Harry Potter and the Deathly Climax
I guess I only have myself to blame for this one: after promising, or really just implying, that I would be writing a review of each of the press conferences individually, and then finding myself utterly sucked into the void of the Electronic Entertainment Expo for what must now be the sixth year running, I can offer no defense as to why I have taken nearly two weeks to compose a new entry to this blog. No defense, save for Jeff Bell.
I find that whole story, as a member of GAF, to be a sad summation of the video game industry. If we’re at a point where the bitching and moaning of the internet masses can cause a public official to stoop so low as to create a forum account to get his shits and giggles from, then I really don’t think we’ve come very far from the video games industry that your parents and their parents always said was a waste of time, childish, and rotting our brains. Yes, the internet rots our brains, but isn’t that supposed to be one of the reasons we love it? It worked for TV.
Anyway, I’m not really sure where I was going with that thought. I have a lot on my mind in terms of E3 and the week that has occurred since, but I don’t know if I’ll be sufficiently capable of discussing that all tonight, when I have just finished Harry Potter’s seventh retelling, and am both emotionally and mentally flabbergasted by what I should say. I guess I’ll just get to putting it all into words. Words that may spoil.
I think that, right now, given all the changes in my life this summer, particularly in terms of losing things I hold dear, that something in me has been forever lost with this final chronicle of the teenage wizard. Since seventh grade, I have been reading these novels–essentially growing up with the character, though Mrs. Rowling’s prolonged drought between novels 5, 6, and 7 has stretched that on a bit more than expected– and it is with both joy and sorrow that I set about pillaging my way through the new book. To start, I wasn’t exactly ready to be back with Harry just yet. I saw Order of the Phoenix on Friday (definitely not the spectacle I wanted it to be, but enjoyable all the same) to get myself primed for the heavy injection of Potter I would be receiving the coming morning–midnight launches just aren’t my scene–but part of the trouble may have arisen from my hurried finished of the admittedly stellar Suite Francaisse. (Short side note: the second half of the book, Dolce, was an incredibly stirring 130-odd pages of prose. It was like reading a short and to-the-point version of a Jane Austin novel, without the old English pomp and circumstance and with a bit of the WWII mystique. Definitely worth reading for fans of rich writing, strong characters, and compelling fiction.) Having set this down, I gathered my wits and dove headlong into the 758 pages of Hallows, expecting nothing and everything at the same time.
I suppose that the first few chapters offered that quick reward the two years (it was two years, right?) wait had us fans yearning for, with a quick reveal of the Dark Lord’s plans and return to Harry at the Dursleys (sic), for one last time, as he is approaching 17 and the end of his time under the magical protection bestowed upon all underage wizards. We then get a brilliant “Flight of the Phoenix” chapter –yes, a terrible pun, but so, so fitting– in which we lose possibly the strongest of the Order and a glimpse of how ghastly Rowling is willing to go in her detailing of the wizarding violence. Then there’s a prolonged reprieve, in which we are at the Burrow, planning the Horcrux quest, getting ready for the wedding, and generally sitting around waiting for the next big thing. the new Minister of Magic drops in to give some bizarre remnants of Dumbledore’s will to the kids, and then we get to the first of the books several nadirs: the Bill and Fleur wedding.
Now, I have nothing against Bill and Fleur. They’re fine secondary characters. But I honestly thought I read an entire chapter to find out two things they could have stuck in anywhere: Luna’s father has a weird symbol on his necklace and Voldemort has taken over the Ministry. Yeah there was some dirt thrown up about Dumbledore in that chapter too, but it could have honestly been from anyone anywhere in the novel, even if it was Hermione reciting a newpaper clipping (a semi-cheap way of plot development employed throughout the novel with letters, fairy tales, and Daily Prophet excepts), but aside from the chase chapter nothing had yet gotten my fingers clenching the book close, my eyes skimming words as quickly as possible to find out where the events would lead. I think the lack of any sort of Quidditch match may be largely responsible for these initially greivances as well. I mean, what is Harry without his broom?
Anyway, that all leads to another getaway bit, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione are now on their own, and will be for sometime. In fact, the next quarter of the novel is mostly descriptions of the three scratching their head over Horcrux locations while some minor plot development occurs and Harry begins acting like his angsty 15-year-old self did in Order. I did enjoy the Ministry bit immensely, but that also seemed to continue a strange trend for the novel: We have periods of Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting around discussing what to do and getting angry/upset/bored/etc. followed by a scene where they all use Polyjuice Potion to change their appearance and/or hide under the cloak to get into some dangerous place, get a horcrux or at least try to, and get out. And I kid you not, that happens literally every time they plan a capture. I think I saw a movie similar to this, where the same con was used over and over until it went horribly wrong, but I can’t think of the name.
Anyway, Ron leaves for a while, predictably, and at this point the book was becoming a little too grim and unfriendly, even for a tale that’s taking place during a war/occupation/whathaveyou. So it was great to have a chapter like Bathilda’s Secet come along and make you say Holy Fucking Shit that was not PG. I mean, that and the preceding chapter, Godric’s Hollow, are complete Tim Burton mindfuck material: disguised as old people, looking around in the thick snowdrifts of the cemetary, then going into a creepy, blind old woman’s home that smells like death and getting attacked like that? Pure awesome. Until we get broken-wand Harry-emo going again. Sigh.
But really, I’m not that down on it all. I’m being a little dismissive of the important plot development bits that get sandwiched in between all that angry, stubborn Harry stuff. That’s probably a result of me having tried to will the character into a more likeable, more awesome wizard for so long. Honestly, if he would have just sat there and read some spell books, trained himself in attacks and counters, and maybe brushed up on some wizarding history after the six years of shit he went through, you think we could avoid some of the pitfalls he has in book 7. But… it’s not like I could actually write a better book, I just nag.
And with that, I’m going to leave this summary unfinished and pick up tomorrow with the return of Ron and Dobby. Hopefully getting a bit of this off the old chest will do me some good. We’ll see!
