bedtime
story, Grumble the Grubby Goat. Ms Rowling, please tell me that's
sequel bait... Elsewhere, we get more background on the circumstances
of Nearly Headless Nick's death and the dubious record of Care of
Magical Creatures professor Silvanus Kettleburn.
Among the new
characters who Albus introduces, my favorite is probably Beatrix
Bloxam, an insufferably sugary authoress responsible for sanitized
versions of Beedle's tales. The excerpts from her writings read almost
exactly like the phony cover of Lemony Snicket's Unauthorized Autobiography,
which rambles giddily about how absolutely everybody loves pony
parties. Meanwhile, the most hilarious segment of the book falls at the
beginning of the commentary for the second tale, as Albus recounts an
utterly disastrous attempt to launch a theatrical presentation of it.
I've often puzzled over the apparent lack of an arts department at
Hogwarts, so I was tickled to see that matter addressed here. I also
found abbreviated but valuable new insights into the nature of Animagi,
the magical properties of wands and the basic rules that govern the
Wizarding world. Moreover, I caught what I took to be sly allusions to
such works as MacBeth and Harvey,
not to mention some amusing digs at academia and, conversely, those who
skim stories with little attempt at a deeper understanding. Rowling,
through Albus, has a lot to say about literature and the revision of
stories for the manipulation of impressionable minds. Most of all,
though, she makes a compelling case for compassion, tolerance and
acceptance of one's own mortality. Fans of the series will find in this
small collection a perfect complement to the lessons so gradually taught
over the course of seven books.
The Tales of Beedle the Bard
is scarcely more than a hundred pages long, so it doesn't take long to
read it from cover to cover - both of which, incidentally, are quite
snazzy, especially the front, which contains visual references to each
of the tales. While Mary Grand-Pre provides that artwork, Rowling does
her own work inside, increasing the sense of intimacy about the volume.
She's not an accomplished artist like Grand-Pre, but she holds her own.
She also rather shamelessly plugs Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,
another supplementary volume published for the benefit of charity.
While that encyclopedia-like tome is enjoyable, as is its companion Quidditch Through the Ages, Beedle
is far and away the best of the three. Well worth the wait, this book
resonates especially well during this time of year when generosity and
goodwill are at a peak, so give yourself and others a gift this December
with The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
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