It’s official.
I have now read every word of the seven books in the Harry Potter series, and have seen all five movies released to date.
To be honest, I envy the teenagers who have grown up with Harry, though I doubt they envy me growing up with Tom Swift and the Hardy Boys.
Scoff if you must.
Why would a forty-something who spends every moment of his professional life in the here-and-now spend hours in a children's series of hexes and curses, of castles and broom sticks, of dungeons and dragons?
Surely we have seen this before.
Is Harry’s journey all that different from Frodo’s in Lord of the Rings or Aragon’s growth into manhood with his dragon Saphira?
What would cause the worldwide frenzy among lowly non-magical Muggles to care about the struggles of these witches and wizards fighting to live free from the grip of a tyrant?
Because the message of Harry’s world is not about magic, at least not that kind of magic.
[To read on is to risk spoilers, just so you know]
It’s hard not to root for a kid dealt the hand in life that Harry has.
Who among us could come out unscathed after losing parents, godfather, mentor, rival and even pet to the same killer, to be forced to live with uncaring and repulsive people, to feel forever unattached and alone in a cupboard under the stairs?
Would we stand and fight, or would we be swallowed up in our own pity, dragged under by the sheer weight of life’s built-in unfairness?
The brilliance of J.K. Rowling’s masterpiece is rooted not only in the richness of the magical world she creates, but in the foibles she creates in her characters.
We learn of the greed and lust for power buried deep in the wise and gentle Dumbledore. There is the jealousy and envy lurking not far under the skin of Harry’s best friend Ron. There is even the self-doubt hiding in the evil Voldemort, a sure quest for ultimate power belied by the underlying indecision and self-questioning of how to get there.
And then there is Harry, a wizard not born great but to whom greatness is thrust upon him through a horrible, murderous act.
He’s a young man who eventually finds the full life that was ripped from his childhood through the power of his wit, the length of his determination and the depth of his courage.
It is redemption from within.
Through her epic fantasy, Rowling asks us to examine how we deal with death, to celebrate the power of a parent’s love and to value the courage that gives all of us a fighting chance to make our lives better in the face of inevitable misfortune.
After reading seven books in ten years about a world of magic, those are lessons that now seem awfully human.
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