Minerva McGonagall—You Don’t Talk When She’s Talking (Requested)

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Minerva McGonagall—You Don’t Talk When She’s Talking

            On the surface, McGonagall appears to be cold and strict.  The reader knows her as the very rule-based Transfiguration professor.  However, as the series progresses, we learn more about her character; McGonagall is a woman driven by strong beliefs and a firm knowledge of right and wrong, black and white.  As time moves on, she grows to appreciate the grey. 

            If you’ve stayed up to date with Pottermore, you’ll know J. K. Rowling revealed an entire past for McGonagall, none of which was even hinted at in the course of the seven novels we were provided.  The history of the character, just in case you’re lame like me and haven’t stayed up with Pottermore, is a tragic one, riddled with various heartbreaks. 

            McGonagall’s parents both grew up in a small village in Scotland.  Her mother was a witch, who hid her magic by claiming she retreated to a ladies boarding school nine months out of the year.  Her father was a Muggle who went on to become a Reverend.  McGonagall’s father—Robert—didn’t discover his wife—Isobel’s—secret until shortly after Minerva was born. 

            Minerva was their first child and only daughter.  Isobel noticed that her daughter showed signs of magic from a very young age and knew the days of hiding her true identity were numbered.  Out of desperation to prevent Robert from seeing something he wouldn’t understand, Isobel suddenly exposes her history, removing her wand from a locked box under her bed and showing Robert her immense capabilities as a witch. 

            However, the damage was already done; strain was already in place on the marriage.  Isobel had given up the freedom of living with people who were like her for the sake of her love for Robert.  Robert felt the trust in the marriage had been permanently fractured due to Isobel’s secret keeping.  McGonagall’s mother attempted to explain that, due to the Statute of Secrecy, she had been unable to tell her husband anything.  Robert still struggled with the secret, particularly how to keep from arousing the suspicions of the local village. 

            Minerva saw the pull this put on their marriage from a very young age, as she was always quite adept.  She helped her mother keep the village from discovering her magic, in addition to the magic of her two younger brothers, at times lying to her father to keep him from worrying, despite how close she had grown to him. 

            As McGonagall grew older, it became apparent she had inherited her mother’s magical skill and her father’s keen moral compass.  Very early on in her Hogwarts career, she was declared the brightest witch in her year (sound familiar?), with a particular talent for Transfiguration.  With the assistance of her teacher for Transfiguration—Albus Dumbledore—she became a skilled Animagus before even leaving Hogwarts. 

            After her graduation from the school of witchcraft and wizardry, McGonagall returned home to her family to spend one last leisurely summer before starting her job in the Department of Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. 

            In her brief time at home, McGonagall managed to follow in her mother’s footsteps, falling in love with a son of a local farmer—Dougal McGregor.  By the end of the summer, McGonagall knew she was in love with the boy and, as such, when he proposed, she said yes.  That evening, as she debated telling her parents, she rethought her decision.  She had experienced the acute hurt the marriage of her parents had brought both of them, as they each had compromised various goals and expectations to stay together.  Knowing her mother had sacrificed everything for love, and the immense pain it had caused, Minerva knew she couldn’t follow that path.  Instead, she would make the exact opposite sacrifice, letting go of love for the sake of her ambitions. 

            He was the son of a farmer—he was expected to stay in the area and inherit the farm.  Minerva knew there was no possible way he would be able to follow her to London, a move she was due to make in three days.  This left her no further option.

            As such, McGonagall went to see McGregor the next day to call off the engagement.  Due to the Statute of Secrecy, she was unable to give him a reason, although, I don’t imagine it would’ve been too difficult to say she had made previous arrangements to work in London, a place she knew he couldn’t follow and, therefore, wanted to cut it off before they both got hurt.  But, whatever.

            The decision left McGonagall heartbroken, but London bound.  Her heartbreak combined with a locale so very far away from her native Scotland left Minerva miserable.  The job was unsatisfactory, although she did appreciate her senior boss, Elphinstone Urquart.  Her anguish adds another layer of agony to Minerva’s tale—she left behind love for her career—a career she ended up intensely disliking. 

While working in the Ministry, McGonagall stumbled upon a bit more Muggle-based bias than she had anticipated; many of her co-workers thought Muggles were severely inferior to witches and wizards, a position that particularly perturbed her due to the love she still held for Muggle Dougel and her particular closeness to her Muggle father. 

            Her own personal complications on the matter weren’t all that drove McGonagall’s dislike of the point of view held by her colleagues.  Fundamentally, she knew Muggles such as her father and McGregor deserved just as much respect as she deserved for her magical ability; the marriage of her parents had, at the very least, taught her that.  She also refused to see herself as lower than her boss, who was a pure-blood.  Her time at the Ministry strengthened her convictions that blood status should not be relevant when evaluating a wizard’s worth.  I feel assured her father would be very proud of her progressive moral stance, one that would only grow stronger in the years to come, not to mention, fundamentally imperative.

            Within two years of taking the Ministry job, Minerva was offered a promotion.  Her misery prevented her from continuing in the job and she, instead, wrote to Hogwarts inquiring after any open teaching positions.  Dumbledore offered her a post in his department. 

            McGonagall was far happier in her return to Scotland, although she continued to be loyal to Dougal; Dumbledore found her frazzled one evening in her classroom after learning that Dougal had chosen to marry a daughter of a fellow village farmer.  Minerva, in her distressed state, shared the full story with Dumbledore and, in return, received a few facts about his history.  The exchange cemented a solid trust between the two that would follow them until Dumbledore’s death many years later. 

            Despite McGregor’s marriage, McGonagall continued to hold her loyalty to him, refusing several proposals from her previous boss Urquart.  She remained adamant until McGregor’s sudden death many years later. 

Shortly after the first defeat of Voldemort, Urquart proposed once more and finally received a positive answer.  They married and moved into a small cottage in Hogsmeade.  McGonagall sparked a bit of controversy, refusing to take Urquart’s pure-blood name in place of her Muggle father’s, confusing her co-workers and fellow wizards and witches to no end (Really?  His name is Urquart and you’re confused why she doesn’t want to take it?). 

            Her stubborn refusal to part with her previous surname demonstrates another great, yet somewhat unexpected, quality of the strict teacher.  Publically, she defended the action, rationalizing that generations of students had grown to know her as McGonagall and it would, therefore, be silly to part with it now.  However, Rowling acknowledges that the move was, on McGonagall’s part, out of her feminist agenda; a refusal to admit the pure-blood name would benefit her social standing in some way.  We’ve seen hints at this; I could argue her belief that Muggles and Wizards are equal is fundamentally feminist—wishing for the equality of all. 

            There are several misconceptions about what it means to be a feminist.  People—mostly men—seem to think feminist women wish only to be seen as equal to men (only equal, really?  Why not better?).  I’ve met several women who consider themselves feminist and frame their thoughts around this belief.  Unfortunately, they’ve got the whole essence of feminism warped; to be a feminist, you wish for the equality of all, not simply the betterment of women. 

            Knowing this, McGonagall’s belief that her father and McGregor are equal to her boss Urquart could be read as feminist.  Her refusal to change her name is just another small step of protest, from the so-called strict rule follower that is McGonagall.

The couple lived contently together in their cottage for three years before, unfortunately, Urquart died after receiving a bite from a poisonous plant.  Once again McGonagall was thrown into misfortune and misery.  Very few knew how acutely she suffered, with the only possible exception being Dumbledore, her reliable and dear friend. 

            McGonagall continued in her post as professor of Transfiguration, eventually being appointed Dumbledore’s Deputy Headmistress.  When we first meet her, we see a strict rule-follower who runs a terse classroom.  While her history has shown us that she is more than capable of a wide-range of emotions, the reader doesn’t experience much of that first-hand until later on in the series, with the only possible exception being her recommendation for Harry as Seeker.  In the process, she refused to punish him for obviously breaking the rules while breaking two more on her own.  However, her history explains this to us as well—it appears McGonagall was quite the dedicated Quidditch player in her time at Hogwarts.      

            There are further hints at her selective rule breaking in Goblet of Fire, when McGonagall is visibly distraught at Harry’s forced participation in the Triwizard Tournament.  Suddenly, the strict rule-follower is breaking several rules, but only ones her moral compass deems unjust, allowing the Golden Trio the use of her classroom to practice for the tasks, something she should chastise them for knowing about to begin with. 

            This rebellion continues and is at its height with the introduction of Umbridge to Hogwarts.  I believe there is only one person McGonagall truly hates in this world—and it is Professor Umbridge.  Minerva starts the year with short submission, urging Harry to keep his temper in check.  However, as the year goes on, she no longer has any room to talk as she starts uttering sarcastically scathing remarks in Umbridge’s general direction.

            This is the side of McGonagall I absolutely adore, the missing piece of her puzzle I’ve been craving since page one.  Previous to Order of the Phoenix, I had painted Minerva as the big version of Hermione—Iron-fisted disciplinarian who had a strong sense of right and wrong, but no feel for the grey area. 

            In Year 5, however, McGonagall not only finds this grey area, she embraces it.  When Umbridge comes to inspect McGonagall’s classroom procedures, I’m as eager as the students to see how it’s going to go.  Minerva doesn’t disappoint, telling Umbridge that, until she stops interrupting and allows her to teach, she will not get a proper feel for her classroom procedures as “you see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.” 

Unfortunately, her essentially telling Umbridge to shut up doesn’t stop the Toad’s reign of terror.  We see more emotion from McGonagall here as well, as she tearfully assists Trelawney—a woman she’s never held respect for previously—back into the castle after Umbridge attempts to kick her out.  And there is, of course, more anger, as Umbridge tells her Harry hasn’t earned the appropriate scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts to follow the path required to become an Auror.  McGonagall, ever the cheeky professor, informs Umbridge that he did, in fact, reach the appropriate scores, just only when taught by a competent teacher. 

            This sense of rebellion stems from her father’s clear sense of right and wrong.  McGonagall knows that all children—including those in Slytherin, believe it or not—deserve respect.  She sees Umbridge’s means of discipline and interaction with the students and finds them inherently disgusting.  Therefore, she makes it her personal goal to spite Umbridge in as many ways as possible for the remainder of the year—even if it means she has to tutor Harry every single night herself to insure they both prove her wrong about Harry’s potential.  Although, if Umbridge is right and Dumbledore’s to be the next Minister, I think Harry’d be covered. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Minerva a good role model?  While McGonagall’s strict adherence to the rules makes her a good role model on the surface, it is her deeper levels that persuade me she makes a fantastic role model.  If she had stuck steadfastly to her beliefs and failed to interfere with Umbridge’s tortures, I would argue she’s just as bad as the Toad herself.  Fortunately for McGonagall, her rebellious tendencies are also linked to her feminist views, scoring her even more role model currency.  The blatant judgment Umbridge bestows on students bothers McGonagall.  She believes every students fate should be in their own hands; Umbridge’s attempts to hinder that with the blatant beating she regularly hands out to Harry and the others she finds inferior is inherently wrong from Minerva’s point of view.  This is her first step towards being a feminist and an exceptional role model, but it isn’t her last.  Her views were always very progressive; she saw the conflict over blood-status developing long before it became an issue and took a firm stance on it immediately, a stance that was, it should be noted, very unpopular at the time.  She held firm to the conviction, as the budding conflict only grew to extremes.   Finally, Minerva also made the decision to pursue her own ambitions long before it was necessarily acceptable for her to do so, and certainly long before it was expected.  While I believe wizarding society would’ve been a little more accepting of an ambitious woman in the early twentieth century than perhaps Muggles could’ve been, I still would find it difficult that their pacing could’ve been so impeccably different from ours as to have completely different courses in history, particularly with the knowledge that their racist-like discrimination against Muggles and blood-status was evidentially in full swing at the time of Minerva’s entrance to the Ministry.  Therefore, I believe her determined nature would’ve been almost as revolutionary for her as it was for us lame Muggles.  In other words, in a world of flip-flopping and small-mindedness, we could all use McGonagall’s forward thinking attitude. 

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Minerva relatable?  Had she stuck to her devotion to the rules, it would’ve made McGonagall very difficult to relate to.  However, as she slowly develops her sense of rebellion in response to the Toad’s oppressive ruling of Hogwarts, we see a character that advocates for the students in a way that they aren’t able to, due to their precariously submissive position.  She speaks up where we wish the Golden Trio could and ends up saying precisely what the reader wishes they could issue to Umbridge. She not only holds progressive views, but advocates for them.  While there is no doubt that we are supposed to feel similarly on blood-status and Muggle/Wizard relations as McGonagall does from the narrative of the novels, it represents a deeper message—that we should seek out forward moving ideals instead of closing our minds and digging in our heels.  This type of enlightened thinking—while comfortable and appreciated by me—seems to be, in my experience, a little less common amongst the majority of society and, therefore, may inhibit her ability to relate to the average reader.  However, her saving grace is her ability to redefine what it means to be a feminist.  It seems that women are expected to be either emotional or closed off—there is no middle ground; you’re either cold or a crybaby.  Minerva, a woman who has experienced perpetual heartbreak via family and romantic hardships throughout the bulk of her life, brings both concepts together in a beautifully relatable way, making it impossible for us not to like her. 

Relatability Rating:  8/10