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Harry Potter, Popular Culture and Education

Aug 25, 2010

When, in the opening pages of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Professor Minerva McGonagall predicts that one day, the orphan boy will ‘be famous – a legend… there will be books written about Harry – every child in our world will know his name,’ I’ll bet neither the character nor her creator, J.K. Rowling could have realised the prophetic nature of those words. From literary marvel to multi-million dollar film franchise with numerous product tie-ins, websites galore, the magic that is Harry Potter continues to make an enormous cultural impact.

Latest to use Rowling’s work is Durham University in the UK, which coincidentally, featured in the first two Potter films. Eager to shape the minds of the future, academic, Dr Martin Richardson, has created an entire course around the phenomenon entitled ‘Harry Potter and the Age of Illusion’ as part of an education degree.

Run over a semester and comprising 22 lectures and 11 seminars, it seeks, according to Richardson, ‘to place the series in its wider social and cultural context,’ as well as consider the texts’ relevance to contemporary education systems. Using all seven books, the film adaptations and web-based material, the course invites students to study the commodification of education, the making of policy, the role of rituals, myth, reason and reality, peer groups, manhood, citizenship, prejudice and intolerance in the classroom and the legacy of the school-based narrative in popular culture among many other topics.

Already, 70 students have enrolled and the university is talking about the innovative nature of the subject and the high-level of interest it’s attracting.

Of course, this also means detractors have come forward, who are mainly responding to the high/low culture divide, believing that anything with such broad mass appeal can’t warrant serious educational attention. Nick Seaton, from the Campaign for Real Education in Britain, hit out stating: ‘It does not merit a course at one of the country’s top universities.’

But to quote another popular culture figure: ‘Au contraire, baby.’

Not only have their been many insightful academic and mainstream studies published on the Potter texts and their contribution to reading, imagination and culture generally, but other institutions have held courses and/or lectures on the multiple meanings in and of Harry Potter. Eastern Michigan University in the United States has been running a successful course for years; I taught one at Sunshine Coast University that featured Harry Potter and was received very enthusiastically.

It makes sense to teach what’s beloved and familiar to students and use these texts to open new doors, worlds and learning opportunities.

Not only do the Potter books harken back to older legends, such as King Arthur, Greek and Roman myths and the works of J.R.R.Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton, they also explore the rites of passage associated with burgeoning adulthood in sensitive ways.

Using Joseph Campbell’s notion of the ‘hero’s journey’, Rowling takes Harry on a quest, to not only destroy the great evil of Voldemort and his cabal of Death Eaters, but to vanquish his inner demons and, in doing so, learn how to be a decent man, friend and partner in a complex world.

In this way, Harry shares a great deal with Luke Skywalker, Frodo Baggins and even Odysseus.

It’s not just the wide literary tradition from which Rowling draws that make the texts worthy of study, nor the other narratives to which she gestures, but the universal themes into which she taps.

Originally an outcast among his family, the abused Harry refuses to be a victim and soon finds his place in the inclusive society of wizards and witches. In this way, he’s akin to so many young people who acutely feel their differences: ethnicity, religion, sexuality, size, appearance – any deviation from a social ‘norm’ which makes a young person feel alienated and lost – and who long to find connection and a sense of belonging.

Hogwarts is no paradise, however. It’s a microcosm of the wider world, where class and wealth distinctions are apparent, where houses are substitute families, where bullying is rife, and where heroes and villains are forged. Initially a safe environment with dangerous areas, the line between the two blurs as Harry matures and more is at stake. Magic, the texts are clear, has real and lasting consequences.

Learning and educational systems are also evaluated. Rote learning may have its place, but it’s through guided experimentation, trial and error, that deep learning occurs. Some of the teachers lead by example, few poorly. But there are lessons in that too.

Even sport is seen to have an intrinsic role in education – it’s a social ‘glue’ that both binds and divides.

The reception and distribution of the texts in the wider world also merits consideration. Some critics believe that it’s as much the mass-marketing machine behind the books and films that makes Potter popular, practically disregarding any literary merit.

With the last two movies hitting global screens over the next months, and the lead actors now being household names, the two notions cannot be separated. And nor should they. It makes studying these types of texts even more interesting.

Certainly, this is something other educationalists have known for years – how bringing adored popular culture texts (films, music, contemporary novels, comics, websites) into the classroom and teaching them alongside classical ones, can engage students, deliver real lessons and be both fulfilling and rewarding – and not just for the Muggle pupils.

Would you do a course on Harry Potter? Why/Why not? What other texts would you like to study?

Being interviewed by Peter Thompson

Jun 21, 2010

On Saturday, I had the privilege of being interviewed by Peter Thompson of ABC’s Talking Heads. It happened as part of the Noosa Long Weekend, which is basically a 10 day celebration of culture and the arts. Much to my delight, I was invited this year – in my role as a columnist and author. But, imagine my surprise when I discovered I was to be interviewed for one and half hours by Peter! I was overwhelmed and more than a little nervous.

I had the good fortune to run into Peter, and his lovely partner, Jane in, so appropriately, a bookshop the night before the interview. We sat down together, Jane, my hubby, Stephen, Peter and I and chatted and laughed and shared stories. Peter revelaed that one of the reasons he agreed to interview me was because I once went to the same high school that his daughter now attends: Hornsby Girls High School in Sydney (actually, I was Head Prefect – an honour that, I have subsequently found out, I share with the fantastic crime writer, Katherine Howell and Masterchef winner in 2009, Julie Goodwin! What an alma mater! It was and still is a terrific school). So, I have yet another reason to be thankful to my old school!

Anyhow, catching up with Peter and Jane like that was a great way to break the ice and the one topic that wasn’t mentioned was ‘the interview’. Though, when I did raise it just before we parted, Peter revealed that he liked to let the chat flow organically…. I gulped and smiled and said, ‘what a good idea!’ Thinking, ‘oh dear, I don’t think he means what I do when I say ‘organically’ (messy, natural, as it comes – which, like my eggs, means covered in chicken shit! LOL!). At the back of my mind, I was concerned that the audience, who were paying good money to come and see me, would not be bored or wishing they’d gone to the ‘other’ session (which, frankly, I was very interested in myself!).

I should have had more faith in Peter.

I already ‘knew’ him from his show and understood that he was both warm and charismatic but, it’s testimony to a good interviewer that they bring out the best (and worst) in their subject – that they willingly position themselves as a conduit through which the interviewee exposes themselves.  It requires a complete loss of ego and a readiness to take a back seat – something some interviewers refuse to do as they make every interview about THEM. Not Peter. Smooth yet someone with a great story of his own to tell and brimming with wit and intellect, he nonetheless allowed me to shine.

I sat there, for the entire hour and half (which felt like five minutes) and responded to Peter’s generous and insightful questions, his humour, and intelligent probing about my upbringing, the fact I was sexually abused for years, my stint in the army, my struggles as a single-parent, my love for my partner and children and found myself revealing things I never expected to (and also some I wish I now had, especially after watching Where Are You From? on SBS last night and the Ben Mendelsohn story. I am a direct descendant of Felix Mendlessohn the composer… REALLY! We are Mendlessohns….at least, that’s OUR family story but that’s for another blog!) Yet, I never felt what I was revealing was inappropriate nor, it seemed did the audience.

Those who had come to listen and be part of my conversation with Peter (for that’s what is was, like a catch up with an old friend), were so warm and engaged and just so easy to ‘talk’ to and with. They listened and asked great questions and were so responsive and kind – I can’t thank them enough either.

We discussed my work, my writing, my passion for social justice (though we didn’t call it that),  how I use my ‘voice’ though my words, to draw attention to social issues and challenge people to move out of their comfort zones.

Unfortunately, I know it’s worked when I get a lashing from the public, as I did recently over my Masterchef and twitter column (see http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/opinion/masterchef-simmers-with-bile/story-e6frerfo-1225880233622),

which has seen me denigrated in the Twitterverse and other fora (as well as supported).

It’s testimony to Peter’s style that, when he asked me about the cancer and I broke down on stage (something I never expected or anticipated), that he gently continued, with such compassion and patience as I collected myself and was handed a wad of tissues (thank you!). It enabled me to talk about my journey, but also my friend Sara’s and our shared, strong belief in talking about these things, on the negative effects of the positive thinking movement and how Sara’s blog on the silence of the dying (see http://nonsuchkitchengardens.com/wordpress/?p=606 “> or my reference to it in an earlier blog) has given voice to those who do not have one. How, amidst her own pain and grief, she has started such an important conversation.

The time ended on such a warm note – of which I was only really aware when the lovely members of the audience approached me – many wanting to hug me and be held. The feedback was humbling. It was overhwleming in the loveliest of ways.

I want to thank Noosa Long Weekend Festival organisers for inviting me, the staff the the Arts Theatre for looking after me and being so supportive and, most of all, I want to thank Peter, for steering our conversation through gentle and rough waters with boldness, expertise and generosity – and above all for being so kind with me and my story.

What an honour!

FaceBook Official Page

Jun 09, 2010

Hi everyone!

After some deliberation and a great deal of procrastination, I decided to also launch a FaceBook ‘fan’ page (thank you for all your help, Sara!) as a complement to the website. That way, I can chat with you all with greater ease and you can talk to each other as well. I have already uploaded some what I hope are interesting snippets of information regarding my books and my newspaper columns as well as pictures. I have also started a discussion topic about Votive and I really hope that you’ll join in – both here and on Facebook.

Now, the link to the FaceBook page is:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Karen-Brooks-Official-Fan-Page/123788197661107?ref=sgm

Just press ‘like’ if you wish to join. I would love you to!

See you in the cyberverse!

Karen

xxx

Votive: A taste of what’s to come…

Jun 08, 2010

Hi again!

As promised, I can now reveal a blurb – or summary – only brief – of Votive, the second book in The Curse of the Bond Riders series. As I wrote in a recent blog, I finished the novel – it’s much longer than Tallow and I can tell you it’s action-packed, moody, sensual and heart-wrenching (at least, that’s what my publisher said!). Well,  the manuscript has now been read by one of my wonderful editors and publisher and my fabulous agent and I am pleased to report, they loved it – phew! So now I can post the blurb! I have to tell you that I didn’t write this. This was written by my other editor, Sarah, who is absolutely brilliant and I love working with her. On the basis of my detailed synopsis, she wrote what’s below…. NOTE: Spoiler alert if you haven’t read Book One, Tallow.
OK. Deep breath. Here it is:
Votive
Return to the beautiful, deadly world of Tallow, where the stakes are even higher. Tallow has had everything taken away: friends, family, hope. To survive at the hands of the corrupt Maleovelli family, she must cast aside her male disguise and become cold-hearted Tarlo, female courtesan and assassin.

But the intrigues of the Serenissian nobility are nothing against the larger forces moving within the world of Vista Mare. And her enemies have a secret asset: the one thing she cannot possibly resist….

What do you think? What’s going to happen? I am so excited….

What I can also tell you is that cover designs are now being discussed. The photo above is one I took in Venice and I adore it. To me, it’s always expressed the atmosphere of Tallow’s world.

Please let me know what you think!!!

Now it’s time to start Book 3: Illumination.

Karen x

Sara’s blog on the silence of the dying

May 25, 2010

Ever since having Cancer, I have become acutely aware of not only how many others are struck with this awful disease, and the differences and similarities between sufferers, survivors and their struggles as well as the reactions of loved ones and the community, but my own mortality as well. There are very few people I share my thoughts and fears with, but one very special person is Sara – many of you may know her as the writer, Sara Douglass. Sara also has Cancer. We discuss many things and share much laughter and tears (and about a huge range of things – believe me!) but one thing we have talked about is what Sara calls the ‘silence of the dying’ – it’s not that those dying or with real reasons to be afraid of death (through chronic illness or some other cause) can’t articulate their fears, it’s that there is no legitimate space for them to do so in contemporary society. They are ‘silenced’.

Well, Sara wrote the most amazing blog about this, examining the reasons and causes for this huge vacuum, and I have asked her permission to share it with you. It’s also going to be published, I believe, in a Perth newspaper.

I urge you to discuss what she writes among your family and friends. It’s beautiful, personal, heartfelt but also a wonderful social and historical observation that captures the zeitgeist – contemporary attitudes to death and dying and illness – perfectly. Thank you, Sara, for writing this.

http://nonsuchkitchengardens.com/wordpress/?p=606

Votive: The Curse of the Bond Riders 2

May 11, 2010

This is a progress report and an apology!
It’s been ages since I’ve blogged and part of the reason for that is that I have madly been working on Votive, Book 2 of The Curse of the Bond Riders series. As a result, I had to let everything slide – my blogs, my friends, my life…! Seriously, I have had to lock myself away and immerse myself in Tallow’s world, emerging to shower, eat and the other things that our bodies require us to do! I also had to cope with a very nasty allergic reaction to medication in that period, which saw me bedridden and very medicated (semi-sedated) for a week as my abused body recovered. So, I lost more time on this most precious of novels. But I want to say sorry for being so … reclusive? Is that the word?

Thing is, the first draft is now finished and in the safe hands of my editors and agent. I am actually giving myself a brief break (a week or two before starting Book 3) – oh – and cleaning my study which accumulated dirt, papers and food scraps in amazing quantities while I wrote! The amount of mugs (which beautiful hubby would bring down to me brimming with steaming coffee), pill containers (he would also bring down meds), and plates of half-eaten food scattered across surfaces beggar’s belief – really. And I thought I was a tidy person. Ha! Teenagers bedrooms don’t come near the state of my study. I could set up a cultural studies centre here based on all the unusual things growing upon displaced kitchen utensils… gross.

Now, I was going to post the blurb for Votive here as well – but I won’t just yet. You see, I may have sent off the first draft, but I know there are many flaws and faults in it and I await feedback anxiously (us writers are an awfully insecure bunch, full of self-doubt and worry) from those whose opinion I value very highly (hubby is also reading it and found some mistakes and made some great suggestions). In fact, the hardest thing not to do is to return to the novel and start rewriting now! I can already identify changes I want to make. So, I am not going to post the blurb… I would hate the story to shift and mislead you. So I will wait… impatiently and nervously for what my agent and publishers think of what I have done to the characters – and that’s before the book hits the streets next year – I’ll be a mess by then. For those of you who have read the first book, Tallow, I’d love to know what YOU think might happen in Votive!

OK. Back to cleaning. Somebody’s got to do it and since I made the mess in the first place…
Take care everyone and thank you for your messages while I have been laying low – they’ve meant the world!
Karen :) ))

Mother, Marriages and Mourning

Feb 21, 2010

Farewelling my Aunt - that's my mother, holding me in her arms

I don’t know when or how I realised, but I noticed that I didn’t include any photos of my mother, my biological mother, in my photo gallery. When I discovered this, I felt a bit like someone who sends out the wedding invites only to realise too late that they’ve left a really important person from the guest list. Only, this was my mother, how bad am I?
Well, in some ways really awful, but her absence – unconscious – really – is a reflection of our complicated relationship. It was simply love/hate. Were my mother alive, she would be terribly hurt that I’d omitted her, but also laugh and pretend to understand. Then she’d bitch about me to my sister and grandmother. You have to laugh. That’s how it was.

So, I want to make up a little for my dreadful oversight and write about my mother, my Ima, Edna Ruth Rosenthal, who died on August 30, 2006, the same week as Steve Irwin – I know, because I wrote the equivalent of a eulogy for him (for the Courier Mail) the same day I wrote the one for my mother. That was a tough day.

In summary, my mother was a five foot tall, red-haired, blue-eyed, Israeli immigrant whom I lived with for my first 12 ½ years as well as an ex-soldier (medic in the Israeli army), and an ex- wife. Why do I mention that? After all, so many people are exes these days. Well, like most things my mother did, she didn’t do it by halves. My mother was married eight times. Yes, you read that correctly – eight – 8 – times. Marriages that spanned three continents and some very different men – an Israeli officer, Australians (including my dad), we think an Austrian, an American, and a New Zealander. There were religious men, abusive men, kind ones, nasty ones, patient and dishonest ones. She broke some hearts and had hers broken as well. She also had relationships with a couple of women – but they were over and above her marriages. I liked having two mums very much. She was also a shop-a-holic.

As her eldest daughter, I can admit I didn’t know her as well as I would have liked. That was partly due to my mother herself and partly because of the dreadful circumstances that drove us apart and kept us that way for far too many years. That, and the fact she migrated to the USA for the last 16 years of her life.

I didn’t speak to my mother for long periods as I struggled to understand some of the decisions she made around me, my sister and family. It was only as I grew older, wiser and probably more tolerant that I started to see what made my Ima tick – and I found I liked it – not enough to emulate it, but it helped me understand the woman she was. But it took me a long, long time.

Every person she encountered, she had a slightly different relationship with and that meant that each person knew something distinct about her. She was the master of reinvention – she would simply leave out parts of herself that made her uncomfortable or uneasy. She lived in the now. Sometimes, that omission involved me – hence my some of my problems with her. But, what I have also learned is that this tendency to elide or remove parts of her life make it so hard to draw a coherent portrait of my mother: the woman known variously as Edna Ruth Brotzen, Nadler, Adams, Davenport, Woitasec, Pettit (insert two names here- I don’t know them) and, finally, Rosenthal. But I am going to try…
Ima was a young mother – even when she was close to death, and aged by her cancer, she remained young in her heart and mind. Not in any immature way – but in that deliberate way that some people foster to always see life as a glass half-full, no matter what was meted out: divorce, loss of children, pets or husbands. That was Ima. She embraced life and she embraced change with a youthful enthusiasm that was so contagious. This was something my younger sister, Jenny, and I adored about her.

Ima and my son, Adam, 1986

Some of my earliest and happiest memories were tapping into her fountain of youth. I remember as kids, Jenny and I, lounging on Ima’s bed, giggling and eating; watching her get ready to go out somewhere with a boyfriend, her long eyelashes fluttering at us in the mirror while her shoulder-length auburn hair bounced across her shoulders. Our friends all thought our mother was a movie star (keeping in mind, Australia was very parochial in the sixties). She was certainly exotic, different and she had an accent.
It wouldn’t be right not to talk about Ima’s voice. It was so sharp, it could cut through frozen butter. Tending to get shrill when she didn’t get her own way, Ima could dig her heels in and be as stubborn as, well, a contended cat. For Jenny and me, our childhood is accompanied by the soundtrack of our mother’s voice and yes, like any mother, she could nag like a broken record.

I don’t think it’s my place to talk about our mother’s chequered past or what I have patched together through half-stories, rumours and hearsay. Needlesstosay, our mother’s life until she met her last husband, Gary, is more colourful than the beads she could string together and the lurid shirts she’d wear with flair: and that’s saying something. What I can reveal is she met Gary by answering an advertisement in a newspaper in the USA. It was not a classified ad either. There, I have said too much! Let your mind boggle, you won’t even come close!
Jenny and I both had very different relationships with our mother: Jenny and Ima were closer, but that’s as much my fault as Ima’s and do I have regrets about that?

Jenny, Ima and me - Red Rock Canyon, USA 2005

Yes, of course I do. But I’m not convinced that, considering how our lives panned out, it could have been any other way. But Jenny and I (like Ima), never got caught up in petty or silly jealousies over what was simply a fact of our relationship. We both loved Ima in our own way and were loved by her in return.
Ima always valued friends. Like the damned thousands of Boyd Bears (ceramic and soft), she would collect never to discard, even if they gathered some dust of neglect, she’d find her friends again and give the relationship a shine. Not always able to express in words or in emotions she was comfortable with how she felt, she would instead shower friends with gifts. She would purchase them to give as though they were a part of her in ways that others share secrets. I used to think it was a signifier of shallowness. I was so wrong. It was a sign of someone who learned, through her own life circumstances (abandoned by her mother – as she saw it – in Israel at the age of four, with her twin), a different and safer way of communicating. Recipients of gifts, no matter how they really feel about you, will generally show gratitude. She loved receiving that – and thanks: of basking in the glow of appreciation. Gifts (and re-gifting!) were the manifestation of her feelings. In some way, this was more lasting to her than memories, which fade or become warped with time and retelling (or omission!). So, whereas I once discarded her gifts, I now treasure the few I kept, no matter how easily they were given or how often – she meant them as signs of real affection.

I cannot write about my mother without mentioning the word shopping. Our mother pathologised the notion of retail therapy. She was the most wonderful shopping companion who turned what for me is a boring chore into a fun experience. I loved shopping with Ima – so did Jenny – and it will be hard when we’re next in Las Vegas (where she moved from New York) to shop without her. I think we’ll have to visit Ross’s the way pilgrims visit shrines.

Some of my mother's Boyd Bears

I’m sure her spirit is there – or in Walmart – scooping up specials and keeping an eye out for a bargain. For some reason, I imagined her last day on earth as one where she would be shopping in Ross’s and suddenly collapse – a case of shop till she drops. Sadly, that wasn’t to be.
Instead, our mother died at home, with her husband, Gary, not by her side, but on the computer where he usually was. Her cats were there, all her collectibles and, most importantly, her friends who also came and shared time with her – as it turned out, precious time.

My mother had a life that was harder than I think even I can begin to imagine – such loss and denial and such betrayal. Unfortunately, some of that was inherited by the next generation. But, she managed to rise above all that – partly because she never looked back and she refused to ever be a victim.

That’s how I choose to remember my mother; that’s how Jenny chooses to remember her too. Not as a woman with faults, but as a beacon of strength and courage, of endless humour and instant goodwill. She was a fighter and a friend; a wife, a mother and a good listener. As a fashion plate that reinvented the word style every season. She was a great cook (I didn’t know that until I was in my twenties) and a consummate shopper.
My memories are conflicted, but they’re rich and passionate. And so was our mother – rich in what’s important: family, friends, pets, two children that loved her for what in the end we

realised she was; a step-brother, Peter, who adored her,

Ima and Peter - she died just over a month later...

a half-brother, Gideon – still in Israel, a twin, Hannah (Peggy) who also grew to love her and eight husbands who, I’m sure have very different recollections of the woman who made their life heaven and hell on earth.
My mother is no longer with us in the corporeal sense, but her indomitable spirit lives on: in the aisles of Walmart, among the racks of Ross’s, they would be in her various collections, only her last husband sold them so perhaps they’re in what remains of her feisty, beautiful cats, but most of all, she’s in our hearts.
Shalom, my little Ima. I’m sorry about the photo gallery!

Ima and me in her backyard Las Vegas

This blog was inspired by a beautiful blog written by Josephine Penicott on the subject of mothers. See: www.talepeddler.blogspot.com/2010/02/chit-chat-wednesday-and-invisible