This question makes my tummy feel all jittery, and I think just the thought causes my heart to beat irregularly… it just, well, it makes me uncomfortable. When you are so fully and entirely invested in something, it’s almost sacrilegious to select a “favorite.” When people ask me who my favorite author is, my mind doesn’t immediately jump to JK because she’s so far out of everyone else’s league that it seems almost unfair to compare them on a parallel plane.
But I suppose selecting my favorite book is the name of the game today, so do it I shall. Or I’ll try (I have to offer a warning in advance at this point – I constantly second-guess myself when discussing issues of Harry Potter because halfway through I start thinking, “Wait, oh my god, I totally forgot about this tiny, insignificant detail buried in Book 3! I have to totally rethink everything I’ve ever thought about it!”, etc., etc.). Honestly, it might be easier for me to point out the few things that I dislike within various books rather than choosing an overall favorite, but I’ll do it. Okay, here goes…
It used to be Book 3, which apparently is nearly universally acclaimed by fans as The Best. But as time went on, that changed. Now, I think it’s Book 5 – Order of the Phoenix. I know that’s ridiculous, because everyone hates how SUPER ANGSTY Harry is at all times, and I totally did, too, at first. But after reading it oh… upwards of 20 times, I’ve come to realize that I actually empathize with Harry in that situation. Perhaps it’s because I’m also super angsty at the moment – that’s actually very plausible. But to me, Phoenix represents the vivid transition of the Harry Potter saga into something dark, twisted, and symbolic of something so much deeper that a children’s story. I totally understand why people who have never experienced the feeling of being at that lowest possible point physically, mentally, emotionally – just entirely drained, wanting to not feel anything at all anymore – would think that Harry is a whining, loud brat throughout the entire story. But I think it’s a mark of JK’s genius that those people who have hit that point in their lives recognize their counterpart in this book. Phoenix is depression personified (literary-ified…?).
Let me explain: JK wrote a perverse, warped novel in which everything continually goes from bad to worse. That happens in pretty much every Harry Potter book, but Phoenix took it to an entirely new level both in intensity and realism. At the end of Goblet of Fire, he was betrayed by someone he saw as a mentor and, oh yeah, he saw Voldemort rise again. Kind of a big deal. Phoenix begins opens with Harry feeling entirely alienated from everyone he loves and trusts just at the time when he needs support most, getting no reassurance after the dementor attack, only harsh warnings demanding that he do this and not that. When he finally is reunited with his friends, he finds out that everyone in the entire wizarding world believes he’s a big fat liar – try dealing with that kind of pressure when everyone’s survival depends upon them believing you. Then throw in Umbridge, a force that truly seems unstoppable, even against Dumbledore (who until this point has been seen as, simply, unconquerable, infallible). It’s like every single time Harry tries to fight back, he gets rebuffed twenty steps back; he just can’t get his head above the water. Voldemort tries to break into Harry’s mind, and he succeeds in doing so. Harry discovers that maybe his dad, who he was always so proud to be compared to, might not have been so wonderful as he always thought. Even Harry’s friends feel alienated from him, and he does nothing to help resolve that issue – Harry’s feeling of wanting to reach out to his friends but at the same time believing that building a wall is the best choice because no one could possibly understand him, that there is depression at its finest. And then comes the kicker, the event that truly makes Phoenix a work of art in depicting the darkest parts of how we’re all capable of feeling (and if you haven’t read the book, stop reading now because big spoilers lie ahead): Harry is responsible for the death of the one and only family figure he has ever had in his entire life. No, it wasn’t really his fault. But yes, it was Harry’s mental weakness against Voldemort that allowed him to get hoodwinked into thinking that he had to go save Sirius at the Ministry, and he insisted on doing so despite Hermione’s reasonable attempts to explain the risks. He dragged his friends into a fight that could have resulted in their deaths as well. And he witnessed his godfather’s death – he is famous for being The Boy Who Lived, even when his parents died, but this is the first time that someone he actually loves and needs in his life has been killed, and he can’t even explain those feelings to anyone because, oh right, everyone in the wizarding world assumes Sirius is an evil murderer convict. People probably celebrated his death, or at the very least ignored it. Feeling abandoned by Dumbledore, confused and ashamed by Voldemort’s temporary possession of his body and his own weakness for allowing that to occur, and overwhelmingly guilty for Sirius’ death, Harry suffers from feeling too much, wanting to never feel again, just wanting it all to stop: Dumbledore tells Harry that love is what saved him that night, and Harry responds by smashing Dumbledore’s possessions and, most tellingly (and devastatingly, for those who have also felt this), screaming that if this is how love can make you feel, if caring about people can hurt you so much, that he doesn’t want it anymore, any of it - even as he realizes that this is when he needs those very people the most.
If dementors are JK’s actual personification of depression, then Phoenix is her ode and elegy to it. Guilt, weakness, disappointment in oneself, frustration and alienation, overwhelming and all-consuming grief. After getting past the surface-y angsty teenager self-pity, you start to realize that everything has changed in the series, and that it’s a beautiful, heartbreaking, and startling book. As Mark (from Mark Reads HP fame) says, this is when “shit gets real.”
——————-
P.S. – Sorry this is obnoxiously long, I just… I seriously could have written a novel about this novel. It’s a problem (who am I kidding – I love it).
