I am attaching to the bottom of this my friend Ian's blog. What I hear form him, is not dis- smiler to what I have heard so many people say. It started at the end of book 4 of Harry Potter and the reality sunk in that even in a fantasy world, evil is out to destroy everything. The innocent fun is gone. The illusion is shattered by the knowledge that evil is out to destroy, even in a virtual fantasy world.
Voldemort, Latin for "total death" comes and there is no neutral ground. No one can hide and everyone could die.
How did the cute children's story end up like this? The same way that it happened to the Lord of the Rings. History of the times we live in soak into the very fiber of our being and whether we admit it or not, we are effected by evil of our time.
A fantasy story about a battle reflects the battle of our lives. What side will be be on? Do we choose life? Or total death? Sitting on your ass and letting evil happen won't save you. You will be consumed as well. It is a lesson that few learn.
The battle rages, choose your side.
-Icebear
Musings on the Newsings by Ian Punnett
"ArtyGirl," you are my new hero.
Here's part of what she blogged about recently on LOL:
"I was a little slow at starting, but I finally did. The new Harry Potter book, that is. I need to start earlier in the evening...I could not put it down and finally fell asleep in the wee hours with the giant tome as my pillow. I cannot wait to read again tonight."
Gosh, I wish I could recover any literary or cinematic interest in Harry Potter. Reading her blog reminded me of a time when my little boys and I would share in the wonders of Hogwarts and the whole Wizarding world. I acted out all the parts. I used a United Magical Kingdom of accents and mannerisms. I was known to put on hats, for crying out loud! Even to this day when my kids ask me a question I can't answer I reply, "'Dunno,' said Ron."
But then, somewhere around book five, the nightly Hogwarts Express just sat idling at Platform 9 and 3/4. I don't remember whether it was my boys or me that lost interest first but I do recall the last few nights I was reading Harry before bedtime it seemed that faster than I could say "Surprise, it's Voldemort again," little Itchy and Scratchy were off to sleep.
It's possible that the ever increasing Tolstoy-like length of these novels were tempering my enthusiasm. Maybe I didn't read the stories as theatrically after page 500. Perhaps after page 600 my "Dumbledore" voice was drifting annoyingly close to Gilbert Gottfried. It's entirely possible that after the 1000th time that J.K. Rowling used the verb "strode" that I was holding the word out longer and longer until it had more "o's" than a porno movie.
Either way, the boys stopped asking and I stopped volunteering for "Harry time."
And it wasn't just the books either. I'm not sure that either of us have seen the last two movies. Maybe the boys did at a sleepover or something. Chances are, they saw some of a more recent Harry Potter video just before they conked out for the night.
None of which makes me feel good about me. I miss the days when I wondered what my "Potronus" would be. I wish I could be like "ArtyGirl" again and sit up and read the new Harry Potter book under my covers with a flashlight. I could use a little more fantasy in my life.
As it is, J.K. Rowling has become for me like Norman Mailer or Salman Rushdie. I know the work is popular for a reason, I know why other people like it; I know it's good. I'm impressed, I really am.
Maybe someday I'll draw the scar back on my forehead and read "Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows," but probably just after I finish reading Rushdie's "The Satanic Verses."
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