So J.K. Rowling announced to a bunch of munchkins last week. I'm not sure why she announced it, since it adds nothing to either the character or the story and risks losing so much, risks distracting so much. It puzzles me as a writer. It's surely no "Baldur is dead!" kind of announcement.
So move along, people. Nothing to see here. Further up and further in.
Be at ease, there are no spoilers here.
So ends the Harry Potter series.
From start to finish these books are a ball. Many thanks to Jo Rowling for writing a series that is bloody brilliant - for making story fun again.
Now I've been reading a couple of reviews where people are talking about the many Christian allusions spread throughout the last book, and they are there, but let's not take them too seriously. I appreciate that they are there, don't misread me, but the books are and always have been for me altogether different than, say, spiritual meditations on our Lord.
I think the thing that is most often misunderstood about Harry Potter and Jo Rowling is her idea of story and fun - that's what these books are. They are not Tolkien or Lewis, and, at the other end of the fantasy-religious spectrum, they are certainly nothing like Phillip Pullman. They are Jo Rowling. They're tongue-in-cheek romps that eventually lead you into some rather dark and sobering stories about, well, death - nevertheless, all this talk about dying and living and temptation and (even) resurrection, however, are dealt with beautifully without feeling as if they are misplaced in a book that also contains bogey-flavored Everyflavor Beans.
Now, I have some literary complaints, technical complaints, but they ring hollow from a critic who has not done what Rowling has done. So, if you don't mind, I'll keep them to myself.
For those of you who don't like Harry, I'm truly sorry. If you don't like him and haven't read the books, read them. Or don't. But don't judge them by what you have heard or by watching the movies. (The movies don't capture the playfulness of this series. The movies are enjoyable, certainly, but I've found them to be very different tonally.)
And if you read them and don't like them - well, isn't it an excellent thing to make up your mind for yourself? And if you're indifferent about them - that's OK too.
Yesterday I headed out to Wal-Mart to buy some Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Back and there again is a 40-minute jaunt. For ice cream. Why? Well, they have a better selection and are about a dollar cheaper there (child labor, I suspect). But mostly, taking into account the price of gas, because they have a better variety. The favorite flavor, currently, is Pistachio Pistachio. What else needs to be said? It's pistachios.
I saw Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream and picked it up. It has bits of waffle cone covered in fudge with caramel swirl. And it has a picture of the man himself on it. Very good.
So on the way out to Wal-Mart, to get back to my story, Anna and I are listening to the *secular radio station* and "Bohemian Rhapsody" begins playing. I turn it up for Anna's sake, to educate her in the world of Rock-and-Roll music. As the song gets to the middle, bouncy, operatic section, Anna starts dying laughing. I swanny, if she hadn't been buckled up she would have rolled onto the floor. It was high-larious.
Her two questions about the song were (1) Why [do Queen] sound like girls? and (2) Why do they write silly songs like that?
I figured any thorough answer would involve a conversation about drugs, among other things, so I just said people liked to write silly music sometimes. A six year old, after all, is only a six year old.
And, finally, to wrap up my miscellany, I am expecting to receive the Harry Potter book today. I suppose it will be read by Monday, if not earlier. Mock away, mocking world. I'm a Potter-head - not an in-line-at-the-book-store-at-12:01-dressed-up-like-Hagrid whacko like some of you out there, but I have thoroughly enjoyed the series. I'm becoming quite excited to see what becomes of the Boy Who Lived.
