Reviews: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Atonement

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

The hoopla surrounding the release of any book is almost always inversely proportional to the actual quality of the book – the greater the pre-emptive hype, the more chances there are of the work itself being undeserving of it. At the risk of incurring the wrath of most of our readers, I must pare away the cocoon of complacency enveloping the Harry Potter books and reveal the seventh book to be nothing but a less-than-mediocre conclusion to an otherwise fairly entertaining saga. The plot basically revolves around Harry and gang rising up for the final time to defeat the newly replenished forces of evil lead by Lord Voldemort. However, in having tried to keep the much delayed denouement a secret, Ms. Rowling eschews the breezy, rollicking structure of the previous six novels for the tedium and compendiousness of this last instalment.

To begin with, the protagonist is overshadowed by his sidekicks – the novel might as well have been called ‘Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows’. Almost all the main action occurs as a result of Harry’s friends coming up with ingenious plans and then pulling them off. Secondly, every plan, every scheme seems a mite too convenient to feel real; unlike the former books’ claustrophobia and heightened sense of adventure, the effect in Hallows is like a Bond movie, where you already know that every problem is solvable, every odd surmountable and at times there is an almost comical usage of the deus ex machina to overcome obstacles. There is very little thrill or tension because of this, and ultimately, the impact is rather tepid. Then there is the narrative’s propensity to sag and buckle under the weight of its own cloying intricacies. The flow is mired by all sorts of subplots which come off as afterthoughts rather than actual accessories to the story. And furthermore, one gets a sense of a frantic hurry to fit in every unresolved coda in this last chance to wrap up this sequence of events. Another hiccup is the lazy characterisation of the villain and a few newly introduced minor characters. They never quite ring true – their motives are decidedly shallow and their personas one-dimensional. Finally, the ending is written more like cheesy fan fiction than a sophisticated attempt at tying up loose ends. It is rather surprising that a writer as experienced as Ms. Rowling would succumb to such a parlour-trick version of an ending. A masterful finale that leaves an aftertaste of satisfaction, contemplation and closure is the hallmark of a good author. Unfortunately, Ms. Rowling was unable to live up to the dramatic build-up she had conjured up for herself.

In closing, Hallows is the least exciting and smuggest convergence of storylines that one could have imagined, given the pedigree of the earlier books. Slow, banal, limp and safe – some of the worst adjectives one can use for this much loved heptology – unfortunately, must be used with absolute validity here.

RATING: 2/5

Atonement

A tragic love story of chaos and order, cast in shades of guilt and penance – the only way to describe Ian McEwan’s sublime study of error and its indelible repercussions. This review is meant to refresh memories rather than update opinions, in light of the recently premiered film version of the book, which was released six years ago.
The story is simple enough: A girl on the cusp of adolescence, thirteen year old Briony Tallis, witnesses her older sister Cecilia and her charlady’s son Robbie mid-affair and, in a childish fit of confusion and inexperience, accuses Robbie of a heinous crime that he didn’t commit. She spends the rest of her life atoning for her own crime – eliminating the innocence of another person as revenge for her own having been replaced with the knowledge of adult pleasures.

The novel’s motion is akin to tightening a screw – the ventilation of the first few chapters slowly being overcome by an increasing discomfort and unease as the story advances towards its climax. When the last groove of the screw disappears into the machine of the book, there begins the factory of stark, raw materials being processed into an intelligible aftermath. The narrative then flashforwards a few years and is split into three voices – those of Briony, Robbie and Cecilia – and propelled towards its ending. It as if all three protagonists undergo their own self-punishment. Robbie is embroiled in World War II, immersed deep in the horrors of the losing British army; Briony relinquishes her literary ambitions in favour of nursing and Cecilia, quietly, bitterly, hates Briony and loves Robbie, also as a nurse.

The glorious inversion of their personal ambitions and natures to depict their self-flagellation is profound – gentle, scholarly Robbie, with his aspirations to medicine and diligence in rising above his penurious origins to achieve a degree at Cambridge ultimately ends up getting wounded rather than healing, as he dissolves into what might have been his life had he remained poor and uneducated – a common soldier. Briony, no doubt a gifted writer, banishes her ability for fantasy and make-believe for the menial, practical staidness of medicine and bold, tempestuous Cecilia, whose love for Briony and indifference to Robbie, changed to resentment for one and pining for the other. The theme of anarchy and concord is played out like a motif in a mournful ballad – from Briony’s obsessive cleanliness contrasted with Cecilia’s penchant for disarray to the messy war which Robbie is part of, juxtaposed with Briony and Cecilia’s deceptively neat, sanitary hospital world. However, their psyches are in direct opposition to their environment, yet again showing the exchange of surroundings and sentiment – Robbie remains controlled and lucid despite the commotion he participates in, at Dunkirk; Briony struggles in quiet but catastrophic anguish in her perfect, draconian routine and Cecilia with her aloof, private trauma floats, half dead, in the cesspool of her own demons despite her affluence of intellect and spirit.

In conclusion, Atonement is a voyeuristic chronicle of simmering revulsion, the devastation of human folly and masochistic apology. It expresses the insidious nature of righteous mistakes and the consumptive quality of remorse and shame with precision, poetry and most of all, purity.

RATING: 4.5/5