It was quite a few years ago. Jan, auntie & I were sitting in the family room of our Arizona home watching Sixty Minutes. Jan & I were enthralled at the interview of an author who had been thrust into world wide acclaim entirely through children’s word of mouth. She had, as I recall, bags and bags of notes that she said were the deep background for her story which she saw as following this child-wizard through his seven years of formal schooling. Auntie, who doesn’t generally pay much attention to things like Sixty Minutes, looked up from her current arts and crafts project and said, “Oh, I have those.” If I remember correctly, there were two, maybe three books at the time.
Anyway, Jan & I went on to devour them. They were fast and fun and the world she created felt real. And we continued to read each new volume as soon as auntie finished, her right as official family “kid,” the first of the family reads.
Last night (having begun when auntie had finished) I finished the last of the books, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I enjoyed it. I did skim a bit toward the end. But I did that on occasion with her earlier books, as well. But I enjoyed it.
I stand with those who don’t see great literature here. (Although I’m anxious that I might turn out to be one of those who thought Mark Twain was popular enough, but hardly literature…) I have absolutely no idea if this will be come a classic, something kids will read for generations to come. Still, I kind of doubt it.
This is not to say this series doesn’t mark us, and particularly the generation that came of age over the last decade.
But I’m inclined to feel if the stories continue and become perenials of some sort, it’ll be because of adaptations for film. Rowling’s writing, it strikes me, almost feels like it was meant for the screen. And judging from first efforts, it feels a safe bet to think after this cycle is done, in another decade or two, someone else may take it up. It’s a great story, very visual.
Still, for me, for a very big series, it didn’t really rise to epic. Partially, I feel, because Rowling never drew upon the great themes of spiritual quest or the eternal struggle themes between evil and good, or even the mystery of love in any particularly compelling way; nor did she come up with something compelling of her own. Just a good rip snorting tale.
Or, at least, so it feels ten or twelve hours after closing the final book.
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