Now dear reader, this is where I hesitated for a second. My cousins, after all, hadn’t done any harm to the books, and they were showing that their stories were able to be used as something other than intended. Now, this anecdote serves as a rather literal indication of ‘books as games’, but it doesn’t take a lot of searching to find other, more subtle, instances. With the emergence of eReaders such as the Amazon Kindle, the general populace could finally read books without staring at a computer screen or carting around a heavy tome.

And of course, this was the point where the video-game industry decided to poke their noses in. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy gaming as much as the next person, and I also believe that companies such as Nintendo are actually helping kids’ literacy to an extent. Just picture it, dear reader. You’re in your favourite gaming shop, perusing the newest releases for your Nintendo DS, and all of a sudden you see ‘101 Classics’. For a moment you stand confused, but a little intrigued. Well, if Nintendo think it’s cool, then it must be interesting, right? Picking it up and going home, you slot it into your (insert eye-melting colour here) DS and being to play…er…read.

Okay, so not a lot of young teenagers would bother with this, but at least it’s a step in the right direction. Perhaps next time, Nintendo could create an interactive reading game. Oh wait, they’ve been around for years…they’re called RPG’s. (Although to be perfectly truthful, who ever reads all of the dialogue or cut scenes?…now be honest…). The fact remains that there are getting to be increasingly sneakier ways of producing book-based games. I don’t mean things like ‘Harry Potter’, which has already been turned into films…but other titles such as ‘The Women’s Murder Club’ series by James Patterson. How far are we able to say that offering an increased awareness of the existence of different books is a good thing…when on the other side of the coin, it may be argued that after playing the game, individuals may feel as though there is no point in reading the story itself?

It’s very easy to say that big corporations like Nintendo (I don’t mean to pick on them, honest…it’s just that it’s easier to stick with one example), are just trying to use any means available to them to ‘cash in’. It can’t be that difficult to download 101 books, throw them into a cartridge and call it a game, after all. I would like to think however (along with a world of sunshine minus global warming, fuel minus spills that go on for months –coughs-, and unicorns without being mentally unstable) that maybe…just maybe…someone at game HQ decided to put aside the age-old contention between reading and videogames and create something which might appeal to both.

As far as the entertainment versatility of books never ceases to amaze me…it doesn’t mean I don’t cringe when I see a particularly poor ‘game’ version of the novel however. Although, as the saying goes, you can lead an individual to knowledge, but you can’t make ‘em read. (Or something along those lines, anyway).

I like Ted Hughes. I really really really like Ted Hughes. My mum read The Iron Giant to me when I was younger, and ever since I have absolutely loved everything he has ever done. I have just ordered his collected works from Amazon, a massive brick which I will no doubt have to go through the hoo-ha of collecting from the sorting office because there is no way the postman will be able to fit it through my letterbox. It’s first on my agenda to read after exams are finished, which will make it the first book I have read purely for pleasure in three years.

When I tell people how much I like Ted Hughes, however, they often seem a bit uncomfortable. When I chose to write an essay on Oedipus last year, I got a lot of ‘Ted Hughes? But what about Sylvia Plath? You know he was really mean to her and practically murdered her, right?’ This got me thinking a lot about how much our knowledge of an artist’s personal life should affect our appreciation of their work. I do like Sylvia Plath, especially The Bell Jar and Ariel, and I am aware that she was married to Ted Hughes. If the film Sylvia, in which Hughes is played by a rather tasty Daniel Craig, is anything to go by, he was a right twit with regards to women. I also know that his next wife gassed herself as well. But do I care? Not particularly. I think that it has nothing to do with the quality of his poetry, just like I think that our knowledge of how Ariel was published posthumously should mean we read it like some kind of extended suicide note, or our knowledge of Oscar Wilde’s sexual orientation should mean we look for ‘clues’ in his work.

Obviously there are a few exceptions to this rule. For example, if someone started extolling the virtues of Mein Kampf while I was in earshot I would probably be outraged and, depending on how brave I was feeling that day, either confront them or edge awkwardly out of the room and make a point of avoiding them forever. This is a pretty extreme example though, and when the author of a book isn’t Hitler I think different rules should apply.

Overall, I think that you can like Frankenstein AND ‘To a Skylark’. You can like Hole AND Nirvana. You can like Ted Hughes AND Sylvia Plath. I think it’s a shame if people avoid appreciating things they enjoy because they somehow feel like they’re betraying another artist. Stop worrying and like what you like!

Johnson:

In terms of intelligence, Benjamin Johnson is your playwright. The son of a brick maker, he excelled to have one of the finest educations available, but he never let anyone forget about it. If he were a rock star I’d consider Johnson to be a more preachy version of Billy Bragg. In terms of his achievements, he created the genre of city comedies and was a pioneer of the masque and proved to be extremely popular. The reason I call him a preachier version of Bragg is because, well, although I have a limited reading of Johnson, (only having read Bartholomew Fair), I found the text comical but I couldn’t help but think that he was preaching of ways to behave and live your life. For that reason, I find myself at odds with Johnson. Whereas Bragg just highlights social problems, Johnson takes it upon himself to fix them. His style of writing for me is overcomplicated and bloated, and goes against the idea that an author should show you and not tell you the play’s ideas.

Kyd and Webster:

These guys more than Marlowe were condemned for their overuse of violence; however, I believe these guys are perhaps the two most underrated writers of the Renaissance. Thomas Kyd in a modern sense was a one hit wonder, his crowning achievement, the Spanish Tragedy; singlehandedly created the revenge genre and set the floor for many of the ideas used by Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Think of him as the Arthur Brown of 16th century, though instead of bringing ‘fire’, he brought murder, corpses and a play within a play. A lot like Brown’s famous song ‘fire’, the Spanish Tragedy was well written, but compared to other writers like Marlowe, Shakespeare and Webster, its language is rather lacklustre and not massively memorable. However, in terms of structure, Kyd was a master of pacing and irony.

John Webster, whose famous works include the Duchess of Malfi and the White Devil, was described by T.S. Elliot as seeing ‘the skull beneath the skin’ and for me is the only man who comes close to matching Shakespeare in terms of style, language and themes. Whereas some have a problem with excessive violence and would see Webster as an Alice Cooper-like figure, if you look you can see the reason for the violence and could look at the beauty in his words. Personally, I’d say he was the Renaissance version of Kurt Cobain. On the face of things Webster’s plays, like Cobain’s music, appear ugly and simple, but it’s that simplicity and rawness in his words that breathed new life into old words. The Duchess of Malfi – perhaps my favourite play to date – is no ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. It appears greater than that. To some it appears to be murder after murder it was a brilliant take on social hierarchy, greed and man’s vices that some can never understand with Webster’s brilliant malcontent Basola highlighting the dark secrets which man never wants to admit.

Wow…

I apologise if you’ve read this and felt patronized. This article for me was about having some fun and trying to spice up what many find to be quite boring and one-sided. For me it’s been less than 24 hours since I finished my last exam this year and already the editor’s got her pitchfork out and is prodding me for more words damn it! (Am I really that bad? – Ed). But in all seriousness, I just want to say thanks to her for giving me this opportunity to write and to thank you the readers for supporting me and the site. I now have a summer to write my heart out, so maybe if you’re all good boys and girls, eat your vitamins and say your prayers, Uncle J might have a flee more articles up his sleeve before the summer’s out.

Another issue is how the theatre of today has a ridicules stigma of being for the posh (tosh). However, Renaissance theatre in my view could be compared with the evolution and rise of Rock and Roll. Wait, please bare with me, although it might sound like I’m trying to get down with today’s youth, I’m honestly not (for starters ‘down’ went out of fashion with the Macarena). It’s a loose comparison, but actors and playwrights had groupies no different from rock stars today, although I think it’s time I prove this whilst telling you about the men who have ended up existing in Shakespeare’s shadows and maybe encourage some of you to check out some forgotten heroes.

I admit though it may be funny to view a genius like Shakespeare though as anything but that, here’s a story that might change your mind. During a performance of Richard III, the actor playing Richard was invited by a woman to come to her bedchamber after the show. Unknown to them, Shakespeare had overheard this so before the play had finished he visited the women. While ‘Richard’ was crying out for a horse, Shakey was crying out for…anyway, after the performance there was a knock at the woman’s room, she asked who it was. He cried, ‘its Richard III’, and Shakespeare cried back ‘but William the Conquer came first’. Not the sort of you expects a genius to do but consider he was a rock star before the term was invented.

Shakespeare:

Shakespeare without a doubt is the godfather of Renaissance English and to many the king of the English language. (The Editor here eyetwitches but miraculously refrains from comment). In this sense it’s easy to compare the king of English with the king of Rock ‘n Roll, Elvis (ahaha). In terms of their cultural impact, both were icons in and now out of their time. However, perhaps the overexposure they’ve received by fans and critics means you either love them or you hate them. Popularity can be a cruel mistress, personally I think the main reason we might dislike Shakespeare could very similar to the reasons we might dislike Elvis or the Beatles or Led Zeppelin, in that we’re constantly reminded of how ‘awesome‘ and ‘groundbreaking‘ they were. We might find ourselves sick of them and whether you know their stuff well or not at all, you just feel like punching them. Another reason I’ve compared Shakey with Elvis is that neither wrote their own original material. Whereas Elvis covered and had others write his songs, Shakespeare (with the exception of the Tempest) based all his plays from existing stories, dramas and histories which already existed. (‘King Lear’ is based from a play of the same name, for example. – Ed). However, it’s not something that dents either man’s legacy, if anything both were able to make something that had already been done theirs, and went on to influence the books and music we all love now in one way or another.

Marlowe:

Probably more than any other Renaissance playwright, Marlowe was the closest to living like a rock star. He was an alleged spy, atheist, and apparently his two favourite things were ‘tobacco and boys’ and he died in rock star fashion after being stabbed in the eye. He was a controversial person and that same controversy and fascination with taboos can be seen in many of his plays like Doctor Faustus, which deals with a man selling his soul to the devil and Edward II a history which may satirize Elizabethan politics with homosexual undertones. If Marlowe was a rock star today I’d imagine he’d probably be Ozzy Osborne or even Marilyn Manson…not just because they all pushed the boundaries of decency but in terms of performance each man has given the stage something unique. In Edward II the torture scene which involves a bent over king and a hot poker would have made many men nauseous. Although the Puritans back then, as well as perhaps their modern reincarnations (the Mary Whitehouse’s of the world) would call it excessive and unnecessary, myself and many other Marlowe fans would see it as art for the purpose of higher meaning. Yet, in terms of his writing ability, I feel Marlowe was slightly weaker than Shakespeare, (-Gasp!- -Ed).

Next Installment: Johnson, Kyd and Webster!

Don’t worry, dear reader. This article isn’t about UK politics, or a rant about how the Government ought to be doing more for school education. No, instead I’ll be running on a slight tangent to the above comment (but on something which is still related to it, which I’ll explain later), and talking about the good and bad aspects of mandatory reading in schools. “But surely it’s something we need to have! Surely it’s good for our children to have their literary horizons broadened!?” I hear you cry. You would certainly be right in your estimations there…but what’s the use of such broad reading if, when they leave school, the children then decide to never pick up another book?

The problem with mandatory reading in schools is, for the most part, that it’s boring. Granted, the lucky few who are allowed to study things like ‘Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’ and ‘The Smallest Dragonboy’ would probably argue against that point. But no-one would argue the fact that when Year 10 rolls around, the bombardment of Shakespeare, Austin and Browning begins. Now I’m certainly not saying here that these three writers aren’t worthy of literary exploration. Definitely not! My point here is the fact that many 14-16 year olds find the likes of Austin rather…well…dry. I know of plenty of adults who have completed their education and still find these sorts of books too dry to read. It’s all very well and good to want to give students an appreciation of good literature, but at the same time it has to be balanced against the desire to get them reading outside of school. In other words, we have to give them things that will spark their interest and desire to learn more and read more broadly.

The problem that arises here, is exactly what the government should therefore put on the syllabus. With something as subjective as literature, it’s hardly the case that whatever is chosen will be something that everyone likes. But what if we were to get a little more democratic about the syllabus? Instead of making it a hard and fast rule that every class needs to study a certain Shakespeare play or a certain poem, let the class choose for themselves at the start of the course from a selection. Instead of the overused ‘Romeo and Juliet’, why not let them have the ability to choose ‘The Tempest’ or ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’? Indeed, I know of one or two people who were able to do this for GCSE (lucky sots), and subsequently, they thoroughly enjoyed that part of their course.

Part of the problem is that teenagers don’t see the reason for having to read books such as ‘Jane Eyre‘. How is the tale of a governess set over a hundred years ago in any way relevant? And don’t think I’m knocking ‘Jane Eyre here‘. It’s a personal favourite of mine…but even I can see their point. What’s the matter with updating things a little? Even H.G. Wells would be better to capture the interest of teenagers. In my own personal experience, people at my school definitely enjoyed Steinbeck compared to Shakespeare. There were even one or two in my class who felt guilty for not enjoying Shakespeare as much as they ‘should have’. Here’s another problem. The expectation is that everyone should appreciate the Bard as an amazing writer that no-one else can even touch.

…I’m sorry to say that since coming to University and learning more about other authors of the Renaissance era, Shakespeare impresses me less and less. Don’t get me wrong, dear reader; I still adore some of his works. (‘King Lear’ and ‘The Tempest’, for example). But he isn’t exactly the be-all and end-all. Why don’t we let those at GCSE level express themselves a little more? Finding the good points about a novel is easy. It doesn’t take any courage. But to point out the flaws and what could be better? Surely that shows a level of independent thought? The chance isn’t there, however, and I feel that it’s a crying shame.

As you can see, I’m not calling for a complete overhaul of the system. I think on a functional level, it still works. What I do think, is that we need to call for a little more flexibility. If we can get that balance just right, there’s no reason why those literacy levels shouldn’t be on the immediate rise.

That particular moment, dear reader, got me thinking. Why should it be that so many independent bookshops have to close down, never to be heard of again? As many of my readers probably know, I’m very much the supporter of smaller businesses, especially when it comes to booksellers. This article will therefore concentrate on uncovering the reasons behind ‘The Death of the Bookshop’.

Arguably, the biggest ‘threat’ to bookshops is the internet. Why go to all the trouble of going somewhere to hunt for a book they may not have, when you can simply order one from Ebay or Amazon for about the same price? The age of ‘getting stuff quickly and easily’ is definitely in full swing, and you can kind of see the point when it comes to people who don’t have that much time to be able to traipse around and search for what they want. Also, with pieces of technology such as the Kindle Reader and the iwhatever becoming increasingly popular, more people are reverting to electronic versions of books in order to save space and get what they want with relative ease. Even Google Books are still hard at work, putting up electronic versions of non-copyright books left, right and centre. (Personally, I can’t quibble at this, since I’ve been known to utilise this free service on a number of occasions due to my University degree).

This isn’t to say that this reason should technically make us assume that the Internet is as evil as a T-Rex with a headache of course, but those musings will take place in my next article, in order to save overlapping here.

Also, as I’ve covered before, it’s a pretty safe assumption that people aren’t reading as much as they used to…or at least, the younger generations aren’t. (Not for leisure, in any case). Obviously, less reading leads to less books being needed, which in turn leads to bookshops becoming places that don’t even register in peoples’ consciousnesses in between Primark and HMV. They aren’t even the type of thing people would tend to go in and browse, unless reading is actually one of their hobbies.

The last ‘main’ reason for the slow death which independent bookshops are now facing, is the simple fact that such shops are unable to compete with the bigger chain stores such as Waterstones and W.H.Smiths. The two mentioned companies are able to spend thousands on window dressings, promotion…and of course, they get all of the latest bestsellers on the shelves the moment they leave the presses. Most of the time all independent bookshops can hope to achieve in that regard is to get either very good second-hand copies of books, or to hope for bulk-buys of ‘B-List’ books from the publishers. Of course, this means that they’re hardly going to have the latest in the ‘Twilight’ saga, and therefore no queues of people eager to get their hands on the latest read.

I’ve only managed to cover a handful of what I believe to be the main reasons for the untimely demise of the independent bookshop. There are probably many more causes, but I think there are enough here for you to all ponder over for a while, dear readers. My next article will aim to focus on the potential ways in which bookshops may be able to dig themselves out of this difficult situation. In the mean time, I’m off to the market to pick up a nice paperback for myself.

Not too long ago, (literally less than five minutes for me) I finally finished a very problematic review. For a week or so I have suffered with what many call ‘writers block‘, but what I personally call ‘creative constipation’. It’s not a pleasant image and it’s not something that can be solved with a Senacot tablet, but the words wouldn’t get onto the paper for one main reason: my contradicting memories of the book and what I felt about it now in hindsight, three years later. Although, after a long and painful process of writing all these different ideas, I was finally able to come to some conclusions. It made me think about something I’ve never considered before (and no it wasn’t a change of career). It was how our interpretations of a book either strengthen our love/hate and memory of it, or change our view completely.

The main influence on this, I think, is the media. In a society full of critics – whether they’re in the papers, or on TV – even if you completely disagree with what they are saying it does make you question your own views. I admit that I’ve read some reviews on books that I had wanted to buy, and then found that the points which the critic had made stuck in my head and affected my view of said book. As an English student especially, you are constantly dealing with critics who think Shakespeare is the best thing since the invention of TV (no…wait…) and mainstream writings like Stephen King are rubbish (I’m talking about you Harold Bloom!). And whether I like to admit it or not, it influences how I see the book, especially when I’m being judged against what critics say. However, this isn’t always a bad thing. When dealing with major classics and well known texts I use a site called Sparknotes, which is brilliant for analytical details, and helps strengthen my opinions of a book. (i.e. on one of my favourite novels, Great Expectations, I never would have noticed the genius way Dickens physically likens some characters to everyday household objects, and this made me appreciate the novel even more). (Plus, this website saves a lot of English degree students a lot of time…not that I’ve ever used it, I swear! – Ed)

However, my main grievance with critics is that they can turn the greatest authors into idiots and make the worst authors into Gods. That’s something that especially influences my own reviews, by trying to suggest what you might like or what ‘I’ liked so you can make your own minds up.

Your friends and family also affect what you read in the first place. I partly read Great Expectations because my dad said how he enjoyed it, and Philip K Dick’s on my to-read list because of a good friend of mine. However, that can also affect how you enjoy a book. If it raises your expectations and it doesn’t reach them, you might hate the book more than you would of have otherwise.

Finally, you can also influence yourself, perhaps by doing research into the author and the book. You might find some respect for the author, or something that makes you rethink your initial opinion. I find wiki is always a useful tool, just to get an overview of the person behind the book and what the book was suppose to be about, because then you can judge if it failed or not. However, sometimes, it seems to happen naturally. For me with Frankenstein, I could separate the book completely from the films, but I could also reflect on Shelley‘s writing compared to other books of that era I had read thereafter.

In the end it’s something that I’m now conscious of, and if you weren’t before then you are now. The next time you reflect back on a book, who knows, something may have changed.

I don’t know whether it’s because my English degree has drilled the importance of correct grammar and good writing into my brain, but I know that when I read a book, I immediately notice when a particular sentence seems disjointed, or when a character decides to do something…well…uncharacteristic. On the other side of the coin, I don’t need any sort of qualifications to know when the storyline of a book isn’t to my taste.

So, from these two short musings, we have come to a dead-halt in the middle of a rather interesting debate. What is more important…the story arc that is being written, or the way in which the story is being portrayed through the writing itself? Well, if we’re going to be honest…it seems as though all you need is for one of them to be great, and the second can just be borderline average and you’ll still manage to have a bestseller.

Granted, most of the time both elements have ‘this is great, read me!’ markers all over them, but just occasionally…

It is of my humble opinion that I can offer you, dear reader, an example of both of the lacking elements mentioned above. And I can even do it with two book series that you will actually have heard of. Now, before we go any further, these are indeed my own opinions…and I do not want to take anything away from the time and dedication that these authors had to throw into these works. They’re just not to my taste. Right…with that little safety net put up, let’s continue shall we?

A book series that I will always say has a great storyline to but is slightly waffly and disjointed (and this in itself is more or less only from book 5 onwards) when it comes to the actual writing (unless it was up for an award for writing about teenage angst) is Harry Potter…alright, there are a number of plot twists that were as subtle as a dinosaur wearing skinny jeans, but apart from that, it really captures the imagination. The other series I’m going to use is Stephanie Meyer’s ‘Twilight’, because although the storyline concept makes the English student in me die a little inside, I took out a few lines from the book and tried to re-write them with little success…adjectives excluded.

At the end of the day, it’s up to the individual reader to figure out which of these two elements is the most important to their reading enjoyment. As I’ve said before, it certainly isn’t uncommon for a piece of literature to be able to have both, but in my experience one is usually stronger than the other.

The thing to remember however, is that although I’ve been talking about ‘Stories Vs Writing’ as though the two are constantly engaging in some epic battle to outdo the other, the reality is that when the two actually manage to form a strong cohesion, the piece of literature in question by far excels something which can only boast to one of them.

Another major symbol in the Harry Potter series is the snake. It is almost needless to point out that a snake is a phallic symbol. I would argue that the climax of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, in which Harry must go through a secret entrance in a girl’s bathroom to a cave in which he does battle with a massive snake, represents his struggle for normal development. In addition to this, Harry is able to talk to snakes, and this is a massive taboo within the wizarding world. The fact that speaking parseltongue is an indication of evil for most wizards could be a symbol for the way in which the subject is alienated from his primitive instincts and desires by the demands and judgements of society. Further phallic imagery abounds throughout the novel. Wands are obvious, as is the sword of Gryffindor. All of these are objects through which Harry can channel his power throughout the novels. They are expressions of his inner power, and if they are taken away he is powerless. Hagrid, who had his wand snapped, serves as a warning throughout the novels. It could be argued that the frilly pink umbrella, in which he stores the pieces of his wand, is a sign of Hagrid’s feminisation by the loss of his wand. Expulsion is a constant threat, and Harry comes very close to it and escapes several times throughout the series. I view this as a representation of castration anxiety.

The other evidence that Harry has an Oedipus complex is extensive. Ginny, the girl who Harry ends up marrying, looks like his dead mother. Lily Potter has long, thick, dark, red hair. Ginny also has long, thick, dark red hair. They must look pretty similar. Does the fact that Harry is attracted to Ginny point to an unconscious attraction to his own mother? In addition to this, you could argue that since Ginny is his best friend’s sister, she is ‘forbidden’ and off-limits in the same way that marrying his own mother would be. Also, when Voldemort kills Harry’s parents, his father is killed first. This means that his mother dies cradling him, and this results in the lightning shaped scar he has. He gets full possession of his mother before her death, and evidence of this is left in a permanent mark on his head. This doesn’t mean that Harry is happy on a conscious level about his father’s death, and in fact it causes him a great deal of trauma as would be expected. The Oedipal conflict operates completely in the unconscious, and the effort it takes to repress traumatic memories and desires is what causes symptoms to manifest themselves. If the death of Harry’s parents represents a kind of wish fulfilment, he is unaware of it.

It is also important to remember that Voldemort, the representation of pure evil, literally has achieved the Oedipal fantasy. He killed his father, Tom Riddle, to avenge his mother’s death. Voldemort represents what happens when the demands of society are ignored for the primitive demands of the unconscious, (what Freud would call the Id). He also clearly has some unresolved issues- his obsessive protection of Nagini throughout Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows could be argued to represent a kind of castration anxiety.

Overall, I think it would be really interesting to look into this subject further and with real academic research. There are lots of things I haven’t mentioned, such as the antagonism between Harry and Snape, who loved Harry’s mother, the excessive inadequate father figures throughout the novels, etc. I would love to talk more about it, but if I don’t stop now I am going to start waffling about people ‘riding’ around with wood between their legs playing with their balls. (Quidditch.) And sometimes a broomstick is just a broomstick.

End of Article

Written by Lucy Pratt, Edited by Sara Slack

I’m sure it’s not just me who’s noticed the huge amount of phallic imagery in the Harry Potter series. It’s quite hard not to when you’re reading a novel about people running about ‘waving’ their ‘wands’ at each other. It would be fairly easy to brush this off as people reading too far into what is really just an innocent children’s coming-of-age series. Or perhaps even just J.K Rowling having a bit of a laugh. However, I actually think that if you analyse the Harry Potter novels from a Freudian perspective, there’s a surprising amount of material to talk about. Since Freudian psychoanalysis is concerned with development and growth of the individual, and Harry Potter books are about the growth of Harry as an individual, you could argue that it’s relevant to look at them from this perspective. As anyone who has ever had to study psychoanalysis will know, the Oedipus complex is an unconscious desire to kill your father and gain full possession of your mother. It results in castration anxiety, and needs to be resolved for the subject to develop fully. I would argue that Harry suffers from an unresolved Oedipus complex, is trapped in the phallic stage, and many of his neuroses and behaviour throughout the novels can be explained by this.

There is such a huge amount of symbolism in the Harry Potter books that it would be impossible to talk about it all here. It is important to bear in mind, though, that Freud placed a great deal of importance on symbols in dreams as representing anxieties and desires from the unconscious. What you choose to take from this is up to you – some critics see it as possible to read literature in the same way as a psychoanalyst would a dream. Looking for symbols and analysing them can illuminate the anxieties and desires of the author. In other words, you could view all the imagery in the series as demonstrating J.K. Rowling’s own anxieties. You could argue that since the books are so popular, the symbolism represents a public and collective anxiety, and that is why people like them. Or, you could argue that it is there because all development involves resolution of conflict and entering of various stages, that the characterisation of Harry and his development requires portrayal of these conflicts to be believable. I am examining the books from a mixture of these perspectives – I think that the symbolism was put into the novels unconsciously by the author. However, I am not sure whether they represent anxieties of the author, or just of Harry the character. Perhaps he is portrayed so well that his own unconscious anxieties and desires are represented in the symbolism of the novels.

The first major symbol in the Harry Potter novels is the Mirror of Erised. Jacques Lacan, a psychoanalyst who extended the theories of Freud, argues for a ‘Mirror Stage’ as part of every human’s development. The Mirror Stage occurs when an infant- who is weak and dependent, sees themselves in a mirror as strong and whole. Lacan argues that at this point the infant is alienated from its own body, which is still uncoordinated and weak compared to what they see in the mirror. Harry’s fixation with the Mirror of Erised in ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ could be read as a symbol of Harry’s alienation and unresolved anxieties. He sees himself surrounded by his family, when in fact he is stood alone. Harry’s ability to master The Mirror of Erised and make it deliver the philosopher’s stone to him at the end of the novel could be said to represent his resolution of the Mirror Stage, something which Lacan would argue could only happen in a fantasy.

End of Part 1

Written by Lucy Pratt, Edited by Sara Slack