Harry Potter and the Preservation of the Status Quo

In 1996, one year before the release of the first Harry Potter book, another YA fantasy series got its start. Critically acclaimed at the time, and borderline obscure now, The Thief, by Megan Whalen Turner, takes place in a world inspired by Renaissance Era Greece and Turkey. It's one of my favorite on-going series (she just released the most recent one in 2017) and it's about...

Um...

Well...

The first one is about a thief, but that was probably self-explanatory. And I already mentioned the Greece/Turkey thing. Other than that? Weeeeeelllllll........

Seriously though, great book.

One of the strengths and weaknesses of the series is that Turner plays fast and loose with the rules of good series writing. Her books are rarely from the point of view of the same character twice, she flip flops between third and first person perspective with abandon (arguably even using second person perspective at one point), and the tone and structure of the plots range wildly across the five books. When you pick up a novel in this series, you don't really know what you're going to get.

While it's something I love and respect about her writing now, this almost killed the series for me in the second book. The first is still my favorite, and I went into book two expecting something similar. But they weren't the same types of stories. I almost didn't read the third, but my best friend was so insistent that the third one was wonderful, I eventually gave in. I'm glad I did, because (again) the third was nothing like the second OR first, but at least I liked it and at this point, knew better than to expect consistency.

Now don't get me wrong; you still need to read them in order for the story to come together fully. And there are common elements between them, like the general setting and an emphasis on story-telling and mythology. But between the drawn out release schedule (book five was released last year, twenty-one years after the first book came out) and the lack of a status quo, I get why this series never blew up in the public conscience the way Harry Potter did a year later. Frankly, it's hard to pitch a series that doesn't stick to it's own rules.

Harry Potter and the Mystery of the Magical Thingy

Quick question: What are the Harry Potter books about?

Almost anyone can list the basic components off the top of their heads: Boy wizard attends magic school, makes friends and goes on adventures trying to solve what wacky hijinks Voldemort has in store for this edition!

In addition to the basic premise pitched above, here are a few other stalwarts that showed up in every (or almost every) Harry Potter book:
- a new spell/magical object, which would be key to solving the book's central mystery
- a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher
- Quidditch matches
- a pivotal scene at Christmas time
- a conversation with Dumbledore at the end of the book
- Hogwarts itself figures almost like a character
- most scenes written in third person, limited point of view, from Harry's perspective
- thoroughly described British food
- Harry, Ron and Hermione operating as a trio, despite their differences

A Deathly Hallow, given at Christmas. I know what I'm talking about, man!

The book that strayed the most from this formula was, of course, the final one, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I mentioned in my ranking of the seven Harry Potter books that I think the books lost something by abandoning Hogwarts, but I know plenty of people who feel differently. Part of me agrees. Rowling spent a long time at Hogwarts and was clearly sick of writing Quidditch and frankly, Quidditch matches would have seemed so superfluous in the final installment, I'm glad she didn't hem too strictly to her previous models. Overall, while Deathly Hallows might be missing some of the fun and magic of earlier books, the changes feel justified.

But there are still a remarkable number of ways Deathly Hallows doesn't rock the boat. The central heroes don't change. The final battle still is at Hogwarts. The quality of British food has gone down in the camping sequences. There's an emotional Christmas at Godric's Hollow. And not even death can stop Dumbledore from giving an end of book pep-talk to Harry.

Arguably, the Harry Potter books are rather stagnant sequel to sequel, but I'd argue that's one of their strengths. They changed just enough each time, but never the core of what people enjoyed. Rowling wisely built into her model things we could expect to change book to book - new teachers, new spells - so that she could get away with adding new material that didn't feel as though it broke the rules of the previously established world/books.

The best series establish a status quo readers want to return to, but build some flexibility into their structure to allow for innovation. You read Redwall because you want adorable mice defending an abbey full of food, but the evil abbey attackers of the week can change. You read The Hunger Games because you want to see Katniss fire some arrows and stress over boys, but her allies and who dies in the arena can change.

Assuming a series starts on a strong foot, the problems creep in when the creators don't seem to know what elements can safely change and what can't. It's all very well to say that a "flexible status quo" is important, but how do you pick out the elements readers want to see again and again and what is ripe for rewriting? Sadly, this is one of those areas that's probably easier to learn from by examining failures than those that did get the balance right.

Fantastic Beasts and Where on Earth is This Going?

D'awwwwwwwwwwww

Woof, these movies.

Since the second movie is newly out, I'll try not to spoil too much, but be warned. There are criticisms ahead.

I want to love them. I do love aspects of them, particularly Newt Scamander himself, who is a darling cinnamon roll of a human being. Over two films, there are some real strengths and some real weaknesses. Bothering me at this present moment, is one central concern: this series does not know what it's about.

The first film started out well. I'm not a purist, so the idea of more films exploring the same world appealed to me. I didn't much care when they had to rewrite some of Newt and Dumbledore's history, so as to allow for the new world and stories to exist. Most of those details hemmed the world in such that it would have made for boring movies. Early writing by Rowling portrayed Newt as a low-level ministry worker who gradually rose through the ranks by doing exceptional work and never rocking the boat. That character is markedly less interesting than the "new" Newt.

More importantly, the first film seemed to strike the balance "right" when it came to sequels and choosing what to change and what not to. Because this movie was taking place in a new time period, with a new cast of characters, most fans I spoke to were willing to give the movies a chance. They weren't messing too hard with beloved characters, like the original power trio. Superficially, they were starting over. But just because these movies aren't about Harry Potter doesn't mean they aren't sequels. Realistically, they're still being marketed to the same demographic who read and loved Potter, and so long as that's the target audience, certain expectations are going to come into play.

So what are those expectations? And how well do the Fantastic Beast movies follow along with them?

The first movie featured a couple key ways they matched the original Potterverse. One, the first movie was still a mystery about a particular magical element, in this case, Obscurials. There were ways the mystery format felt a bit weaker, with the villain actually doing more of the investigating than Newt himself, but from the first scenes of a giant shadowy thing ripping up New York, we knew what the central mystery was.

Second, much of the appeal of the Harry Potter books came from fun characters who loved each other, running around together, trying to solve problems. The first movie mostly succeeded here too. Watching BFFs Jacob and Newt go on adventures, and gradually pick up Queenie and Tina was a hoot. I wish Tina got a chance to act out an emotion other than "worried" more often, but hey. The rest of the cast was great, and I didn't dislike her, so it was a solid start. In fact, of everyone in the second film, Tina wins the award for "most improved." It turns out, she does have something beyond resting-worried face to offer the world.

Even when flirting, so very very worried.

Third, elaborate world building. While Hogwarts is far more iconic than 1920s New York, or any of the locations used in the sequel, other aspects off the world design really have paid off in both films. The original Fantastic Beasts was actually the first film in the entire series to win an Oscar, because the design team was freed up a bit, and they really knocked it out of the park on costuming.

Visually, the sparkle is still there in the second film. But aside from a better version of Tina, categories one and two took major hits in the sequel. The plot suffers from a syndrome where everything is explained at the eleventh hour, in the final act, and up until then, it feels like characters are just running around, communicating poorly for the sake of maintaining "tension." What this means is that what the central mystery is doesn't become clear until the very moment it's solved. Or possibly never. YouTube is littered with videos right now "explaining" that "crazy ending" in the second movie because, unfortunately, it needs either an encyclopedic knowledge of previous Potter material to follow along, or someone who has that knowledge to excitedly wave their arms at you and talk you through for an hour after the film. (For those in need of services, I charge a reasonable fee for my Harry Potter frantic arm waving)

Second, they botched the friend group dynamic way too soon. Some might rightly point out that the Harry Potter books weren't afraid to let the characters fight and have drama. But there was still a status quo they got back to by the end of each book. Come end of term, Ron and Hermione were no longer sniping at each other and Harry was no longer morosely avoiding one of them. Their friendship was always a power they could rely on when things got bad. Even when she was frozen by a basilisk, Hermione still gave the boys the final clue to defeat Voldemort. In the interest of going "darker," the second movie denied us the entire dynamic that made the first movie and every Harry Potter book fun. And that sucks.

What follows is an incoherent, messy plot where you're not sure who you're rooting for and you can't tell why you're being led into each scene. And why does the camera keep cutting away right before newcomer Lita Lestrange can just SAY what the deal is? Poor Lita. A few more minutes screen time, and this whole movie could have fallen into place an hour earlier.

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Breaking Viewer Expectations

The second film briefly returns to Hogwarts, where Dumbledore is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I loved all the scenes that took us back to the place I fell in love with as a child. I couldn't help thinking, "man... I wish we were watching the movie taking place here."

You could sense what the story going on in the background was about. McClaggen coming to Dumbeldore's defense brought back wiffs of Harry himself. Lita Lestrange, misunderstood Slytherin girl with a weakness for gentle Hufflepuff boys, spoke to the odd-duck friendships we loved in the original. The first series knew what it was about, and when these films echo that sense of purpose, they're at their best. Unfortunately, they aren't willing to embrace the past.

The warning signs were there from the beginning. Those involved with making the films said years ago that the second would be very different from the first. They made good on that promise, but likely went too different too soon.

Right now, as I try to find the essential qualities of the franchise, my list is an abbreviated mess of both good and bad qualities, none of which I feel certain will last until the next movie. The friend group didn't, so what else is up for grabs? If I had to guess, based on the first two films, here is my recipe for what stays consistent in a Fantastic Beasts movie:

A most important movie element

- Newt Scamander introduces us to a new dangerous animal, that is secretly very sweet. This will always be the best scene in the movie.
- Nifflers!
- Let's visit a new swanky city in the 1920s! Hurray for costumes!
- Newt runs around town in a sequence of not very plot-centric adventures
- Tina is worried.
- Grindlewald is the villain... he's a completely different kind of villain between two movies, but he's still the villain.
- There is a central mystery but who - if anyone - is solving it is even more mysterious.
- Everything is navy blue and probably taking place in an alley, where silhouettes converse
- One of Newt's beasts helps save the day.

I really hope that last one remains true. By far, the most compelling aspect of the series is that Newt sees humanity in the inhuman. He and his creatures are underestimated, but he knows how to use them to get the upper hand.

If the series doesn't end with an acromantula eating Gridlewald, I'll be very disappointed.

MaddAddam and why the first book is (almost) always the best

Welcome to my series on speculative fiction! For it, I will be focusing on three different series of books, highlighting three different lessons that readers (and writers) can learn from some of the best science fiction writers in the business. Since whole series are taken into account, I won’t be focusing much on plots, but rather on what unique lesson we can learn from each series as a whole. This time we’re rather spoiler free, since this is a series I don’t want to ruin for anyone.

Oryx and Crake

MaddAddam, otherwise known as Orxy and Crake

Confession: One of my favorite TV shows is CBS’s Survivor. It wasn’t always. I am not a reality TV aficionado and I was not someone who watched the earliest seasons of the series. But when I realized that it combined three of my greatest passions - tropical locations, tight editing and people taking strategy games SUPER seriously - a new obsession was born.

But since I’m a bit of a Johnny-come-lately fan of the series, some of the discussions about it have the tendency to baffle me, particularly ones about which season was the series’ best. For a large number of people, there is no topping the first season. It was too important. Too revolutionary. It set the groundwork for all subsequent seasons and all that follow have merely been echoes of it. Holding any other season up next to it just undervalues how important and shocking the first season was.

Even if I don’t understand these arguments vis a vis Survivor, I do get where they’re coming from in relation to books. The first book of a series has a kind of magic to it. It introduces the main characters, the elements the story is governed by and, most importantly, the setting. It’s undeniably true that many people read sci-fi and fantasy for the world building. And when you’re just scratching the surface of the world, there’s a sense of a new adventure around every corner.

Consider a few examples: The Hunger Games is at its most compelling when we don’t yet know the rules of the arena and are experiencing the horror along with Katniss for the first time. The Giver is extra potent because we don’t know what the next thing Jonas reveals about his world will be. They’re very much like that first season of Survivor - startling, revolutionary, instantly memorable. And in both cases, they’re the strongest novels in their respective series.

I’ll quickly list a few more series I consider to be examples of this phenomenon: Redwall by Brian Jaques, The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner, Wicked by Gregory Maguire. Even series in contemporary settings fall victim to this. Think of L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables or Judy Blume’s Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.

Now, don’t get me wrong. All of these series followed up their first books with strong material. Some people may even pick some other book as their personal favorite, but my point is that sequels in a series have to work extra hard in order to equal their starting books.

So when I say that Orxy and Crake is brilliant, but its sequel, The Year of the Flood is still better, you know just how hard Margaret Atwood worked on that second book. She beat the odds. The following is my list of rules Margaret Atwood taught me for “how to improve on a first book.”

1) What fell flat in Book 1, ditch for Book 2

In Oryx and Crake, you’re stuck looking at Atwood’s post-apocalyptic world through the eyes of a strange outcast, known as Snowman. Through introspection, Snowman reveals to the reader “how the world went wrong” and we learn that once upon a time, he was known as Jimmy, an ordinary boy born to privilege who let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, even as the world was crumbling.

I say you’re stuck with him because Jimmy isn’t an entirely pleasant person to be with. He wins your sympathy, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a reader who actually liked him. But the world and the tragedy of his life is fascinating enough that it’s still a great book.

Then The Year of the Flood starts, Jimmy is nowhere to be seen and hallelujah! Though everyone in the series is damaged and filled with shades of darkness, by The Year of the Flood, there is someone worth rooting for. When Toby enters the story, wearing a pink spa jumpsuit and carrying a shotgun, there’s such a strong sense that this is someone who deserves to survive. And in that moment, the fate of humanity feels more real. If Toby dies, what’s the hope for any other half-decent person?

And as the series shapes up to be her story, it’s pretty clear that going forward, Atwood knew to focus on the character who had the gravitas to carry the plot. Jimmy is still there. He does stuff. But since he doesn’t have Toby’s power as a character, his role is diminished.

In this particular case, the weakness was a character, but this could be true of other elements too. Leave a boring setting. Axe a metaphor that isn’t working. There’s no need to repeat the same mistakes twice.

2) But for goodness sake, don’t get rid of what DOES work!

Just as Jimmy’s story is told alternating between the present and the past, so too is The Year of the Flood. In fact, this book expands on the strange story telling devises, working in sermons and hymns around the characters' memories and real-time struggles. It’s part of what makes this series so layered and beautiful.

For me, this is one of the reasons the later books in The Thief series are a bit more hit and miss. Whalen Turner very bravely switches up her view point during the series. Sometimes it pays off. But when she got to the fourth book and, for the first time since Book 1 returned to a first person narrator, I couldn’t help feeling that first person perspective is her ace. The first and fourth books share that perspective in common, and that sharpened focus made her stories far more potent. When she wrote in third person in Books 2 and 3, the story felt flatter.

It’s a delicate balance, choosing between what should stay in a book and what needs to grow. There’s not a cookie cutter solution for every series and author, but both questions - what should change, what shouldn’t - need to be considered during the creative process.

3) Give people that “explorer” of a new world feeling all over again

Even with the improved character conflicts of The Year of the Flood, Atwood might never have topped her first book if she hadn’t found some unique ways of developing the world she’d set out in the first book. As it turns out, there is much we missed from Jimmy’s perspective. The books almost feel part of different worlds, the characters come from such different spheres. As a result, that adventurous sense of discovery that makes first books so irresistible is still on offer for Book 2.

Another series that excels at this are the Harry Potter books, the evidence for which is in the titles. There is never a book title that directly references anything that came before it in the series. Even by the time of Book 7, no one has ever heard of a “Deathly Hallow.” Rowling kept her series chugging by making sure she had something new to tell us each book.

On a smaller scale, Divergent also checks this box. In Book 1, we meet the Abnegation and Dauntless factions, with just a few scenes involving Erudite. Book 2 takes Tris through both Amity and Candor and fleshes out the rest of the Erudite section. It’s really well balanced and one of the reasons that, for me personally, Insurgent is the best of the series.

In theory, if you can do these things - rework what doesn’t ring true, play up the elements of your book that people love and give the reader more world to explore, you should be well on your way to surpassing your first book.

Just good luck doing any of this in practice!