The Girl Who Lived (to Read): Part I

"My computer was dead: to begin with.There is no doubt whatever about that... Old HP was dead as a door-nail."

"It is a far, far better rest that he goes to, then I have ever known."

"Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts."

"Please, sir. I want the Norton."

Ahhhh, Dickens. How aptly you describe my sentiments about my fallen comrade: My old faithful. My dear companion. My endless love. Okay, maybe not that far, but my HP slim desktop was a soldier and battle-axe in the quest for my Bachelor's degree. Stricken by a virus while yet in his PC prime, he was too young to go. Seriously, what kind of crackpot jackass spends his time devising ways to ruin the happiness and sanity of computer-users? I dislike the word "hate," but I am inclined to say I hate virus creators/manufacturers/ proponents of the plague. I weep for my HP as I might weep for Miss Havisham's hardened heart, for Oliver in his loneliness, for Sydney Carton en route to certain death. Damn you, viruses!

While I am inclined to whine and bemoan in this post, I must admit that this current state of affairs lays the foundation for easy transition. Set-up. Wind-up. Pitch. The passing of one HP gives way to discussion about another HP. An HP I intended to highlight in my next blog attempt, before Doomsday 2011. So I will quickly wrap-up my tirade about viruses, and get to business. Ye of faint heart (or of little interest) need not proceed. The rest of this blog is my love song/power ballad to my "other" HP. Step aside, Sara Bareilles. Move over, Wilson sisters. As for the rest of you? Wands to the ready.

Harry - yer a wizard.

I spent this past week in Nags Head, N.C.,  with limited Internet access and a lot of time to read (Hence my "hiatus," if ten days blog-free can be called that).  On the beach, I was prompted to contemplate my love of the Harry Potter series. To be fair, I love a number of books, and there are several series that are near and dear to my heart. So what, pray tell, is so different about my love of Harry Potter? Why am I so fiercely protective of this fantastical realm and the characters there-in?

Because listen, if you hate on Harry, ESPECIALLY if you haven't read the series in full, we are gonna have words.

(If you would like to skip the saga of my childhood to reach the points of critical feedback more quickly, please proceed to the next line "break." And if you do so, shame on you.)

And now, dear reader, get comfortable.  Find a pillow or cushion. This will be a lengthy post.

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I was ten, one month shy of eleven, when I read, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." I received the first book in a Christmas gift exchange with my female classmates, and like any student, I was excited to select a gift from under the 3-foot, classroom-appropriate, faux evergreen tree. We girls formed a semi-circle, and "swapped," passing the items as music played. We then opened the gifts, one by one.

I could tell you a number of things about that day. I was wearing khaki pants, a candy cane turtleneck, and a knit, forest green sweater with a large Christmas teddy bear on the front. Add to your image a pair of glasses and horrible bangs. Suffice to say, my fifth grade self had not fully grasped "style" yet.

After seeing the first few girls open their presents (this particular year, the boys bought for the boys and the girls for the girls), I was terribly excited. There was a small part of me that wished to be a "girlier girl" than I presently was, and let me tell you, the odds were promising. (Probable, yo!) The first few girls received make-up kits (something my mom would NEVER have allowed me to purchase at ten), bath salts (Seriously, who didn't have a boatload of products from Bath and Body Works? I am forever in excess of body lotion), and one collection of nail polish in sparkly colors, with a matching tote. Obviously, I was particularly envious of this gift.

Moments later, it was my turn to open the present. And a slightly disgruntled part of me knew exactly what it was. The previous gift recipients had large, oddly-shaped presents, or items in gift bags. My present was wrapped in Christmas paper: It was rectangular, and about two inches thick. I had seen this kind of present before. With keen mind and trained eye, honed from years of experience shaking and handling birthday presents, I knew what lay before me.

I hoped against hope it wasn't a book. This was my year to be girly, and by George, I was going to be girly. In a few months I would get to trade my Peter Pan collar for a button down, my plaid jumper to a plaid OR navy skirt. Middle school was a big deal, and I was fast approaching the threshold. This was my moment.

And five seconds later, I held a crumpled sheet of holiday paper in one hand and a book in the other.

Foiled again.

I remember smiling, saying "Thank you," and nodding appreciatively when a friend told me she had purchased the book upon the recommendation of her German relatives. It was "all the rage" over in Europe. Book went into bookbag, and I forgot about it for the time being.

I remember when I first opened the book.

Later that night, I was sitting on the bench seat of my family van, and after quickly bypassing the Table of Contents, I proceeded to peruse Page One. Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley, drills. Hmmm. I don't know where this is going...

Page two? Forget about it. I was hooked.

The book moved quickly, and I was definitely into the "fantasy" genre in fifth grade. I couldn't put in down. In fact, right before I did "put it down," I discovered the advertisement for Book Two. Wait... this was a SERIES?

I could bore you with the colorful details of my other reading experiences. (And I will. Indulge me for a moment.) Books two and three were read promptly thereafter. The following summer, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was released. Book four was my longest read to date, and I was on a wait-list at the public library, 27th or 29th, I believe. Well, at 9:30 a.m. on the morning it was released, I got a call. Apparently the twenty-odd people before me had gotten their copies elsewhere.

I read it in a day and a half. I would have been faster, but my mom made me attend the CCW bazaar at Church. (Thanks, Mom.)

Book five was shipped home by my older sister, Erin, and I affectionately nicknamed it, "Angsty Harry: The Emo Years." For Book six, my mom drove me to a local Walmart, and I waited in line at midnight. (Walmart was the most convenient location and offered the best price. Sadly, I am not being paid for this glowing review.)

In the meantime, I participated in Potter-related activities at the aforementioned public library (There may have been a birthday party on July 31st), took two years of high school Latin (so that's what those spells mean!), and developed a ridiculous sense of superiority when basic mythology clued me in to "secrets" before the general audience: Remus Lupin?  Don't try and pull a fast one on me, Jo.

But the crowning moment of my love affair with Rowling's literature was the summer of  Book Seven's release. It was July. I had graduated high school a month earlier, and I was looking toward the next big chapter in my life, college. My oldest sister had been married in mid-June, and my other sister was getting married at the end of July. That summer, I babysat, worked a brief stint at Houlihan's before quitting the restaurant biz, and made a diorama with my little brother. (He was nine at the time, and I was the primary babysitter.) Ryan and I experimented in the kitchen, designing "special snacks" together, we wrote and illustrated short stories, and we created grade-worthy projects for fun. This diorama was no exception.

We decided to compete in the library's Art competition for their annual summer reading program. We entered in the "Family" category, and the rules were simple: Create a depiction of a favorite scene from any of the available HP books.

Ryan and I entered "hunter and gatherer" mode, looking for any craft supplies lying around the house. We came up with a giant Adidas shoe box (appropriately, with racing stripes on the side), some scrapbook and construction paper, cotton balls, a spool of maroon, velvet ribbon, and some small pieces of cardboard.

Two hours later? We had one referee, two sets of stands (roped off, of course), a background of clouds and gold posts, and the silhouettes of men and women flying around the pitch. We had a trunk with four balls inside. We had the back of a jersey marked "Krum," and a grassy field underneath.

Lo and behold: The Quidditch World Cup was born.

I'd like to believe it was our impressive artistic talent that won us "First Place" in the Family Category, and the boxed collection of Books 1-6 in paperback. More likely, it was the fact that there was only one other submission in the "Family" category, a drawing of a dragon with Harry on its back.

Here's looking at you, Hershey Public Library...

***

By my calculations, we have reached July 20, 2007 in the Potter timeline. The eve of the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was even more exciting than the diorama win, and for good reason. This was the beginning and end of an era for me.

I had ordered the book through the library (Seriously, HPL, you are getting mad shout-outs), and there were a number of "rules" I had to follow. This was the first time that the library was afforded the same luxury as a private bookseller; HPL was allowed to distribute books at midnight. There were 200 available books. There was a Potter party leading up to the midnight release. And, oh yeah, you had to be 18 or under to participate and receive said copy.

I had turned 18 the previous January, so in July, I was just shy of 18 1/2 years of age. I was the oldest person in the room by roughly four years. By that, I mean I spent 9pm-11:59pm with a swarm of sugared-up kids and a frazzled yet excited library staff. 

There was good reason for this. The closest Borders to my house was 30 minutes away, and the closest Barnes and Noble was 40 minutes. Even the aforementioned Walmart required a 20 minute drive. (Oh, the perks of living in Central PA). By contrast, the library was a six-minute drive from my house... Four minutes if you didn't hit the two stoplights on Cocoa Avenue.

This is how I ended up with a book in hand at 12:01am, despite being "91st." I had prepaid, and they had created a system of organized lines that would knock the socks off of a freed house elf.

At 12:17 a.m. on July 21st, I sat on the faded blue couch in my family room, took a deep breath - this was the last time I would "start" a Harry Potter book - and opened the book. As with Book One, I skipped over the table of contents - This time, however, it was because I didn't want any clues or hints of foreshadowing from the chapter titles.

Just after 8 a.m. that same morning, I closed the book, and closed a chapter of my childhood.

Aside from a brief "break" at 5:30 am - and by that, I mean I held the book with one hand while I opened a can of chicken noodle soup with the other - I read the book straight through. I didn't take my eyes off the page except to punch the numbers on the microwave furiously. I didn't need a sip of caffeine that night. My body was operating on pure adrenaline.

I teared four times. SPOILERS (although if you haven't read HP and are somehow still reading this, you deserve a medal): The first, Hedwig. The second, Dobby. The third, "Always." The fourth, Fred. And yet it was only one passage that made tears visibly roll down my cheeks:

"I am sorry too," said Lupin. "Sorry I will never know him … but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life."

Holy crow, Jo. Hit me while I'm down.

I had to pause briefly after the Dobby episode. I had to reread the "Fred" scene three or four times. And I was definitely wiping away those tears in the Forbidden Forest.

My Snape reaction will come later.

Of course, I didn't spend the whole time consumed by tearful emotion. I laughed at the moments of light humor, worried over the trio like Molly Weasley, and corrected the grammatical mistakes with which the first edition of HP7 was riddled.

And when I closed the book, I sat on my couch for a moment. I digested the material. I walked up to my parents' bedroom in a stupor and knocked, letting them know, "I finished." And God bless them, they had no idea why I so dazed.

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We arrive now at the meat of my post, the real reason I diatribed for the past hour or so: Harry Potter had a colossal impact on my childhood. And I say this as a means to address accusations against Rowling and the Potter-verse, as well as to mark the final "July" anniversary - The release of Deathly Hallows, Part II (the movie, of course).

Forgive me, I'll need to conjure up a soapbox. Unless you have one I can "Accio."

***

First, I believe -- and this goes for ANY book series -- that one must read a series in its entirety in order to pass judgment on the lot. I believe one must be an informed reader and critic, and this can only happen if you can articulate arguments based on a collection of ideas, not a singular work. With series, there are threads and themes that cannot be ignored.

Second, I believe that parents have an intrinsic responsibility to monitor what their children read. This should not be confused with "censorship." As a lover of literature (although certainly not all works), I believe it is a disservice to history, culture, and intelligence to censor books. I believe parents should have the authority to deem a work "too mature" for their children - and they are well-within their rights to do so - but they should not be able to impose "bans" on other individuals. While private collectors - or even private institutions - may choose not to include certain works in their holdings (deeming them offensive), the general public should not suffer from such restrictions.

***

There are some who will say Harry Potter is a kids book.  I am the first to admit that from a "mechanics" standpoint, Rowling is no goddess among men.  Her writing - particularly in the early books - lacks the finesse and fundamentals of "good literature." However, one ought not to dismiss her so easily. Rowling's prowess and GENIUS is not in her "writing." Rowling's gift is in her STORY-TELLING. From the get-go, Rowling's works were intricately mapped out and woven. She introduced subtle details and plot points in Book 1 that were not fully fleshed out until Book 7. She created dynamic characters who embraced the human condition and the struggle there-in. She captured the heart of friendships, family, and the private and public apprehensions of teens. She injected humor, anger, and grief into storylines and made these moments believable. She made me laugh aloud on numerous occasions (not an easy task) with the antics of the Weasley twins (or Moey and Juliette, as I like to call them). She created a world of imagination and spark, and she offered her readers residence there.

***

There are some who will say that Harry Potter is a book for adults. Kids should not be exposed to violence, gratuitous death, cursing, witchcraft/wizardry, and other such heavy material. I'd like to share a bit of what I learned from my journey with the Golden Trio.

Our world is troubled. As human beings, we encounter situations of senseless, inexplicable violence. I remember reading Book 4: The death of Cedric Diggory was cold, quick, and it left me reeling. There was absolutely no reason why he should have been killed. He was loyal, valiant, and popular with his classmates. He was kind-hearted and loved by his family. And in one quick turn, he was murdered by Voldemort, resident Dark wizard. And that's when I realized... There was no good reason for Cedric's death, and that was exactly the point:  Rowling cautioned readers against this lust for power and violence. She reminded us not to take the people in our lives for granted. She penned a sad tale of the havoc that forces of evil can render.

In Book 7, readers encounter the hold an inscrutable regime can have over its people. On the surface, there are many parallels between the actions of the Third Reich and the tenets held by Voldemort and his followers: A qualification of human life and its inherent dignity, a desire for a supreme, pureblood race, a mass movement to eliminate "undesirables." Any reader can draw connections between Hitler and Voldemort, between the death eaters and the S.S. guards. Perhaps most importantly, however, Rowling exposed the key to Voldemort's power: fear. Neighbor turned against neighbor out of fear, multiplied by the desire to protect and preserve their own families and loved ones. Rowling posed a number of philosophical and eschatalogical questions: What is good? What is evil? How does evil come about? What would you do to protect the ones you love? What is death, and what does it mean? Is there an afterlife? What is a soul? What does an extreme act of violence do to a person's soul? What motivates our decisions during times of crisis?

All these questions are presented as a complement to the existing storyline of "growing up" and reaching one's fullest potential. Our characters experience heartache, heartbreak, loss, frustration, confusion, anger, relief, adventure - they run the whole emotional spectrum. These characters are as "human" as they come.

It's true, the characters employ some British slang, and again, I would say that parents have the responsibility to monitor and discuss this with children, if the swearing is an issue. There is also reference to kissing (or "snogging") in Books 6-7, but I will say that HP does not move beyond the realm of snogging (at which point the main characters are 16 and 17). With regard to popular fiction, one is hard pressed to find a book for young adults these days that doesn't casually introduce sex. Harry Potter is one of the few in recent years that refrains from explicit discussion or mention of sex at all.

And yes, the backdrop of our story largely takes place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To accusations that include "the corruption of children" and "an endorsement of dark arts and rituals," I would say that above all, this story is fantasy. There are good characters, evil characters, and characters in-between, but the prevailing theme throughout all of the books does not include a veneration of ritualistic spells. The pitfall of the main villain, in fact, is dismissal of the power of love and sacrifice over acts of evil, violent, and manipulative dark magic. And -- spoiler alert -- "Good" wins.

Finally, there are some who will argue that the books support casual disregard for rules and safety, as the actions of the hero, Harry, are complicated - He consistently breaks rules, and his "successes" are thus tainted. My response? This series focuses on the life experience of a young boy, from 11 to17 years of age. He is bound to break some rules! And this certainly does not exclude him from punishment. His actions are always revisited at the end of the book, in the company of a responsible adult (e.g. Dumbledore, McGonagall). Said adult offers feedback and often moral instruction, and as anyone who has read the series can attest, McGonagall is stern and exacting in her expectations from students. She allows no one to be "exempt" from the rules. (Dear critic: You would know this had you bothered to read the WHOLE series.) In fact, characters who do not embrace the "Rules are there for a reason" mantra are tagged by Rowling as characters who have not yet "grown up" - Characters who long for boyish exploits, and who, despite their merits, can come across as immature - characters like Sirius Black.

[Stepping off soapbox.]

I'm not writing to change people's opinions of the series - Goodness knows we are all entitled to our own opinions. If parents are worried about thematic elements in HP, perhaps it is best if their kids wait a few years. My advice? Read HP yourself. Be able to dialogue with your child, and introduce important topics of conversation (like those philosophical/eschatalogical questions!) These are topics that parents and children SHOULD be discussing. In fact, to all who have not yet read this series (if by some miracle you are still reading this blog), I would encourage you to pick up a copy of the books (or borrow mine!) and give them a shot. At the very least,  you will draw your own conclusions, and perhaps your judgment will be less harsh than you anticipated.

(Okay, this blog is seriously rivalling the length of HP, so I will close with a few sentiments about why Harry Potter is near and dear to my heart.)

***

I grew up with Harry. His life, from the tender age of 11 to the wizened age of 17, mirrored mine, from age 10 to age 18. And as with any great literary endeavor, I can read a little bit of myself into each character. Harry: We all have those moments of isolation, when we believe that no person can ever understand how we feel. Ron: Who hasn't felt familial pressure? The insecurity and desire to set oneself apart from older siblings, and to emerge from the shadows. Hermione: I think there's a bossy little know-it-all in all of us. For me, Hermione was a reminder of the importance of friendship. Despite the temptation, one cannot hide from life behind books and intelligence. She (not Emma Watson) went through the awful awkward stages of personal appearance, from frizzy hair to bushy teeth, and she was always a bit hesitant (at least in the beginning) to get into trouble. Even the more minor characters were relatable: Ginny didn't want to be left behind, Neville wanted to make his parents proud, and Luna? She was the kind, compassionate soul, albeit whimsical and out-there personality.

To her credit, Rowling calls upon Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology (and probably some mythos with which I am not familiar), relies on ancient tongues and legends, and manages to produce a satisfying "cultural" experience for readers. She tackles the human condition with marvelous and seeming ease, and she truly invites readers into her world. Her world became my own, and I was able to share that experience with my family - Discussing the books, making silly dioramas, and providing endless, hysterical commentary on the movies.

So that 19 year epilogue? I didn't know what to think about it at first. Was it just some jumbled mess, meant to satisfy reader's cravings for "Life after Voldemort"? I didn't want some haphazard catalogue of "This is what happened to so and so, etc..."

I love the epilogue now, and I especially love the nineteen year gap. Here's why:

Jo created this world, and in doing so, she provided me with the tools and blocks to build it in my mind. She had enough faith in me as a reader to "equip" me, but not "inform" me. I had descriptive settings of Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and the Burrow mapped out. I had a pre-existing knowledge of characters in my head, of their virtues and vices. And in the same way that movies could not complete my "picture," even Jo herself could not complete my picture. I didn't need a timeline or catalogue to explain what happened after the War. Jo empowered me, allowing me to personalize an already-meaningful story. It truly became a "Choose Your Own Adventure." I imagined the ways our beloved characters reached that 19 year mark, and that vision was enough for me. I didn't want a description of courtship or kids, a description perhaps best left to the Fanfiction world. I personalized that story and made it my own: The characters became my own: Their journey became my journey.

And when I say I closed a chapter of my childhood, I truly mean it. Rowling's world was a notable, defining part of my teenage years. There was a sense of the bittersweet as I closed the book that Saturday morning. I was elated to finish the journey, but saddened to leave the adventure behind...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. (Yes, one final Dickens holla! That was expressly for you, Nicole.)

***

And so reader, I bid you good night, and entreat you to reflect on your own experiences with a beloved character or book series. (I found myself examining my affinity for HP when I realized I was significantly more passionate than my siblings, at least as far as "discussion" - Why was this the case? Stupid English degree.) If you're looking for a Part II, expect a much shorter reflection on the movies, the casting, and my "Top Five Non-Trio Characters." Watch out for McGonagall, Luna, Neville, Arthur, and Snape, of course. Or maybe not. This topic already has an obscene numbered of paragraphs. I wonder how many inches of parchment I would fill?

How am I still typing!?

***

Gosh, I just really love HP.

This post is lovingly dedicated to Shake and Bake,
prime hecklers of all things Potter.

Author acknowledges Dan Burns for prompting a drunken discussion during Senior Week about why anyone would voluntarily spend good time "reading about a boy who does magic tricks."




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