FLASHBACK POST <<This is a post I made on another blog back on July 27, 2007. It was my attempt at a public apology to J.K. Rowling (and, more personally, to my friend Es) for my initial contemptuous ridicule of the Harry Potter series. I wrote this post many moons ago with the intention of starting the series; I just never got around to it. Now that it’s been so long I figure, at this point, I’ll wait until I can read it together with my girls. I’m looking forward to that day. (If for nothing else, but to finally get all those muggle jokes.>>
For the record I was never a Harry Potter fan. I ridiculed my friends for caving into the cult phenomenon that is Harry’s world- for waiting in line outside Barnes and Noble hours before midnight on the day of a new release; I chuckled for those hapless souls sporting the iconic black, round rimmed glasses and swooning over the mere mention of the name Potter. Can we say pass the grape KoolAid?
My ignorance about Harry Potter had one scapegoat- my friend Es. Es has been working on me for years. She’s been an avid PotterFreak Fan since day one, and therefore the butt of numerous ‘cult-crazed-hippie’ jokes. Es took the bantering in stride and never wavered in her loyalty to her goddess- Rowling. She attempted to sway me to the Potter-side but eventually gave me up as a lost cause.
Es and I did a two week volunteer stint in Sri Lanka together shortly after the ’04 tsunami. Unfortunately this period coincided with the release of yet another Potter book. I think it was the fifth or maybe the sixth, but in any event, to me it felt like 302nd. I would roll my eyes whenever she whipped that book out.
“Why don’t you read a grown-up book?” I would ask in my bookish arrogance. For my reading pleasure I had packed Dostoevsky’s The Idiot {appropriately enough}. Yet Es would just sigh in a knowing way and reiterate how powerful the series was and how innately good.
We were in our ‘quaint’ hotel room, unwinding from a long day volunteering at the camps. We were reading side by side: Es with Rowling, me with Dostoevsky. After a short period of time I came upon a particularly moving paragraph. For the life of me now (and rather ironically) I can’t remember what exactly it was about; but it was one of those moments with a book that every reader longs for and every writer lives to convey. I literally read it- paused- reread it, sighed and laid the book flat on my chest to ponder over the awesome power of the eloquently-written word. The power to so accurately convey a thought- a feeling- that a connection is made right through to the very core of the reader.
I turned to Es. “ You’ve got to listen to this.” I read the section out loud.
“Wow.” Es put her book down and we laid there together simmering in the power of that single paragraph. There wasn’t a need to sit and discuss it. The paragraph literally spoke for itself. There was nothing left to do but bask in the inherent profoundness of it.
Eventually we picked up our books again and continued reading. A short time later Es with her mouth agape, turned to me. “Oh my god! You won’t believe this. Listen-.” She proceeded to read a short section from Harry Potter. And would you believe that what she read so mirrored the sentiment of my profound paragraph of Dostoevsky that even I sat there slack jawed? Granted, it wasn’t as thick or meaty as Dostoevsky’s prose. It was didn’t carry the eloquence or grandeur, but there was no mistaking the emotion and meaning were one in the same.
She smirked at my speechlessness. “Not bad for a kid’s book, huh?”
It was my first taste at the deeper meaning of the Harry Potter books. Maybe it’s not all wizards and wands and broomsticks. If J.K Rowling can convey such intrinsically human thoughts to such a wide-range of children, who am I to argue? If children are more willing today to break away from their Playstations and computer games to sit down with a book- then she should be lauded as a savior. If Rowling has convinced even a handful of her readers- out of the faction of millions and millions- that there is more to books than homework assignments and tests, then she deserves praise. If her books shape minds today then these same minds tomorrow may be more open to sitting with Dostoevsky or Hugo, Tolstoy or Miller, Faulkner or Joyce. The possibilities are limitless. She’s creating a generation of avid readers.
With the release of the newest and final Harry Potter book, along with Es’ continuous and steadfast defenses of the scrawny protagonist, I have given in. I will be reading the Potter series. In hindsight, I probably would have read it after our insightful incident in Sri Lanka if it wasn’t for the fact that sometimes it’s just fun to rile and be contrary to Es.
So I send this out as an apology to J.K. Rowling and Es. In Rowling’s defense, I never gave her a fair chance. I didn’t have anything personal against her writing style or characters or even the story line itself; I just grew aggravated at the mass hysteria that infected the general population. I suppose I should have trusted the judgment of my fellow man. But after such mindless mishaps as Pogs, Pokemon, and beanie babies can you really blame me?
