Dual Disability in Harry Potter

It’s easy to read the Harry Potter series as an allegory for trauma and recovery. Harry is psychologically scarred by the murders of his parents, leaving him vulnerable to external pressures – a condition we see most clearly in “The Prisoner of Azkaban.” As a result, though, others in his support network make special accommodations for him, teaching him advanced protective spells, feeding him emergency chocolate, and generally supporting him when necessary. The series, then, is a refreshingly optimistic story of how a young boy learned to overcome an sometimes crushing disability.

At the same time, though, it could be argued that his traumatic past is never Harry’s true disability. There’s a clear way in which being an immigrant in a foreign land is a disability in itself, and that’s exactly what the “muggle-raised” Harry is. His ignorance of the wizarding world makes him an endlessly useful literary device for Rowling, but it also makes him an eternal outsider, even when surrounded by his friends. Throughout all seven books, Harry has to familiarize himself with simple concepts like candy and receiving letters; his constant struggle is not just to fit in, but also simply recognize what he’s trying to fit in to – a struggle that’s still ongoing at the end of the series.

Are Harry’s friends and mentors as accommodating of this disability? They certainly seem helpful enough, but their help usually amounts to little more than above-average patience. They explain bizarre objects and creatures as they appear, on a sort of “need to know” basis, but I’m sure that even they recognize the futility of trying to explain everything. Their support is more reactionary than preventative of confusion.

Harry’s trauma physically manifests itself in the form of his scar, a constant reminder to others of one of the disabilities he faces. It signifies to others that he is someone special, and the physical pain it causes cues others that Harry is in need of protection. Harry’s more fundamental disability, however, lacks any physical sign other than his awkward cluelessness. Perhaps this is why it gets swept under the rug. The main focus of the series seems to be Harry confronting his demons and recovering from his trauma; he succeeds in this, but he’ll probably fight the battle against his endless otherness for the rest of his life.

Logical Time in Coats and Lacan

Among other things, chapter 2 of Coats’s book, “A Time to Mourn,” examines Lacan’s conception of ‘logical time.’ Coats first illustrates this with a reference to Lacan’s thought experiment, which functions as a metaphor for the process of self-identification. Rather than a strict chronological interpretation of time, it’s a map of three main steps that people (notably infants and young children) follow in constructing their basic identity. Coats presents them as three interrelated and predetermined actions, not “steps” in the strict sense of the word, noting that “[i]nasmuch as these moments of the subject correspond roughly to the three registers of Lacanian theory – the Real, the Imaginary, and the Symbolic – we are reminded that each of these moments implicates the other two, that they coexist with and by turns define the others” (40).

The children’s book “Stellaluna” is given as a particularly clear example of this prospect. The story of a bat separated from its mother and raised with baby birds, it shows the bat’s process of self-identification in response to the stimuli around it. Upon separation from its mother, it is forcibly removed from the mother-child dyad that initially forces infant development, jarring it into an awareness that its mother is a distinct “other” and making it realize what it is not. After the loss of the mother, it seeks to construct an identity in the image of the baby birds around it; seeing itself in a society of birds and not yet being conscious of its fundamental difference, it visualizes the birds’ physical traits and mannerisms as an ideal to which it aspires. Emulating the second step in Lacan’s logical time, it attempts (comically) to fly, eat, and sleep like them, recognizing it them what it perceives that it should be. When its failure becomes apparent, it tries even harder to conceal its unbirdishness (yes), asserting its identity as a bird for fear of being recognized and labeled as not so by others. This corresponds to Lacan’s third state, the idea that a person “declares [himself] to be a man for fear of being convinced by others that [he is] not a man” (40).

Another example of this from children’s literature is one broad plot arc spanning the Harry Potter series – Harry’s conversion to the wizarding world/duality between the “normal” and “magical” worlds. From his early childhood, he recognizes that he is not the same as his foster family, experiencing strange, fleeting occurrences that mark him as unusual (coupled with a desire to simply not be like the borderline abusive people he’s forced to live with). He proceeds to the second step when he’s informed of his identity and invited into the world of magic, seeing a world where he can finally fit in with some success. However, Harry always remains part-outsider, probably a literary decision by Rowling and an attempt to create a more reliable narrator. Because of this duality, he asserts the importance of his new identity and works hard to build and reinforce this new life – asserting that he belongs (by virtue of his name, talent, whatever) for fear of being told that he doesn’t belong, that it was all a mistake, and that he has to go back home.

The Uncanny in the Id

In many of Freud’s works, he outlines what he considered to be the three main components of the personality: the ego, superego, and id. While these concepts aren’t widely accepted today, something about them resonates with modern culture. Many fictional works can be analyzed in terms of Freudian theory, including the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that we watched in class.

Through the character Angel, we can apply the idea of the “uncanny” to these other psychological forces. In his descriptions of himself throughout the episode, we see how these three forces have become unbalanced in his personality. He describes his time as a “normal vampire” as a period of unrestrained violence and lust, a kind of mindless self-gratification unique to the id. This is physically seen in the other vampire who appears (his old love interest), who possesses the same reckless passion and violence that he reminisces about. Also, when he’s overcome by one of these primal emotions (such as when he’s kissing or fighting with Buffy), we see a physical change in his body that signifies the id “taking over.”

While the concept of a vampire is “uncanny” enough as it is, I think the root of this sense that we get is the disruption of these three psychological forces. If a “healthy” person strikes a balance between the three, a vampire is a being with no balance at all; a pure id, with no checks in place to moderate its actions.

The interesting thing about Angel is his character’s twist: the “restoration of his soul” as a punishment for his heinous misdeeds (if I remember correctly). He describes being re-souled as being constantly, acutely reminded of the terrible things that he’s done. While the violent id energy is still running through him, he views it through the lens of a sternly disapproving superego. He sees his actions not for the pleasure they give him, but as society would view them: as terribly, inexcusably violent and evil. He seems crippled (or at least haunted) by his superego, implying that it, too, isn’t in “balance.”

The only extreme that we don’t see in Angel is unbridled ego. This was presumably destroyed when he ceased to be human. One could argue that it’s being reconstructed in the mediation between the id and superego; that he’s driven to do “good” things in an endless attempt to ease his guilty conscience. Even this, though, is more a response to the other two than a true ego. Perhaps what makes him seem so uncanny is the lack of a true personality/id.

Action vs Aesthetics

In advertising their products to men, Heineken takes a fairly common (yet still amusing) tact.  Opening with a fake promo for “Top Models Singing on Ice,” its depiction of disinterested men and overly excitable women pokes light fun at society’s stereotypical female gathering.  However, the majority of the commercial is devoted to a second show, which seems vastly more interesting by comparison: “Men with Talent.”  By presenting casually dressed, fairly physically fit men performing spectacular feats of coordination with beer, it builds an anonymous cast of everymen to which its target demographic can easily connect.

Of course, the commercial isn’t saying that Heineken improves athletic skills; rather, the actions are so comically implausible (especially under the influence of alcohol) that they simply reminds male viewers of what society expects their values to be. Backed by unnecessarily epic music that wouldn’t be out of place at a world sporting event, the ad simply portrays its product as full of excitement – excitement that women wouldn’t understand, as the last few seconds show. In a way, it appeals to men’s collective egos, their desire to view themselves as interesting alpha males, and view women as a completely different (and slightly ridiculous) species.

This next commercial, an advertisement for Pantene, appeals to women’s sense of uniqueness and desire for “natural” looking beauty. The keyword here, repeated twice, is customized; it acknowledges that not all hair is the same, and that no one product works for everyone. Here we see none of the “power” often associated with male hygiene products; instead, the improved performance of these products is due to someone’s special attention to women’s customized needs. It doesn’t “improve all hair” like Axe “stops odor in its tracks;” it improves your hair, because it was made just for you with “options for your unique hair structure.”

It’s implicitly encouraging women to indulge themselves in a superior product, much like they might treat themselves to a day at the spa. Also unlike many male advertisements, it pays no attention to what women might do or be able to do because of the product. Their hair doesn’t attract droves of senselessly enamored men or allow them to have a great time. The focus is on aesthetics, not action, and the background music reflects this.