The most traditionally motherly character in the book is Harry’s best friend Ron’s mum, Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley is a short, plump, sweetly fussy mum, the kind who spits in a handkerchief to wipe dust off her son’s nose, feeds anyone who’ll let her, is kind and welcoming to all her children’s friends, and turns into a snarling, protective mother bear when any of her children are threatened. She serves as a bit of comic relief early in the series, fussing about in that sweet but annoying way that moms do, going ballistic over what the children perceive as minor infractions, and getting embarrassingly emotional over their accomplishments (or the lack thereof). The reader is invited to like her but also to laugh at her a bit. But now that I have a child of my own, I don’t laugh at her at all. I can picture myself in her shoes, fretting about sending my child off into the wild and dangerous unknown of the world.
The professors, as well, were simply “stage fill”, as theater people term all the non-specific bodies in crowd scenes who don’t have notable personalities but who serve merely to take up space. But again, as I re-read the books from a parental perspective, I can see their desires to shape and mold young minds, I can sympathize with their frustrations at student inattention and thickheadedness, and I can understand their pride in seeing their students mature from timid children into self-assured young adults. No longer are they in the background, merely taking up space, but instead they all serve as crucial role models and instructors for their students.
I’m that much more impressed with the depth and detail of the books, since they are so complete and true-to-life when read from both perspectives. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that – after all, the author is a mother, too.
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