Being Hermione Granger

Recently, I've been listening to Stephen Fry's recordings of the Harry Potter series. Many people of my age identify these books as an integral part of their childhood and adolescence--a part of the Millennial birthright, almost.


Now, I can't exactly claim to be one of these people. I did read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone after it was published (twice in a row) and saw the film version (three times in theatres), but I did not spend my teenaged years waiting in line for the release of each book and every film. For several years--probably from when I was ten to when I was thirteen or fourteen--I wasn't allowed to read Harry Potter, mostly because my parents objected to Harry's rule-breaking and distrust of authority. I am not someone who claims that "Everything I need to know I learned from Harry Potter." Nevertheless, I have developed a deep affection for Harry and his world.

As my brother and I entered high school we gradually and naturally grew out of any prohibition on the series. We both loved the books and enjoyed the movies. While in college, I even turned up to the midnight showing of the final film (an hysterically emotional experience for most people in the audience. I confess to crying a considerable amount). My most vivid memory of interacting with these stories was through the medium of the audiobook. I used to sit on my bed at home, working furiously away at Algebra II, Trignometry, or Calculus (always math, which took a long time and didn't engage the verbal part of my brain), with disc after disc of Harry Potter playing away in the background. In fact, I listened to the final book before reading it. During the frightfully emotional scenes of the Battle of Hogwarts, I paced my bedroom, eyes streaming and nose running. It was a fantastic way to experience the story for the first time.

Ever since my exposure to those recordings, no other audiobook has been as satisfying to listen to. I suppose this is because they combine a funny, original, and noble take on the fantasy genre with an engaging school story. I love school. As someone who has been out of formal education for a while, I can say truly, I adore the structure of an educational environment. I miss the sense of accomplishment, the wonder of exposure to a new idea, the comfort of having a stack of books in which to busy oneself. The Potter books take that love, and add to it a castle, a magnificent old library, four poster beds, quill, ink, and parchment, and school sports way more interesting than football or track. Even today, listening to the books once more, I think, "I want to go to Hogwarts!"

And, like most female readers, I sympathize deeply with Hermione Granger, the stories' female protagonist. She's an easy character to like, at least when you're reading about her. Wildly intelligent, committed, passionate, hard-working, independent-minded, and successful. Who doesn't want to be that way? The very extremity of her character is charming. For me, Hermione is a gateway into the wizarding world. I relate to her. I can see myself experiencing Hogwarts through her person. I don't think I'm alone in this.

Readers constantly confront the frustration of being unable to enter the worlds they imaginatively inhabit. As a child, I used to sit in  my closet, willing the back wall to disappear and leave a door open to Narnia. Upon occasion I stared into mirrors and hoped that, like Alice, I would find the glass melting into mist and be able to step through into Looking-Glass House. I've grown out of the passionate belief that such things might be possible. I haven't left behind the desire. It simply takes new forms.

One of these forms is the desire to be like a character in real life. This is a natural and even admirable impulse. I want to be like Sam in The Lord of the Rings, heroically faithful in circumstances far beyond my control. I want to be like Elizabeth Bennett, a dignified, intent, and bemused observer of the world around me. And I want to be like Hermione Granger. I basically want to be Hermione Granger.

Somehow, that particular desire is unique for me, although it's certainly not unique to me. Perhaps this is because I see a lot of Hermione in myself. I'm academic. I'm obsessive. I'm rather too prone to scold people. So the impulse to be like her is an impulse to turn up the intensity of my natural propensities--work even harder, obsess even more, make my opinions more clearly and defiantly known. But of course, any attempt to do that fails because, what Hermione does unselfconsciously in the imaginary world, I do self-consciously in the real world. And that self-consciousness is not only incredibly obnoxious. It distracts me from actually working to be a better person. It becomes about presentation, about impressing or amusing people, rather than about developing the gifts and strengths I've been given.

So I have to remind myself that I do not want to be Hermione. I want to be Sarah. But I can still enjoy the narrative through Hermione, and more importantly I can still strive to emulate the characteristics that I admire in her. I can strive to be more passionate about my work, more committed in pursuing my goals, more passionate about others' welfare, more courageous in stating what I believe to be true, and more confident in my own capabilities. I don't need to be more obsessive or more of an insufferable know-it-all, as I'm sure those who endured my adolescence will tell you.
When I return to Harry Potter, I do so seeking the comfort of a familiar story. Nothing rivals the delight of re-tracing a narrative journey already full of memories. I also return for inspiration, to be reminded of traits central to my sense of identity. The series, and particularly the character of Hermione, serve as a perpetual reminder to be loyal, hard-working, and, yes, studious. But I have to be intentional to channel that inspiration, not into the desire to be someone else, but into the determination to serve God by being a more gracious, loving, and confident version of myself.