Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Magical hogwash
“Walnut” (and what is it about you muggles and your nicknames? I am reminded of Regina Whitworth, a fellow Slytherin whom I dated during my fourth year at Hogwarts. She insisted on calling me Sevvy, but I put an end to that. Afflicted her with a lengua paralyticus potion; every “Sevvy” produced an array of painful and unseemly spasms. But in the end, Regina had her revenge. No matter how much I wash my hair, it looks like this) finished Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus trilogy today and saw fit to regale me with a tiresome series of quotes and anecdotes.
After an aeon, he noticed my angoisse de vivre and queried, “Did I say something wrong, Professor?”
“No, not at all. I was simply having a painful flashback. Earlier this year, I caught Parvati and Padma Patil giggling over a passage in Ptolemy’s Gate. I made them recount the whole nonsensical mess to me, right then and there.”
“I . . . I don’t think I understand your hostility,” said my host.
“No? Well, let me tell you.”
First, let it not be said that I am immune to the charms of popular culture. Often I listen to Claude Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune on my phonograph whilst sipping espresso and reading Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. I’m not a “total square,” you see. I do, however, object to our young magicians heads’ being filled with this claptrap Mr. Stroud calls entertainment.
I pinned Walnut with my most penetrating stare, the one that makes my Gryffindor students soil their robes.
“It’s stuff and nonsense,” said I. “The magicians in this trilogy are petty, cruel, cowardly, egotistical megalomaniacs. Name me one Hogwarts-trained magician who fits that description.”
“Um, well, there’s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
“Not cowardly enough. Try again.”
“Lucius Malfoy?”
“He only plays at cruelty. If Lucius spent more time practicing his Unforgivable Curses and less time preening before the mirror, he might meet the description.”
Walnut squirmed. “Concede the point,” I said. “Without magic, your muggle world would be tawdry. And without magicians, there would be no magic.”
“True enough,” said Walnut. “I rather like Penn and Teller.”
“Grrrrrrr.”
“You still haven’t fully explained your enmity towards the Bartimaeus Trilogy.”
“Imps.”
“Imps?”
“Imps.” I gave a sniff and a dismissive wave. “House elves, by any other name –”
“That’s not true! Stroud’s imps are far more powerful than your house elves.”
“House elves with attitude, I’ll grant them that. And Stroud’s writing –”
“Oh!” said Walnut. “You can’t seriously criticize Stroud’s writing, not if you’re going to compare him to Rowling. Stroud’s a far better writer.”
I growled again and slunk away.
“I know,” said I. “And it galls me mightily.”
I told Dumbledore to audition other candidates for Chief Chronicler, but the fool was quite taken with the woman, heaven only knows why. Perhaps it was her plump, delectable scones.
S.
After getting an inside view of Lucius’ favourite pastime, my scare level has dropped several degrees.
I have read Stroud’s work, Professor Snape, and while I agree with your assessment of the magicians as he writes them, I have to admit that the stories themselves – even with their flawed characters – are well-written.
As for Wharton, don’t you think that The Glimpses of the Moon is more your style?
Professor? Since you’re taking questions from the walnut, perhaps you’d answer one frome me? I want to know what you’d post at the thank you stephen colbert website.
Or do you ignore such silly local kerfuffles?
Thank you, Gabriele. I’ve been remiss in leaving comments on Maridius’s fine blog; I have made amends.
Glimpses of the Moon, PJ? Do you have me confused with Lupin?
Kate, this is the response I would give, were I to stoop to commenting on muggle affairs:
How is that?
No, no, not at all, Severus. Perhaps this reading is more for Mrs. Snape. Hmmmm.