My Byronic Hero

Well, plans failed, as sometimes plans will, so here I am, writing when I thought I wouldn’t be. I haven’t anything else to do at the moment, so I’m going to feel free to write as much as I want. You can feel free to read as much or as little as you want, too.

I just finished watching the 1993 film version of Wuthering Heights. Despite the fact that it had Ralph Fiennes’ incredible voice in it, I managed to dislike it intensely. It wasn’t because the actors were bad—Fiennes had the best death stare that I’ve seen that wasn’t on a dead person. It wasn’t because so very many of the historical details were off. It wasn’t because the haircuts were hideous early nineties rat-nests, although that didn’t help. It was partly because of the music, but I could probably have gotten over that if it weren’t for what the cause of my dislike for the movie was mainly the result of.

I didn’t like the movie because I didn’t like the book.

I had no sympathy for Heathcliff. I had no sympathy for Catherine Earnshaw. The rest of the characters I formed no attachment to, except perhaps Ellen. For me, the book was simply a Gothic Romance, by which I mean Early Victorian Emo. I know, heresy for me to criticise the great literary masterpiece and all, but there you have it. I either like books or I don’t, and this was one of the don’ts.

I usually detest Byronic heroes. I sometimes like the stories that go on around them, but I usually hate the gentlemen themselves. I think I should have found Byron himself insufferable, had I ever met him, and he I. It’s not that Byronic men are too mysterious for me, or that they’re incomprehensible. I can understand most Byronic heroes. I just don’t like them.

Which brings me to the subject of this post (yes, I wandered a bit getting here, didn’t I?): I have finally found a Byronic hero that I absolutely love. Who is it that breaks through the instinctive dislike?

Severus Snape.

Yes, from the Harry Potter books. If you’ve never read them or never particularly bothered to remember them, allow me to briefly outline his Byronic nature. He is a loner, disliked even by his peers; before this he was an outcast during his school days; he has a very troubled past, including childhood abuse by his family members; he suffers to the end of his days from unrequited love (and without the hope of resolution, since the object of his affections is dead); his chief descriptors are terms like “dour” and “gloomy” and “brooding”; he is arrogant, demanding, and cynical; he suffers from a conflict of emotions over his self-imposed penance; he has trouble maintaining the integrity of his judgement around Harry Potter and matters involving the boy; he feels no need to conform to public opinion and in fact despises it in many instances; and he has certain things about him, such as his willingness to hurt people, his pettiness, and the murders he’s committed, that are not generally considered heroic traits.

Phew. Yeah, I know, brief. Anyway, from these and other observations, I’ve decided that he is one hundred percent Byronic hero. And I do love him so very much. He is, in fact, the reason I read anything past the middle of the fourth book.

My relationship to JK Rowling’s books over the years went like this: At thirteen, I read the first book, a year after it’s published. I quickly find a copy of the second and read it. At fourteen, I read the third book, and it becomes my favourite. At this time, Harry Potter is great. I love him. He does what I cannot, he stands up to teachers, he’s got great lines, &c &c. I adore him. Then at fifteen I read Goblet of Fire and two things have changed. One, Harry’s hit puberty, and two, I’ve gone to University. I no longer adore Harry Potter. I only read past the dragon fight because I want to see if the new idea forming in my mind is correct—that Harry Potter unjustly hates his Potions teacher.

The fifth book comes out. By this time I have been teaching under the supervision of another teacher while attending University full time, and I have been given a brand-new perspective with which to read the book: The perspective of someone who has already learned to hate students who emulate the behaviours of Harry Potter. I instantly take an extreme dislike to Harry Potter in book five, and cheer on his antagonists, especially the one teacher who dares to dislike him also. I resolve not to read the sixth book.

The sixth book comes out. I read it, because I must have the justification for my hero’s behaviour. I must know that he is not simply a ruthless villain supporting an even more ruthless villain but instead the hero that I believe him to be. I find the support I need in a single glimpse into his memory that the author provides. I know I am right. All is well in the world.

The seventh book comes out. I read it through (this morning, in fact), and for Severus I do what I have not done for Heathcliff and his ilk. I cry when he dies.

Yup. I liked him that much. I never wrote poems or drew pictures or any of that other stuff that some fans do (unless you count this blog post), but I gave him the greatest compliment I can give a literary character. I bought books because of him.

I am Severus!

Congratulations if you read to this point. I think I’ll quit before my mental stability is thrown into any more question. But a question to answer, if you will: Have you a favourite Byronic hero? Who and why?