EXPECTO PATRONUM!

What’s your animal alter-ego?

In the epic, magical world of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, there exists a chant, a magic spell to conjure a guardian animal (or “patronus”) for each of the lead characters. With a wave of a wand and a robust “Expecto Patronum!” at the darkest hour, our hero can summon his or her patronus to ward off the evil Dementors. For us mere Muggles though, the alternative is a fun parlor game you might have played with friends in front of a fireplace after a few cocktails. “What is your spirit animal?” someone might have asked.

According to the Collins dictionary, a spirit animal is “a spirit in the form of an animal that embodies an individual’s character and acts as a personal guardian.” In reverence for Native American/indigenous tribal culture, however, I will stick with the term “patronus,” or “animal guide/alter-ego”. Choosing one's animal guide has always been a favorite activity of mine. Not only because I’m an avid animal lover, but also because I am a lover of people who can imagine themselves as animals. The symbolism and psychology behind it fascinate me to no end. Sigmund Freud used animal characters to explore the nature of the human ego and id in his writings, as did Shakespeare so famously when Macbeth confesses, “O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!” when referring to his murderous plans.

At Hogwarts, our friend Harry Potter discovers that his patronus is a stag (regal, cautious, shy, and perpetually hunted) while Hermione Granger’s is an otter (inquisitive, sharp, fidgety). Makes sense when you think about it, no? But before we delve deeper into the symbolism of animal guardians, let me float the question: If you could choose to be an animal, dear Reader, which one would you be? How does this animal represent you, your character, your attributions, your habits?

Expecto patronum!

In my novel, HEIST OF THE OLYMPIANS, I employ and explore such animal symbolism— patronuses—for my characters. Resourceful, earthy Lorelei recalls the little mouse from the fable who fell into a bucket of cream. Not the one who drowned, mind you, but the one who kicked so fiercely that it churned the cream to butter and was able to scamper out to safety. Luke’s patronus is eventually revealed as a mythical phoenix, rising from the ashes of a scorched childhood. My protagonist Angel finds herself trapped between not one, but two quite different animal alter-egos. She sees herself as an owl: reserved, wise, strategic, and nurturing. Always watching out for others. A guardian. Her family, however, pooh-poohs her selection and assigns her the animal alter-ego of a peacock. “A peacock?” she asks, genuinely flabbergasted and more than a touch hurt by their suggestion. Was a peacock not a flashy, prancy, pathetically land-locked show-bird that had nothing to contribute other than wooing bystanders with its beautiful tail? To astute, reserved Angel, it is an insult, a sign of weakness/superficiality, something which becomes a painful truth when her peacock side gets her into trouble. No wonder she aligns herself with her alter-ego Athena’s patronus: the wise owl, guardian of secrets, orchestrator of daunting heists. Here is a sneak peek from my chapter The Owl and the Peacock, when Angel’s animal alter-ego is confirmed to her during a Miq-mak nation’s tribal, trance-inducing drum ceremony in the Nova Scotian woods:

“The sharp object kept pushing down from the northern sky, stretched under the pressure like a balloon about to burst. Boom! … Pause. Boom! … Pause. Boom! … With the drum in its final rhythmic spasms, the object finally pierced through the dreamy sky to reveal itself: the beak of a majestic owl. Sharp and triangular, the color of polished ivory glowing in the light of the Aurora Borealis. A great-horned owl, it was, with copper-flecked feathers flaring outward from large, yellow saucer eyes. It looked down at her where she was reclining on the forest floor. And when it blinked those majestic eyes, she felt an incredible calm rush through her body that filled her with a sense of well-being. When the drum came to an abrupt halt, the owl lingered another second or two before it pulled its head back through the slit it had torn in the dark sky, leaving ripples in the ink-blotted Northern Skies, the way a rock did when skipped across the surface of a lake."

As my story unfolds, she starts to understand the dichotomy of her two disparate animal alter egos and plays them off against each other. But back to you, dear Reader. Have you figured out your patronus/es?

We all have different facets to our personalities that guide us, motivate us, and set us apart from the squirrel next door. I’ve always seen myself as a husky or wolf. But not the emaciated, grey Tundra wolf depicted on the pages of National Geographic with its jowls drawn back and teeth bared, eyes screwed into flaming slits. In my mind, I’m a she-wolf, soft, warm, and fluffy on the surface, but tough and fiercely protective on the inside. A little mysterious, perhaps, and often misjudged. A Game of Thrones dire wolf, like Nymeria. Hey, I never said your animal alter-ego had to be a real one. I can think of a few fiery dragons and fabulous unicorns in my inner circle/zoo, can’t you?

As is the case with my lead protagonist, how we see ourselves does not always line up with how others see us. To demonstrate this phenomenon, I decided to poll a few close girlfriends as to which patronus they would assign me. “I see you as a dolphin,” one friend replied, “smart, friendly, mischievous, fun and joyful…” In contrast to this, an online quiz I took pegged me as a manatee. (Gulp!) Personally, I prefer the sleek, playful dolphin to a blobby bottom feeder. But that's just me. Someone else assigned me the fantastical patronus of a mythical “mermaid/siren” (love!), her reasons being that it is “charming, appealing across all cultures, places and times, with a beautiful singing voice and (get this!) could be dangerous if her powers are not used for good.” Ooh, the intrigue! My inner international-spy Mata Hari is reveling in this image.

Another girlfriend sees me as an elephant “for its loyalty, wisdom, companionship, and intelligence. Strong-willed,” she added. In an interesting twist, upon researching the significance of the wolf as my alter-ego, I came across an article that mentioned both the dolphin and the elephant in the same vein. My friends, it seems, see me in a very similar way, albeit in different skins or furs. Likewise, I am surrounded by a group of pals who present as butterflies, lemurs, cats, dogs, and deer: friendly, fun, trustworthy, and loving folk. Man’s best friends. Lucky me!

Animal guides feature prominently in my novel. Not always as spiritual guardians, but always as symbols of the core values (or lack thereof) present in humanity. Thus, a drug dealer is equated to a rat, a filthy creature that slinks around in back alleys in the dark, spreading disease as it goes. There are many subtle and not-so-subtle references: a hummingbird, a tarantula, a rattlesnake, or an eagle. The last three play heavily into the character of my main antagonist and refer not only to his personality and psychopathy but also to his political views. Yes, dear Reader, there is always double entendre in my writing. Thus, the sighting (and ironic timing) of a black crow at a pivotal moment in the plot is indicative of a major transformation, a premonition of what is to come.

The only actual animal featured in my novel is a six-pound Pomeranian named Fitzi. My own pet dogs are huge, double-coated husky/malamute mixes (that's my 80lb dog, Bowie, gracing the heading of this post)—wolf-like animals that are the physical embodiment of my own patronus. It seems destiny to have chosen them as my pack, right? Accordingly, the creation of a 6-lb pom-pom patronus to accompany one of my lead characters through her story arc was a fait accompli. To me, it made sense that this woman would have this kind of dog: tiny, fragile, and copper-tressed like her. Her character was simply born in my mind with this little animal amulet attached to her psyche. It speaks volumes about her and becomes a stand-in for its human mom. A cautionary tale. All six pounds of Fitzi’s presence in my novel is imbued with a heaviness that you will only understand once you’ve read the novel. It’s Light versus Dark. That's how I roll, dear Reader.

Someone’s animal alter-ego can reveal so much about who they are, how they feel about themselves and their fellow human beings, what they aspire to, what drives them, but also what holds them back. Whether or not you believe in it, the truth is that there is a version of you somewhere in the animal kingdom, albeit soaring in a slipstream in the sky, weaving a sticky web, fluffing its nest, sharpening its antlers, cuddling its cubs, or biting the head off its mate.

In my ideal world, there would be a quiz to determine a human’s patronus as a prerequisite for job interviews and dating apps. Your animal guide is a weasel, you say? “Uh, I just remembered … I can’t go on that date tonight. I have to wash my hair.” (Swipe left.)

THE END