Harry Potter and the Chamber of Complicated Emotions

What’s a good girl to do when literary nostalgia meets the reality of authors doing sh*tty things?

Hello, readers. It’s been 11 days since our last (first) meeting…which is to say, as much as I would love to commit to a regular weekly/biweekly schedule of dropping into your inbox, if I’m being honest, this is probably going to be a “surprise and delight” situation (at least for now). While I can’t promise you a predictable delivery date, I can promise that when a post goes out, it’s because I actually have something to say, and not just because I’m trying to meet some standard for “success.” I hope each post meets you at the perfect point in time. Thanks for reading and subscribing!

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I love the Harry Potter books. I want to be a good person. At the intersection of these two facts lies my anxiety.

I recently read Imogen, Obviously by Becky Abertalli,¹ and the main character (Imogen) and I have basically the same personality (right down to the bisexual panic).

At one point, Imogen (pre bi-awakening) is trying to figure out if she’s “allowed” to like a particular film, worried she’s either A) enjoying a problematic movie, or B) appropriating queer culture with her fandom. The way Imogen describes her first time watching the film made me simultaneously snort laugh and cringe because it was so…me.

“Before I’d even left Lili’s house, I was already scouring the internet for other people’s reactions. But that just made me more confused. Every think piece felt like the definitive final word — and then I’d be fully convinced by the exact opposite points in the next one. I was a human sailboat, blown in every direction by a storm of decades-old media discourse. Am I allowed to love this? That was always the question.”

I’m a good girl. I always have been and, in some ways, I always will be. That’s one reason I don’t describe myself as a “recovering” good girl (even though it would be a great line for my bio). It’s just who I am. It’s part of my personality that’s not likely to change, even if I sometimes wish I was the type of person gutsy enough to yell “Suck my labia!” in a crowded stadium.²

But my definition of what it means to be good — that is capable of changing and growing. And it has (like, a lot) over the last decade.

In my quest to be a better human, there are two things I’ve come to view as essential: 1) a willingness to listen to other people’s lived experiences, and 2) doing your best to avoid causing other people pain.

Harry Potter has been causing the trans community pain ever since its author started flying her TERF flag and spouting transphobic rhetoric across the internet. And recently she was at it again, leaving me pondering the question many others before me have asked: Is it possible to separate the art from the artist?

And even if it is…is that the right thing to do?

As someone who grew up in a conservative Christian household, this isn’t the first time my literary nostalgia has bumped up against uncomfortable truths.

Some of the first books I remember falling in love with as a kid were The Mandie Books³ and the Little House on the Prairie series. Both filled with grossly stereotyped and racist depictions of Black and Native American characters.

As a teen, I would stay up reading until 2 a.m., engrossed in the WWII novels written by husband and wife team Brock and Bodie Thoene.⁴ Now, I recognize their appropriation of Jewish culture and anti-Palestinian and anti-Muslim bias, propagating the idea that other religions are inherently flawed at best (and evil at worst) and can only be redeemed through Christian conquest and conversion.

These stories have been easy to leave behind, like childhood mementos buried in a box in the attic. They’re there, a part of my history, and I can be grateful for the role they played in fueling young Ashley’s dreams of becoming a writer. Beyond that, they don’t mean anything to the person I am today.

But the tales of The Boy Who Lived feel different.

While by no means perfect (it would be hypocritical of me not to acknowledge the broad, stereotypical brushstrokes used to paint the few non-white characters), for me, reading Harry Potter marked a pivotal, triumphant turning point in my life.

As I mentioned in my last post⁵, thanks to 1990s satanic panic, Harry Potter was one of many things banned in my house growing up. Which meant I read the books for the first time as a 30-year-old adult, less than ten years ago. It was my first big “Fuck you!” to the fear-soaked religious rules of my youth.

I loved every page. I devoured the series, read them to my kids, listened to the audiobooks on roadtrips, dressed up as Professor Trelawney for Halloween, and added my Hogwarts House to the list of official personality descriptors in all of my online bios.⁶

And I also mourned things that had been lost.

I didn’t get to experience reading the books or watching the films for the first time alongside my peers. I didn’t get to feel the anticipation of each new title, begging my parents to take me to the bookstore to stand in line for the midnight release. I didn’t get to see myself in Hermione — a good girl who could still question things and speak up and stand up for herself — at an age when that would have really mattered.

Decades of joy, stolen from me by the people who convinced a whole generation of parents that the devil was lurking behind every corner.

Joy that’s now being stolen a second time by the exact same propaganda, hatred, and fear. It sucks. And it makes me angry — for the trans community, for myself, and for so many others.

I’m so fucking tired of bigoted assholes stealing our joy.⁷

Which brings me back to the question: Is it possible to separate the art from the artist? And even if it is…is that the right thing to do?

There’s a lot of anxious side effects that come with always wanting to do and say the right thing. I overthink things constantly. Gather facts and well-crafted arguments like armor. Second guess myself on the regular. Take, for example, this sampling of the thoughts swirling through my head as I write this…

Is all this just me being selfish, trying to justify why my joy is more important than someone else’s pain? I don’t know. Should I have picked a different topic for this post? Maybe. Will I decide a month from now that I’m ready to move on and tuck all my Harry Potter books in a closet or the Little Free Library at the end of my driveway? Again, maybe.

Is it possible to separate the art from the artist? And even if it is, is it the right thing to do?

My answer is…I don’t have an answer.⁸ Nor am I certain I have the right to even propose one.

If I did, I would say that I’m learning a lot of things aren’t black and white. And I don’t think there actually can be a one-size-fits-all solution to art and the biased artist, because it’s always present in varying degrees. We all walk around and create stuff — beautiful stuff — with brains that have been soaked in the cultural and familial sludge of (sometimes loud, sometimes quiet) misogyny, racism, and homophobia. Which is probably why, when Baby It’s Cold Outside gets called out for being a date rape song, and Dr. Seuss gets called out for his racist caricatures, and JKR gets called out for being transphobic, the pushback is so strong. Acknowledging when art is problematic means also acknowledging when our love of that art is problematic and all the reasons why we didn’t even notice the problem until someone else pointed it out.⁹

What I can say with certainty is that we can’t look away, play the “it doesn’t affect me” card and ignore the issue.

So for now, I’m doing my best to be thoughtful. To live in the messy, imperfect space of “figuring it out.” To accept that I probably will fuck up and get called out and need to learn (and to remember that, too, is part of being a good human).

And I’m taking the small steps some in the trans community have suggested: I’ve stopped recording the Harry Potter movies on my TV streaming services. I don’t buy new Harry Potter merchandise. And I’m grateful I got all my books secondhand so not a penny of my purchase went into She Who Shall Not Be Named’s pocket.¹⁰

At its heart, Harry’s story is one of processing grief, the strength gained from community, found family, and standing up to darkness and hatred even when all seems lost.

In that spirit, here’s to complicated emotions, figuring shit out together, and protecting trans folks.

🏳️‍⚧️ ❤️ 🏳️‍🌈

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The stuff bringing me healing and joy in the midst of this cultural dumpster fire.

🏳️‍⚧️ Schuyler Bailar, aka @pinkmantaray on Instagram. Through Schuyler’s content I’ve learned (and continue to learn) so much about the trans experience, issues impacting the trans community, and how to be a better ally. I also highly recommend his middle grade novel, Obie is Man Enough, written from Schuyler’s own experience as a trans athlete.

🏳️‍🌈 Pride night at the Portland Thorns’ last home game, with this beautiful tifo tribute to late drag queen Darcelle XV. Army veteran Walter Cole, better known as Darcelle, was the world’s oldest working drag performer until he passed away in March at 92.

📺 The final season of Never Have I Ever. I wish I’d had Devi and her deeply flawed and lovable self as a teen to show me that even the biggest fuck ups are survivable. (Let’s be honest…I still need this reminder as a grown ass adult.) Shoutout to trans actress Alexander Billings who plays the role of the guidance counselor, Miss Warner, with the perfect blend of exasperation and love for her students.

🧙 If you’re looking for an alternative wizarding world…The Scholomance trilogy, which I finished reading earlier this year, has all the reluctant hero, dark academia, incredible world-building, found family, and diverse (well-written and essential to the story) character vibes to scratch that Harry Potter itch.

🎨 Two words: Guerrilla Art.

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How do you feel about art vs. the artist? Which trans creators, authors, and educators are you following? Are there any other books, movies, or shows that are filling the Harry Potter shaped hole in your heart? Leave a comment with your thoughts and recs!

1. Becky Abertalli’s Medium essay on her journey to coming out as bisexual was hugely instrumental in giving me the courage to recognize my own queerness. And I saw myself even more in Imogen’s character. I cannot recommend this book highly enough!

2. Dear Portland Thorns fan, you will forever be a goddess and a hero in my mind. ⚽️🌹

3. A historical Christian mystery series you’ve probably never heard of — think Nancy Drew meets American Girl with highly religious themes.

4. Another Christian series you’ve probably never heard of. But all you really need to know is that the Thoenes are some of the most prolific writers in Christian fiction, they’ve been awarded multiple Evangelical Christian Publishers Gold Medallion Awards, one of their most recent blog posts was titled “Evil People Declare Sin is Their ‘Right,’” and a couple months ago they appeared on CBN News to discuss end-times prophesies.

5. Satanic Panic 2: The Sequel

6. Hufflepuff, INFJ, Enneagram 1 (in case you were wondering).

7. At one point in editing this post, a voice in my head shouted, “But joy is internal! It is not dependent on external circumstances, which means no one can steal it from you! You can choose joy!” And to that tiny, rich, white evangelical pastor still lodged in my brain I would like to say this: To believe you can choose — at any moment, despite your circumstances — to sustain a feeling of joy is a very privileged perspective. Joy, like many other emotions, first requires a sense of safety. It is very difficult to feel love, joy, or peace when you don’t even feel safe and your entire being is focused on just surviving. So yes, misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, conservative lawmakers, and the U.S. Supreme Court are actively stripping away so many people’s sense of safety — and therefore, our joy.

8. If you were hoping for a definitive answer, sorry. I don’t have those. I turned them all in with the rest of my Good Christian Girl starter pack when I became a heathen.

9. I really love this Washington Post article from Philip Nel, professor and scholar of children’s literature, on cancel culture, the need for reflective nostalgia, and breaking up with your favorite racist childhood books.

10. I think this is the most difficult thing to contend with when trying to separate the art and the artist, because financially, it’s nearly impossible. JKR has made it clear in at least one tweet that she doesn’t care what people think because her royalty checks just keep coming.