On the surface, this remark speaks solely to the series’s cultural centerpiece of the Death Eaters and their social structures. He says in chapter 25 of The Goblet of Fire, “There are some spots that don’t come off, Snape. Mad-Eye Moody is particularly vocal on the matter of Snape’s Dark Mark.
A woman poisons.Īdditionally, coded language about gender exists in almost every description offered of Snape throughout the series. In traditional narratives (and Harry Potter is a decidedly traditional narrative), a man murders with a gun or a sword or a knife. Potions are easily interpreted as women’s work, whether you examine them from the Muggle equivalent of cooking or the fairytale lexicon of witches stirring pots.Įven the violence in Snape’s work – from the dissection of ingredients to the presumed skill with poisoning – speaks to feminine archetypes. This is compounded by other key details of Snape’s work from the cauldrons in which he brews to the very nature of the cultural associations we have with potions work. In fact, almost immediately, from his first speech about “foolish wand waving,” JK Rowling informs us that this character is, on some level, a rejection of masculinity, especially in light of the many moments of phallic humor wands provide us throughout the series.
However, as the series ultimately reveals, Severus Snape is no villain, which is what makes his representation of female attributes, and in fact, female heroism, so unique.įrom the first time we meet Snape we are presented with a powerful figure, but not one who is overtly masculine. There is, of course, a long history of queering the villain. In many ways, none of what I’m about to go into regarding Snape is a particularly unique phenomenon. That guise being the character of Severus Snape. In fact, I’m now going to totally contradict myself and say that female heroism isn’t absent in the shadow of Harry’s journey, it’s just in a superficially male guise. This can be explained by many things, including word-of-mouth fandom culture in female-dominated spaces like Livejournal, the long-standing not not especially proven argument that “girl will read books about boys, but boys won’t read books about girls” and, of course, the possibility that the conservatism of the Harry Potter universe’s view of women may be reflective of real world norms and even desires.
In fact, while the Harry Potter series can only barely pass the Bechdel Test, the test is arguably a poor gauge of female strength for novels which center constantly on the status of both Harry Potter and his adversary, Lord Voldemort, within the plot.ĭespite all this, adult fan involvement with the world of Harry Potter can look predominantly female (certainly HP cons are generally 90% female in attendance). Bellatrix is Voldemort’s romantically, or possibly erotically, chosen, and Molly Weasley is defined through her epitomization of motherhood. While significant female characters exist in the form of Hermione Granger, Bellatrix Lestrange and Molly Weasley, each of these characters are largely defined by their relational roles: Hermione is Harry’s friend. One of the persistent criticisms of the Harry Potter series has been its portrayal of gender roles, and specifically its lack of representation when it comes to female heroism. I should warn you it’s profoundly dichotomous about gender, because with the possible exception of Tonks and various people expressing horror at having to polyjuice themselves into the form of another gender, the Harry Potter universe is profoundly dichotomous about gender, so I’m arguing from within its constraints.
But since people are always asking me for it, and I actually want to reference its arguments in a post I’m working on about the patterns in how people jump from one fandom to another, I’d thought I’d throw up an edited, bloggy version of it here. I’ve threatened for years to turn it into something more formal, and no doubt should. At, I believe, Terminus, I gave a paper related to Snape and female heroism.