Relaciones entre las variables dermatológicas y los aspectos

With the fundamental shift in social conditions from feudalism to capitalism, that is, from a rural and agrarian social environment to one that is urban and industrial, production has become motivated by profit rather than need. This paradigm shift has had a profound effect on the worker, as Marx and Engels observed. Inevitably drawn into the capitalist marketplace, the worker is paid to produce goods or services that do not belong to him, but are sold for a profit. In return, the worker receives a wage through which he then purchases goods and services for himself, and as a direct consequence becomes perceived within this socio-economic system as primarily a consumer, not a producer.

Consumption is therefore the crux of capitalism, given that it is a system based “on the market, on money and on profit” (Storey, Cultural Studies 113). To be most effective, to produce the maximum possible profit, people must consume – endlessly. Advertising supports this consumption ethic, constantly reminding us that we need specific goods to feel good, to be somebody, to be relevant in a consumer society. Identity has become bound to the act of

consumption rather than production, creating dis-ease, or alienation: “the fact that labour is external to the worker . . . [means that] the worker feels himself only when he is not working . . . His labour is therefore . . . not the satisfaction of a need but a mere means to satisfy needs outside itself” (Marx qtd. in Storey, Cultural Studies 114). It follows that within such a system consumption takes on a fetishistic quality, with fetishism defined as “the attribution of life, autonomy, power, and even dominance to otherwise inanimate objects [presupposing] the draining of these qualities from the human actors who bestow the attribution” (Taussig 31). A consequence of fetishism is that we pursue happiness and satisfaction through the purchase and exhibition of goods even though the sense of fulfilment promised in the branding and advertising remains elusive or temporary.

Not only are we encouraged to consume in order to secure our identity, but also for the efficiency of production and profit we are all to desire and buy the same things. Commodification is a significant feature of market capitalism, referring to the way in which industrialisation tends to mass-produce and standardise goods and services. Commodification therefore saturates all

spheres of life, with the purchase and consumption of these goods and services as much a means to satisfying individual needs as a way to attain identity through the signs attributed to the commodity.

As discussed in the previous chapter, heroic fantasy engages with capitalism’s materialism; Tolkien’s criticism is oblique, but Rowling’s

commentary is direct. The Dursleys are caricatures of the bourgeois, especially in their belief in social mobility - that overt consumption reflects moral and social status. The more the Dursleys consume the better people they are, the more love they show their grotesque son. But despite this thematic

dissatisfaction with the “consumer society”, heroic fantasy has itself become heavily commodified in recent times, both in terms of the narrative and the merchandising that feeds off the popular genre.

The celebrated science fiction and fantasy author Ursula Le Guin has written disparagingly of a sector of fantasy writing which she refers to as “commodified fantasy”:

Commodified fantasy takes no risks; it invents nothing, but imitates and trivialises. It proceeds by depriving the old stories of their intellectual and ethical complexity, turning their action into violence, their actors into dolls, and their truth-telling to sentimental platitude. Heroes brandish their swords, lasers, wands, as mechanically as combine harvesters, reaping profits. Profoundly disturbing moral choices are sanitized, made cute, made safe. The passionately conceived ideas of the great story-tellers are copied . . .

advertised, sold, broken, junked, replaceable, interchangeable. (Tales from Earthsea xvi-xvii)

Le Guin refers to “genre fantasy”, pejoratively described as derivative or “universally imitative dross” that is “emitted by publishers to fulfil their

monthly quotas” (Clute and Grant 396). Genre fantasy is instantly recognisable – the narrative arc, characters and landscape are familiar and comforting (an accusation made of the Harry Potter series), and frequently bear Tolkien’s influence. However, genre fantasy, Clute and Grant assert “is not at heart fantasy at all, but a comforting revisitation of cosy venues, creating an effect that is almost anti-fantasy” (396). Where “full fantasy” is a “perception changing” (751) literature and should “release or even . . . catapult the reader into new areas of the imagination” (396), genre fantasies “cater in large part for unimaginative readers who, through the reading of a [genre fantasy], can feel themselves to be . . . vicariously imaginative” (396).

The esteemed fantasy author Diana Wynne Jones parodies genre or commodified fantasy in her novel The Dark Lord of Derkholm (1998). In this story, the wizard world regularly hosts “Mr Chesney’s Pilgrim Parties.” These Pilgrim Parties originate from the world next door and require the wizards to provide the quintessential fantasy experience – replete with a Dark Lord, Elves, dwarves, a magical guide, flying dragons and battles between good and evil.

But now the wizards have had enough of the devastation these tourist parties are causing to their world and look to challenge Mr Chesney’s power over them.

Jones’ novel suggests that powerful individuals like Mr Chesney (who can be read as standing for Walt Disney) are devastating fantasy literature by

turning the world into an industry. Both Le Guin and Jones bemoan the fact that some fantasy authors, armed with the essentials of the genre, merely imitate Tolkien.1 _{The genre is therefore depleted by replication; what the genre} needs, they argue, is thought-provoking invention, not more versions of The

Lord of the Rings. The concerns about the commodification of fantasy are two-

fold: there is the reduction of the genre itself to a formula, easily reproduced and readily consumed by a purportedly addicted audience; and the rampant merchandising and marketing surrounding the fantasy story, particularly when

1 _{Jones is clear that the success of fantasy literature relies on authors bringing their own voice} and ideas to the narrative rather than regurgitating Tolkien’s successful formula. In Jones’ 1984 novel, Fire and Hemlock, the young female protagonist, Polly, is writing fantasy. After reading

The Lord of the Rings four times she writes her own adventure story, in which Tan Coul and Hero, aided by Tan Thare, Tan Hanivar and Tan Audel, seek the Obah Crypt in the Caves of Doom. “After The Lord of the Rings it was clear to her that the Obah Crypt was really a ring which was very dangerous and had to be destroyed. Hero did this, with great courage” (156). When her friend Mr Lynn reads the story he chastises her for her lack of invention: “No, it’s not a ring. You stole that from Tolkien. Use your own ideas” (157, italics in original). Jones seems to suggest that rewriting Tolkien is an early stage in which authors practice their writing skills; it is not an end point for their creative talent.

produced as a film. This chapter is primarily interested in the latter, exploring the extent to which consumers influence or submit to the commodified culture they consume.

To enter this debate, I contrast the theoretical perspectives and attitudes of the Frankfurt School and cultural studies.2 _{The Frankfurt School perceive} commercial culture as a pernicious ploy by big business to indoctrinate the masses into capitalism. Jack Zipes, for example, forcefully denounces the commodification of culture, especially children’s culture: “Everything we do to, with, and for our children is influenced by capitalist marketing conditions and the hegemonic interests of ruling corporate élites” (xi). This position privileges production as the source of capitalist ideology, which is then

straightforwardly received by the consumer. However, although the Frankfurt School’s theory of the culture industry provides an excellent account of an “exceedingly commercial and technologically advanced culture that promotes the needs of dominant corporate interests, plays a principal role in ideological reproduction, and enculturates the populace into the dominant system of needs, thought, and behavior” (Durham and Kellner 12), this theoretical perspective nevertheless also promotes the idea of the “cultural dope”. It is as if the

2 _{References to the Frankfurt School are deployed loosely here, primarily to register the}

formative values and contributions of the school toward popular culture, which are invoked by other commentators, not necessarily adherents of Horkheimer and Adorno.

commentator is inexplicably prescient and the fan of The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter is not.

Wayne C. Booth observes, “most critics who have openly addressed ethical or moral questions have worked mainly at warning about the dangers lurking, for other people, in seductive fictions” (159, italics in original). Critics of the Frankfurt School persuasion predominantly register the “harmful effects” (159) of such narratives, and so I turn to commentators who illuminate the process of consumption. Cultural studies argues that meaning is made during consumption, rather than determined within the text. From this standpoint the consumer is understood as actively engaged with popular culture. But this is not to imply that consumers are all-powerful in their relationship with

commodified culture. Control over cultural products and therefore over cultural meaning is neither imposed from above nor cheerfully deflected from below. Rather, the process is hegemonic, with producer and consumer

negotiating control. Power is unevenly distributed, however, as a case study of the interaction between The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter fans and the film production companies New Line Cinema and Warner Bros. demonstrates. Following an analysis of the commodification of these texts from the

perspective of the Frankfurt School and those who express similar views, I introduce perspectives from Harry Potter consumers who participated in

interviews arranged in 2002.3 _{The discrepancy between gifts and commodities} therefore arises in this section; while many adults and children express

dissatisfaction with the proliferation of goods surrounding the series, some adults indicated that Harry Potter merchandise nevertheless provided an effective tool with which to connect with children. That there was no clear consensus within or across these focus group interviews regarding the culture industries’ exploitation of Harry Potter suggests that our relationship with such goods is often equivocal.