2-News
16 — Wednesday, December 9, 2020
The B-Side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
The B-Side: Harry Potter and the Canceled Author
It’s time that we talk about ‘The Fault in Our Stars’
I grew up in a house in the middle of
the woods, surrounded by deer and trees
and friendly small-town neighbors, but
I spent a lot of my childhood immersed
in books instead. Something about the
allure of a different world enthralled me;
magical, fantastical or realistic, I wanted
the adventure that novels promised to take
me on.
Joanne (Jo) Rowling dreamed of
escaping her troubled marriage. A school
teacher who thought herself a failure,
Rowling left with her child and scouted
for somewhere safe, somewhere she could
truly get more out of the life she desired for
herself. At the same time, she put pencil to
paper and began to sketch out the story of a
young wizard boy, which had miraculously
come to her, fully-formed, while on
a train. Fully shaped by her mother’s
death and own mental health struggles,
Rowling finished her manuscript and
two years later saw “Harry Potter and the
Philosopher’s Stone” become a smash hit.
Long before I was able to read on my own,
my father would sit in a white rocking chair
and, with my chubby little body on his lap,
read to me. I can’t remember every book we
read, though we definitely worked through
Dr. Seuss and wore down my copy of “Felix
Travels Back In Time,” and I vividly recall
us reading through the entire Harry Potter
series one chapter at a time.
The world of Harry Potter seemed vast
and alluring, that of a young mistreated
boy becoming the chosen one in a world
full of magic and magical creatures. The
adventures were grandiose and epic, a
battle of good versus evil wickedly waged
with wands and incantations. I loved it. I
wanted to taste a chocolate frog, a barf-
flavored Bertie Bott’s bean and feel the
warmth of a freshly brewed Butterbeer. I
wanted to live among the characters, who
even at the height of their angst embarked
on daring adventures while attending the
coolest boarding school imaginable. The
series of seven bestselling books and eight
blockbuster films became a pop culture
staple throughout the world.
As I got older, I found myself returning
to Harry Potter during times of comfort
and hardship. The first film premiere I
ever attended was “Harry Potter and the
Deathly Hallows - Part 1.” My friend and
I were two of the only non-costumed
people in line. I saw the play “Puffs, or
Seven Increasingly Eventful Years at a
Certain School of Magic and Magic” off-
Broadway twice and am dying to see both
parts of “Harry Potter and the Cursed
Child” on the Great White Way. During a
difficult year, I completed a whole re-read
of the entire saga and watched all the films
again. What started as a silly children’s
series became a cultural touchstone for
many people’s adolescence. I know that my
friend is clearly a Slytherin in all the best
ways possible, or how to pick on someone
because they’re a Hufflepuff to a tee.
Playground talk about our dream houses
— I’m a Ravenclaw obviously — became
a real discussion of how our personality
traits fit into these fictional constraints.
Our generation didn’t just grow up with
Harry Potter, Harry Potter grew up with
us.
My Dad used to hold me as I nodded off,
lids heavy with the magic sleep of a child’s
day gone by. As I got older and bigger, I
would lay down in my racecar bed and
listen to him preach the exploits of Harry,
Ron and Hermione. The chair older than
I was would always squeak. After each
chapter was done, he would close the
book — he magically always knew where
we were in it — and come over and kiss me
goodnight.
Things started to get weird after
the series was done. Rowling, rather
than letting everything sit pretty and
untouched, started to mess with the status
quo in a hasty attempt to answer questions.
Sure, there was a Jewish wizard, his
name was Anthony Goldstein and he
was a Ravenclaw, next. Oh no, wizards
absolutely do not take off their entire robe
to use the bathroom, they simply shit into
their pants and wave it away with magic,
duh. There were LGBTQ+ students at
Hogwarts, you just never saw them.
WAIT, now Dumbledore is gay. How’s that
for representation? It would be comical if it
wasn’t so pathetic.
But the slope of Rowling’s quick retcons
soon became slippery. Suddenly all the
malicious subtext hiding within the books
became prominent once people bothered
to go below the surface. Why did these
wizards exist only in England? Why was
the history of magic so white-centric?
How come Cho Chang and Dean Thomas
were the only two prominent people of
color in an entire school of students? The
faults crumbled into fissures and soon
working through the world of Hogwarts
became a game of dodging potholes.
Then … the infamous Pottermore
post about magic in early, pre-colonized
North America. The history was not only
horribly inaccurate but insensitive and
white-washed,
constantly
comparing
these Native American wizards to their
European counterparts in disgusting
ways. The feedback was loud and angry.
This wasn’t some little joke Rowling
could get away with on Twitter, it was a
targeted attack against an entire people,
a slight against all Indigenous American
tribes that only furthered their erasure in
history.
Jo Rowling began to play the offensive.
Her Twitter was used for responding to
any and all criticisms of her which she
completely ignored while working on
the new, glitzy “Fantastic Beasts” series.
When people questioned why the goblins
were so reminiscent of Jewish stereotypes
or why lycanthropy, otherwise known as
the process of turning into a werewolf, is
a metaphor for HIV/AIDS, they were met
with a wall of silence. Even when Rowling
did something progressive, such as cast
Black actress Noma Dumezweni (“The
Undoing”) as Hermione in the original
London production of “Cursed Child,”
she backed it up with questionable quotes
about Hermione’s unruly curly hair and
brown eyes. Rowling constantly showed
that she was not only out of touch but
unable to recognize her problems and
change. Some people, even those whose
lives had been changed by Rowling’s
work, made the decision to cut her out of
their lives and stop supporting her and her
work.
Things were quiet for a little while.
“The Crimes of Grindelwald” was a critical
flop and Rowling was getting along fine
writing her Cormoran Strike detective
novels. Frankly, no one cared about either
of those projects. But on June 6, 2020,
the sixth day of Pride month, Rowling
responded to an op-ed’s use of the phrase
“people who menstruate” by joking about
the word woman being erased, effectively
negating the trans safe space the original
wording created. She received backlash
but kept at it, demanding that sex and
gender be connected and continuing to
demean the transgender community.
She was speaking and acting like a
trans-exclusionary radical feminist, or
TERF, something a later blog post of
hers originally titled “TERF Wars” only
continued to prove. Rowling wrote that
being transgender was a mental disorder,
that it encouraged children to change their
gender before they could change their
minds and other demoralizing reasons to
be worried about new trans activism. The
mask was off, the convertible top down
— Rowling finally stepped into the light
as the bigoted woman she was. No more
pretenses or quick retcons to calm fans,
Rowling nearly shouted, “I’m transphobic
and I’m proud of it!”
Responses flooded the internet, with
Harry and Hermione themselves, actors
Daniel Radcliffe (“Swiss Army Man”)
and Emma Watson (“Little Women”),
decrying the statements and standing
alongside the trans community. Rowling
continued her shitstorm, continually
denouncing
hormone
therapy
and
possibly even suggesting that people who
take medication for mental health issues
are simply “lazy.” The launch of her next
book, “Trouble Blood,” only worsened the
issue by having the villain be a — and I
absolutely wish I was joking — cisgendered
man who dresses as a woman in order to
kill other women. Rowling hates transfolk
for simply trying to live their lives and feel
comfortable in their own skin. She had
picked a hill to die on, but it was turning
out more like Custer’s Last Stand than the
Alamo.
One day, for whatever reason, as my Dad
and I were at the tail end of “Return of the
King” (we had moved onto Middle Earth at
that point) I looked him in the eyes and said,
“I don’t want you to read to me anymore.
I can do it.” Looking back now, it was
heartbreaking. From that day on I’ve read
books alone, because I felt it was time to
move on. So the rocking chair sat quiet and
untouched, until one day I decided it was
time to move on, get rid of it and put a desk
in its place instead.
As I sit here and type this, my
Ravenclaw bracelet constantly catches my
eye. I struggle to reconcile this modern
Rowling with the woman who wrote such
a beloved, important series of books. I
can’t whisk away my enjoyment of them
in the past: There are still a good 15 years
of Harry Potter affection that remain in
my memory. But as a non-binary human
being, I cannot simply sit here and take
Rowling’s comments as comments. They
are hateful and demeaning stances that
hurt deeply to hear.
This isn’t an issue for everyone. For
some people, doing something famed
literary
critic
Roland
Barthes
calls
“Death of the Author” (summarized and
contextualized brilliantly here by critic
Lindsay Ellis), can work. The concept is
that one should divorce the personal views
and actions of an author from their work,
stating that their view is simply one of
many interpretations possible. This may
work for some people, likely the same
ones who pay full price to see the new
Mel Gibson movie and are ecstatic to see
Felicity Huffman acting again, but it’s
incredibly difficult for others.
Rowling’s hate and prejudices are baked
into the text of Harry Potter; there is simply
no way around that. I am not trying to
discount any single person’s interpretation
because if you got something out of this
series, nothing Rowling or anyone else
says can ever take that away from you. But
I find it difficult to think about supporting
this series the way I once did. I hide away
my Harry Potter socks and feel a pang of
guilt each time I think about the Friday
Forty and how I would probably spend a
ridiculous amount of money to see “Cursed
Child.” With a new Harry Potter video
game set to come out next year, Avalanche
Studios’s “Hogwarts Legacy,” and the
third Fantastic Beasts film in production,
people are going to need to take a stance on
Rowling sooner rather than later. Either
they boycott her or support her.
Now as an adult, I wonder why I ever
asked my father to stop reading to me. I
always feel guilty about it, like I broke his
heart. I can say I never went back to finish
“Return of the King” either, it just never
felt right. Time has allowed me to keep the
memories close to me, but has also allowed
enough distance for me to see that I made
the right decision. My dad and I formed a
different relationship, not one out of him
reading to me but us reading as equals. He
started choosing books specifically for me.
I still do the same for him. We manage to
find time to talk about whatever he chose to
borrow from the library this week. As heart-
wrenching as it is, sometimes moving on is
the right thing in the end.
Personally, I say it’s time to move on from
Rowling and her TERFy shenanigans.
Just like with storytime and my racecar
bed, it’s time to take Rowling and put her
to the curb. No more chances, no more last
second sways of the heart due to nostalgia,
no more “but one more butterbeer,” which
frankly was never that good to begin with.
Let’s hang up our brooms, put our wands in
storage and stand firm together and affirm
that Rowling doesn’t get another pass. We
will always have our fond memories. The
siren calls toward a comfortable but now
tainted land, and that’s enough for me.
MIK DEITZ
Daily Arts Writers
SCHOLASTIC
No, John Green has not been
officially “canceled.” In fact, his work
remains quite popular: His latest book,
“Turtles All the Way Down” (2017),
debuted at #1 on The New York Times
bestseller list, and in 2018 Green
confirmed its film adaptation. Last
August he announced that he will be
publishing his first work of non-fiction
in May 2021. So, no, Green isn’t canceled
in the sense that we have all agreed to
stop reading his work and unsubscribe
from his YouTube channel, but he is
canceled for me. And he has been for
quite some time.
To be truthful, I was always a great
admirer of Green’s work, particularly
in middle school. His Young Adult
fiction is known for its young female
readership, something that held true
in my school district and friend group.
I can’t remember which novel I picked
up first, but “The Fault in Our Stars”
was undoubtedly my favorite — a love
story between two young and beautiful
cancer patients? It was as if its sole
purpose was to attract romance-giddy
teens.
Regardless, by the time I reached
high school, I separated myself from
his work and most of YA fiction.
This isolation wasn’t provoked by a
controversy surrounding Green, nor
had I simply grown out of the genre; I
still loved the glorious romances that
were stuffed into my bookshelves. I
was just afraid to admit it.
It was around the same time others
did fervently stop reading Green’s
books because they were “for girls” or
“not actually that good” or “overrated.”
Maybe other YA fiction readers have
encountered the same sentiment — that
because we enjoy books with cheesy
friendships or coming-of-age themes,
we must be superficial. So I can’t blame
my first dissociation with Green on
him, but I can hold him responsible for
the second.
Unfortunately for me and John
Green, I was diagnosed with a rare
form of cancer when I was 17. It was
an odd experience: The diagnosis and
the scans and the surgery didn’t feel
like they were happening to me, but
to someone else. Maybe another me
in a different universe, or someone
else entirely. Either way, like many
survivors of cancer, I had adapted
a new perspective. A new way of
seeing things, both things trivial and
significant, including the way society
treats disease and diseased people.
Especially John Green.
When I reread “The Fault in Our
Stars,” it wasn’t so I could relate to
Hazel or Augustus or the other cancer
patients depicted. I subconsciously
started reading it on one of the dark
days anyone fighting illness, whether
it be mental or physical, knows well.
I picked it up out of muscle memory:
I had read it on multiple occasions
when I was in need of comfort or a
distraction. It was simply one of those
times. I depended on the trustworthy
characters and their cliché remarks
to provide some degree of relief.
Something to softly pull me out of my
reality and into another.
And the truth is, I both enjoyed and
detested the book. Lines like “Grief
does not change you Hazel. It reveals
you,” and “But I believe in true love, you
know? I don’t believe that everybody
gets to keep their eyes or not get sick or
whatever, but everybody should have
true love, and it should last at least as
long as your life does” stuck out to me.
As tacky as they may appear, they were
successful in distracting me from my
metastatic cancer.
But what also stuck out to me were
the fallacies. Green invents the therapy
that keeps Hazel alive. It’s not real. In
the acknowledgements section of the
book, Green writes: “The disease and
its treatment are treated fictitiously
in this novel. For example, there is no
such thing as Phalanxifor. I made it up,
because I would like for it to exist.”
And that’s not fair. Not for cancer
patients like me whose cancers don’t
have definitive treatments; not for
those who live in constant uncertainty
and fear; not for those who are told that
we will just have to monitor our bodies
for the rest of our lives, as long as we
may live. And I know this is a work of
fiction; I know that Green is entitled to
create any fantasy he would like. But
does fantasy belong in a book about
cancer?
Perhaps it is shocking because
of Green’s other statements: “This
is
hopefully
not
going
to
be
a
gauzy, sentimental love story that
romanticizes
illness
and
further
spreads the lie that the only reason sick
people exist is so that healthy people
can learn lessons.”
But if the only reason his main
character is alive is because of a made-
up treatment, isn’t he glamorizing
the scarce miracles and hope some
cancer patients may have? By keeping
Hazel falsely alive to share with us her
newfound wisdom upon Augustus’s
death, does it not turn into her and
her experiences becoming a lesson for
healthy people?
And Green does not stop there. The
other principal character and cancer
patient, Augustus Waters, is said to
have just been re-diagnosed with
cancer right before embarking on a
grand adventure to Amsterdam with
Hazel. In what world is that possible?
Having Augustus endure the long trip
and the exhaustive tours around the
city while simultaneously maintaining
his emotional and mental capacity is
another delusion I cannot forgive.
It is also difficult to ignore the other
unreasonable decision to have the two
cancer patients share their first kiss
inside the Anne Frank house. Not to
mention the heedless combination of
cancer and the Holocaust, something
like a kiss should — and would —
never happen inside so sacred a place.
Did Green think it would not matter
because it is cancer patients performing
the act? That they were not normal,
healthy people, so in turn their actions
should be excused in exchange for pity?
My particular position might make
me overly sensitive to Green’s mistakes
— but that’s another comment I’m sick
of hearing. My sensitivity stems from
my truth, as does my criticism. The
errors of authors like Green do not
deserve to be disregarded because of
their merit or their well-intentioned
ventures
into
sensitive
subjects.
Instead, that’s exactly why they should
be held accountable. By putting their
work and themselves into the world,
they are inviting both criticism and
praise.
“The Fault in Our Stars” is expertly
problematic because its flaws can be
easily overlooked. However, other
errors of Green are not so deftly
unnoticed: His repetitive usage of the
same rudimentary character tropes
and his lack of diversity in terms of
race, gender and sexuality (noting
a few exceptions: Tiny from “Will
Grayson, Will Grayson,” Hasan from
“An Abundance of Katherines,” and
Radar from “Paper Towns”) make
me wonder why Green has been, and
continues to be, such an influential
figure in YA fiction, and why he hasn’t
been canceled before.
Daily Arts Writer Lilly Pearce can be
reached at pearcel@umich.edu.
LILLY PEARCE
Daily Arts Writer
But what also stuck
out to me were the
fallacies. Green invents
the therapy that keeps
Hazel alive
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