When J.K. Rowling revealed that Albus Dumbledore was gay, I admit, I was surprised. Mostly because, careful reader that I am, I hadn’t picked up on that at all. But also, I was surprised that Rowling would undermine the beautiful subtly of her text. Because, in hindsight, there were signs.
For example, in “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” when Harry dives into Dumbledore’s memory in the Pensieve, the younger Dumbledore, with auburn hair, is described as wearing a “flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet.” The first time I read this, I thought he was just eccentric, but now I see the other meaning of “flamboyant.”
The headmaster famously speaks about the power and importance of love, yet he appeared to live a single, celibate life. His love life was an issue of great curiosity for fans. So it’s not surprising that a fan on Friday night in New York asked Rowling if Dumbledore had ever found true love.
Rowling responded that Dumbledore had been in love with Gellert Grindelwald, the only wizard he had ever met who was his equal in power. The love was unrequited and Rowling said, according to The New York Times, that Dumbledore was “horribly, terribly let down” and that this love was Dumbledore’s “great tragedy.”
The news obviously sent a stir through Harry Potter Internet forums, and several trite fan fictions have already been written.
But as much as I love these revelations (we also learned on Friday that Neville Longbottom marries Hannah Abbott), because they keep the beloved series alive, relevant and in the news, I worry that answering reader’s questions will hurt the longevity of the series. By telling us what we want to know, Rowling is removing the mystery from the intricate details of the novels.
Part of the reason Shakespeare is still so widely read and discussed 400 years later is precisely because there are no firm answers from the author about the motivations of characters. Why exactly is Iago so bent on destroying Othello? Who are the sonnets written for? Which is it: to be or not to be? The answers are debatable, and the fact that Shakespeare gives no response makes one want to reread the play for possible epiphanies.
And I don’t know about you, but in the world I’d like to see 400 years from now, people will still read and discuss Harry Potter, Rowling’s picture will be printed on Barnes and Noble shopping bags alongside Dickens and Poe, and flying brooms will exist. This extra information about characters that is not stated outright in any of the seven novels or in the charity textbooks (“Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them” and “Quidditch Through the Ages”) may hinder the chances of Rowling’s intricate series being discussed on a similarly serious level as the complete works of William Shakespeare.
By revealing Dumbledore’s sexuality, Rowling might have shot down some English graduate student’s thesis paper that could have sparked a debate in coffee shops nationwide. Is he or isn’t he? Well, he is, so no more thesis.
Hopefully, this extra information will lead to Harry Potter becoming a new type of classic novel; something everyone understands. Historically, novels have been treasured for the unanswerable questions they have raised, but Harry Potter may now be treasured for the completeness of the world it created. Maybe by filling in the gaps of the alternate universe she created, Rowling is paving the way for the series to last as a universally known vision. Rowling’s world can now become the basis for explaining more elusive texts, as it can be a standard of knowledge shared and understood by all.
For example, if an English teacher wanted to argue that the reason the men don’t kill Iago at the end of Othello was because they secretly loved him, the teacher can cite the time when Dumbledore ultimately did not kill Grindelwald in their famous duel. Then people will nod in comprehension because they all understand Harry Potter, and the mystery will be gone.
If your literary gay-dar was working and you already knew, e-mail the evidence to Crocker at acrocker@media.ucla.edu.