Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: the aftermath
I know that, in putting together a reaction post a series of reaction posts, I am beginning to come to terms with The End in a way I just swore I was happy to avoid doing. But I also know that if I don't take the time now to describe what I am thinking and how I am feeling, I will regret it. So, with a heavy heart, I begin the journey.
are you glad to lose the doubts you thought would never go
when those sad hallucinations had you beat?
- Frankie Miller, I Can't Change It
It is terrifying how much this book means to me. I thought I'd mention this up top, because it influences how I responded to it when I first read it, and how I am still responding to it. I remember when The Amber Spyglass came out - and I'm using that as an example because it's the only other book series that I can recall having a significant impact on me as a somewhat grown-up person, rather than the books I loved as a kid - which was, Wikipedia informs me, in November 2001. I'd preordered it from Amazon pretty much as soon as it was announced, but my mother intercepted it in the post and I wasn't allowed it for about a month (it's entirely possible that I'm exaggerating that through the hazy mist of memory), which was torturous! cruel! unbearable agony! etc. I would imagine she confiscated it because there was something school-related going on, but mid-November seems too early for what would have been, in 2001, my first round of A-level modules. Didn't we do those in January? Maybe it was mocks. I'm digressing: whatever the reason, I didn't get my hands on it for what seemed like whole eras of geological time, but my anxiety and fear and impatience at not having read it pale in comparison to how I would have felt had something prevented me from getting hold of DH. "Oh, how can you know? You're comparing a feeling with how you think you would have felt!" I hear you cry. Yes, I am. But I was stood at half past eleven in the queue outside Waterstone's for the book, and I was still actively worrying that something would happen between that moment and me purchasing a copy. They were going to run out. They were going to have to save all the books for people who had pre-order receipts. There was going to be a fire. The public at large, who would not normally queue at midnight for a book, would suddenly decide to be part of the phenomenon, and all other bookshops within the Edinburgh city limits would not be able to keep up with demand, and due to the fact that I had stupidly - stupidly! - chosen the one bookstore which burned its books, if accidentally, I was going to miss out on getting hold of a copy. I'm not even joking. I was a nervous wreck, and I was stood in possibly the quietest, most unassuming line* outside a bookshop I knew to have ordered at least 500 copies more than their pre-ordering customers demanded.
So, on some level, I knew that this book, this momentous piece of literary history, this phenomenon of bookselling... I knew this was going to knock me for six. Part of my reaction is unquestionably that this is The End of Harry Potter. I've been hearing a lot of "oh, she'll write an eighth eventually" from fans and non-readers alike, and I'm not convinced. She doesn't need to. She's always insisted that this was where her story ended. She could, sure. She could write what happened the following year; she could write 'The Marauders: A Prequel'; she could, heaven help us, follow the monstrously unsatisfying epilogue with more tales of Albus, Scorpius and the gang. But I don't think she will. I was overjoyed to hear about the encyclopaedia, but I also took that as a sign that she's getting it all out of her system, all the myriad histories and backstories and little character complexities that she didn't have a reason to weave into the story. The idea that this is the end makes me unbearably sad, has been making me unbearably sad since I finished Half-Blood Prince two years ago, but I'd rather be unbearably sad now and treasure, somehow, that experience than hold out for something new, hope dimming year on year.
The other part of my reaction, though, is... this is a great book. A lot of people think Order of the Phoenix is dark and angry (and they're right, because Harry, even more than most fifteen year olds, is dark and angry), and a lot of people's immediate reactions after Half-Blood Prince seemed to suggest that it was cracky and wacky and uneven, because there's a lot of new stuff and backstory and teen angst mixed in with the usual tone, and again, I'd tend to agree with that assessment. I still really love them as books, though. I think I love Order a little more because there seems to be so much dislike for it within fandom, but rereading HBP in the run-up to the 21st made me realise how funny that instalment is. It is laugh-out-loud funny. So is Deathly Hallows, a fact which surprised and delighted me as I read it the first time, but the humour is tempered by so many other emotions that it is not my overriding impression of it. But I love Order and HBP because they are years five and six, and I love them in spite of their difficulties as books. I don't find myself making any excuses for DH. It is well-paced, well-plotted and well-written. JK Rowling is no Hemingway, but I don't need her to be. I don't love her for her way with words, I love her for her characters and the fact that you can almost reach out and touch the world she has created around them, it is so real. All I expect, all I want from JK at this point is for her to make me laugh and make me cry, and to do so in such a way that I don't notice inelegant phrases. (The only writing of JK's that I actually don't like, and I don't like because it is so bad it pulls me out of the story, are the references to Harry's chest-monster in HBP. I can't read it without rolling my eyes and huffing. This is more to do with JK's noted lack of skill around portraying romance, though, and her apparent inability to express the feelings of a teenage boy who cannot (or will not) yet properly identify them, through said teenage boy's PoV.)
I said when I posted a few days ago that Deathly Hallows is probably my second favourite book of the seven, and, having now reread most of it, I still think that's true. It is a book full of love. Death, to be sure, and pain, too - JK really wasn't kidding when she called it a bloodbath - but death will only make your stomach clench, pull at your heart, if you, and the characters, care for the person involved. At least, 'tis so with I. Many beloved fell within those pages, but all were mourned, and will continue to be, by those that loved them. It is my only consolation. But for the most part I enjoyed being put through the emotional mangle, because I could see where it was all heading. To building "a happier world". No more war (until the next time). There were twists and turns, and brand new ideas - like the eponymous Hallows - but for the most part, in terms of characters and themes, nothing surprised me a great deal. Instead of this being a disappointment, it was a joy. I knew how it had to end, because I know these books, I know these people. There are a couple of exceptions to this general rule (which, believe me, I will be making mention of, probably at extraordinary length) but - and I feel like this deserves emphasising - for the most part, I enjoyed everything JK did, every decision she made, every plot twist, every word spoken. This is where everything has been leading, and she did us proud.
I realise all I've managed to establish so far is that I'm so, so sad, but that I liked it anyway. I'm writing this in Word (on the basis that I think it's going to be longer than even I might have expected) and I've used almost two pages already. But this is probably only going to happen to me once. Harry Potter is a phenomenon, as has been stated before, and it's likely to be unique, in my lifetime at least. How attached I am to these books has to do with when I read them, of course - early, one by one as JKR wrote them, starting Philosopher's Stone when I was 13 or just 14 - but I honestly believe it has more to do with me generally. I get attached to fictional things. I get swept up in imaginary worlds. There will be other books that I love, hopefully other book series that I cherish. But I don't think anything can possibly replicate the Harry Potter experience, which for me has been all about the words, the world imagined therein, and fandom, and nothing, really, to do with the movies or the merchandising or the hype. It should be documented. I want to try and capture how I have felt in the past week, and will continue to feel, until Pottermania and Sidekickerliciousness finally abate to a low-level hum** as time passes.
I've been sitting for the last ten minutes wondering how to structure this. For one, I think it's going to have to be a series of posts, rather than just one big one; hopefully it will be easier to marshal my thoughts that way. Chapter by chapter? Character by character? I can do the former, though I am writing this on my lunch break, because I still have not yet allowed my copy out of my sight. I SLEEP with it; Merlin only knows what psychosis that betrays. I think if I went character by character, though, I wouldn't be able to resist starting with Remus, and I can't start off angry, given all I have just said (and meant) about loving the book in 99% of its entirety. Chronologically will have to win out.
Part two - the dedication through to, I'd imagine, 'The Thief' - will follow shortly.
* - I mention this because it seemed unlikely there was a potential arsonist among us.
** - I strongly suspect Pottermania and Sidekickerliciousness are in my blood, now, hardwired into my system, which means - in addition to the fact that if anyone ever tries to use my haemoglobin as part of some kind of resurrection ritual, they'll end up being a hardcore Ron/Hermione shipper - far from abating with time, my learning-to-cope mechanism will have more to do with adjusting to a world in which it is less acceptable to still be crazy about all of this. But in a general sense, post-Potterdammerung (although we have movies six and seven and a theme park to 'look forward to', I guess), things will be quietening down. A £151M drop in Bloomsbury's stock options certainly seems to think so, anyway. (Reminds me of Jordan in the S60 pilot: "I actually caused a dip in the NASDAQ index just by showing up to work in the morning.")
Coincidentally (believe that if you will): happy birthday, JK, and THANK YOU SO MUCH for all you have given us.
And, well, because if I didn't type it, I'd still be thinking it... Happy 27th Birthday, Harry. Stay safe.
are you glad to lose the doubts you thought would never go
when those sad hallucinations had you beat?
- Frankie Miller, I Can't Change It
It is terrifying how much this book means to me. I thought I'd mention this up top, because it influences how I responded to it when I first read it, and how I am still responding to it. I remember when The Amber Spyglass came out - and I'm using that as an example because it's the only other book series that I can recall having a significant impact on me as a somewhat grown-up person, rather than the books I loved as a kid - which was, Wikipedia informs me, in November 2001. I'd preordered it from Amazon pretty much as soon as it was announced, but my mother intercepted it in the post and I wasn't allowed it for about a month (it's entirely possible that I'm exaggerating that through the hazy mist of memory), which was torturous! cruel! unbearable agony! etc. I would imagine she confiscated it because there was something school-related going on, but mid-November seems too early for what would have been, in 2001, my first round of A-level modules. Didn't we do those in January? Maybe it was mocks. I'm digressing: whatever the reason, I didn't get my hands on it for what seemed like whole eras of geological time, but my anxiety and fear and impatience at not having read it pale in comparison to how I would have felt had something prevented me from getting hold of DH. "Oh, how can you know? You're comparing a feeling with how you think you would have felt!" I hear you cry. Yes, I am. But I was stood at half past eleven in the queue outside Waterstone's for the book, and I was still actively worrying that something would happen between that moment and me purchasing a copy. They were going to run out. They were going to have to save all the books for people who had pre-order receipts. There was going to be a fire. The public at large, who would not normally queue at midnight for a book, would suddenly decide to be part of the phenomenon, and all other bookshops within the Edinburgh city limits would not be able to keep up with demand, and due to the fact that I had stupidly - stupidly! - chosen the one bookstore which burned its books, if accidentally, I was going to miss out on getting hold of a copy. I'm not even joking. I was a nervous wreck, and I was stood in possibly the quietest, most unassuming line* outside a bookshop I knew to have ordered at least 500 copies more than their pre-ordering customers demanded.
So, on some level, I knew that this book, this momentous piece of literary history, this phenomenon of bookselling... I knew this was going to knock me for six. Part of my reaction is unquestionably that this is The End of Harry Potter. I've been hearing a lot of "oh, she'll write an eighth eventually" from fans and non-readers alike, and I'm not convinced. She doesn't need to. She's always insisted that this was where her story ended. She could, sure. She could write what happened the following year; she could write 'The Marauders: A Prequel'; she could, heaven help us, follow the monstrously unsatisfying epilogue with more tales of Albus, Scorpius and the gang. But I don't think she will. I was overjoyed to hear about the encyclopaedia, but I also took that as a sign that she's getting it all out of her system, all the myriad histories and backstories and little character complexities that she didn't have a reason to weave into the story. The idea that this is the end makes me unbearably sad, has been making me unbearably sad since I finished Half-Blood Prince two years ago, but I'd rather be unbearably sad now and treasure, somehow, that experience than hold out for something new, hope dimming year on year.
The other part of my reaction, though, is... this is a great book. A lot of people think Order of the Phoenix is dark and angry (and they're right, because Harry, even more than most fifteen year olds, is dark and angry), and a lot of people's immediate reactions after Half-Blood Prince seemed to suggest that it was cracky and wacky and uneven, because there's a lot of new stuff and backstory and teen angst mixed in with the usual tone, and again, I'd tend to agree with that assessment. I still really love them as books, though. I think I love Order a little more because there seems to be so much dislike for it within fandom, but rereading HBP in the run-up to the 21st made me realise how funny that instalment is. It is laugh-out-loud funny. So is Deathly Hallows, a fact which surprised and delighted me as I read it the first time, but the humour is tempered by so many other emotions that it is not my overriding impression of it. But I love Order and HBP because they are years five and six, and I love them in spite of their difficulties as books. I don't find myself making any excuses for DH. It is well-paced, well-plotted and well-written. JK Rowling is no Hemingway, but I don't need her to be. I don't love her for her way with words, I love her for her characters and the fact that you can almost reach out and touch the world she has created around them, it is so real. All I expect, all I want from JK at this point is for her to make me laugh and make me cry, and to do so in such a way that I don't notice inelegant phrases. (The only writing of JK's that I actually don't like, and I don't like because it is so bad it pulls me out of the story, are the references to Harry's chest-monster in HBP. I can't read it without rolling my eyes and huffing. This is more to do with JK's noted lack of skill around portraying romance, though, and her apparent inability to express the feelings of a teenage boy who cannot (or will not) yet properly identify them, through said teenage boy's PoV.)
I said when I posted a few days ago that Deathly Hallows is probably my second favourite book of the seven, and, having now reread most of it, I still think that's true. It is a book full of love. Death, to be sure, and pain, too - JK really wasn't kidding when she called it a bloodbath - but death will only make your stomach clench, pull at your heart, if you, and the characters, care for the person involved. At least, 'tis so with I. Many beloved fell within those pages, but all were mourned, and will continue to be, by those that loved them. It is my only consolation. But for the most part I enjoyed being put through the emotional mangle, because I could see where it was all heading. To building "a happier world". No more war (until the next time). There were twists and turns, and brand new ideas - like the eponymous Hallows - but for the most part, in terms of characters and themes, nothing surprised me a great deal. Instead of this being a disappointment, it was a joy. I knew how it had to end, because I know these books, I know these people. There are a couple of exceptions to this general rule (which, believe me, I will be making mention of, probably at extraordinary length) but - and I feel like this deserves emphasising - for the most part, I enjoyed everything JK did, every decision she made, every plot twist, every word spoken. This is where everything has been leading, and she did us proud.
I realise all I've managed to establish so far is that I'm so, so sad, but that I liked it anyway. I'm writing this in Word (on the basis that I think it's going to be longer than even I might have expected) and I've used almost two pages already. But this is probably only going to happen to me once. Harry Potter is a phenomenon, as has been stated before, and it's likely to be unique, in my lifetime at least. How attached I am to these books has to do with when I read them, of course - early, one by one as JKR wrote them, starting Philosopher's Stone when I was 13 or just 14 - but I honestly believe it has more to do with me generally. I get attached to fictional things. I get swept up in imaginary worlds. There will be other books that I love, hopefully other book series that I cherish. But I don't think anything can possibly replicate the Harry Potter experience, which for me has been all about the words, the world imagined therein, and fandom, and nothing, really, to do with the movies or the merchandising or the hype. It should be documented. I want to try and capture how I have felt in the past week, and will continue to feel, until Pottermania and Sidekickerliciousness finally abate to a low-level hum** as time passes.
I've been sitting for the last ten minutes wondering how to structure this. For one, I think it's going to have to be a series of posts, rather than just one big one; hopefully it will be easier to marshal my thoughts that way. Chapter by chapter? Character by character? I can do the former, though I am writing this on my lunch break, because I still have not yet allowed my copy out of my sight. I SLEEP with it; Merlin only knows what psychosis that betrays. I think if I went character by character, though, I wouldn't be able to resist starting with Remus, and I can't start off angry, given all I have just said (and meant) about loving the book in 99% of its entirety. Chronologically will have to win out.
Part two - the dedication through to, I'd imagine, 'The Thief' - will follow shortly.
* - I mention this because it seemed unlikely there was a potential arsonist among us.
** - I strongly suspect Pottermania and Sidekickerliciousness are in my blood, now, hardwired into my system, which means - in addition to the fact that if anyone ever tries to use my haemoglobin as part of some kind of resurrection ritual, they'll end up being a hardcore Ron/Hermione shipper - far from abating with time, my learning-to-cope mechanism will have more to do with adjusting to a world in which it is less acceptable to still be crazy about all of this. But in a general sense, post-Potterdammerung (although we have movies six and seven and a theme park to 'look forward to', I guess), things will be quietening down. A £151M drop in Bloomsbury's stock options certainly seems to think so, anyway. (Reminds me of Jordan in the S60 pilot: "I actually caused a dip in the NASDAQ index just by showing up to work in the morning.")
Coincidentally (believe that if you will): happy birthday, JK, and THANK YOU SO MUCH for all you have given us.
And, well, because if I didn't type it, I'd still be thinking it... Happy 27th Birthday, Harry. Stay safe.