13 Reasons Why A Series Of Unfortunate Events Is Miles Better Than Harry Potter

Why the Baudelaire orphans totally trump the boy who lived.

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In the late 1990s/early 2000s, two children's book series helped get a whole generation into reading: J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter franchise and Lemony Snicket's (AKA Daniel Handler's) A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Handler's thirteen novels were massively successful, selling 60 million copies worldwide.

And how many copies did the Harry Potter shift?

450 million – more than seven times A Series of Unfortunate Events' worldwide total.

To top it off, Harry Potter's films and tie-in merchandise created a $21 billion multi-media industry.

By comparison, A Series of Unfortunate Events has been adapted into one movie, which took in a respectable $209 million at the box office. Not bad, but hardly a stray knut compared to the Potter empire.

But here's the thing: A Series of Unfortunate Events is a vastly superior series to Harry Potter in pretty much every conceivable respect.

Don't believe me? Let's look at some evidence…

13) The Protagonist(s)

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Harry Potter is an effective protagonist because he's bland. Much like Twilight's Bella (yes, I'm going there) he serves as a blank slate upon which young readers can impose their personalities.

By contrast, the Baudelaire orphans are more than just three of the unluckiest characters in fiction. They're distinctive individuals with unique talents, flaws and redemptive qualities. What's more, they genuinely evolve, particularly Sunny, whom we watch develop from an infant/crawling plot device into a tragic heroine, forced to mature beyond her years as a result of her traumatic experiences.

Violet, Klaus and Sunny's respective fortes (mechanical expertise, studiousness and…sharp teeth) also evolve and adapt as they age, blossoming from kooky talents in The Bad Beginning into essential life skills in The End.

Finally, the Baudelaires represent a far more intriguing treatment of loss. Although Harry is also an orphan, he never knew his parents. As a result, growing up without loving guardians is what most powerfully defines him.

Conversely, the Baudelaires lose their mother and father later in life (except Sunny, I guess) and the thirteen novels chart their grieving process in a very nuanced and non-condescending way. This provides a valuable introduction to the inevitability of death and grief for youngsters.

12) The Supporting Cast

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Let's get something straight right off the bat: J.K. Rowling is a master of characterisation. She seems to have an uncanny knack for developing characters that are both fantastical and extremely relatable, which is an amazing achievement for any author.

However, the supporting characters in A Series of Unfortunate Events attain and exceed this accomplishment.

Like the assorted players in Harry Potter, Snicket's characters are surreal yet totally believable, from the agoraphobic Aunt Josephine to the hapless banker-cum-temporary guardian, Mr Poe. But more than that, all the characters encountered by the Baudelaires (and a few they don't) are intrinsically tied to the series' wider universe and have genuine relevance within it.

As a particularly awesome example (spoilers!) every single taxi driver ever featured in the series is later revealed to be the same person (megaspoliers!), strongly hinted to be the author (as Lemony Snicket) in his own fiction. This is staggeringly clever for a kid's book.

What's more, this level of detail means that there are no throwaway characters. Every single person in the franchise is endowed with a fleshed-out profile and unique importance, resulting in a world that feels thoroughly alive.

11) The Villain

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Both Voldemort and Count Olaf are (at least initially) melodramatic villains, in the truest sense. The two characters embody absolute evil, serving as a benchmark by which the relative goodness and badness of every other character is defined.

Voldemort never really moves beyond this. While his character history provides motivation for his actions and basis for his faults, there is no ambiguity about his moral alignment. He is, from start to finish, utterly without redeeming qualities.

Count Olaf begins in much the same way, driven by a psychopathic greed to steal the Baudelaire's family fortune, remorselessly disposing of anyone who gets in his way. However, around book nine (The Carnivorous Carnival), we see him develop into a dark reflection of the Baudelaires: he too is an orphan but his misfortunes have shaped him into something grotesque.

Ingeniously, the Baudelaires actually begin to resort to modest villainy just to survive, resulting in a gradually less antagonistic relationship with Olaf, approaching grudging respect.

This is a clear parable on the influence of choice and circumstance in shaping a person's character. As the gap between Olaf and the Baudelaires begins to narrow, we realise that people who suffer misfortune must choose how their misfortune will mould them.

Much like Batman and the Joker, the disturbing thing about Olaf is not that he is different from our heroes. It is that he is similar.

10) The Narrative

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One of the most common criticisms levelled at A Series of Unfortunate Events focuses on its repetitive nature.

Every book involves a new guardian who temporarily takes charge of the Baudelaires, followed by Count Olaf showing up in disguise and hatching a plot to steal their fortune, which the orphans eventually overcome, resulting in Olaf being unmasked and the Baudelaires shunted on to another guardian. Rinse and repeat.

However, this repetition isn't a narrative flaw; it's actually a deliberate stroke of genius.

A Series of Unfortunate Events is all about struggling against inevitability – of death, of grief, of loss and of conflict. With every book, the Baudelaires are brought agonisingly close to bringing Olaf to justice and escaping their dire circumstances, only to be foiled at the last minute.

(Spoilers!) That is until the end of book 11 (The Grim Grotto) where the cyclic nature of the series' narrative brings the Baudelaires back to where the series began – on Briny Beach, about to be driven away by Mr Poe.

At this moment, they reject their cycle of misfortune and fully enter the unknown. This pivotal decision is representative of accepting adulthood, of moving past dependence on adults and defining one's own destiny. This isn't hammered home in the narration, nor is it ham-fistedly obvious – it's subtle, shocking and totally brilliant.

9) The Educational Value

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Almost every line in A Series of Unfortunate Events contains an oblique literary, philosophical or historical reference. There are too many examples to list here, so I'll just rattle off a few of my favourites:

•The name "Baudelaire" is clearly inspired by poet Charles Baudelaire, most famous for 'The Flowers of Evil' - "a cycle of poems that discusses dreadful circumstances and finds beauty in them."

•Mr Poe's Children are called 'Edgar and Albert' – a half-nod to gothic writer, Edgar Allen Poe.

•Nearly all of Sunny's dialogue contains a complex bit of trivia, which becomes clearer as she ages and her speech develops. For instance, in book five (The Austere Academy), Sunny responds to a character mentioning poetry with: "Sappho" – the name of a Greek Classical poet.

These little references are more than just a gateway to adult readers, they act as benchmarks for readers' development as they age, learn and retrospectively notice more and more of the allusions.

8) The Movie

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There's nothing wrong with the Harry Potter films per se (with the exception of the kids' acting in entries one to three.) They're all enjoyable, competently crafted fantasy movies that faithfully bring the Potter universe to the big screen.

However, the vast popularity of the series prevented the multiple directors at the helm from taking any risks. As a result, the films are soulless, forced to stick stubbornly to the middle of the road for fear of alienating their vast audience. Also, the decision to split the last (and least interesting) book into two movies was, quite simply, a shameless attempt to charge us a couple of tickets for the same picture.

The Series of Unfortunate Events film is far from perfect – it strays from the series' narrative and Jim Carrey was completely miscast. However, the film's reliance on practical effects and sound stages over green screen endowed it with bags of character, perfectly capturing the off-beat tone of the books.

On top of that, the principal cast are perfect, melting into their roles with a confidence that Radcliffe et al never really managed. Also, the decision to combine three books into one film represents the polar opposite mind-set of the Harry Potter franchise, reducing profitability in the pursuit of a better movie.

7) The Narrator

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As a character, I've already argued that Harry Potter is little more than a vehicle. Any young reader with a bit of imagination can easily slip into his shoes. His third-person narration is similarly straightforward and functional, if marred by J.K. Rowling's often clunky prose.

Daniel Handler's in-universe omnipotent narrator, Lemony Snicket, couldn't be more different. He is not only my favourite character in the series; he may be one of my favourite characters in all young fiction, up there with David Copperfield and Danny Champion of the World.

The relationship Snicket builds with the reader and the way he flits in and out of the series' narrative is always a delight. His personality (a noble nebbish, wracked with personal misfortune and crippled by grief) is by turns laugh-out-loud hilarious and poignantly tragic.

The sense of gradually unfolding (but never completely resolved) mystery that typifies the series is best embodied by its ever-present narrator, whose editorial notes are some of the most imaginative and funny bits of prose I've ever encountered.

6) The Audiobooks

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I'm absolutely confident that, had Stephen Fry not narrated the Harry Potter audiobooks, the series wouldn't have exploded the way it did. But as good a job as Fry does, he's not a patch on Tim Curry's turn as Lemony Snicket.

Curry's voice has a nasal musicality that perfectly echoes the pseudo-gothic tone of A Series of Unfortunate Events, with just the right amount of vaudeville camp to take the sting out of the series' darker moments.

If that wasn't enough, Stephin Merritt (frontman of the Magnetic Fields) wrote a song for every entry in the audiobook series. If you're a Magnetic Fields fan, you won't be surprised to hear they're all totally awesome, with Merritt's baleful baritone marrying with blackly humorous lyrics and catchy melodies to create an ideal companion to the prose.

If you're interested, you can pick up the whole collection in 'The Tragic Treasury' compilation album.

5) The Author

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I've got nothing against J.K. Rowling; by all accounts she's a lovely lady and an extremely talented author. However, Daniel Handler is funny, versatile and deliciously deranged. Plus the guy plays accordion. Nuff said.

Every interview with Handler reveals him as a perfect successor to the gothic tradition, with a genuine love for the macabre and an endearingly melancholic streak. His post-Snicket work, particularly How We Broke Up, reveals that he has just as much to say to older readers as he does to kids.

To top it off, his public appearances are an absolute scream. Part readings, part stand-up and part miniature concerts, Handler is a natural entertainer. Rowling, by contrast, makes for an awkward public speaker and comes across much better on the page.

4) The Tone

There was always a bleakness to Harry Potter (the series begins immediately following a brutal double-murder), but it took a nosedive into pitch-black waters after The Goblet of Fire, resulting in a slightly jarring tonal shift.

From the outset, A Series of Unfortunate Events wore its intrinsic darkness on its sleeve, introducing readers to a world much like our own – cruel, unfair and immensely dangerous. Throughout the books, it is not so much the world that darkens, but the Baudelaires' (and accordingly, our own) comprehension of it that deepens.

However, the series never becomes so serious that an occasional ray of sunshine doesn't peak through the clouds. Even when circumstances are at their most dire, Handler ekes out a bundle of laughs to cushion the emotional gut punches. In that respect, he's a lot like Roald Dahl, who pulled off that magical balancing act where seriousness and levity can co-exist and never grate against one another.

3) The Tie-Ins

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The Harry Potter franchise has generated its fair share of spin-offs and tie-ins, such as Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Tales of Beedle the Bard. However, these accompanying pieces are little more than amusing oddities, lacking any particular depth and failing to contribute anything significant to the core series.

Conversely, there is an abundance of riches surrounding A Series of Unfortunate Events, all of which thicken and expand on the series' universe. For instance, Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorised Autobiography and The Beatrice Letters respectively interrogate the enigmas littered throughout the main series and extend the narrative beyond book 13 without invalidating the pitch-perfect ending (more on that later.)

A prequel series (All the Wrong Questions) is currently in medias res, with two books already published and two more in the works. While they're not quite up to the standards of A Series of Unfortunate Events, these novels are still well worth a read.

2) VFD

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This shadowy organisation is the centre of gravity around which the mythology of A Series of Unfortunate Events revolves.

Unlike the Deathly Hallows - a last minute plot device that unites the Harry Potter novels - VFD is drip-fed into the series' universe from the beginning, with Handler gradually elucidating its history while leaving just enough unanswered. As a result, VFD serves as a justification for the interconnectedness of characters, places and events I mentioned above.

Symbolically, VFD can be interpreted in a multitude of ways. Perhaps their insignia (an eye) represents the paranoia created by a frightening world rife with conspiracy and danger. Maybe VFD's obsession with fire (both starting and extinguishing it) articulates the duality that permeates the novels, with some individuals committed to order and others to chaos. Arguably, the organisation's reliance on secrecy and subterfuge represents the unknown and the fear that comes with gradually uncovering the truth, a bittersweet consequence of growing up.

However you choose to read it, VFD is an excellent central metaphor for a series that revels in creating questions rather than provide answers. Which brings us seamlessly to…

1) The Ending

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Even diehard Potter-acolytes generally accept that the books end on a damp squib. After announcing the outbreak of a wizarding war, Rowling decides (in her wisdom) to portray most of the novel from the perspective of three teenagers in a tent. (Spoilers!) To top it off, she closes her beloved series with the most clichéd of 'happily-ever-afters' – in other words, a crushing anti-climax.

Handler absolves himself from responsibility for any disappointment (because all endings are disappointments) by coming right out and declaring that all of his series' conclusive action occurs in the penultimate book. The final instalment serves as a more reflective rumination on the experiences endured by the Baudelaires over the twelve previous novels.

In short, The Penultimate Peril is the series' ending, whereas The End is its emotional resolution. Nothing is really explained, and dozens of loose ends are left dangling, and yet Handler leaves us on a totally satisfying note.

I have no wish to spoil anything, so suffice it to say that the end of The End is ambiguous, subtle, mature and absolutely perfect; a fitting conclusion to the greatest children's fiction series in recent memory.