After YEARS of hearing the raves and the rants, after it becoming a squabble between the extreme right and extreme left – often leaving those in the middle ground highly confused about what all the shouting is about…. Its over. Mostly.
After 7 ponderous tomes gave us the wonderful sight of small children flung willy-nilly about onto any flat surface they could find, clutching books as large as they were… the madness is finished. Harry Potter is over.
I know, I know, as a natural nerd I should be all about Potter-mania. I should own scarves in my preferred house colors. I should be found relentlessly arguing the merits of a freed society of house elves. I should, to put it bluntly, be sitting desolate and alone wondering what I will now have to look forward to? Its over, I should, like the rest of the known nerd world… be in high mourning. Or at least excessively searching the web for rumors regarding a new series set in Harry’s twenties. Right?
Sorry. Not this nerd. Now, don’t get me wrong. Anything that motivated young kids to step away from the game boy and get involved in reading is great. As a writer, I can applaud Rowlings ability to not only turn a phrase… but, let’s face it, turn a buck. Writing for the sake of writing is fine and dandy, but following a passion to a billion dollar lifestyle? Call me materialistic, but that is an achievement to be applauded. I even like the books. Not the movies so much… never been one for watching English school-house cruelty, be it muggle or magic based. But the books? Well written, it’s a hard job to plot out a characters life over almost of decade, and slowly advancing the material for the maturing of the original crowd? Brilliant.
But please, can we just please agree that J. Rowlings is NOT the mother of fantasy? Pretty please with a hobbit on top? Because if I hear one more youth decree the death of fantasy with the end of the series, or one more person claim there will never be (and never has) been a fantasy series so good… I might just have to beat them to death with my hardbound C. S. Lewis collection. She didn’t start it, she can’t end it. Fantasy has been around since people clustered around the fire telling stories to keep the dark at bay. It is in our blood, our very DNA is coded with a love of “what if’s” and “maybe’s”.
So please… take off the mourning shrouds, shuffle your sniffling butts to the library – this nifty place where you don’t have to give money or wait in line wearing a, let’s be honest, frankly embarrassing set of robes… - and they will loan you other books of fantasy and magic. Tolkien, Pratchett, Anthony, Beagle, & Lisle, just to name a few. If you really want proof your land of enchantment isn’t dead? Try http://www.sff.net/people/Amy.Sheldon/listcont.htm where folks with WAY more time then me have listed out just a few hundred of the authors who can fill your dreams. So, say goodbye to Harry… he’ll still be there when you want to visit. But its time to move on.
Okay… Yes. We ordered the last one. Yes, I read it. Yes, it was good. Okay? Happy? I have all the books and one Hufflepuff scarf. It is entirely possible there is a wand in my back closet. My point is still valid!