Quidditch, and Our Need for Brutality

After looking back over my last entry, I’ve come to the conclusion that I not only enjoy examining the broader implications of a small detail in a text (particularly a fantasy text), but also that such an approach might be a good foundation for this ongoing assignment. In the case of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, the element I’d like to look at is the sport of Quidditch.
Despite the fantastic nature of the sport itself, the role Quidditch plays in the novel’s world is undoubtedly familiar. The wizarding world’s zeal for the sport, both as players and spectators, is a clear extension for our own passion for sports, a passion which we can trace back to the very dawn of civilization. One might argue that over the course of human progress our sports have become more refined and more civilized, but certain elements of brutality and aggression have undoubtedly remained a part of those activities.
The nature of the wizarding world in this novel seems to hint at the idea of degrees of civilization and progress, and the importance of knowledge in defining civilization. Witches and wizards know vastly more about the true nature of the world than their muggle counterparts; they are a culture which places extreme importance on the value of academic pursuits and the acquisition of knowledge. Consequently, it seems logical to presume that wizard culture represents a more sophisticated and developed civilization than that of the muggle world, and yet Quidditch is as brutal a sport as any muggle equivalent, and I’d argue that it is more wholly celebrated in their culture than any single sport is in our own.
Likewise, in my own world there is essentially only one sport, Hockey. Since I was really too young to remember, my father has been taking me to Madison Square Garden to sit up in the blue seats, where we scream, holler, and curse (the last of which I learned to do in that very building). Watching and playing Hockey has been an essential part of my world for most of my life, and I’m not ashamed to admit that the violence of the sport is every bit as important to me as the elements of skill and strategy. It is an indulgence into a kind of more primitive mindset which has become, frankly, a necessity in my life.
I suppose Quidditch is a somewhat less violent sport than Hockey (most sports are). There is no denying, however, the essential role violence plays in the sport; Wood’s explanation of the game for Harry’s benefit makes that fact abundantly clear.
“Have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asks, to which Wood replies, “never at Hogwarts,” adding, “We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that,” before going on in an unworried way with his lesson (Rowling, 169). Harry’s fears, however, are not wholly quieted by Wood’s lack of concern, and he presses the point causing Wood to offer further assurances. “Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the bludgers,” says Wood, “I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves” (Rowling, 169).
In this short passage, not only does Wood exhibit a lack of concern over the violent aspects and physical risks of Quidditch, he celebrates the Weasley twins’ proficiency for violence as a defining quality of their characters. The importance of Quidditch in the wizarding world, violent aspects and all, is a reflection of human cultures need to have a controlled and consensual connection to our own violent and brutal past. That Rowling chose to include to sport so preeminently in the construction of her artificial world, when the major events of the text itself would likely have satisfied reader’s need for action, speaks of just how pervasive the relationship between culture and sport really is.


Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. New York, NY: Scholastic, Inc., 1998.