Potter-Mania

Potter-Mania

I am and have been an avid reader for years. I will read just about anything. In the beginning of the summer, my son Georgie asked me to name my all-time favorite book. I replied, “Gone With the Wind.” That has since changed.

I finished reading the last Harry Potter book, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” while sitting on a beach in South Carolina. I delayed finishing the book as long as possible, reading a few pages and then going for a dip in the ocean, reading a few more pages and then chatting with my husband and our friends, reading a few more pages and then eating a pretzel or three. But inevitably, I finished the book, bidding Harry and the rest of my witch and wizard friends good-bye until one of two things happens: J.K Rowling writes another series about the next Hogwarts generation, or I decide to reread the seven books.

I was not part of the Harry Potter craze that swept the world ten years ago. I was not militantly protesting against Potter-Mania. Quite simply, I was disinterested. Wizards, magic, and witches seemed silly to me, so therefore I just didn’t bother reading it. On the other hand, my friend Kim, one of the most avid Potter-People I know, waited impatiently for each book to come out so she could devour it. My friend Pam saw every movie as it came out. I stood alone in my Potterless world for years.

Tired of reading what seemed like a vast wasteland of trivial romance books, boring non-fiction books, and even more excruciatingly boring autobiographies, I turned to the world of Harry Potter this past August. Kim owned all seven books and she fed them to me, one by one, throughout the month of August. I devoured them. I freely admit that I became obsessed with them. Thoughts of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry and his friends, Quidditch matches and other magical creatures and events filled my head, and I couldn’t wait to open my book and continue on my journey. I had a bad case of Potteritis.

As the story heated up, the books got thicker and thicker, so heavy that my hand often cramped while holding the books. I lost track of time, actually losing sleep while reading the books. I burned food, ignored ringing phones, and stayed up way past my bedtime, because of my total addiction to the Potter books. I had many one-sided conversations with my husband George about the books. Bless his heart, he simply nodded and made appropriate “interested listener” sounds as I babbled about Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, the ghost Peeves, and the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to the Griffindor common room. I chatted about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Hogsmeade and the fact that “the wand chooses the wizard”. George, having over 27 years of practice tuning me out while acting like he is hanging on every word, did a commendable job of letting me display my Potteritis symptoms.

Nowadays, my conversation is punctuated with frequent Potterisms. Recently, we were in a car with another couple and the driver was protesting the fact that the car in front of us was going really slowly. I replied, “If you were Harry Potter, you could put a charm on that car and it would move out of your way.” Cooking dinner one evening, I told George that Harry Potter could whip up this meal with his wand in less than three seconds. George responded by asking me if Harry Potter had a “shut up” curse that he could use on me. (Actually, Harry would have put a “Silencio” Charm on me but I’m not telling George.) Perhaps he, had he read Potter, would wish for a Muffliato Charm during these conversations. Then George’s ears would be filled with an unidentifiable buzzing to keep him from hearing anything.

I cried, I laughed and I got chills as I read the books. I recognized many messages in the books, from classic good vs. evil to “love conquers all,” to friendship and loyalty, to betrayal and redemption. I have heard Potter fans compare some of the messages to Bible stories. And on the flip side, many people argue that the Potter stories are not literature. I say, “Whatever.” I don’t care whether J.K. Rowling’s Potter series is considered literature. I won’t debate whether the books should be required reading in high schools. All I care about is that the books are, quite simply, fun to read. Every one of the seven books is funny, imaginative, dark, sad, light, happy, well-written, and ultimately just a “feel-good” read. One can’t ask for more than that!