Harry Potter

Spoilers, of course, lurk below.

I've been reading Harry Potter since shortly before The Prisoner of Azkaban was released in America in September of 1999. I was 16 then, and just starting college. I took college courses and my last two years of high school concurrently. It was the first week of college, the first week of this new and challenging part of my life, but I had this book and I couldn't believe the excitement I felt. The need to continue the story dwarfed my interest in my mid-secondary education.

On the night of July 8th a scant year later, a thunderstorm rolled over Minnesota and the power, horribly, went out. It was by candlelight that I finished The Goblet of Fire and witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. Harry was beaten and battered, his heart flayed. And I wept for him.

I was always the sentimental type.

It would be three more years before I returned to Hogwarts. The world had changed since The Goblet of Fire, perhaps for the worse. Hamline University was my home then and I was spending the summer studying horror film and fiction in preparation to write my own screenplay. That night, hours before release, I was studying the 1961 film The Innocents, based on James's novel The Turn of the Screw. My brother was staying with me that night, and after the film ended, we trekked over to the local Borders store and indulged in a little Harry Potter before party. I had dyed my hair blue and wore around a wizard's cap. My brother, perhaps not interested and maybe even a little embarrassed, took this all in good humor. He was always more clear-headed than I, and while I retired to return to Rowling's world, he retired to bed.

Turbulent. Violent. Dark. It was a changed world. When my mother appeared to collect my brother in the early hours of the morning, she met her contemplative eldest son, whispering and a little withdrawn. Did she know that again Rowling had brought me on the verge of tears by letting me peek behind the veil?

The Order of the Phoenix would have to tide me over for the next two years until The Half-Blood Prince. I was working at the Borders store from which I'd purchased The Order of the Phoenix, in that slump after college, wondering who I was and who I should be, and looking forward at the coming months with anxiety. I didn't bother to attend the release party, content enough to pick up my copy at six a.m. Though anyone in fandom can tell you the shared Harry Potter experience is special and engrossing, I viewed The Half-Blood Prince as my oasis in uncertainty. It was a private thing, and my excitement was tied to the desperation I was feeling in my everyday life. But what an oasis to rest at: war had come and no one was safe. Harry is finally left to stand on his own, almost-but-not-quite a man, all his defenders blown aside. There was hope, but it was almost insurmountable: how could Harry possibly fulfill the task, the quest, he'd been given?

That brings us to now. Two years later--almost impossibly--I'm teaching English in Japan. I live on a small island in Okinawa, impossibly divorced from all the Harry Potter hype, with only my own stupidity to make me hunger for Harry's final chapter. The book came Monday, a couple days after its release. Without a glance at the table of contents, I began the last journey into Rowling's world.

This is perhaps cliche of me, but the old adage from first Corinthians comes to mind: "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." Multitudes of critics, fans and reviewers espouse upon whether or not Rowling's series is childish fantasy or grown-up fiction. Its both, of course. The childish escapism pulls you in and grabs you in the first half of the series, but come The Goblet of Fire, the gloves come off and we're in the midst of a war where suspicion, paranoia and violence are ready to burst forth at any moment, throwing Harry and his friends into danger.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows breaks from the formula of the previous books. There is no return to Hogwarts. There are no classes, homework or detentions. From the outset, Harry is on the run, trying to balance protecting himself and his friends while attempting to finish the task Dumbledore left him. The pressure is on throughout the entire book, and its a testament to Rowling's skill--and the numerous hints of multiple deaths--that you feel as if every character is in danger. I was satisfied when I closed the book. I felt as if Harry is at peace, that he's gotten all that he ever wanted and dreamed of having. As a reader, you've known from his first glance into the Mirror of Erised just what Harry's always wanted, and I could write forever about what I liked and hated and loved, but knowing Harry is happy, I can move on.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling. I can only hope that, for you, lightning will strike the same place twice.