Tag: harry potter

A Muggle Parent’s Questions About Academics at Hogwarts

Hogwarts Questions

Dear Hogwarts Admissions Office,

My name is Kyle Massa and the only magic I know is the trading card game. Nonetheless, I’m considering sending my daughter to your school, provided you can answer some quick questions.

First, what’s the approximate mortality rate among students? I ask because the brochure mentions giant spiders in the woods, secret chambers beneath the castle, and ghosts of former students haunting the bathrooms. Also, the liability waiver is longer than Infinite Jest. Should I be concerned about this?

Second, where are the math classes? I never liked math and, truth be told, I dropped out of precalculus after two classes. Still, basic mathematical skills seem important in the everyday world, magical or otherwise, yet all I’m seeing is stuff like Transfiguration (whatever that is). Does this mean wizards can’t calculate tips? If not, will Grubhub still deliver to the school?

My third question is about PTAs. Most Muggle schools have them, yet Hogwarts appears not to. I have no firsthand experience of such things, but I hear PTAs are sort of like a prison sentence, except you volunteer for it. More experienced parents have advised me never to speak of them, lest someone mistake it for interest.

You know what? This isn’t a question—more a congratulations on not having PTAs. Well done.

Actual question number three: What’s your cell phone policy? Ubiquitous cell usage was just beginning during my school days, yet even then administrators spent roughly half their tenure confiscating Motorola Razrs. So what’s the Hogwarts policy? (My suggestion: Outlaw Snapchat. It’s the worst.)

My fourth question is about the houses. Here are my general impressions:

  • Gryffindor: The home for future world leaders with no discernible issues or shortcomings.
  • Slytherin: A pack of cheats, sociopaths, and borderline white supremacists.
  • Hufflepuff: A bunch of randos who do nothing noteworthy, except maybe die.
  • Ravenclaw: See above.

Look, I know tribalism is fun for kids (e.g. Lord of the Flies). However, after careful research, I’ve concluded that Gryffindor is the only house a parent would want their child in. If my daughter got into Slytherin, for example, I’d immediately hire several psychiatrists and hide all the knives in the house.

And hey, does your food contain laxatives? This is my fifth question. I ask because, when I was a freshman at Ithaca College, one of my good friends insisted the campus food was laced with laxatives. He provided no evidence other than claiming he was pooping a lot (we took his word for it). According to his theory, if we drained our bodies frequently, we’d need to eat more, thereby making the college more money.

I reiterate: This was never proven. I am not suggesting my alma mater tampered with our food. But does Hogwarts? I’m asking as a concerned parent.

I could go on, but I’m running out of ink and this owl you sent to retrieve my letter won’t stop staring at me. Which brings up another question: Do you have email?

Best,

Kyle


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Why Do We Care When Characters Die?

Death

Why’d you have to take Ned Stark, man?

Did you cry when Bambi’s mom got shot?

It’s okay. You can admit it. Though we know they’re not real, the death of fictional characters evokes real emotion in us. I find that amazing. After all, when fictional character die, we’re essentially mourning the loss of someone who does not, has not, and never will, exist.

The question is: why? Why do we care when a nonexistent character bites the dust?

I don’t claim to know the answer. But I do have some theories.

Here’s the first: we humans can’t help but empathize. When characters feel realistic, when we become invested in them, they become mirrors. We see our own traits reflected back at us, both the good and the bad. We draw parallels between our lives and theirs. So, when one of them dies, we see parts of us dying, too. And nobody likes that.

Here’s another: the more time we spend with characters, the more we become attached to them. Especially in book series, TV series, and film franchises, we watch these characters grow, watch them succeed and fail, watch them change with us. I think this is especially true for something like the Harry Potter series, in which the readers/viewers grow up right alongside the characters. When you’re going through the same experiences with another person at the same time, you’re likely to form a connection with them (even if they’re made up).

My third and most out-there theory: death in fiction reminds us of our own mortality. A popular theory of filmmaking states that we love movies because they solve problems in a matter of hours that are otherwise unsolvable in real life. In The Lord of the Rings, for example, Frodo extinguishes every last shred of evil in the world just by tossing some jewelry into an active volcano. Of course, we know that destroying (or even defining) evil is not that simple. But it’s still satisfying to see it done in fiction.

When characters die, however, it’s a subconscious reminder of the real world. We react so strongly to death in fiction because it reminds us that problems like death can’t be solved, not even in fictional realities.

It’s weird, but as much as they can sometimes upset us, character deaths often shape good fiction. Without people dying left and right, would A Song of Ice and Fire be the compelling series that it is? Definitely not. No matter what the reason, killing beloved characters is an essential part of fiction.

But still. Bambi’s mom was over the line, Disney.

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