[From the archives]

What does it mean to be Anti-American, Anti-Christian, Anti-Muslim, Anti-Semitic?  What must one do to merit the "anti-" prefix?

Actions I can understand.  I would not hesitate to call one who does not allow Jewish people into his restaurant an anti-Semite.  I would not hesitate to call one who spits on Tibetan monks anti-Buddhist.

But what of words?  How much does it take?  Is a single use of a negative appellation enough?  What about a single off-color joke?  How much does it take to earn one the label?

I'll use an example.  [A few years ago] Barack Obama made a joke about most Americans being Anglophonic monoglots.  "It's embarrassing when Europeans come over here, they all speak English, they speak French, they speak German. And then we go over to Europe and all we can say is 'merci beaucoup!'"  For this (and possibly for the ongoing flag-pin thing) some are calling him "anti-American."  Others are saying that the joke (but not the person) was anti-American.

Was it?  Is he?

The joke is an observation.  An observation that Europeans tend to be polyglottal, whereas most Americans don't even know their own language.  It's an observation with an implicit criticism.  I, as an English teacher, have shared both that observation and that criticism on various occasions.  And I, as a traveler, have made that observation about Europeans as well.  I've met Brits who spoke German and Italian better than I speak English; I've met Italians who spoke Greek and French and Belgian; I've been greeted in strange countries in my native tongue; and those Swiss speak just about every damn language there is.

In sharing this observation, and this criticism, is my criticism anti-American?  Do I myself BECOME an anti-American?

For some it seems to be.  For some you are not allowed to criticize their [country, faith, ethnicity] without becoming an anti-.  Others, perhaps, have thicker skins...

But I will disagree.  I will say that criticism might mean that I am a pro-.  I might criticize Americans because I love America and wish to see her improve.  I might criticize Christianity because I am a Christian and love Jesus and wish to see Jesus' people represent him well.  In fact, such motivations might drive me to criticize MORE.  (Is it "anti-American" to dissent?  Myself, I'm with James Baldwin on this one--that dissension is, if anything, the most patriotic act, because it shows that we care enough about our nation to speak out when we believe she is wrong.)

But if not criticism, where is the line at which one becomes an anti-?  Is it insult?  If I call someone a "nappy-headed ho", does that make me [anti-black/anti-women] (depending on who you ask)?

And thus I ask you, Xangans: what makes someone an anti-?  Criticism, insult, action, or somewhere in between?

All right, serious talk now. I wasn't going to chime in on this debate, other than my facetious last post, but a couple people have now asked what my take on this is.

With this whole uprising about Yoga, and whether it's "okay" for Christians to engage in it, I worry that the reason Western evangelical Christians are so afraid of practices such as yoga is not really because of its Hindu origins, but because of its non-Western origins.  Hinduism--and by extension, yoga--are foreign, Other, unknown, and therefore scary.

Because think about it.  Is this really about worshiping Hindu gods?  If you think it is, first ask yourself this question:

Is it possible to worship something by accident?

No, seriously.  Is it possible to worship something by accident?  If you trip and fall to your knees in front of a statue to someone else's god, does it count?  How about if you donate to a charity but then find out that some proceeds go to another religion's temple, does that count?  If you sing a song and then find out that song is a praise to some other god, did you just worship that god?

I sincerely hope that your answer is, "of course not."  Worship is homage, respect, or reverence, literally "worth-ship," the act of declaring something worthy of... whatever you're doing to it or giving it.  Can you respect something by accident?  No, because respect is intentional.  So is worship--intention is part of it.  You can worship something unconsciously, but you can't worship something by accident.  Paul seems to support this, when he says regarding meat-that-has-been-sacrificed-to-idols,

"Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience. For "the earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof." If one of the unbelievers invites you to dinner and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. But if someone says to you, "This has been offered in sacrifice," then do not eat it, for the sake of the one who informed you, and for the sake of conscience—  I do not mean your conscience, but his. For why should my liberty be determined by someone else's conscience? If I partake with thankfulness, why am I denounced because of that for which I give thanks?"

In other words, if you ate meat and didn't know it had been part of a pagan ceremony, there's no condemnation for you, you didn't know.  It's not like you participated in or supported said ceremony intentionally.  And even if you do find out, the only reason to stop eating is for the sake of other people, not for your own sake.  After all, the meat was God's first.

Now let's apply this to yoga.

If there's a Christian who thinks that yoga is just stretching exercises, and doesn't think it has anything to do with Hindu religious practices, that's okay.  The human body was God's first, and he designed it to be able to stretch to all those positions.  If they don't think it's worshiping Hindu gods, then it cannot be worship of Hindu gods, because there is no intent to worship, and one cannot worship by accident.

If they themselves are not bothered by the idea of yoga, the only reason they should stop is in order to protect a particular person's conscience.

Second question:

Can pagan artifacts and practices be used or adapted to serve or worship the Christian God?

Can items or traditions that were used to serve one religion's god(s) be legitimately used within Christianity?  Can Greek temples to Zeus be adapted into churches?  Can Native American tribal dances and ceremonial dress, once used in worship of pagan gods, now be used to worship Jesus?  How about German bar songs, can they be adapted into hymns?  The pagan practice of bringing evergreens indoors to keep Spring alive through the solstice, can that be adapted into a celebration of Christ's birth?

Um, yes.  Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

It has its limits, of course.  You can't take a statue of Zeus, paint its beard brown, put it up at the front of a church, and say "Hey look, it's Jesus!"  (Deut 12:3)  But so much else is adaptable when it comes to worshiping Jesus, and do you know why? 

Because Christianity is not a culture.  Nor is it exclusive to Western culture.  Christianity is not the white man's religion, is not any people-group's religion, and because of that, every people-group--every tribe, tongue, and nation--is free to find its own expression of Christianity.  This means that how a Nigerian worships Jesus may look different from how a Malaysian worships Jesus, and how a Korean worships Jesus may look different from how a Ecuadorian worships Jesus, because people from every culture are going to bring in their own cultural practices, cultural artifacts, and cultural traditions into the mix...  some of which will have once been used in the service of other religions.

For crying out loud, one of the very Names of God used in the Bible was adapted from contemporary pagan cultures!  Paul quoted from pagan poets in his sermon on the Aeropagus, and even referenced a pagan altar in his sermon!  (For that matter, he was speaking on the stinkin' Aeropagus, the Hill of Ares, dedicated to a Greek god!)

To quote the ever-awesome Eric PasstheAura: "The meanings the ancient pagans gave to plants are doubtless at odds with Christian beliefs, but it hardly follows that the plants must have those same associations hundreds of years later for people in different cultural situations.  When I give my wife a red rose, I am not saying that I support the house of Lancaster instead of the Plantagenets, even though that’s precisely what it would have meant had we lived in 15^th-century England.  (Bonus points to anyone who knows who the Plantagenets were.)  Associations change easily and are almost entirely subjective.  As for us, most Christians agree that “Only God can make a tree.”"

This is as true of stretchy positions as it is of roses and trees.  Associations are culturally and temporally subjective.

Terry LeBlanc, a Native American Christian, said it this way of Christians of his own culture: "Why are we so distrustful of our cultural identity?  Why, as Native Christians, do we believe that our drum, our musical styles, our dance... have less value to the Kingdom than English hymns or German organs, for example.  Why do they have less value than Welsh choruses, Irish ballads, Italian frescoes, Roman architecture?  These things are very acceptable in the mainstream of evangelical Christianity, but why those things and not our art forms?"

So--application back to the topic at hand.  If artifacts, activities and practices that have formerly been used in other religions can legitimately be used in service of the Christian God, as they have been for centuries, then so can yoga, regardless of whether it has been used as a Hindu religious practice or not.  God made the human body, he made it to stretch in certain ways, and such stretching is only a Hindu religious practice if the practitioner wants it to be.  If the practitioner doesn't want it to be, it doesn't have to be--it could even be used as a worship of the Christian God, if one was so inclined.

Story time: I once took a Tai Chi class in which, as part of the martial art, I was asked to meditate.  The teacher described meditation as quieting the mind and heart.  Well, did you know meditation is a Christian practice as well?  It's slightly different, but it's quite biblical.  First chapter of Psalms: "Blessed is the man who[se] ...delight is in the Lord, and in his law doth he meditate both day and night."  And so I stood there, balanced in the wu chi position, and brought to my mind Scripture, and chewed on it, meditating.  When it was time to begin the form, my teacher had to say so twice before I noticed.

Or, if you'd like another example, I've got one for you.

To sum this up using Bible verses,

1)  "To the pure, all things are pure, but to the defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure; but both their minds and their consciences are defiled."  (Titus 1:15)

2)  "For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth—as indeed there are many "gods" and many "lords"—yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist."  (1 Cor 8:5-6)

3)  "Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up."  (1 Cor 8:1b)

As I understand it, there has been a lot of debate on Revelife over the last few days, about whether it's okay for Christians to do Yoda.

Well, I do suppose it is a bit of a gray area.  After all, nowhere in the Bible does it say "Thou shalt not engage in sexual relations with alien Jedi Masters."  However, I do think there are several principles you can draw from the Bible that, when extended, do apply to this situation.  For example, if marriage is the only proper forum for sexuality, then a Christian would have to be married to Yoda in order to engage in such relations with him.  (This, of course, would be problematic anyway, first of all because of the Jedi prohibition against romantic entanglement, and secondly because if the Jedi belief system is a religion mutually exclusive with Christianity, then such a marriage would be "unequally yoked.") 

However, as repellent as I personally find the idea of engaging in relations with a little green alien, I think the larger application here is--

*frantic whispering*

Huh?

*more frantic whispering*

Well yes, I know, a conversation started on Revelife about whether it's okay to--

*even more frantic whispering*

YoGA?  Like, the stretching thing?  Really?  Why?

*exasperated whispering*

Oh.

Ahem.  Um, sorry, ladies and gentlemen, it turns out the conversation is not about Yoda at all.  Or sex.

Erm... carry on.

Rapunzel: I've been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be?
Flynn Rider: It will be.
Rapunzel: And what if it is? What do I do then?
Flynn Rider: Well,that's the good part I guess. You get to go find a new dream.


Ever since I saw Disney's movie Tangled, my literary-deconstruction-sense has been tingling.  The story of Rapunzel is a very old story, and it has a sort of mythic resonance to it, which Disney's re-imagining didn't mess with.  If anything, the writers slipped in various lietmotifs and recurring symbolism that complemented the older story.  There's a lot to see here, and I really want to tease it all out into the open. 

This whole thing is going to be chock-full of spoilers, so if you haven't seen it yet, and intend to, don't read this one.

Maybe a little context is in order first.

1)  The Salad Bar: Rampion, Rudaba, and Radishes

Flynn Rider: Alright blondie.
Rapunzel: Rapunzel.
Flynn Rider: Gesundheit.

Okay, first, let's look at the originals.  The story of Rapunzel probably descended from (or is related to) the Persian story of Rudaba, but many elements integral to the Rapunzel story (such as the tower of isolation) are absent, so we'll pick up the thread at the German folktales that the Grimm Brothers collected.  The folktale begins with a standard faerie-tale trope, as old as Hannah or Sarai: the childless couple who want children.  This particular couple live next-door to a faerie (or sorceress, depending on the version), who has a magnificent garden.

Well, it came about that the childless wife does become pregnant one day.  While pregnant, she has an incredible craving for a plant that she sees through her window.  (In some versions it's rampion radishes that the wife sees; in other versions lamb's lettuce; sometimes it's parsley; of course, in the most familiar version, it's the rapunzel plant.)  She has such an intense craving for this plant that her life becomes threatened, and her husband repeatedly sneaks into the faerie/sorceress's garden to steal some for his wife to eat.  Long story short, he gets caught, and the sorceress/faerie demands payment in the form of their firstborn child; when the girl is born (and is named after whatever the plant was that her mother ate), the faerie/sorceress/whatever claims her.

Raised in isolation, in a tower without door or stair, little Rampion/Rapunzel holds the only means of entrance in her hair, which she lets down for "Frau Gothel."  One day a young prince overhears the means of entrance and begins to visit Rampion/Rapunzel when the faerie/sorceress is away.  Eventually Rapunzel accidentally gives away the secret of her lover's visits--in the older versions, by asking why her dresses are all suddenly too tight.  Enraged, the sorceress/faerie cuts Rapunzel's hair, sends her away to the desert, and when the prince next comes visiting, she throws him down to have his eyes blinded by thorns.

Years later, as an older Rapunzel is living in poverty in the desert with her twin children, the blinded prince comes stumbling across her path.  She recognizes him, weeps over him, and her tears heal his wounded eyes.  Then they all go back to the prince's kingdom, where (you can hear it coming) they live happily ever after.

...

Okay, so on reading this, you can see that Disney changed a lot between the Grimm's version and their own.  No, duh.  I doubt Disney could have made the Grimm's original, what with 'Punzel getting preggers and the prince getting blinded and all.  But look at what survived the cut.
--It all starts because Rapunzel's parents dug up a plant to feed to Rapunzel's mother, who was dying.
--Frau Gothel takes baby Rapunzel as repayment/vengeance
--The tower of isolation, while no longer representing sexual chastity, still is associated with parental protectiveness (or, you know, foster-parental protectiveness).
--Rapunzel's lover is wounded when trying to visit her again, when Gothel is the one waiting for him instead.
--Rapunzel's lover is healed by her tears.

Sure there's a lot more that was added--animal friends, musical numbers--but I'd wager that a play-by-play comparison between Grimm's and Disney's versions of Beauty and the Beast would show more was changed in that movie.  (I mean, where are Maurice's other daughters?  And where did Gaston come from?)

Besides, I like what they added.  Whoever the scriptwriters were had a sense of the mythic.  Let's dig deeper...

2)  Flynn Rider and the Alchemical Process

Hook Hand Thug: Go, live your dream. 
Flynn Rider: I will.
Hook Hand Thug: Your dream stinks. I was talking to her.
[Referring to Rapunzel]

I've recently been introduced to the world of alchemical literary theory by better literary critics than I, such as Mr. Pond and Professor John Granger.  Most of you are no doubt familiar with the concept of alchemy--a medieval attempt to change one element into another (usually lead into gold), the ancestor of chemistry.  What literary alchemy is, is a story of purification that roughly follows the three stages (and three colors) of classical alchemy.

The story of Eugene FitzHerbert, a.k.a. Flynn Rider, is one such story of purification.  When we first meet him he's somewhere between a Loveable Rogue and a Phantom Thief, stealing for profit and for glory, double-crossing his less-than-savory accomplices when it suits him, and working on maintaining an Errol-Flynn-like reputation as a "dashing" outlaw.  Despite his claim that he "doesn't do backstory," we learn that his childhood upbringing has led him to prize material gain above all else.  Hardly the noble prince of the original story!  Eugene/Flynn is somewhat lost in his own facade, buying his own publicity, but he's all spectacle and little substance.  By the end of the story, however, he's willing to make selfless choices, even ones that benefit someone else but are detrimental to himself.  What changed?

In alchemy, the three stages of altering a base metal into gold were:  Nigredo, the "black" stage, the stage of putrefaction or decomposition, in which the base metal is broken down into a sort of primal matter; Albedo, the "white" stage, the stage in which impurities are washed away; and Rubeo, the "yellow-red" stage, the stage of fusion, in which the material finally took on the properties of gold.

Nigredo -- a breakdown, a state of ultimate despair.  Eugene/Flynn has one such moment when he and Rapunzel are trapped in a tunnel that is rapidly filling with water.  The light goes out, leaving him in total blackness.  All that he is, or that he thinks he is, rather, has broken down, failed him, and he comes to the end of himself.  This is when he finally admits his real name.
Albedo -- the removal of false self-images, the gain of insight into ones self.  The white horse Maximus, the symbol of law and justice, joins the party, and Flynn comes to an uneasy truce with him.  Meanwhile, they travel with Rapunzel through the white city, a sort of conflation of Minas Tirith and Mont St. Michel, where (as Rapunzel dances) Flynn begins to wonder if material gain is really what his heart's deepest desire is.
Rubeo -- the fusion of spirit with matter, of pure with impure; the solar awakening.  Out on the lake, in a boat with Rapunzel, Flynn reevaluates his life goal, his dream.  As he does so, the two are surrounded by Rapunzel's dream, hundreds and hundreds of burning sky-lanterns, in the film's most visually impressive moment.  The fire flickers yellow-red, and Eugene/Flynn comes to a decision, and finds wholeness.

Rapunzel: I have made the decision to trust you.
Flynn Rider: A horrible decision really.

I wish I knew if there were any alchemical significance to the color green, because in the film, green seems to be associated with Flynn's past.  The Stabbington brothers wear green, and right after the sky-lantern scene, we see them on the shore holding a green lantern.  I've been picking at that but can't find any deeper meaning to the color choice.

(The City in Tangled)

(Mont St. Michel in France--a REAL PLACE)
 

3)  Rapunzel and the Light

Rapunzel's story, however, is not a story of purification.  It's a story of revelation.  And thus it's quite fitting that the symbols and motifs that surround her story are not those of the alchemical process, but those of the properties of light, particularly sunlight.
--The "drop of sunlight" that formed the magical flower
--The crest of Rapunzel's family is a yellow sun
--The various suns that Rapunzel subconsciously worked into her paintings
--The sky-lanterns that Rapunzel's parents send up in her memory
--Her own hair and its glow
--The mirror that Gothel obsessively looks in; mirrors reflect light.
--Even her animal friend, Pascal, is a chameleon, changing his color to reflect different wavelengths of visible light.

During the film's song "Mother Knows Best," Mother Gothel sings about how Rapunzel can't ever leave the tower because of all the scary things that are out in the world, making disparaging remarks about Rapunzel's ability to handle "life out there."  ("Mother knows best./Take it from your mumsy./On your own you won't survive./Sloppy, underdressed,/Immature, clumsy,/Please!/They'll eat you up alive!")  As she sings, she walks around slamming shut windows, making the interior of the tower darker and darker.  Rapunzel follows her around, trying to re-light candles so she can see, but Gothel just keeps putting them out again.  Symbolically this one's a no-brainer: Gothel is figuratively keeping Rapunzel in the dark, keeping her cloistered and isolated for selfish reasons.  Rapunzel knows nothing of her real parentage, nothing of her own past--and doesn't even know why it is that a cloud of lights appear in the sky every year on her birthday.

Light is truth, is knowledge--you can know what is in a lit room, but not in a dark room.  Light reveals.  It's no accident, then, that Rapunzel's longing for self-knowledge is represented by her longing for light--to know what the "lights in the sky," the sky-lanterns, are.

When Rapunzel finally has her moment of revelation, it comes in the form of the sun.  Groping through dim childhood memories, she suddenly sees that all her paintings contain the same sun-crest that hung over the city--her family's crest.  The girl whose hair holds the power of the sun-flower can now see clearly, see who she is, see what Gothel is.  Her self-knowledge comes symbolized by the sunlight she embodies.

Gothel's disparagement of Rapunzel hit all sorts of uncomfortable notes with myself, when I was watching this movie in the theater: I've witnessed codependent relationships and emotionally abusive relationships, and Gothel's mother/daughter relation with Rapunzel had strong hints of both.  With her constant emotional manipulation she tries to keep Rapunzel on a leash, and that manipulation seems associated with Gothel's mirror.

[looking in the mirror with Rapunzel]
Mother Gothel: Look in that mirror. I see a strong, confident, beautiful young lady.
[Rapunzel smiles]
Mother Gothel: Oh look, you're here too.
[laughs]
Mother Gothel: I'm just teasing! Stop taking everything so seriously.

Mirrors reflect light, but they don't always reflect light accurately.  Think of a funhouse mirror, that stretches or distorts its image.  Likewise, if light represents truth, Gothel's mirror is a skewed perspective on truth--a view of the world that Rapunzel's foster-mother has foisted upon her. 

Notice the circumstances under which the mirror breaks:

Mother Gothel: Now, Now. It's alright. Listen to me. Everything is as it should be.
[tries to touch her but Rapunzel grabs her wrist]
Rapunzel: No! You were wrong about the world. And you were wrong about me! AND I WILL NEVER LET YOU USE MY HAIR AGAIN!
[Gothel breaks free of Rapunzel's grip only to cause a nearby mirror to fall and smash. Rapunzel then turns to leave]

The mirror breaks at the moment that Rapunzel rejects her foster mother's worldview, the skewed version of reality that she had been feeding Rapunzel.  The twisting of light has ended, now that Rapunzel knows who she is.

When Flynn cuts Rapunzel's hair, to keep her from being "kept" by Gothel, he does so not with a knife or with scissors, but with a shard of the broken mirror.  He is, in essence, using the broken symbol of Rapunzel's former psychological shackles to free her--because by cutting her hair, by breaking the healing enchantment even before it can be used to save him, he is releasing the reason for Gothel's hold on Rapunzel.

4)  Gothel and Time

Rapunzel's story of revelation is associated with light; Eugene/Flynn's story of purification is associated with the colors of alchemy; Gothel's story, however, is one that has to do with time.

Neither a sorceress nor a faerie, in this version, Gothel is simply an old woman obsessed with youth, a sort of Elizabeth Bathory, selfishly hoarding the regenerative power of the sun-flower--and when that is taken from her, stealing the child that has inherited its powers.  Her gaze turns past-ward, to the "beautiful young lady" that she was and wishes to remain.  Listen, too, to the song she sings to activate the flower's (and later Rapunzel's hair's) enchantment:

"Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine.  Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.  Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates' design.  Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine."

It's all about reversing time, stopping decay, and clinging to what was.  Gothel is, in Perelandrian terms, "one who shrinks back from the wave that is coming... and would like... to bring back the wave that is past."  She seeks to keep things as they were.

And this is true not only of her own physical appearance, but of her relationship with Rapunzel.  She seeks to keep Rapunzel a child, essentially--dependent on herself, incapable of venturing out into the world.  She wants this for purely selfish reasons, of course--to keep the magical power of the sun-flower close where she can get to it.

But this has its mirror in real-world parenting.  What of helicopter moms, or obsessive parents who treat their thirty-year-old children like infants, or other such parenting phenomena?

My mom has a great phrase: "A good mother works herself out of a job."  That, essentially, it is the job of a parent to equip and encourage their children to become independent adults, rather than to hold them back at their favorite stages.  A bittersweet thought, but one essential for a healthy parent/child relationship.  Gothel, of course, has no such sense, but then, Gothel isn't setting out to be a good parent, just to keep the source of her eternal youth a prisoner.

Rapunzel: I can't believe I did this.
[Whispers]
Rapunzel: I can't believe I did this. *I can't believe I did this!* Mother would be so furious. That's OK though, I mean what she doesn't know won't kill her. Oh my gosh. This would kill her. *This is so fun!* I, am a horrible daughter. I'm going back. *I am never going back!* I am a despicable human being. *Woo-hoo! Best. Day. Ever!*
[Sobs]

In Conclusion

Ultimately this is a coming-of-age story, a story about finding oneself and one's dreams.  But for all that cliche stuff, there's a surprising amount of depth to Tangled, and a lot of room to dig.  I haven't enjoyed a Disney film this much since Beauty and the Beast, and as a literature teacher, I haven't had so much fun exploring the deeper meanings of a Disney film since, well, ever.

What did I miss?  I'm sure there are layers here that I haven't yet touched--this movie is like an onion, or parfait.  Thoughts?

Some days I miss you terribly
Before you've even left my side.
I want to wrap my arms around
Your waist, and hold, and turn ears deaf
To phone-call bosses, shrieking clocks;
A world's impatience at the dawn.

Is it chance that one such morning
Falls on today, a Hallmark scene?
Named after a dead saint or three,
Who may or not have really lived
Or loved, or breathed, or held entwined
Their women warm in morning arms.

And did they know--these dead saints three,
Whose single name evokes a haze
Of lace and hearts and harlequins--
That ache of momentary loss
When out you climb from pillowed nest
And leave my arms all gaping-cold?

Sometimes you just get to the point where you realize you've said it well before:

Keeping the Peace on V-Day (2006)

Addressing V-Day Hate (2009)

The Origins of V-Day (2010)

These Public Service Announcements were brought to you by the International Council of Poets, Dreamers, and Romantics.  If you prefer satire, you're better off going to The Onion.

Me:  "Hey, you know, I'm getting better at this 'eating healthy' kick."
She:  "Oh?"
Me:  "Because look."  *gestures at the remaining half of the melt on my plate*  "I'm going to eat this, mind you, but I don't have to."
She:  ...
Me:  "A few months ago, I would have had to finish.  There would have been a psychological compulsion for me to have an empty plate when we leave this restaurant."
She: ...
Me:  "But now?  I'm satisfied.  I could walk out of here leaving this behind, or in a doggy bag.  I would be okay with that."  *looks at her*  "That's improvement, in a way."
She:  "I guess that is an improvement."
Me:  "It is!"  *pointing at the plate*  "There's something here wrapped in bacon and cheese and I'M NOT EATING IT!"  *grins*
She:  "Good!  I'm proud of you!"
Me:  ...
She:  ...
Me:  "Yeah, that's enough of that."  *grabs the other half, takes a big bite*

No doubt you've heard by now that the latest accusation of plagiarism against the Harry Potter series has been dismissed.

The Story
Willy the Wizard's website
Scholastic's Statement

The family of the author of little-known book series "Willy the Wizard" claimed that they should have received money from Rowling and her publisher because the WtW series contained similar ideas to those in HP.  For example, both books feature a boy going to a wizard school, contain wizard chess and wizard trains, and have a character with a "Strange eye."  (Of course, WtW's wizard trains are made of see-through platinum, its strange-eyed character is a cyclops, but let's not muddle the issue with facts.)

The plagiarism case was thrown out in the US today, though it may go on longer in the UK, but really, this should never have been an issue.  In fiction, unlike in research, it's not enough to simply use the same Idea as another person.

See, Ideas in fiction--tropes, you might call them--bubble out of the collective consciousness.  Different authors often work along similar lines, similar plots, similar characters.  Sometimes it's unintentional, and sometimes it's "borrowing," but the fact is, you can't write fiction without writing something that has been written before.  Damsel in Distress?  It's been done.  Warrior Damsel who rescues herself?  Yeah, it's been done too.  The Damsel in Distress Turns Out To Not Really Be In Distress But Is In Fact The Criminal Mastermind Behind Her Own Kidnapping?  Been done. 

Shakespeare is a great example of how it’s not the IDEAS that make the book (or play), it’s the TELLING.

Both Shakespeare and Marlowe tackled the idea of the avaricious Jewish merchant with a rebellious daughter. But in terms of quality, there is little comparison between “The Jew of Malta” and “The Merchant of Venice.” Marlowe’s anti-hero Barabas is a mustache-twirling Machiavellian villain, a vice character, who gleefully poisons whole convents full of nuns without hesitation… while Shakespeare’s Shylock is more complex, ambiguous, forcing us to sympathize with him even as we detest what he does–we see him cling to his pound of flesh because the world has denied him so much else. So while you might say, on one hand, that Shakespeare “stole” the idea from Marlowe, really he did no such thing. He wrote his own version of the story which, while it does not deviate from the basic plot of the stories that came before, digs deeper than they did and ultimately subverts its own genre. Same Idea; vastly different in the Telling.

Author Neil Gaiman writes that he often has complete strangers walk up to him and offer a deal: they have a “great idea for a story,” and they say if they tell him, and if he writes the story for them, they could split the profits 50/50.

He always turns these people town politely, because he says, “The Ideas aren’t the hard bit. They’re a small component of the whole. Creating believable people who do more or less what you tell them to is much harder. And hardest by far is the process of simply sitting down and putting one word after another to construct whatever it is you’re trying to build: making it interesting, making it new. ” (Source)

And that’s the thing. Having a story which contains the Idea about a boy going to wizard school, that’s not enough. Nor is it enough to have a story which contains the Ideas of wizard trains or wizard prisons. Those Ideas predate both Rowling and Jacobs.

(For other stories involving a wizard school, many of which predate both WtW and HP, see:
--A Wizard of Earthsea
--Merlin’s Apprentice
--So You Want To Be A Wizard
--M is for Magic
--The Worst Witch series
--Wizard’s Hall
--The Stone of Tears)

The real question is–how is it told? What are the characters like? Is the plot well-paced, the story well-crafted, the setting vibrant, the characterization clear? Is the narration crisp and clean, are the thematics subtle yet irresistible? Where does it *go* with the Idea?
When stories are similar in those respects as well, then you have a case for plagiarism–not only when the Ideas are the same.

“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.” –C.S. Lewis

We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.

Athbhliain faoi mhaise duit!